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ziminy · 3 days ago

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Coming back to you

How to get back with your ex

Tags: smut, minors and ageless blogs do not interact, f!reader, normal au (because we suffered enough), my bbg Caleb the manipulative king he is (break me in half and all I'll say is thank you), implied stalking (if you squint), creampie, oral (f! receiving), fingering, marking, dirty talk, praising, size difference, little bit of crying, not proofread

Author's note: almost lvl 60 affinity with him, it was hard work and a lot of dedication. Trust me when I say I won't be able to recover financially from this any time soon.

Masterlist

Life was good when you were together, and somehow it even better after breaking up. It's not like your split up was messy, because you two parted ways on mutual accord, deciding that this isn't going to work since both of you were so busy lately. Why dragging the other down when you have your futures set?

In fact, the break up wasn't even supposed to be a break up, you were supposed to take a little break from each other that turned into a break up some time later. You said that you'd still be friends, that it's alright to talk and greet each other if you somehow managed to meet again.

But it was all lies. Both of you knew that. Because you never texted each other after that, and somehow you tried to avoid all the places he might be at. You don't really know why you're doing that, if just.. you feel a little uncomfortable looking back at what you two used to have.

Perhaps it was the way he looked at you, how he leaned down to talk to you, or that dumb smile that made your heart skip a beat.

He was caring, attentive, maybe a bit obsessive, perhaps a bit insane too. And maybe that what scared you, kept you away from dating again. Finding another one like him. God, what if you had the misfortune to wake up with another one like him at your door? You'd rather jump out the window than have the luck of getting another Caleb.

But he was good, in his own ways.

Well.. you can't really name any of his good traits at the moment, but he was a great guy. If you put aside his manipulative side, that he doesn't even try to hide to begin with.

You promised yourself to not fall for another guy like him, that empty words mean nothing to you. Threats had no effect, and you don't feel guilty anymore over things that you shouldn't be to begin with.

So, why was he here? You were supposed to meet with the old friend group, to reconnect and talk about the old days and how college used to be. I mean, he was part of the group, but why exactly was he here? And why did nobody told you he was coming?

"It's so good to see you guys!" one of your friends said, instantly jumping from person to person to hug.

"I feel like we're young again." someone else said, making you shake your head and let out a soft laugh. You can't show that you're affected, you're all grown now, you matured. He had no effect on you anymore. Even if it only been a year, you're still a different person that you were a few months ago.

"We aren't old to begin with." you said with a smile on your face. "How haves everyone been?" you sounded so calm, like you forgot how much stress was put on you back then. Everybody looks in much better shape after graduation, perhaps that place was rough for everyone.

"Let's just skip greetings and drink." of course there was that one person. "Caleb, you pay." everybody's eyes were on the tall man.

"You brought your wallet, no? Why should I pay." your eyes made contact for a moment, and you felt your face getting hotter. This night better go quick, because you don't know for how much longer you can handle this.

Everything was how it was back then, the way you sit in groups at the bar. How you found yourself next to the same girls you used to, deciding that you don't want to be loud and take it easy, just like before.

"So, how have life been for you? Haven't heard anything from you after we graduate." one of the girls looked at you, reminding you of how you chose to go no contact with everybody after your breakup.

"You and Caleb broke up? I thought you'd last a life time." is there nothing better to talk about?

"I'm a career woman now." you decided to change the subject, rather chosing to talk about work that your failed relationship.

"Oh?" why everybody looked so surprised was a mystery. But somehow you understood their reactions, you're also surprised you went this path.

"Got any boyfriends?" they still want to get info on your personal life, huh? Well, guess you won't be able to dodge that question any time soon.

"Nothing at the moment. Just focusing on work."

"I guess it's hard to date again. Normal guys must be so bland, not comparing to that piece of meat over there." you looked displeased with your friends choice of words. Yes, your ex might look good, but looks isn't what matters right now. Your well being was your top priority, and you enjoyed the freedom you had way too much.

"I'd be like that too if I had your ex. Imagine recovering from that." you don't even have to imagine.

"Is it even humanly possible to find somebody who's better than him?" their questions doesn't affect you, because you already know that you're the best you'd find. You understand and give yourself more than enough space that it's needed. So the right questions was if he will be able to find someone as good as you, because he won't.

"He's looking in this direction." the girls started giggling, and somehow, this was nostalgic.

Didn't this happened already? Before you started dating, right before you two confessed your feelings. Because somehow, you managed to do that at the same time. It was funny, if you're thinking about it. How you two were so in sync, you had no idea.

"Go talk to him." the girl next to you tried to push you, to make you get up and walk to the dark haired man.

"Don't want to." you kept avoiding any eye contact ever since you got in that bar. If you don't acknowledge him then he doesn't even exist to you.

"But he's looking at you." you grabbed the drink in front of you and gulped everything down your throat, trying to ignore him.

"Are you shy?" the girls started giggling again.

It was annoying. Why can't they understand that it's over? He understands this, so why can't they do it as well?

"We don't have anything to talk about."

"But he seems to want to?" it doesn't matter even if they point it out. It's been a long time already, you both moved on.

"Isn't there anything you want to tell him? Like things you didn't got the chance to while you were together?"

"This is the time to clear any bad blood between the two of you." but that wasn't necessary.

Frustrated, you looked in his direction. Eyebrows furrowed and biting on your lip so you wouldn't let out any curses you wanted to say at the moment. That classical expression, looking like he's good, even if there was no smile on his face, but he kept nodding to what his friends were saying. His eyes were betraying him however, those sleepy eyes, looking at you like you were more interesting, like he had to or else you'd evaporate from there or who knows what worse. It wasn't often when you'd see him like that, so you can't even answer your own questions on why he seemed like that.

No, if you payed attention to his surroundings, his friends might be annoying him. Saying something that he doesn't like, or.. they were talking about you. Just the way your friends were talking about him.

Was he feeling like that because he didn't want to talk to you either? No, you doubt that. It's probably because you refuse to give him any attention.

You turned to face the girls around you, who still seemed to push you to him. Maybe you should in fact go for it?

But, was there really anything that needed to be said? You don't have any regrets, you can't think of anything you want to say. And he's the same, even if he looked like he was holding back from time to time. You doubt he ever did something he's regretting. After all, you matched each other's freaks. You managed to stay together for that long just because you completed the other, understood yourselfs on a level no one else around you could.

Was this why you were pushed to him? Because everyone knew how well you fit each other?

You looked at your friends one more time, sighing as you finally gave up. You're still afraid to approach him, because he was still intimidating in a way you can't explain.

Or you can, because whenever you look at him you feel a chill down your spine. Your head was filled with stuff you said to him in the past, memories coming back to embarrass you, to make you forget what you want to do so you'd fuck up in front of him.

You stopped in front of him, staring at him as he looked at you. He still had that expression on his face, like you're still his softest spot, his weakness that makes him weak in the knees when he's around you. You opened your mouth, trying to say something but then forgetting everything once you looked into his purple eyes.

You can't be like this forever, you had to step up your game. You really had to move on, and maybe that's what you have to talk with him. Because he seems to be stuck in the past too. "You have time?" you noticed the way he almost raised his hand, to grab onto you and drag you closer like he always did. But he held back, because he knew this wasn't the time.

"Yeah." he tried to keep it nonchalantly, but you could see past his poorly executed facade. Should you feel happy with how you still affect him? You feel like you could laugh.

"Wanna talk outside?" you don't even know why you said outside of all places. You wanted to stay inside, where everybody else was. You wanted to have a reason to keep it cool, to not lose yourself in your emotions, because you know you'll fuck up if you're alone with him.

He got up, standing much taller than you as he followed you quietly. Seriously, this was like a deja vu. You still remember how you used to follow him just the way he's doing now. Not questioning a thing, and trusting him a bit too much. But you also had no idea where you're going. All you know is that you want to go outside, take some fresh air, say a few words and then go back to your friends.

For a moment, he got in front of you, opening the door and letting you walk out first. He used to do this all the time, didn't he? You almost forgot about it.

You walked a little further from the bar, resting your back against a building's wall as you looked at the sunset. No one said a thing, and the distance between the two of you was colder than the night's breeze.

"So.." a few words and then go back, that's all. You can go to your friends after this and rest. "How have you been." avoid eye contact, because you don't know when you'll fuck up, look forward, don't let yourself be distracted.

"Busy." his voice still makes something in your head ring, like a little bell that seems to not calm down until he said so. "You?"

"Busy." you couldn't even think of what to say, just biting your lip in frustration.

It was quiet again, like both of you forgot how to communicate.

For a moment, you looked to your left, at where the bar was, and then at him, catching him staring at you with a expression you can't quite explain. Sadness? No, it was a mixture of sad and frustration. And you understood him. He had you this close, next to him, and yet he couldn't do anything.

"You're bigger than I remember." you don't even know why you said that. It's just.. he looks different and you can't exactly say what it was.

"I stopped growing a long time ago." he kept looking at you, at the way you were scanning him for anything that it might have changed. "Maybe you're the one who shrinked." he extended his hand, he doesn't really know why, but it seemed alright in that moment. Like he knew you wouldn't run anymore. "My hands are still the same."

You looked at his palm, at his long fingers and at the way he looks so familiar, yet new. Like you forgot how his body looked for a moment, like you were back in the past before you two started dating. Because you did this back then too, you were in this situation before.

How he was trying to tame you, let you touch him just the way you want, explore and discover more. All just to show you how inoffensive he is, that he's not a threat.

And you bite the bait every single time. Taking his hand in yours, slowly touching it just to see if it was indeed like what you remember.

You should put more effort if you don't want him back in your life. Just look at you, you look like you've missed him so so much. You shouldn't be this sweet or else you might not be able to break up again this time.

He tried his luck, interlocking his fingers with yours, and showing you more of that size difference you haven't seen in a while.

You don't reject him, his actions only made you be more curious. What else was he hiding? You looked up at him, only to see that expression again. You really didn't understand how his eyes can be just this dark, like there was absolutely no life in them, only a purple abyss that seems to drag you in towards him.

"It's getting dark." he said in a low voice, forgetting that he was supposed not to scare you for a moment. "Let me drive you home." he's the same as ever. Getting ahead of himself just because he was able to feel your perfume for once, the same scent that you had since back then. It suited you, and he missed it.

"Alright." he always knew how to calm you, let down your guard so he can get more under your skin. Or perhaps you were doing that voluntarily, because he doubts you'd be like this just for anybody.

The ride back to your place was quiet, only the radio on, playing some mainstream songs over and over again.

The silence was loud, but not uncomfortable. It was better this way because you had nothing to say. And he will not talk until you talk.

But once you got to your house, you somehow didn't wanted to get out the car just yet. It's just.. can't he stay? You don't know why you want him there, and you don't want answers to that.

"You're.." you played with your fingers. "You're not busy, right?" you avoided his eyes, or to look in his direction at all. This was all his doing, wearing that one fragrance that made your head spin, and the shirt that he knew was your favorite. "Want to come inside?" you're doing this on your own accord. Because he wouldn't push you over your limits like this, especially when you just met again after a long time.

You came to him, you talked to him, and you dragged him into your home on your own. He didn't do anything, this was all your doing.

You were brave enough to make the first move, so he might as well reward you for it, no?

You didn't looked surprised when you started kissing the moment the front door closed behind you, you also looked unfazed when he started taking off your clothes, now going towards your bedroom, looking for a bed so he could place you on it.

How could you forget this feeling? Or the way he used to take care of you. Always stopping you from lifting a single finger, not letting you do anything until you start begging him, or worse, do things without even warning him first.

"Tell me if it hurts." he placed a kiss on your cheek before going down, biting softly on your skin and leaving kisses all over the places he touched. He was going to mark all of your body, so people would see a part of him on you even if you're not together.

He stopped when he got to your pussy, leaving a kiss on your inner thigh, before placing his lips over your heat. He was going to scream, he missed this so much that he just couldn't help but let out a lustful moan deep from the bottom of his heart.

How could you left him? Take this away from him, leave him all alone to suffer. If he didn't craved so much for you he would have punished you for it.

"You're so tight." he said as he got two of his fingers inside.

"It's been a while since I did it." he looked up at you from between your legs, placing a kiss on your clit.

"Have you done it with someone else?" he was asking as if he didn't knew everything you did while he was gone. And yet, hes jealous.

"No." you shook your head. "What about you?" are you questioning his loyalty?

"Did you touched yourself?" if this was his way of changing the subject, then it wasn't working. Because it only made you want to ask the same thing, embarras him just the way he did to you.

"Did you?" he should feel embarrassed, ashamed or anything between those two, but no, it was just you who feeling that way.

"Every time I missed you." seriously, can he calm down for a moment. You can't take it. "You didn't do a good job." he said, licking on your clit as his fingers curled up. "But I guess you can't do much with those fingers of yours." you couldn't face him when he was saying such dirty words. "Did you had a hard time stuffing yourself? Don't worry, I'll do it for you from now on." you placed a hand over his face, to cover his eyes so he would stop looking at you.

"Don't look at me." you whimper. "It's embarrassing." you were always so easy to tease.

"Alright." he moved your hand away. "I'm sorry." he was in fact not, but if that's what you want to hear then he'll lie again and again, as long as you're happy.

Your pleasure was more important to him. So he focused on that, paying attention to the places that made you melt, on your soft voice and your touch. You're still so hesitant, like you don't really trust him, like you're still testing the waters.

What more do you want from him? What can he possible give that he haven't gave you already? You have his heart, you have his mind and soul, his well being is all yours, his body and everything he owns. So give him attention, touch him more and tell him that he's doing good because he's about to burst.

For a moment he looked up at you, just to see how you're doing, to check on you and make sure you're alright.

How did he lived for so long without looking at you was a mystery. Why he accepted you leaving him and trying to move on. Who else is going to make you feel like this? You need him, you needed his cock and his touch.

But he's not going to fuck up, since it's been a while since you last did it, he shouldn't push you. So, he placed a last kiss on your clit before taking his fingers out of you, leaving you panting and waiting for more. He didn't even let you cum, how mean of him.

Still, how dumb of him, to come here with nothing on him, not even a single condom. I mean, it wasn't really his fault because he never knew he'll end up like this.

"Take it off, your clothes." you were all naked while he was still fully dressed. He also looked like he wasn't planning on getting undressed any time soon and it was annoying you.

"I don't have any condoms." that was the problem?

"It don't matter." you took him by surprise. "Come here." you knew how rail him up. And you better not regret your decision later.

You looked at him taking off his shirt, his defined muscles jumping right into your face. You were right when you said he looked bigger, he must be working out a lot more lately. He took his pants off after, your eyes on his hard cock as he came back next to you.

"Relax." he said when he got between your legs. "Look at me." it would only be harder for you if you keep overthinking. Yeah, he was big, so what. He's going to give you all the time in the world until you adjust yourself to take him. It's gonna be hard at first, but it's going to be so much easier once he models your insides into the shape of his cock. And that's a promise, believe him.

He slowly pushed the head of his dick inside your wet core, making you move a little from how it was feeling, trying to find a better position. He lowered himself, now his chest pressed against yours, placing kisses all over your face as he kept pushing more of him inside your warm pussy. It's alright, take your time. He's not going anywhere, he'll wait until you're ready for him to move.

"You're doing good." he whispered in your ear, his hot breath tickling your skin. "I'm all the way inside, see? It doesn't hurt." it hurts a little, maybe more than just a little. But wasn't it normal when he was stretching you like that? But just as much as it hurts, it also felt good, in a way that left your mouth watering. He was going to be the end of you, really.

"Move." you ordered him, wanting to feel more. Just being stuffed to the brim wasn't enough, you needed much more than that.

He followed your orders, moving his hips slowly, paying attention to your next move.

You were so cute when you're sticking to him like that, holding onto his shoulders and trembling every time he touched that spot deep inside that he wasn't trying to touch to begin with, to not overwhelm yourself.

He's going to give you everything you want, there's no need to rush. If this was how much you can handle then that's how much he's going to give you. So why were you grabbing him like that, and asking for more? "Deeper." but you couldn't take it? You're going to say that he bullied you later, and he doesn't want to take the blame for something you made him do.

"You're sure?" you nodded, looking at him through your eyelashes with a pout on your face. Alright then, if that's what you want. How could he refuse you?

So he got deeper, hitting that spongy spot with long slow strokes that seems to work wanders on you.

He kissed you, again and again, to mark everything that missed his touch. To make sure you feel him, more than just inside.

"Is it good?" he asked as if he doesn't know your body like the back of his hand.

"Mm." you nodded, leaning in to feel more of his warmth.

"Then say my name. Let me know how good I make you feel." how could you forget he was like this. He always had to mark his territory as if you're not already his. But unfortunately for him, you're not in the mood to fulfill his desires. Screaming his name seemed nice, but at the moment all you wanted was to feel him, have him to yourself and let nobody know about your business.

Maybe his greedy side rubbed on you, or maybe it's the other way around. Or not, because at the end of the day you both knew that your unsolved issues can't be fixed that easy, and it can't be passed into the other when both of you are insane.

That's why you're trying to consume each other in other ways.

Kisses that seemed way too loving for someone who just got reunited after a long time. Touches that linger on the other's body even after moving away. Whispers and words that really makes it seems like you two were just a day apart, talking about moving with him, how you don't need anyone else but him. And at the moment you're too drunk on him to even realize that you're nodding, agreeing to every little degrading thing he's saying.

You want him, don't you? You missed him, you were such a mess without him. Right? Why did you permited him to leave when he's made for you. "I love you." that's the most normal thing he said tonight. "I love you, you heard me?" you heard him, but if you're giving him an answer that satisfies him, you'll never make him pay for the pain he caused you.

"You do?" you didn't sounded loving at all, even if your arms were wrapped around his neck, looking at him in the eyes with something only he saw before, your lust and obsession.

"I love you." he'll say it until you finally give up. Placing a kiss right next to your eye, he caged you in his arms, a hand under your ass and lifting up so he could go even deeper than before. Move in even more, since you said you wanted deeper. He'll show you places you didn't even know existed if you're asking for it.

He can't say that he's a brat tamer, because he's not. He likes everything about you, your sweet side, your mean and angry side. He likes it when you punish him, it shows him that you care. And if you believe that he's not doing enough to deserve your love just yet, then he'll do more.

He liked trying after all. And he'd be damed if he said that he doesn't want to show you just how far he can go. Because trust him, you can't handle it.

He's going to eat you, or even better, sacrifice him as you see fit. He wants to be inside you forever, be part of you. Because he feels like he's finally at home only when he's with you, in your arms. And when he's balls deep inside you? He's in heaven.

"Does it hurts?" he licked your tears away, wanting to taste them and claim them as his.

You nodded, feeling his cock twitching before moving in a way that got you throwing your head back. This fucker. He thinks that he can just do this to you and not pay a price? And perhaps sometimes he forgets how you can be so cruel, mean, and play with his feelings in a way only you could.

All he needs is a look from you, fluttering those eyelashes in a pretty way, and a sad expression that he can't resist.

You win, if you wanted him to fumble, then you win. He's all yours, do whatever you want with him because he doesn't have the ability to think anymore. "Cum with me?" what gives you the right to ask such a dumb question when you knew that's the only thing he wants. If you're not, the he's not doing it either. He knows he's asking for too much, but let the man dream.

"I'll fill you up nice and pretty, alright?" he made it sounded like a question, but you both knew he was just letting you know.

"Mm." you nodded, your lips smashing together the next moment. Eating each other out as you were both so so close. Touches becoming more and more desperate, his grip on so tight you won't be surprised if it leaves a bruise. But it's alright, because you feel like that's not quite enough.

More, you both needed more. And some heated sex after fucks knows how long won't be enough to satisfy the empty holes in you. You needed so much more.

Will you even be able to get out the bed tomorrow? Both of you. Because from the way you drag each other back, refusing to give up just yet was more than enough proof to show you won't step back any time soon.

But who knows, maybe you'll finally be happy by the time you both dry your energy out.

#lnds caleb #lads caleb #love and deepspace caleb #caleb x reader #caleb #love and deepspace #lads smut #lads x reader

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not-neverland06 · 2 days ago

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𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙿𝚛𝚘𝚍𝚒𝚐𝚊𝚕 𝚂𝚘𝚗

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

A/N: It's finally here, the fruits of my labor have finally come forth lol. I finally managed to get out those last few bits that I was struggling with so much. Turns out, finally getting on anti-depressants is actually a fucking game changer. Who knew?

I'd like to apologize for how long this took, but, also, I'd like to thank you all for being so supportive. I know there can be a lot of toxicity in fandoms, especially in fanfiction. I have been absolutely blessed with such wonderfully supportive, understanding, and kind readers. I want you to know that I do not take you guys for granted and absolutely love the small community I've found on here. Thank you all, and know that the epilogue is nearly finished and will be posted within the next 1-2 days, as I'm sure some of you will be wanting it after this one.

Next Part - Hell Hath No Fury Series

Summary: The end is nigh. Arthur feels it in the air, the broiling tension and building hostility within the gang. Their enemies are no longer their biggest problem. Instead, they have to worry about each other now. There's betrayal at every turn and Arthur is stuck in the middle of it all, pulled incessantly between two worlds. His old life as an outlaw, and the possibility of a new one with you.

You heave the hog off your shoulder and drop it onto Pearson’s table with a heavy thud. The legs creak under the weight, groaning as though they might give way. For a moment, you hover, watching the table tremble before it steadies. Satisfied, you take a step back.

Pearson ambles out of his tent, wiping his hands on his stained apron. He spots the hog, and his face twists into a suspicious scowl. “What the hell is that?”

You give a faint grin, more out of habit than humor. “Helped a farmer down the road. Didn’t have the coin to pay me, so he gave me one of his prize hogs.”

Pearson’s frown deepens, his lips twitching as though he’s struggling to process the situation. After a beat, he shrugs. “Alright, fine.”

You scoff, the lack of gratitude digging under your skin. Would it kill him to crack a smile? Shaking your head, you turn away, irritation simmering as you leave him to his work. Maybe you’ll go for another ride tonight—most likely camping out under the stars. Anything to clear your head.

You’ve still got a few hours before sunset, so you mull over how to kill the time. A race with Sadie might do the trick. The familiar sound of hooves splashing through the mud catches your attention. Normally, you’d ignore it, but a sudden commotion pulls your focus.

Mrs. Grimshaw’s gasp pierces the air, her hands clasped over her mouth in shock. Frowning, you follow her gaze, your stomach twisting as you spot riders approaching. Their faces are blurry in the distance, but something about the way they move makes your chest tighten. Stepping closer, your heart drops like a stone.

Dutch is at the head of the group, leading his men back into camp. Those who’d been on the ferry are all there, alive and well—except for one. The absence burns hotter than the sun on your back. Anger flares like wildfire in your chest, threatening to consume you.

The others cheer and laugh, crowding around the returning riders. Your gaze locks with Micah’s, and your teeth clench so hard it hurts. Dark circles frame his eyes, and he coughs into a bloodied cloth. The sight of him—the fact that this bastard gets to live while Arthur doesn’t—is enough to make you sick.

You turn away sharply, unable to stomach the celebration. Across the camp, your eyes meet Sadie’s. She’s leaning against the cabin, her face a mask of restrained fury. The sight of Dutch soaking up the adoration like a starving dog gnaws at what’s left of your patience.

You can feel it slipping away—your peace, your freedom. Dutch’s return threatens to drag it all back into the muck. But not this time. You swear it, not this time.

Dutch Van der Linde isn’t your leader. He isn’t your friend or your family. He’s nothing but a man who takes and takes until there’s nothing left.

Your gaze hardens on his back, your lips curling in quiet defiance. Tonight, you’re leaving—for good. Damn the gang. Damn this camp. And damn Dutch Van der Linde.

Arthur finds Diablo waiting for him at Shady Belle, as though the horse knew exactly where he’d return. He walks up to him, rubbing the horse’s nose gently. He finds an apple and gives it to Diablo, relishing in the familiar connection.

He’d known, deep down, when he was on his way here, that the gang wouldn’t be around. There was no way they could stay near St. Denis after what happened. Still, when he doesn’t see you immediately, the gut-deep ache doesn’t fade, even if he’d expected it.

The note Sadie leaves is easy enough to figure out. Going off the hooves circling around the house, he’s sure the men who were ahead of him discovered the location too. Mounting Diablo and riding off toward camp is such an achingly familiar feeling it almost hurts. After weeks in Guarma, scorched by the sun and tortured by corrupt politicians, riding Diablo feels like a return to something sacred, something he can’t quite explain.

Reacclimating himself to the feeling of riding a horse isn’t an arduous task, but it is uncomfortable at first. He’d walked across every inch of Guarma, then spent weeks on a boat. It’s been so long since he felt the freedom of the open plains.

Arthur looks toward the horizon, to the setting sun and the golden light casting its net across the world before him. It won’t be much longer until he’s back with you. He’s almost looking forward to hearing you say ‘I told you so.’

It’s not much longer before he’s riding through the muddy puddles in front of the cabins deep in the moors. Sadie is the first to see him. Her head is ducked, eyes down as she speaks in hushed whispers with you. Your back is to him and he doesn’t know if he’s grateful or not. The idea of a reunion has felt like a distant dream, he’s not sure if he’s truly ready to see you again.

Sadie’s head lifts slightly, eyes locking on his. Her face goes slack with shock, cheeks pale, and eyes wide. “Sadie?” You ask, and your voice is like a balm over all his aches and pains. “What is it?” You don’t look,as stubborn as ever, you nudge at Sadie’s shoulder, waiting for an answer.

She spares you a brief glance as Arthur dismounts, eyes still stuck on him. “Turn your ass around and look,” she demands, her voice a mix of disbelief and wonder.

Arthur doesn’t notice the way Sadie throws herself at him, her arms wrapping around him, pulling back, and slapping his shoulder. He’s too focused on you. Your shoulders are stiff, fists curled tight like you know he’s there but can’t bear to turn around. In all his time thinking of this moment, of seeing you again. He’d forgotten something very important.

Finally, you turn around. Arthur grins, the relief in his chest rising. “Well?” He teases, arms open wide as he narrows his eyes at you. “Aren’t you gonna say hi?”

You don’t answer, eyes nearly bulging out of your head as you look close to tears. Arthur’s brow furrows in confusion. He thought you’d at least look happy to see him. “Arthur Morgan,” Sadie chides from beside him, though her grin betrays her. “I thought you were dead, you bastard.”

Arthur feels his heart drop, finally realizing why you’re acting like you’ve seen a ghost. He was gone for weeks, last you heard he’d been on a ship. And word had probably gotten around that they’d been shipwrecked. Weeks without word, the shipwreck, and the rumors that must’ve circulated. He hadn’t thought for a second that you might actually believe he’d left you behind. After the way you’d parted, he supposes he didn’t do enough to convince you otherwise.

“Sweetheart,” he starts, chest clenching tight, “I-”

You take quick steps toward him, boots splashing through the mud. He mutters your name lowly, an apology and a promise laced between the syllables. You suck in a sharp breath and he thinks you might hug him. Before he can say anything else, his head is whipping to the side, cheek stinging.

Your hand lingers in the air for a moment, as if still caught in disbelief. You stare at him, your eyes wide, voice trembling. “Arthur?” you whisper, your words barely audible, your face crumpling under the weight of the truth.

You surge forward, grabbing the collar of his tattered shirt and dragging him down. You surge up, pressing your lips to his with a desperation that nearly matches his own. He can taste the salt of your tears as you kiss him, the way they streak down your cheeks.

Arthur’s heart drops. He’s used to being a disappointment to the people around him. He’s experienced this a hundred times. His relationship with Mary was no exception, he should be used to this pain by now. But knowing he’s failed you, makes it hurt worse than it ever has before. Arthur grabs you by the waist, desperate to make up for everything. He pulls you as close as he can get, pressing his lips to yours.

You wrap your arms tightly around his neck, desperation nearly a physical thing as you return his touch. You hold each other as though this kiss could somehow erase the weeks of suffering you’d both endured.

He doesn’t want to let go again. Arthur never wants to see that heartbroken look on your face. And he doesn’t ever want to be the cause for it, not anymore. The ache in his chest loosens as he breathes you in like you’re the only air he’ll ever need. Arthur won’t let you go again, he swears it to himself, because he knows you won’t ever believe him again.

You and Arthur sit toward the back of the cabin, away from the heart of the gathering. Everyone had been thrilled to see him alive, their greetings warm yet subdued, their relief tempered by everything they’d been through in his absence.

Your hand rests loosely in his, a token of comfort you hardly seem aware of offering. Arthur studies your face as you listen to Dutch’s grand retelling of Guarma, your narrowed eyes betraying the skepticism simmering beneath your otherwise still expression. Each time Dutch embellishes a detail, you flick your gaze toward Arthur, silently searching his expression for the truth. The scrutiny makes Arthur shift uncomfortably, though he knows it’s not unwarranted.

“I truly do not know how you all made out so well here.” Dutch comments, lips curled slightly as he glances around at the thick layers of dust and dirt coating the walls

Tilly grins eagerly, motioning toward you and Sadie. “It was all Mrs. Rowe and Sadie, they found this place. They been taking care of everything.”

Arthur’s brows furrow as he watches a sheepish smile grow on your face. He squeezes your hand and you glance toward him. He lifts his brow in question and you nod your head. “Ain’t been doin’ much,” you tell him, shrugging.

Sadie must hear you because she scoffs and rolls her eyes. “You kiddin’ me? Once you finally stopped mopin’, you were the only reason we didn’t all lose our minds.” Your smile tightens, the edges hardening as your shoulders stiffen.

“Well,” Dutch interrupts smoothly, his voice cutting through the tension. He fixes you with a look, and you straighten under his gaze. “I suppose I should thank the both of you for holding things together.”

“Suppose you should,” you reply sharply, meeting his eyes without flinching. “Or maybe you could apologize for that half-assed plan that got us stuck in this mess in the first place.”

Arthur’s hand tightens on yours, his voice low and warning. “Don’t—”

You whip around, glaring at him, and he’s startled by the fire in your eyes. Without a word, you yank your hand free and stand. Arthur opens his mouth to protest, but Dutch steps forward, his gaze narrowed in on you.

The tension is interrupted by the door bursting open behind Dutch. Bill stumbles in, his face red and sweaty. “Go’damn!” he bellows, his chest heaving. “I’ve been lookin’ for you all damn day. Had to ask every soul in town where the hell you were.”

Arthur’s gut twists. He bolts to his feet, striding toward you and Bill. “What’dya mean you asked around town?”

Bill falters, his face draining of color. His lips part as if to speak, but the words are stolen by a booming voice from outside.

“This is Agent Milton,” the voice calls. The blood drains from Arthur’s face as he grabs your arm, pulling you toward him. “You have one minute to surrender before my men decide to take you in dead.”

“Dammit, Bill, you fool,” Arthur growls, the words biting through clenched teeth. His mind races as he grips your arm firmly. He knows the men outside won’t hesitate. They aren’t the type to spare the women or the children. They’ll gun you down just for being around him and the others. He tugs you closer, instinct has him shielding you from the chaos as best he can.

Milton doesn’t wait for the countdown. “Forget it,” he barks. “Start shooting.”

The first bullets shatter the cabin’s windows, sending shards of glass spraying like rain. Arthur curls his body around yours, as the rest of the gang scatters, some diving to the floor, others scrambling for cover. A lamp explodes nearby, and the oil catches fire, dripping to the floor and licking at the walls.

Arthur’s focus is on you, but you’ve already moved. You duck and grab a rifle from beneath a cot, slinging it over your shoulder. There’s no hesitation, no look back for approval. You dart toward the door, your movements swift and purposeful.

“Wait, dammit, don’t!” Arthur shouts, but you’re already outside, firing before the Pinkertons can adjust their aim. The sun has dipped below the fire, he only spots you through flashes of bullets and the fire steadily growing behind him. He tugs his revolver out, shooting wildly, the Pinkertons are swarming out of the forest like wolves, there's no point in aiming now.

Arthur follows along behind you, taking cover behind a wagon as some of the others pick up their own guns. He spots Sadie running past him, shouting something indecipherable as she takes out the Maxim gun. Blood flies as bullets make their marks, after weeks on a boat it almost feels foreign to feel the warmth of someone else’s life pressing against him.

Through the chaos, he watches you move with precision, directing shots with a cold efficiency that makes his chest tighten. You’re not the woman he left behind. You’re faster, bolder, and sharper, your confidence and stupidity is clear as you throw yourself into the center of danger, taking aim at some of the men on the roofs of the cabins.

Arthur sees another man creeping up behind you. His gun has been abandoned somewhere, he only has a machete in his hand now, arm arcing down toward your head. Weeks without practice might have left him slower than he used to be, but he’s still quick enough to shoot the blade out of the man’s hand.

You flinch at the shot, whipping around with a pinched expression. The attacker shouts, clutching his bleeding hand to his chest. Without hesitation, you rise and swing the butt of your rifle at the back of his skull. The man crumples face-first into the mud, lifeless. You don’t even look at him again, your focus snapping back to the fight as you resume shooting, each shot clean and deliberate.

The tide of the fight begins to shift. Once Sadie got ahold of the maxim, the Pinkertons had no choice but to start their retreat. Even outnumbered fifty to one, the gang still has some fight left in them. But it’s a fragile victory, and Arthur knows it won’t last.

He weaves his way toward you, his mind racing, but you speak first before he can get a word out.

“They’ll regroup,” you say, your voice firm but low. “We need to track them into the woods, pick them off before they get away.”

Arthur’s eyes widen. “What’re you talkin’ about?” His voice is sharper than he intends. “You’re stayin’ right here. You hear me? I’ll deal with it.”

Your face screws up and it’s the first time you’ve given him a glance of the anger that had been burning under the surface. You go silent, lips set in a firm line before you glance over his shoulder. “They’re getting away,” you tell him quietly. “You can stay here if you want, but I’m going after the rest with Sadie and Charles.”

You move around him without waiting for a response, your rifle brushing his arm in a way that feels deliberate, distant. The message is clear: you no longer need his protection. Arthur watches, stunned, as you stride toward the others.

For a moment, he stands frozen, the weight of the realization sinking in. The way you fight now, the fire in your eyes, the complete lack of hesitation, it’s all different. You’ve become someone who doesn’t need him, someone who’s learned to stand alone.

His chest tightens as he mounts Diablo, his gaze flickering toward you one last time before spurring the horse forward. He’ll follow the Pinkertons like you suggested. But even as he rides, a different battle churns inside him.

This isn’t something a few dead Pinkertons will fix. The distance between you both is growing and for the first time, Arthur feels powerless to stop it.

Dutch moved them down to Beaver Hollow, it’s a nice enough spot near the base of the mountains. The only problem is a bad brood of folk called the Murfree’s. A bunch of animals masquerading as men, cannibalizing people, and taking women without a care. Arthur hates the idea of you being anywhere near them. He’s doing his best to keep you in camp and you don’t argue. Arthur’s surprised at your easygoing obedience after what happened at the other camp.

He’s getting worried about you. You’re quiet more often than not, you don’t bite back at Dutch or Micah like you usually would. And you’re more on edge than he’s ever seen you. He tries to talk to you about it, to understand what’s going on with you, but you won’t tell him.

You always just say you’re worried about what’s going to happen when everything finally goes wrong. He thinks he knows what you mean, even if he doesn’t want to admit it to himself. Too many times has he been told that the reign of outlaws is over. There’s no room left for them anymore.

When he was a boy, he would have thought that the time of outlaws was immortal. It’s easy when you’re young and foolish to think that you’re invincible, that nothing can ever touch you. He sees everything coming close to an end now, though. Despite the elation of their return back to a land they know, nothing’s the same.

Micah’s only gotten worse since they returned from their shipwrecked time in Guarma. He’s always coughing, blood leaking from the corners of his mouth. A doctor down in St. Denis told him it was tuberculosis a while back, Arthur knows that their time on the island only further agitated the disease. Since then, he’s been angrier, always whispering in Dutch’s ear.

And Dutch, he won’t listen to Arthur anymore. Since the Pinkertons turned up at the cabins, he has it in his head that everyone’s a traitor. The only person he’ll trust is the one whispering poison into his ear. It drives Arthur mad. He keeps trying to get Dutch to tell him what’s going to happen next but he just says the same thing every time. “I have a plan, Arthur. Don’t you trust me?”

Before Guarma, before the O’Driscolls, before you, he would have said yes in a heartbeat. But he doesn’t trust him anymore, he can’t. Not after Dutch left him for dead, and then Sean and John. Sadie and Arthur had to go bust them both out of the chain gang they’d been working at in jail. It had been a mess and a half but when they’d returned to camp the only thing Dutch had to say was, “I had a plan.”

He’d been angry at them for rescuing the men and Arthur couldn’t understand why. He never would have left them to rot if Hosea were still here.

The thought of the old man’s death leaves an ache in Arthur’s chest. He keeps picturing him lying on the St. Denis road, bleeding out. He knows Dutch couldn’t have done a damn thing about it, that bastard Milton was never going to spare him. But, if he had been given the opportunity to save Hosea by turning himself in, Arthur knows he wouldn’t have taken the chance. Dutch has grown selfish and arrogant, prioritizing himself over the rest of the gang and it only makes Arthur’s resentment grow.

Still, he can’t help but see him as the man who’d taken him off the streets. Dutch and Hosea had taught him how to shoot, how to read and write. They’re the reason he knows how to hunt and make it on his own in the wild. How can he turn against the man who raised him to be who he is today?

You shift restlessly beside him, turning out of his hold and onto your side. Arthur frowns at the action, placing a light hand on your arm. You don’t shrug out from under his touch but you don’t reciprocate. You’ve turned cold and it’s only making everything harder.

“I want to leave,” you whisper, and he startles slightly, thinking you’ve been asleep this whole time.

“Huntin’?” Even as he speaks, he knows it’s not what you want, but he tries anyway.

You scoff, the noise bitter and angry. “No.” You tell him shortly, tone clipped as you rise from the cot. Without another glance at him, you start changing out of your nightgown. Arthur sits up slowly, watching you. He doesn’t know what he’s done to spark this sudden shift in you, but the tension is near suffocating. “You have to see it, Arthur,” you say, pulling up your pants and tightening the belt. You glance over your shoulder, your expression is expectant, almost pleading.

He lets out a rough sigh, figuring that there’s no chance of convincing you to rest a little longer. “See what?” He asks, dragging his hand over the stubble on his jaw. A low groan slips from his lips as he gets to his feet, back protesting at the too-small cot.

“This,” you motion wildly, arms swinging out towards the camp that waits outside the closed flaps of his tent. “All of this, Arthur. It’s coming to an end. I can feel it,” you tell him, voice impassioned with fear and urgency. “There’s only so far we can run.”

Arthur looks away from you, shrugging on his shirt. “I know it’s hard right now. But Dutch-”

“Has a plan?” You snap, taking a step closer to him. Your brows knit tightly together, anger burning hot behind your eyes. You swat his hands away as he fumbles with a button, doing his shirt up for him. Even in your frustration, you can’t help but help him. It’s oddly endearing, despite the tension yawning between you. “He’s gonna get us to Tahiti?” You scoff, voice dripping with sarcasm as you roll your eyes. You smooth out his collar before stepping back, movements curt and precise.

He reaches forward, hands catching your waist and tugging you back toward him before you can get far. You don’t meet his eyes, stubbornly looking away, but you don’t stop him from pulling you closer.

“We’ll leave,” your head whips towards him, face lighting up with hope. He winces, wishing he was more clever with his words. “For a few days,” he clarifies and your eyes narrow into irritated slits.

“I promise, what happened in St. Denis isn’t going to ever happen again.” He needs you to believe him, to understand just how much of a fool he felt like getting on that boat with Dutch. They hadn’t truly had another choice, but if he had a chance to do it all again he would have ran away with Charles. He never would have even left you at camp.

“After a certain point, Arthur,” you squeeze his hand in yours and he feels just a little bit of relief at you finally returning his touch. “Your promises stop meaning much when you don’t keep them,” you slip out of his hold and his face falls flat, chest caving slightly. “But, sure, we’ll leave for a few days,” you shake your head, slipping out from his tent as he stares at the spot you’d once occupied.

How had things gotten so bad?

“And where are you going, Mrs. Rowe?”

Arthur turns toward the sound of Dutch’s voice, spotting him standing near Pearson’s station. He looks for all the world like he’s at ease, but the tense set of his shoulders and twitch at the corners of his lips betray him. Arthur’s gaze shifts to you, standing by Lady, one hand gripping the reins of the restless mare.

“For a ride,” you say curtly, your tone flat and face pointedly blank. “What’s it look like?”

Arthur’s stomach knots as he notices the tension in the air. You’re already gripping the horn of Lady’s saddle, pulling yourself up with practiced ease. Arthur watches as you glance down at Dutch, your expression hardening and eyes slit in challenge.

Dutch steps closer, his mouth curving into a thin smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I understand things were run a little differently while we were gone. But I don’t think you going out alone is what’s smart right now-”

“Frankly, Mr. Van der Linde,” you interrupt, voice laced with venom, “I don’t give a damn what you think. I’m going for a ride.”

Arthur watches the muscle in Dutch’s jaw tighten, the flare of his nostrils betraying his irritation. Dutch turns to him, his eyes sharp, searching Arthur’s face for the usual complacent obedience.

Arthur whistles, and Diablo trots up to him obediently. Swinging into the saddle, he shoots you a quick look. “You heard the lady. We’re goin’ for a ride.”

The trail you lead him down is unfamiliar, winding through thick trees and rocky inclines. Arthur catches himself stealing glances at you- the way you sit tall in the saddle, the ease with which you guide Lady over uneven terrain. He tries to meet your eye, but each time, you only offer him small, polite smiles. They feel hollow, and it gnaws at him.

The silence stretches, prickling at his nerves. Finally, he speaks, voice cutting through the suffocating stillness. “Alright. Where are we goin’?”

You glance at him briefly, nodding toward the mountains in the distance. “Meeting up with Charles and the local tribe. I’ve helped them hunt a few times, but,” you trail off slightly, voice growing heavy, “they’ve been having problems.”

Arthur raises a brow. “Problems?”

You hesitate, your jaw tightening. “With the military,” you admit.

He doesn’t feel like you’re telling the whole truth and he can’t help but prod you further. “What kind of problems?”

You let out a frustrated sigh, shifting in your saddle. “The kind Dutch has been making worse.” You shoot him a pointed look and his jaw clenches at the blame lurking in your gaze. “He’s been riling up the chief’s son, getting him involved in jobs he shouldn’t.”

Arthur’s frown deepens, his brows furrowed as he struggles to think of Dutch’s reasoning for getting involved with the local tribe. Though, it’s not as if he’s been involving him in many plans lately. “Why would Dutch do that?”

Your head snaps toward him, your eyes filled with pent-up ire that’s been waiting to spill over. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me.”

“Hey, now,” Arthur objects defensively, his tone growing just as sharp as yours. “I’m just askin’ a question.”

You fall silent, your expression flattening as you look ahead again. The weight of your resentment hangs heavy between you, unspoken but undeniable. Arthur feels it like a stone in his chest, and it makes his teeth grind.

Arthur isn’t sure what he expected, but the sight before him twists his gut. Women huddle around children, feeding them thin soup from chipped bowls. Elderly men and women cough into bloodstained rags, their frail bodies barely covered by thin blankets. The air smells of sickness and desperation.

Arthur glances at you, but you’re already dismounting and striding toward the center of the settlement. Despite the distrustful stares from the tribe members, you move with purpose, your shoulders squared.

Charles stands near an older man, his voice low but urgent. Arthur catches the tail end of the conversation. “…my people will not survive this much longer,” the man says, his voice weary but resolute.

Arthur follows behind you as you approach. The man carries himself with a quiet strength, but his face is lined with worry and it’s ageing him by the minute. There’s a glint of familiarity in his eyes as you approach and he nods his head in greeting.

“Arthur, this is Rains Fall, he’s the chief of this tribe,” you explain to Arthur, introducing the two. “He-”

“I know you,” Rains Fall interrupts, still looking at Arthur. “You were there in the city. Your leader was meant to help my people.” He shakes his head, and Arthur sees the pain of being betrayed one too many times in the old man’s face. “Now the military is holding our medicine hostage.”

Arthur’s jaw tightens as he takes in the scene. It’s worse than he imagined. He’s heard the stories—the government stealing land, taking children—but seeing it up close is something else entirely.

Being associated with Dutch has never brought about anything but pride. But standing here, seeing the people he’s taking advantage of, he’s overcome with shame. Rains Fall speaks again, his voice steady despite the weight of his words. “If we cannot retrieve the vaccines soon, we will lose many more. My people are already weakened.”

Arthur looks to Charles, who meets his gaze with grim determination. “We’re going to get the medicine back.” he tells him, and Arthur knows that you’re going to help, whether he wants you to or not. “The officer’s camp isn’t too much further down the mountain. But we can’t risk this looking like the tribe’s retaliating, it’s why I need your help, Arthur.”

Arthur and Charles are close, perhaps not as close as they should be. But they respect one another. Right now, Charles isn’t just asking for a favor, he’s asking for the help of a friend. Of a brother. And Arthur won’t allow himself to keep disappointing the people he cares about.

Arthur nods, his decision immediate. But the truth burns in his chest: Dutch’s hand is in this. Somehow, the man he once idolized has turned these people’s suffering into a means to an end.

He glances at you, and your expression says it all. This is what you’ve been trying to warn him about. The look you give him is sharp, almost scolding, as if to say I told you so. Arthur doesn’t have the words to argue—not this time.

The conversation with Rains Fall and Charles winds down, and the three of you prepare to part ways. Arthur adjusts his hat, turning toward you. “You comin’?”

You pause, exchanging a glance with Charles. The look between you is brief but meaningful, and Arthur feels a pang of something he can’t quite name.

“We’ll catch up,” you say simply, your tone dismissive.

Arthur hesitates, searching your face for… something. An explanation? Reassurance? But you’ve already turned away, speaking quietly with Charles. He lingers for a moment longer, then mounts Diablo.

Arthur finds himself screwing up more often than not lately. But letting Dutch know about the plans for the tribe, has to be one of the stupider things he’s ever done. Dutch wants to get involved, of course, for the good of the natives, he claims. Arthur knows him, though, he knows it’s more than that.

Together, they go and find Eagle Flies, the chief’s son. He’s already with his own band of men, each of them young and healthy, the few fighters their tribe has left. Their plan to get the medicine back, to stick it to the military, is far more violent and grand than yours and Charles had been.

“This is the dumbest idea I have ever heard,” Arthur tells Eagle Flies, glaring down at the dynamite in his hand. He turns toward Dutch, expression disbelieving, “I can’t believe you’re encouragin’ this!”

“Encouraging what, Arthur? These young men to fight for their home, their land back. I’m disappointed in you son,” Dutch chides, and the way he says son rubs Arthur the wrong way. “I thought you, of all people, would support a cause such as this.”

“I support the cause,” Arthur snaps, snatching the dynamite out of Eagle Flies hand, “but I cannot support acting like damn fools and getting yourselves killed.” He turns toward the boy, imploring him to see reason, not to listen to Dutch’s silver tongue. “My friend has a plan for your people, he can get the medicine back. And he can do it without getting anyone killed.”

“What is the point in that?” Eagle Flies growls, taking the dynamite back from Arthur. “You want us to just lay down, belly up like dogs and let these men take everything from us? You would have us stay quiet instead of fighting back? The only way your people hear us, is if we make ourselves loud.”

He steps back, looking around Arthur to Dutch. “Tonight, we’re going to their camp and we will send them a proper message. You can join us or not,” he snaps, storming back toward his men.

“Dutch-”

“I’m disappointed in you, Arthur,” Dutch starts, shaking his head as he makes his way back to the horses. “Not just for this, but for how you’ve been acting lately.”

Arthur stops in front of Diablo, eyes narrowed on Dutch, “And how have I been actin’?” He snaps, tired of the superiority that Dutch carries himself with, as if he’s not trying to get these boys killed.

Dutch stares down at him, distrust and suspicion lingering between the both of them, “Like someone I can’t trust.”

“Well,” Arthur shakes his head and mounts Diablo. “I guess we both feel the same, then.”

Charles is furious as Arthur tells him Eagle Flies plan to blow up the military encampment and steal back not just the vaccines, but the deed to their people’s land. “We had a plan,” Charles shouts, the first time Arthur has ever truly seen him lose his temper.

“Arthur,” you start, letting out a low sigh. “Why did you tell him?” He doesn’t need you to say his name for him to know who you’re talking about.

“I thought,” he can’t finish his sentence. Too ashamed of what the end might be. He thought that, maybe, you were all wrong, that Dutch could still be relied on. That the man he once knew was still in there somewhere. It felt too childish to admit out loud.

“We’ll need the others,” you start when it's clear Arthur doesn’t have a reasonable excuse. “We won’t be able to stop Eagle Flies on our own. Especially not if he actually picks a fight with the military.”

It doesn’t take long to gather the rest of the gang, some of them ready to join Dutch as he goes to see Eagle Flies. But Arthur knows that he’s doing this for the wrong reason. He doesn’t understand what Dutch thinks he can gain from exploiting the tribe, and he knows that Dutch is never going to share it with him.

The ride toward the military encampment is quiet, the tension thick enough to choke on. Eagle Flies and the other men are already moving around the area when they arrive, dynamite placed and ready to ignite. Their faces are set with the determined fury of men ready to face death.

Charles brings Taima to a harsh stop and swings down before she’s fully still. He heads straight toward Eagle Flies, face tight with anger. “What the hell are you doing?” He demands, voice sharp as he jerks the boy forward by his arm. “We had a plan! Your father-”

“My father would do nothing!” He snaps, ripping his arm out of Charles's grasp. His hands ball into tight fists at his side, as though he’s prepared to take his anger out on anyone close enough. “He waits, and we die slow. The army has taken everything from us, and you want me to stand by and watch?”

Arthur dismounts from Diablo, mud splashing around his boots as they hit the ground. “You blow this place sky-high, you think they’re just gonna walk away? They’ll come down even harder on your people.”

Eagle Flies’ expression flickers for a brief moment, the weight of his father’s disappointment visible in the tightness of his jaw. Before he can respond, a sharp sound cracks through the night. Everyone turns to face it as another breaks the silence. A gunshot, clear as day.

Chaos erupts instantly, soldiers startling from their tents and returning from their watch along the treeline. They run forward, rifles raised, gunfire already ringing out through the night. “Shit!” Arthur curses, reaching for his revolver.

As he turns to run for cover, the rest of the gang scattering, he realizes that he can’t find Dutch. He doesn’t want to assume the worst, he can’t. But he wasn’t beside Arthur when the first shot rang out, and the soldiers didn’t even know they were there yet.

He doesn’t have time to linger on the thought as the first explosion detonates prematurely. A fireball launches to the sky, the ground below him shaking as though it’s about to split open. The horses make a run for it, bucking off riders and racing for cover. Shouted orders and screams become one cacophony as he finds cover. He fires from behind a stack of crates, bullets disappearing into the dark of the night, but the return fire is relentless.

Arthur has lost sight of everyone, you, Charles, he sees no one except the soldiers bearing down on him.

He grits his teeth and keeps shooting, even as the fire begins to spread across the dry grass and smoke fills his lungs. He sees one, two, three men drop before he’s forced to reload. As he turns, he spots Dutch nearby, moving through the smoke and fire with a calculated calm. For a brief moment, Arthur feels a flash of relief, if only to see one familiar face.

Then, something slams into him. He’s knocked to the dirt, teeth rattling from the force. A soldier grapples Arthur and raises his arm, a knife flashing in the firelight as he swings it toward Arthur’s throat. He catches his wrist just in time, muscles straining and breath ragged as he holds the soldier back. The blade trembles inches from his neck, the soldier’s weight pressing him further into the suffocating earth.

“Dutch!” Arthur chokes out, struggling to keep the knife at bay. “Dutch, help me!”

He sees Dutch stop and turn to face him. The gunshots have lessened, soldiers dropping to the ground like flies as the gang swarms over them. Dutch has nothing to worry about as he watches Arthur. Yet, his eyes are unreadable, cold in a way Arthur has never seen before. He looks at Arthur for a long time. Then he turns.

And runs.

Arthur’s grip slips, for a horrifying second, he nearly lets the knife drive through his throat. The shock and betrayal hits him like a punch to the gut. But before the knife can land, a wet, gurgling sound fills the air. The soldier jerks, eyes going wide and face paling as blood spills from his lips.

Eagle Flies stands behind him, his knife buried deep in the man’s throat. He rips it out without a care and the body slumps to the ground. Arthur remains in a state of shock as Eagle Flies offers his hand. He hesitates, only for a second, before grasping it and hauling himself to his feet. He barely has a moment to catch his breath before another shot rings out.

Eagle Flies gasps, his body jerking to the side as blood blossoms from his ribs. “No!” Arthur shouts, whipping around and putting a bullet between the eyes of the soldier who fired the shot. The man drops, but Arthur barely pays attention as he turns back to the boy. He grabs Eagle Flies as he wavers, slinging his arm over his shoulder.

“Come on, kid. We’re gettin’ outta here,” he swears. Eagle Flies groans in pain but doesn’t argue. Arthur grits his teeth, half-dragging and half-carrying him away from the battlefield, bullets whizzing past him.

He stumbles through the trees as the soldiers scream, wildfire consuming them quicker than his revolver ever would. He hears your voice over the sounds of death, sharp with desperation. “Where’s Arthur?” You shout and he lifts his head. You stand by the horses, face tight with worry and finger twitching close to the trigger.

Dutch stands in front of you, expression impassive. “Where the hell is he?” You demand, stepping back from Dutch and raising the rifle to be level with his face.

“Here,” Arthur calls out before you put a bullet in the man’s skull. You spin, your relief immediate but fleeting as your eyes fall on Eagle Flies slumped in his arms. Charles steps forward, his face contorting with grief as he looks at the boy.

Arthur meets Dutch’s eye, something flickers in the man’s expression, something that could be shame if Arthur didn’t know better. He stares at him, and for the first time, he sees Dutch for what he truly is. A liar, a coward. And a man who would leave him to die.

“I’m takin’ him home,” he turns his back to Dutch and prepares for the long ride back.

He pushes Diablo faster than he ever has, heels digging into the shire’s side as he pushes him over the edge. Eagle Flies is only getting weaker and he can’t return another dead son to Rains Fall. He can’t be the reason that the rest of his family dies.

He knows, though, that there is no chance of survival for a wound like Eagle Flies. No herbal remedy or medicine could fix this. But the least he could do is give them one last moment together.

When he rides back onto the reservation, Rains Fall is already waiting to greet them. He rushes forward, face stricken as he sees his son slumped against Arthur’s back. Charles walks over, helping Arthur gently lower Eagle Flies from his horse.

Rains Fall kneels beside his son, quickly scooping him into his arms and pressing his forehead to his. Eagle Flies is too weak for words by this point, eyes fluttering shut as he relaxes into his father’s embrace.

“You brought him back,” Rains Fall murmurs, his voice breaking. Arthur nods, not trusting himself to speak. The chief closes his eyes for a long moment. When he opens them, they’re wet with sorrow. “This land will never be safe for us. We must go. Find somewhere else to settle.”

Arthur looks away, knowing nothing he could say would ever fix this. He could never salve over a wound like this with something as trivial as empty promises or kind words. You and Charles stand at his side, watching Eagle Flies take in his last shuddering breath. The disappointment is palpable.

He can’t face it any longer. Can’t face the death or the grief that seems to follow him wherever he goes. Without a word, Arthur mounts his horse and rides off into the night, leaving the weight of it all behind him.

And he knows, deep in his very soul, that nothing will ever be the same again.

The trail lightens as the sun begins to rise. The sounds of the reservation fade behind him, swallowed by the rustling trees and the distant call of an owl. He rides without direction, without thought, just the steady rhythm of Diablo’s hooves against the earth, carrying him further from everything he no longer knows how to fix.

Then, a voice cuts through the silence.

“Oh!” Someone shouts from the trees, “You goddamn, useless,” the man’s voice trails off into a series of expletives that’s too quick for Arthur to make out. Face pinched in confusion, he nudges Diablo forward, leading him towards the man.

An old man stands in the middle of a clearing, hopping around on one leg, fist waving wildly in the air as he curses to himself. Arthur chuckles to himself, watching the man plop to the ground with a huff. He reaches down and rolls his pant leg up, revealing a stump where his leg should be.

Arthur frowns, slipping off Diablo and moving closer to the stranger. He’s barely got a chance to greet him before the man's whipping out his revolver, eyes narrowed in suspicion as Arthur approaches.

“I ain’t lookin’ for trouble, sonny.” The man tells him, pulling back the hammer of the gun.

Arthur puts his hands up in surrender, shaking his head, “I’m not lookin’ to cause any. Only wanted to see if you needed any help.”

The man’s eyes turn into thin slits, lips pursed as he eyes Arthur up and down. He looks the part of an outlaw, but right now the stranger doesn’t have much choice but to trust him. He lets out a heavy sigh and puts his gun down. “Hamish Sinclair,” he offers as an introduction. Arthur gives him his name and Hamish gives him a brief smile.

“Forgive my poor manners, don’t see much of anyone ‘cept those Murfree folk.”

Arthur shakes his head in dismissal, taking a step closer. “It’s fine. You wanna tell me what’s got you out here shoutin’ at the sky?” He can’t help the slight chuckle that slips out when he sees how Hamish’s shoulders slump in embarrassment.

“It’s my damn horse, Buell, bucked me off, took my leg with him.” He gestures vaguely behind Arthur with a huff, “ran off that way.” Arthur nods, grabbing his rope off Diablo and heading off. “Feel free to shoot him,” Hamish shouts from behind him, “bastard’s caused me enough trouble.”

Arthur laughs quietly to himself, Hamish reminds him a bit of you.

It doesn’t take long to find the horse. But Hamish wasn’t lying, he was a right bastard. It was more of a chore than Arthur thought it would be to get him lassoed and corraled back to the old man.

Hamish’s leg, as he’d promised, was still tucked into the stirrup, the wooden appendage waving in the wind as Buell stomped around. “Oh!” Hamish shouts, waving his hand as Arthur brings the horse forward. “Shoot the son of a bitch, I’ll go get me somethin’ nicer,” he mutters, reluctantly bringing a hand up to pet Buell’s nose.

Arthur offers Hamish a hand up, holding the wooden leg out for him to take. Hamish holds himself steady on a nearby rock and latches the leg back on. “Cannonball,” he says idly.

“Which war?”

“Civil, whatchu think?” Hamish snaps, narrowing his eyes at Arthur and shaking his head. “Named this damn thing,” he lays a heavy hand on Buell's side, “after my commander. They were both pains in my ass, and they both cost me my damn leg.” Hamish laughs at himself, swinging up onto the saddle and glancing down at Arthur. “Comin’ or not?”

Perhaps it’s the loss of Hosea that has Arthur following this man. Or maybe it’s just the need for a moment of escape. Either way, he finds himself mounting Diablo and following after him. “What were you doin’ out here, anyway?”

Hamish digs his heel into Buell’s side with a huff, driving the horse down a small path Arthur wouldn’t have found on his own. “I went out to get some bait. Got this pike that’s been eatin’ all the fish in my creek,” he turns and gives Arthur a wild grin over his shoulder. “I’m lookin’ to turn it into my dinner.”

A smile curls upon Arthur’s lips, something uninvited and unnoticed. Things in camp have been so tense, every conversation with you or Dutch just feels like a noose tightening around his neck. He’s being drawn in so many different directions that he’s forgotten what it feels like to just talk to someone without any ulterior motives. There’s no hidden message within Hamish’s gaze or underlying threat to his words. For right now, he can just ride and pretend that all is fine within his world.

“Can’t seem to get the damn thing on my own, maybe you’ll have better luck. You seem a touch spryer than myself.”

Arthur snorts and shoots the old man an amused look, “A touch?”

“Hey,” Hamish warns, tone light as he grins, “I may be weathered, but I can still take you down, sonny.” Arthur raises his hands in surrender, bowing his head in defeat as Hamish lets out a low chuckle. “Gotta say, been a while since I hollered at anyone ‘cept those Murfree boys. It’s quiet out here, that’s for sure.”

Arthur takes in the scenery around him. The way the sunlight just barely parts through the thick cover of trees and shines across the creek running beside them. The deer he can hear rustling off in the distance. There’s a whole other world around him, one he hasn’t been a part of in a very long time.

“Quiet’s what I’m looking for,” he mutters, not much thought behind the words as he makes note of a bunch of wildflowers. They look like some you used to pick for the tent.

“No point in quiet when you’re all alone,” Hamish chides softly, a heavy sadness hangs off his shoulders that Arthur’s not sure he’s ready to dissect. Hamish doesn’t leave him worrying for long, shooting Arthur a quick smile and shaking away the emotions. “Nearly there,” he tells him, nodding toward a clearing.

Wildflowers and rocks that reflect the midday sun surround a shimmering lake he’s never noticed on his travels. Arthur’s fingers twitch toward the journal in his satchel, the scene too perfect not to draw. Still, he doesn’t think Hamish would appreciate the interruption much.

Instead, he commits the image to memory. The quaint cabin that sits in the middle of it all, so unimposing it looks as though it had grown there like a tree. He’d have to draw it later, maybe even show it to you.

Hamish leads him around the cabin and orders him around like he’s spent all his life doing it. Arthur drags out the fishing poles and takes the boat off the shore. He laughs when Hamish slaps his hand away when he tries to help in the boat. And he laughs even harder when Hamish nearly topples over the edge in his stubborn fit.

The fishing itself is spent in silence. One of them occasionally breaking it by humming something or thinking they spotted movement in the water. It makes Arthur’s chest ache with a familiarity that’s a stranger to him. Yes, he used to do this with Hosea. But Hamish wasn’t Hosea, and there would never be anything to replace or soothe that gnawing pain of never being able to sit on a boat with him once more.

“There!” Hamish slaps his shoulder hard enough to force Arthur out of his spiraling grief. He nearly knocks him out of the boat as he starts frantically jumping up and down, arms pinwheeling to keep himself balanced. “There’s that bastard, whoo I got you now!” He hollers, lighting a stick of dynamite and tossing it into the water before Arthur knows what's happening.

He ducks, bracing himself as a ripple of water nearly puts the boat on its side. It’s quickly followed by a fin rising up in the water in the distance before disappearing once more. “My god,” Arthur gets to his feet, jaw gaping as he watches the behemoth of a fish swim away. Not once, has he ever faced a pike as large as that before. It could eat him.

“What’re you doin’, you fool? Reel it!” Hamish snaps, already lighting another stick of dynamite to force it back towards them. Arthur shakes off the silent astonishment and quickly grabs his fishing pole. It feels like a battle, hauling this fish toward them and finally killing it.

They must spend nearly an hour on those waters, blowing up half the lake just to haul a fish the size of Bill out of the water. Hamish is cackling and hollering the whole way back to his cabin. He goes on and on about how long that pike has been taunting him. How Arthur must be his goddamn lucky charm to have gotten it on their first day.

It’s only when Arthur lingers by the edge of Hamish’s doorway do either of them acknowledges the shared pain between them. Arthur doesn’t know exactly what Hamish lost in the war, but he knows it must be something just as bad as Arthur. There's a creeping loneliness that they both know neither one of them can fill. But that doesn’t mean they won’t try.

“You helped kill the bastard, sit down, I’ll cook up some of him for ya.” It’s an invitation that Arthur can’t deny. He gives Hamish a small smile, sitting down at his table while Hamish moves quickly through his cabin.

“Did I ever tell you,” Hamish starts, as though they’ve been friends long enough for Arthur to hear his stories. Arthur doesn’t object or interrupt, he leans back, eyes alert as he listens to everything Hamish tells him. Tales of the war, the time before, the time after. Arthur shares a little about himself, but for the most part, he’s content to let the old man talk.

That’s how most of their time together goes. When Arthur manages some time away from Dutch’s suspicious eyes, he goes to Hamish. He listens to his stories. And they use the excuse of hunting animals Hamish claims to be haunting him. It’s on his fourth visit that Arthur mentions you.

“I don’t get it. You’re big, strong, you gotta have someone.” Hamish pauses, glancing away from his fishing pole and narrowing his eyes at Arthur. “Don’t tell me I’m your only friend, son.”

Arthur chuckles a little, shaking his head. “I got a lady,” he tells him, reluctant for Hamish to know exactly what company he keeps. Hamish nods his head, giving him an expectant look. Arthur lets out a low sigh, rubbing his palms across his pants and shrugging. “She’s gorgeous,” Hamish lets out a disbelieving snort and Arthur shoots him a look. “Smart” he continues and it’s the first time he’s ever struggled to describe you.

Such simplistic terms don’t seem fitting for someone like you. If he had his journal, if he could show him a drawing of you, of the little bit of you he’s managed to capture on paper, maybe Hamish would understand. “And she’s a good person, a better one than I ever will be-”

“Then what’s she doin’ with a fool like you?” Hamish interrupts, snickering when he sees the irritated look on Arthur’s face.

“Weren’t you just tellin’ me what a catch I am?” Arthur snaps, eyes narrowed in amusement at the old man.

He shrugs, tugging slightly on the string of his fishing pole and huffing out a laugh. “Eh, she can’t be that great if she’s with someone like you.” Arthur straightens up but Hamish barrels on, paying him no mind. “Bring her down tonight. I’ll cook up whatever we catch here. It’ll give me something other than your ugly mug to look at.”

Arthur scoffs, “You are a piece of work, old man.”

Hamish waves him off, leaning back in the boat and smiling softly as he waits for a fish to bite his bait. Arthur shakes his head, looking back to the familiar blue waters and feeling something like contentment settle over him.

“You didn’t have to dress up,” Arthur tells you, holding his hand out to you. Perched atop Lady, you give his outstretched palm a long look before slowly settling your hand in his.

“I’d hardly call a corset and some nice pants dressing up, Arthur,” you tease. It’s the first time you’ve spoken to each other without there being some underlying current of tension to your conversation.

He leads you toward Hamish’s front door, smiling slightly when you stop to admire the garden at the side of the cabin. “I wanted to make a good impression,” you tell him, straightening up from where you’d been smelling some of the flowers. You give him a brief look out of the side of your eye before brushing dirt off the knees of your pants. “You’ve been talkin’ about him a lot and well,” you suck in a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “I know things have been hard after Guarma,” you can’t seem to look at him, eyes always darting away from his.

Arthur stays silent, worried anything he says will ruin the first honest conversation you two have had. “And everythin’ has been so odd between us." You take a step forward and Arthur follows, craving the closeness that has been so sorely lacking. Looking up, you finally manage to meet his eye. The hurt and frustration so plainly displayed on your face makes his stomach clench.

“I care about you, Arthur, deeply. And that’s not ever goin’ to change.” He expects there to be a ‘but,’ some clause added on that means he needs to change his ways. Or even you telling him that you just can’t handle this life anymore. He wouldn’t blame you if you told him that, but just the thought of it makes him hurt.

Instead, you give him a smile and lean up, pressing your lips timidly against his cheek. Your hands find his, squeezing slightly, like an assurance to you both that there’s still something to be saved between you.

Arthur can’t help himself as he turns his head, capturing your lips between his own and tugging you closer. You let out a short huff of laughter, smiling against his lips. It’s a chaste kiss, certainly one of the more demure ones you’ve shared. But it means more to him than he ever thought it would.

“What the hell are you two doin’?” You startle back from him, eyes wide as you turn. Hamish has his head peeked around the corner of his porch, a stern look on his face but a slight mischievous tilt to his lips. “I invited you to dinner, I didn’t need a show to come with it,” he scolds, but there’s no hiding the humor in his tone.

You bite your lip and move away from Arthur, though you let your hand linger in his as long as you can before you slip to the porch. “It’s nice to meet you,” you tell Hamish sheepishly.

“Hm,” Hamish shakes his head as he looks at you, “Can’t believe you let Arthur fool you into bein’ with him.” He grins at Arthur’s affronted scoff and nods you along. “Go on inside, fish is almost ready.” You send Arthur one last look before heading off.

Climbing the steps of the porch, Arthur lightly shoves at Hamish’s shoulder. “What’re you playin’ at, old man?”

Hamish shrugs, beckoning him inside, “I need somethin’ to entertain myself with.”

“How long have you been out here?” You ask Hamish as you settle down at his too-small table. He plates the fish and takes a seat across from Arthur, brow wrinkled as he thinks.

“Well,” he laughs lightly and shakes his head. “It’s been so damn long, I can’t quite remember. Probably longer than you’ve been walking, sweetheart.”

Your eyes round, something like concern flitting across your face. “All on your own?” Arthur pauses from where he’d been cutting into his meal, content to let you carry the conversation. He glances up at Hamish, gauging the look on his face.

Hamish’s solitary lifestyle has been something Arthur’s been avoiding talking about. He knows there’s something painful in Hamish’s past, something he does his best to keep quiet about. Arthur hasn’t wanted to push, too afraid that he’d ruined the good thing they had going.

But the look on the old man’s face isn’t defensive or angry. It’s soft, his eyes are sad as he looks nostalgic, as if thinking back to happier times. “All on my own,” he confirms and Arthur sees the way your expression slacks with sympathy. “Honestly, this cabin is starting to feel too big,” he admits, glancing around at the barren walls.

Where some would have family portraits, heirlooms, or memorabilia, Hamish has mounted deer and stuffed fish. There’s nothing besides a slightly dusty metal from the war to hint at what his life had once looked like. “It needs a family, or,” he glances back at you and smiles, “someone besides a sad old man.”

Hamish turns back to his meal and asks Arthur something, he responds vaguely, eyes still trained on your face. Your gaze has hardened as you glare down at the fish on your plate. There’s a wrinkle between your brows that he’s come to know as you plotting something. Whatever Hamish has said has given you an idea that Arthur’s not sure he wants a part of.

“Well, I’ll be damned!” Hamish shouts, jumping from his seat and running toward the window. “That goddamn bastard!”

You shoot Arthur a bewildered look and he shakes his head, standing up to join Hamish by the window. “What is it?”

“That boar! It’s back!” Hamish points to a vague shadow of a shape on the crest of the hill. It’s larger than any boar he’s ever seen, but Hamish seems to be cursed with animals of legendary size and vindictiveness. He runs from the window, grabs the rifle mounted above his fireplace, and runs toward the front door. “You better get a move on, boy, I ain’t waitin’ for ya!” He hollers over his shoulder, already whistling for Buell.

Arthur sighs and gives you an apologetic look. “I oughta make sure he don’t get himself killed.”

Smiling, you wave him along, “Go ahead, though,” you muse, glancing out the window, “it doesn’t look like he needs much help.” Arthur turns, letting out an aggrieved huff as he sees Hamish already shooting wildly at the beast.

“Won’t be long,” he promises as he rushes out the door.

He only vaguely hears your small, “I’ve heard that before.”

Arthur spots Buell grazing in a small patch of grass and leaves Diablo beside him. The two horses don’t seem to get along very well, but he’s more concerned with the trail of blood in the underbrush than them.

Kneeling down to investigate, he’s stopped by nearby shouting. “I’ve almost got him, Arthur, hurry-” Hamish’s voice is cut off by a loud cry of pain and a boar squeal that almost sounds like screaming.

Dirt flies up under Arthur’s boots as he races forward. He pushes through the thick foliage, stumbling out into an open area where Hamish lay sprawled on the ground. His body twitches, fingers weakly grasping at a dark, gaping wound in his stomach. Blood pools beneath him, soaking into the earth.

“Oh, Hamish, no,” Arthur mutters, dropping to his knees beside him. He presses his hands over the wound, trying to staunch the bleeding, but it’s no use. He can see it in the way Hamish struggles for breath, his chest stuttering with each ragged inhale.

Hamish lets out a shaky laugh, the sound wet and gurgling. “Flesh wound,” he croaks, though the blood trailing from the corner of his mouth says otherwise. His voice is strained, each word dragged from his throat like it pains him to speak. “I’m an old man, Arthur. This was bound to happen sooner or later.” Arthur wants to tell him to stop talking, to save his breath. But he’s seen death enough times to know there’s no coming back from this.

“Don’t,” Hamish chokes on his blood and flinches forward. Arthur props him up on his knee, still keeping his hand over the wound. It’s not doing anything except prolonging this, but he can’t find it within himself to let go. Hamish settles, lungs wheezing with effort. “Don’t be like me. Don’t die lonely.”

Arthur doesn’t have the chance to tell him he’s not alone before the light leaves his eyes. He finally takes his hands off of him, looking up as he hears squealing. He spots the boar in the underbrush and picks Hamish’s rifle up off the ground.

The trek back to the cabin is slow. Hamish’s body is slung over Diablo and Buell carries the boar. Arthur wonders if Buell knows that his master’s dead. If he can smell it, or if he even cares.

He leads them both toward the hitching post at the side of the home. He sees you watching in the window, eyes narrowed in on Hamish’s body before you disappear from view. Footsteps sound out on the porch as he slings the body over his shoulder and walks it toward the clearing of wildflowers.

“What happened?” You call out, voice soft as you join him.

“Boar,” he answers shortly. He doesn’t have the patience to speak. He’s faced and caused death hundreds of times, but something about this feels like a slap in the face. It wasn’t enough that he had to lose Lenny and Hosea and then watch as what used to be his family falls apart. He had to drag Hamish into his problems, had to loop you into this business.

He knew, when his mother died and when his son died, that he was cursed to lose everyone he loved. That he would never be allowed a happy, or a simple life. And yet, like the fool he is, he keeps trying. He keeps trying to allow himself a sliver of peace or happiness.

You hand Arthur a shovel as he sets Hamish down on the ground and he starts to dig. Until the sun sets and the moon is high in the sky, he digs a grave for Hamish. You stand there with him the whole night, never saying a word, and for that he’s grateful. He’s learned that it's better not to have to do something like this alone.

When he’s done, and Hamish is six feet deep, facing the east so he can see the rising sun, he leads you back to the cabin. It’s a comfortable quiet as you help him rinse the dirt and blood off his hands. You take the clothes he stores on Diablo and bring them to him, convincing him to just stay at the cabin for the night.

He’s too tired to understand the concentrated look on your face, but there’s something niggling at the back of his mind. A sort of intuition he usually wouldn’t ignore but can’t bother with tonight. “Good night, Arthur,” you whisper but he’s already asleep before he can say it back.

When he wakes up, you’re sitting at the table, writing something on a scrap piece of paper. You turn slightly, smiling briefly at him before going back to the paper. “What’re you writin’?” He asks, sitting up in bed and stretching out the soreness from digging for so long.

Your shoulders tense up, expression going blank before carefully reconstructing itself into something pleasant. Placing the pen down, you slide the paper away from yourself and turn fully to face him.

“Eagle Flies is dead.” Your voice is clipped, emotion buried beneath steel. “Dutch was at the heart of it all. He didn’t just destroy a tribe and a family for nothing but his own gain, he left you for dead.”

Arthur grimaces, shooting you a sharp look. “I don’t need the reminder-”

“I think you do, Arthur.” Your tone hardens, cutting through his defensiveness. “Charles is devastated. He won’t stay with the gang much longer after this. That’s who the letter’s for,” you say, nodding toward the paper on the table. “I need to tell him some things before he disappears for good.”

Arthur watches you carefully. There’s something else behind your words, something bigger than just grief over Eagle Flies. A knot of unease tightens in his stomach.

“John and Abigail are leaving soon,” you continue, voice steady but insistent. “They won’t risk Jack getting caught up in Dutch’s mess. Sadie’s been itching to go off on her own for a while-”

“What’re you gettin’ at?” Arthur snaps, frustration creeping in. He’s tired, exhausted from everything, and you dragging this out isn’t helping.

You inhale sharply, rolling your shoulders back as if bracing yourself. “I want to stay here.” Your expression is unreadable, your voice flat. “Here or anywhere else, but I am not going back to that camp. I won’t.”

Arthur stiffens, dragging a hand down his face before swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He tugs his shirt back on with sharp, jerking movements, frustration simmering beneath his skin. “You want me to just leave?”

You shake your head, voice calm but firm. “I want you to do what you need to do.”

Arthur doesn’t believe that. He can’t accept that you would be so calm giving him permission to leave again. He searches for an ulterior motive, for some hidden tone to your words, even though he knows there won’t be one. “They’re my only family. You expect me to just walk away?”

Your expression softens, but he can see it in your eyes, the steel behind each word. Your resolve isn’t bending, you won’t be changing your mind anytime soon. “I expect you to decide for yourself, for once.” You step closer to him and he feels two ideals, two lives, warring against each other in the back of his mind.

“You’ve spent your whole life followin’ someone else’s lead- Dutch’s, Hosea’s.” Arthur wants to leave before he has to listen to anymore, not ready to confront the truth. “Even now, you’re just tryin’ to hold it all together because you think you have to.”

Arthur swallows hard, “It ain’t that simple,” he argues, even though, deep down, it truly is.

“It is,” you counter gently, voice calm like you’re soothing a bucking horse. “I’m not tellin’ you to abandon anyone. But you know how this ends,” the look in your eyes shifts. It changes from something earnest to the distant gaze of someone whose sick and tired of marking new graves. “You’ve always known.”

Arthur sucks in a sharp breath, his jaw tightening as he turns away from you. If he doesn’t meet your eyes, maybe he won’t have to face the truth in them.

But you’re stubborn as all hell and you never know when to quit. “I’m stayin’ here. This is my choice. And I’ll be here when you get back,” you pause, your last words quieter, “if you choose to come back.”

Arthur hesitates by the door. There’s so much hanging over the gang, the Pinkertons, Cornwall, Dutch’s tightening grip. Even if they all wanted to leave, Dutch would never let them. And Arthur…

Arthur has to see this through.

“I have to go.” His voice is quiet, resigned.

“Then go,” you tell him as if it’s the simplest idea in the world.

He lingers a moment before stepping through the door. He doesn’t look back, but he knows what he’s fighting for now. What he’s fighting to come back to.

Arthur rides into camp, his gut twisted with unease. He’s not sure what he was expecting, certainly not an idyllic scene, but the sight before him still takes the breath from his lungs.

Molly lies sprawled in the dirt, blood soaking the earth beneath her. Mrs. Grimshaw hovers over her body, shotgun in hand and the barrel still smoking. Her face is unreadable. The rest of the gang looks at her in stunned silence, some horrified, others grim.

“She said,” Susan mutters, voice hoarse. “She said she sold us out. Gave us up to the Pinkertons.”

Arthur’s stomach drops. He steps forward, his voice low and urgent. “No, she didn’t,” he looks at Molly, the flickering light of the fire dancing across her lifeless face. He turns his gaze to the real snake in their midst. “It was Micah.”

Mrs. Grimshaw pales and Micah scoffs. “Oh, give me a goddamn break.” He leans lazily against a post, arms crossed over his chest, a smirk tugging at his lips. His eyes are alight with amusement as if this is all some great joke to him. “You’re graspin’, Morgan. I get it, you need someone to blame, and Molly’s already dead, so why not pin it on me?”

Arthur’s jaw clenches, “I see you for what you are, you rat bastard.”

Micah just shrugs, cocky as ever. Mrs. Grimshaw, though, in all of her wisdom and unflinching loyalty, sees right through him. Her eyes narrow and she comes to stand beside Arthur, “Arthur’s right.”

That’s all it takes. The shift on Micah’s face is instantaneous. The gunshot rings out before Arthur can even react. Mrs. Grimshaw jerks back, her body crumpling to the ground. Blood seeps through her blouse and spreads across her chest.

The camp erupts. Shouts ring out, insults are thrown, and guns are pulled by people who had once called each other friend and brother. Dutch steps forward, getting between Arthur and Micah, his hands raised, eyes darting between them both. Arthur can’t read his face. It’s calm on the surface, but beneath it, something fragile and uncertain lingers.

Micah steps back, but he isn’t alone. Bill and Javier fall in beside him, weapons drawn.

John pushes Abigail and Jack behind him. Charles and Sadie round up the rest of the women, dragging John’s family off as they lead them to the horses to flee. John meets Arthur’s eyes, and there’s no hesitation. He grabs his revolver and steps to Arthur’s side.

Arthur breathes out sharply, giving Dutch one last chance. “You can still do this,” he tells him, voice raw. “You can still make this right, Dutch. You can stop this.”

Dutch’s face twists, pain, doubt, anger, all flickering at once. He shakes his head slowly. “I thought of you as a son, Arthur.” His voice is quiet, barely above a whisper. Then louder, firmer, “I can’t believe you’d betray us.”

Before Arthur can say another word, the Pinkertons ride in, guns blazing. Chaos takes hold of the camp as Micah takes his eyes off of him to start shooting at the others. Arthur doesn’t hesitate, grabbing John as they bolt for their horses. Bullets fly past them, grazing against their clothes and nearly nicking them. Pinkertons certainly aren’t good shots.

They mount the horses, racing through the woods. The sound of gunfire and shouting follows behind them before slowly fading. They can’t afford to slow down or stop, wordless as they push their horses harder and faster than the animals can stand.

They don’t stop until they reach the base of a mountain. The money’s nearby, stashed away in Dutch’s greed-fueled paranoia. It’s their only chance of making something out of this mess. Arthur can’t afford to let Dutch and the other’s get to it first.

Arthur dismounts and John follows. “This is it,” Arthur turns toward John, placing his hand on his shoulder. “You take the money, you get Abigail and Jack outta here. Make somethin’ of yourself.”

John frowns, shaking his head. “Arthur, I ain’t-”

“Go,” Arthur’s voice is firm. The finality of it stops John short. “I’ll hold ‘em off.”

John hesitates, and Arthur knows how desperately he wants to stand beside him and fight. To prove that he’s more than a coward. But he knows better than to argue, and he knows he can’t leave his family behind. He gives a short nod and starts running.

Arthur begins his climb up the mountain, hoping to find a vantage point to hold the Pinkertons and the others off. He’s not far when he hears them behind him. Turning, he sees Micah and Dutch closing in.

Micah grins, “Should’ve run while you had the chance, Morgan.”

White hot fury floods through Arthur’s veins, it pushes him forward and he lunges at Micah, grappling him to the ground. Micah lets out a wheeze, his blackened lungs not prepared for the attack. He doesn’t hesitate, bringing his fist down until he feels bones crunch under the force of his hand.

Micah struggles against him, kicking him off and struggling to his feet. Arthur lets him get up and then he goes after him again. He pins him against the wall of rock behind them both, letting his rage drive him forward as he hammers against his face. Micah keeps gasping for air, arms rising feebly in defense only to get knocked down again.

A click echoes through the cold air and Arthur freezes, dropping Micah and letting him slump to the dirt. His eye is purpled, swollen completely shut and Arthur almost can’t recognize him anymore.

He turns, finding Dutch standing behind him, gun aimed at his chest.

For a long, silent moment, they just stare at each other. Dutch’s finger hovers over the trigger and Arthur just watches. He sees the conflict in Dutch’s eyes, the doubt warring with years of manipulation and ego.

But in the end, Dutch does what he always does.

He runs away.

Micah groans, nails digging into the dirt as he struggles for air. Arthur doesn’t bother finishing him off. He watches Dutch disappear into the night and leave them both behind. Breathing slowly, his chest heaving, Arthur turns away from Micah and leaves him to rot.

The ride back to the cabin is slow. Every muscle in Arthur’s body aches, his lungs burning with each breath, but for the first time in a long while, he’s not carrying the weight of the gang on his shoulders. It’s over. Dutch is gone. Micah is as good as dead. The life he’s known has fallen apart, but he’s still here. And he’s free.

He crests the final hill, the cabin coming into view, and there you are- waiting.

You’re not crying with worry or pacing in anger that he left again. You stand, arms crossed, watching the road like you always knew he’d come back.

Arthur exhales, something in his chest easing at the sight of you. He slows Diablo to a stop, dismounting with a grunt of pain. You don’t rush over to him and demand to know what happened, or how he got the fresh bruises littering his skin. The both of you have always known that the only way this was going to end was bloody. Arthur looks up and you hold his gaze, waiting for him.

Waiting for him to finally decide. The outlaw life, or this new one with you.

He takes a step toward you, and you stay still as a statue, another and he’s nearly on top of you. You don’t move away or take a step back, you peer up at him, meeting his gaze expectantly. “It’s over,” he tells you simply.

You nod, nothing gleeful or victorious on your face that you finally got him right where you wanted. You’re not Dutch, this was never about controlling him, he realizes that now. Without his loyalty blinding him, he can finally understand that you were only ever trying to help him. “I know,” your voice is calm as your eyes rove over his face.

A silence stretches between you, heavy with words left unsaid. Then, slowly, Arthur lifts his hand toward you. You don’t pull away, and when his fingers brush your waist, you sigh, your shoulders easing like you’ve been holding yourself together for too long. Arthur doesn’t waste any more time pulling you in close to him, the both of you holding each other up.

Arthur breathes out slowly, resting his forehead against yours and pulling you as close as he can get. Your hands come up, gripping his shirt like you’re trying to make sure he doesn’t slip away. But he knows he won’t, not ever again.

For the first time in what feels like forever, Arthur allows himself to feel real and true hope. He keeps you tight in his embrace, and you bury your face in his neck, he can feel your lashes flutter against his neck as they finally close and you relax against him. He’ll make something of this second chance. He’ll become a man you can be proud to call your own.

As the sun rises, casting its golden light over the both of you, Arthur finally leaves behind his old life, to begin this new one with you.

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

@m1stea @pokiona @fleouris @soupvender00 @warmsideofthepillow03

@whimsiwitchy @cloudywithachanceofcrisis @martinys-world

#Arthur Morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan imagine #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 x reader #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 x you #rdr2 x reader #rdr2 imagine #rdr2 #Hell Hath No Fury

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nameless-jamie · 2 days ago

Text

The Hangover Helper

Masterlist

Jamie Tartt x fem! PA reader

TW: cursing, suggestive scenes

7:32 AM – Jamie Tartt’s Flat

Y/N knew exactly what she was walking into before she even stepped inside.

The second she opened the door (thankfully, she remembered to use the spare key Jamie had given her after the fourth time he lost his own), she was hit with the overwhelming stench of tequila, regret, and expensive cologne.

The place was a disaster.

Clothes on the floor. A half-eaten kebab on the coffee table. A single sock dangling from the ceiling fan—she didn’t even wanna ask.

And then, from the depths of his bedroom, came the unmistakable sound of a dying man.

She sighed, rolling her eyes. Here we go.

With her coffee in one hand and zero patience in the other, she made her way to his room, nudging the door open with her foot.

And there he was.

Jamie Tartt. Top half covered, bottom half naked...as usual.

Premier League footballer. Richmond’s golden boy. A man so dramatic he made Shakespeare look like a realist.

Currently, he was face-down in his pillows, covered by half a blanket, groaning like he’d been personally cursed by the gods.

“Oh my god,” he mumbled, voice muffled. “Close the door. It’s too loud an' bright.”

She scoffed. “Jamie, the door is silent. You’re hungover, not a vampire.”

Another groan. “I might be. Feels like I’m dyin’.”

She took a long, deliberate sip of her coffee. “Good. Serves you right.”

Jamie peeked one bloodshot eye out from his cocoon of suffering. “That’s well cruel. What happened to ‘in sickness and in health,’ eh?”

She snorted. “That’s marriage, Jamie. I’m your assistant, not your wife.”

Jamie smirked weakly. “Dunno. Feels like we’re emotionally married at this point. You've already kissed me that one time, remember?”

“I told you it was an accident, Jamie! I wasn't in the right state of mind. You said it's okay and that you won't mention it again! God, if I were your wife I'd want a divorce.”

He rolled his eyes and mumbled something along the lines of "How do you even kiss someone 'on accident'" into his pillow

She ignored him and clapped her hands. “C’mon, superstar, time to get up.”

Jamie groaned louder, dramatically flopping onto his back. “Can’t. Won’t. Refuse.”

“You have training.”

“I have a headache.”

“Your fault.”

“You’re mean.”

“You’re annoying.”

Jamie pouted, fully committing to his dramatics. “I thought you were supposed to take care of me.”

She crossed her arms. “I do. Every day. Which is why I know you have exactly seven minutes before I call Roy and tell him you’re too hungover to come in.”

Jamie bolted upright.

His head immediately regretted it.

“Fuck,” he winced, grabbing his temples. “Don’t be evil.”

She grinned. “Then move your fine ass.”

Jamie huffed, flopping back down. “Alright. But you gotta help me.”

“Help you what?”

He smirked that smirk, eyes half-lidded and full of mischief. “Get dressed. I’m all weak an’ vulnerable, babe.”

She rolled her eyes so hard they almost fell out of her skull. “You literally run ten miles in a match, Jamie.”

He made grabby hands. “Too hungover. You gotta do it.”

She threw a pillow at his face.

Jamie cackled, but it quickly turned into a pained groan as his head protested the movement.

“Christ,” he muttered, rubbing his temples. “Never lettin’ Jack Daniels win again.”

She sat on the edge of the bed, sighing. “How bad is it?”

Jamie dramatically collapsed onto her lap, throwing an arm over his eyes.

“Swear down, I’d die without ya,” he mumbled, half-asleep already.

Her heart stuttered, but she refused to let him know that.

Instead, she poked his forehead. “You wouldn’t. You’d just be late to training and piss off Roy.”

Jamie sighed, sinking deeper into her lap, voice all sleepy and soft.

“Same thing, innit?”

She let out a small breath, barely suppressing a smile as she ran her fingers through his messy hair.

“Alright, drama queen,” she muttered, nudging his shoulder. “If I make you coffee, will you actually get up?”

Jamie peeked up at her, grinning lazily. “Only if you drink it with me in bed.”

She scoffed. “Not happening.”

“Then I ain’t movin’.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Fine. I’ll just text Roy then.”

Jamie immediately sat up. “Fuckin’ hell, woman. You’re ruthless.”

She smirked. “And yet, you’d die without me?”

Jamie stretched his arms over his head, his shirt riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of his abs. He definitely did that on purpose.

“Yeah, well,” he said, giving her a slow, sleepy grin, “at least I’d die lookin’ at somethin’ pretty.”

She rolled her eyes again, trying to ignore the warmth creeping up her neck.

“You’re insufferable,” she muttered, standing up.

Jamie flopped back onto the bed, making a dramatic show of reaching for her. “Don’t leave me, love.”

She turned around in the doorway, shaking her head. “I’ll be back with coffee. Make some room in bed for me.”

Jamie sighed. “You’re an angel.”

“And you’re a pain in my ass.”

Jamie grinned. “You love it.”

She didn’t answer.

Because, unfortunately for her, he might actually be right.

#ted lasso #jamie tartt #jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt imagine #sam obisanya #afc richmond #ted lasso show #roy kent

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iamquiantrelle · 3 days ago

Text

GOLDEN BOY (chapter 3)────── iamquaintrelle

⌗ pairing : trent alexander arnold x black oc

⌗ summary : trent is having a quarter life crisis but will a smart-mouthed girl whip him into shape?

⌗ warnings : 18+ only!! (☁️☔️💕)

⌗taglist: @trentswrld, @trentpov @judesvirtual @sailurmewn @football-and-fanfics @eriks-girl @preetykookie @4ngryssgf @endlessmuse @noturbabe22, @sucredreamer @bbgkoo @hollablkgrl @notzara @chrisoppar

Losing to Spurs was one thing. Getting subbed on at half-time just to watch Son curl one into the top corner? That was another level of violation. The gaffer's words still rang in his ears - "need more energy," "push the line higher," all that chat.

Trent slouched in his seat on the team bus, hood pulled up, trying to ignore the quiet murmur of conversations around him. Virgil was giving some interview over the phone about "maintaining perspective" and "focusing on the next match." Easy to say when you'd played the full ninety, wasn't it?

His phone buzzed - probably his mum again, ready with another "head up love" message. Or Tyler wanting to dissect his minutes like they did after every match these days. Or maybe-

April: Nice cameo. At least your legs looked good in those shorts.

His stomach did that weird flip thing again. They hadn't properly talked since that night at Baltic Market, just the occasional message taking the piss out of each other. But every notification from her had him feeling like a kid checking if his crush had texted back.

Trent: Watching me play now are you?

April: Had to see what I'm working with for the shoot next week. April: Though after that performance… might need to rethink the concept. April: Maybe we focus on your face instead 😘

Cheeky. Even after a loss, she was out here trying to wind him up. And the worst part? It was working.

Trent: Getting brave behind that phone aren't you?

April: Always brave baby. You're the one who bottled it at Baltic.

His cheeks heated at the memory. The way she'd mugged him off, leaving him standing there like a sap after he'd suggested going home together. Those curls bouncing as she walked away, that jumpsuit doing criminal things to his imagination. He'd barely slept that night, replaying every moment in his head like some lovesick teenager.

Trent: Didn't bottle anything. You're the one who ran away.

April: That what you think? April: Interesting theory. April: Still thinking about those curls though?

Fuck. Am I that obvious?

The bus hit a pothole, jolting him out of his April-induced trance. Robbo was giving him a weird look from across the aisle, probably wondering why he was grinning at his phone after a loss like that.

"You alright mate? Looking flushed."

"Just tired," Trent muttered, turning back to his phone. But his mind was racing. Had she been playing him this whole time? Testing him maybe? That night at Baltic, the way she'd challenged him about everything - his accent, his image, his career. Like she was trying to see what he was made of.

April: Maker's Studio. Tuesday. 2pm. April: Don't be late.

His brain immediately went places it shouldn't. Especially not on a team bus after a loss, with Robbo's suspicious eyes still on him.

Trent: Still trying to get me naked?

April: Please. April: When I want you naked, you'll know. April: Besides, thought you were scared of my camera?

Christ. The way she could switch from professional to pure trouble in the space of one message. Had him twisted up inside.

The rest of the journey passed in a blur of April's messages and his increasingly frustrated attempts to keep his mind out of the gutter. By the time they pulled into Melwood, he was wound up, thinking about Tuesday and whatever she had planned.

"Trent!" Robbo's voice cut through his thoughts. "You coming or what? Some of us have families to get home to."

"Yeah yeah, give me a minute."

Around him, the lads were gathering their bags, some already heading for their cars. Virgil had finished his interview and was now deep in conversation with Joe about some tactical thing Trent should probably be paying attention to, but his eyes were glued to his screen as three dots appeared.

April: Sweet dreams pretty boy. Try not to think about me too much. April: Though those marks have probably faded by now… April: Shame. Might need to refresh them soon.

His collar suddenly felt too tight. Those hickeys had finally disappeared, but he swore he could still feel where they'd been, like she'd marked him.

"Trent!" Robbo again, now standing over him. "What's got you so distracted? Better not be that OnlyFans girl Ty was warning us about–"

"Shut up," Trent laughed, finally standing up. But his mind was racing. Tuesday couldn't come fast enough.

Back in his car, he sat for a moment, thumb hovering over the keyboard. Fuck it.

Trent: Only if you promise to aim lower this time.

April: Is that a challenge, Alexander-Arnold? April: Because you should know by now… April: I never back down from those.

Too late for that whole 'not thinking about her' thing, wasn't it?

The drive home was a blur of streetlights and his mind wandering to dangerous places. Whatever she had planned, whatever game she was playing… he was all in.

His phone buzzed one last time as he pulled into his driveway.

April: PS - Wear pants that fit you well. April: Since that's all I'm letting you keep on.

Fucking hell.

Even the loss to Spurs didn't sting as much anymore. How could it, when all he could think about was Tuesday and whatever chaos April had in store for him?

He was starting to live for that chaos. Starting to crave it, even. The way she kept him on his toes, never knowing if she was going to build him up or tear him down.

Maybe Tyler had been right. Maybe he did need someone who didn't treat him like TAA, Liverpool's golden boy. Someone who saw past all that and still wanted to take the piss.

Or maybe he was just twisted. Either way, Tuesday couldn't come soon enough.

Nothing like a 4-0 against Accrington Stanley to get your head right. Trent's goal was still playing on repeat in his mind - caught it sweet from outside the box, right into the top bins. Even had the Kop singing his name again.

The rental space April had found was fancy, all modern art on exposed brick walls and windows bigger than his first flat. Tyler had been in his ear all week about their "creative direction" or whatever, but Trent wasn't worried about all that. He was more focused on April's texts that had been driving him insane - little digs about oiling him up for the camera, asking if he'd been doing his crunches.

When he walked in, she was bent over her camera setup, wearing ripped jeans that should've been illegal and some massive Rolling Stones jumper that kept slipping off one shoulder. Her hair was trying to escape its bun, curls going everywhere like they had a mind of their own.

"Look who finally showed up," she said without looking up. "Heard you had yourself a game yesterday."

"Scored an absolute worldie, didn't I?"

"Against Accrington Stanley." Now she did look up, that smirk playing at her lips. "My nan could score against them."

There was a clothes rack in the corner - nothing fancy, just basic stuff. No designer labels or statement pieces. Dead simple, like she was trying to strip away all the flash.

"Strip," she said, still fiddling with her camera.

"What?"

"Just your shirt, you idiot. Unless…" She looked up now, those eyes dancing with mischief. "You still bricking it?"

"Not scared of anything, me." He pulled his shirt off, trying to act casual while her eyes did a slow crawl over his chest that had his skin burning.

"Shame about the locs though," she said suddenly, tilting her head. "Why'd you cut them?"

The question caught him off guard. No one ever asked that - they just assumed he was "cleaning up his image" or whatever other bullshit the papers came up with.

"Just fancied a change," he shrugged, but April's eyes narrowed.

"Nah, there's more to it. The way your jaw just tensed? Dead giveaway."

He sighed, running a hand over his shorter hair. "Just got tired of the comments. 'Bit urban for Liverpool's golden boy' and all that shit."

"Ah." Her face softened slightly. "The classic microaggressions. Get that a lot myself in this industry. 'You're so well-spoken' and all that."

"Yeah well… get enough of that without the locs. Too black for some, not black enough for others. Proper mad how everyone's got an opinion on what you should be when you're mixed."

"'Are you black or like… black black?'" April mimicked, rolling her eyes. "Or my personal favorite - 'you must get your creativity from your white side.'"

Trent snorted. "Mad how they think being mixed means you can't be fully anything. Like my mum being white somehow cancels out everything else."

"Society's fucked, isn't it?" April picked up her camera. "But at least you've got good bone structure. Now turn left a bit - need to catch that jawline properly."

Just like that, she was back to business. But something had shifted slightly. Like they'd recognized something in each other, some shared experience that went beyond the flirting and banter.

"These aren't going to be too artistic, are they?" he asked as she adjusted his pose. "Don't fancy seeing my face in some gallery."

"Nah, just clean shots. Show the real you, not what everyone expects Liverpool's golden boy to be."

The way she said it - mocking but understanding at the same time. Like she got it. Got him.

Maybe that's why it was so easy to relax around her, even half-naked in front of her camera. She saw past all the labels, all the expectations. Saw him as just… Trent.

"Hold that pose," April said, then paused. "Isn't your dad's Jamaican?"

"Yeah, family's in Kingston. Why?"

Her grin widened. "Wag wan then, bredrin?"

"Yuh dun know," Trent laughed, genuinely surprised. "Your people yard too?"

"Mum's family's from Portmore. Small world, huh?" She snapped a few more shots. "No wonder you can handle the spice. Though that accent's proper scouse."

The shoot wrapped quicker than he expected, April's efficiency matching her chat. She gestured him over to her laptop, flicking through the raw shots.

"Need some editing obviously, but…"

"Nah these are sick." And they were - nothing pretentious or artsy, just him looking… real. Natural.

"Could be better if you'd gotten naked though."

Trent's head snapped up, but she was already packing away her gear, that mischievous smirk playing at her lips.

"Still on about that?"

"Always." She turned, properly looking at him now. "You trying to get in my pants too, Alexander-Arnold?"

"Maybe."

"Bold. I'm a wild girl though." Her voice dropped lower, all that playful energy suddenly gone. This wasn't April the photographer anymore, or even April taking the piss. This was something else entirely - a warning and an invitation all at once.

"I'm a wild boy."

She actually laughed at that, but it wasn't her usual take-the-piss laugh. This was darker, like she knew something he didn't. "Please. You couldn't handle me."

"Try me."

The words came out more confident than he felt, but fuck it. Something about the way she was looking at him - like a cat that had cornered its prey but was deciding whether to play with it first.

"Okay," she shrugged, but those eyes were pure danger now. "I warned you though. Free this weekend?"

His heart actually skipped. Proper teenage behavior. "Yeah."

"I'll text you then." She shouldered her bag, that predatory smile still playing at her lips. Every movement calculated, like she knew exactly what she was doing to his head. "Try not to think about me too much until then."

Too late for that, wasn't it?

He watched her walk away, remembering how she'd left him hanging at Baltic Market. But this time felt different. This time she wasn't testing him - she was hunting him.

And fuck him if he didn't want to be caught.

The address April sent him was in some dodgy part of London he'd never been to before. Like proper sketch - the kind of place his Range Rover looked well out of place. No restaurants nearby, no posh shops, just warehouses and old buildings with blacked-out windows.

23B Blackwall Lane.

No sign. No queue. Just a massive guy in black standing outside a door that looked like it hadn't been opened since the 80s.

"ID," the guard grunted. Then, after checking it: "Arms up."

"You taking the piss?"

But no, man actually started patting him down like he was going through customs. Christ. What had April gotten him into?

"Miss Goodplenty's guest?" A woman appeared, all long hair and red lipstick. Looked out of place against the grimy walls.

"Yeah."

She handed him a tablet. "Sign these."

"What am I signing?"

"Non-disclosure agreement. And a waiver stating the club isn't responsible for any... injuries."

Any what now?

His eyes scanned the document. Words like "consensual" and "physical activity" and "binding agreement" jumped out at him.

Fucking hell.

But he'd already come this far, hadn't he? And something about the way April had added cheeky emojis when she sent the address... like she knew exactly what she was doing to his head.

He signed.

The door opened to darkness and bass so heavy he could feel it in his chest. As his eyes adjusted, he realized where he was.

Oh.

OH.

Real sus that April hadn't mentioned this was a sex club.

Bodies everywhere - some clothed, some... definitely not. Red lights casting shadows that left just enough to the imagination. Private rooms with heavy curtains. A dance floor that looked more like an orgy waiting to happen.

His phone buzzed.

April: Third floor. Room 7.

April: Don't keep me waiting.

April: And don't look so scared, pretty boy. Nobody bites.

April: Unless you ask nicely 😘

Christ.

Trent's designer shirt and jeans felt about as subtle as a police siren in this place. Everyone else was either half-naked or dressed in leather. Some woman walked past in what looked like actual diamonds and not much else. Just walking around tits and pussy out like this was just another Saturday.

A waitress appeared at his elbow - a pin-up model type in lingerie and a garter belt that left nothing to the imagination. "Drink?"

"Uh..." Real smooth, that.

"First time?" She smiled knowingly, adjusting stockings. "Don't worry love, everyone's nervous their first night."

Another waitress drifted past balancing a tray of champagne, wearing what had to be vintage Agent Provocateur and heels that could probably kill a man. The whole place was like some mad fever dream - all red velvet and gold accents and women who looked like they'd stepped out of a 1950s Playboy.

His phone buzzed again.

April: You look proper lost down there 😂

April: Still waiting...

April: Unless you're too scared?

Cheeky girl was watching him. He looked up, trying to spot her, but the upper floors were all shadows and private booths.

A couple stumbled past him, giggling, clothes disheveled. What was April playing at, bringing him here?

His phone lit up one more time.

April: Tick tock, Alexander-Arnold.

April: Or should I find someone else to play with?

That got his feet moving. Third floor. Room 7.

What kind of posh sex club didn't have lifts? The staircase was all Victorian gothic, wrought iron railings and dim lighting that cast weird shadows on the walls. Some couple was going at it against the wall between the first and second floor, and Trent had to squeeze past them like it was normal. Could hear all sorts through the doors he passed - moans and music and what sounded like... was that a whip?

His legs were burning by the second floor. Each step revealed more sounds he'd rather not think about. Weird how normal everyone seemed about it all - like they were at some dinner party instead of... whatever this was.

Room 7 had a fancy door, all dark wood and gold numbers. His knuckles had barely touched it when it swung open.

"Wow- I- April..." His brain short-circuited completely.

The leather outfit she wore gave him a clear view of the tops of her breasts and had various cutouts throughout that showed glimpses of her skin. Her curls were wilder than usual, framing her face like some kind of dark halo.

"It's Madam here," she said curtly, stepping aside to let him in.

Madam?

The room was nothing like he'd expected. Luxe with some BDSM type stuff hanging on the wall, a chaise in a corner, and massive windows overlooking the club below. A small dining table was set up in one corner, complete with fancy china and champagne on ice.

"Sit," she gestured to the chair near the window. "How are you feeling?"

"Bit shocked if I'm honest." He could see the dance floor below, bodies moving in the dim light.

That laugh again - the same one from their first meeting, breaking through her stern façade. "Told you I was a wild girl, didn't I?" She moved closer, her voice dropping low enough to make his skin tingle. "Still think you're a wild boy?"

For once in his life, Trent Alexander-Arnold was speechless.

"You're just green," she smiled, something softer in her eyes now. "When we get started on some things, you'll be fine." His eyes must've gone wide because she laughed again. "Not tonight obviously." She settled into the chair opposite him. "Tonight we talk, have dinner. Very vanilla. I'll tell you all the dirty things I like, you tell me yours. And then if you want to keep it going, we can."

"And if I don't?" His voice came out steadier than he felt.

"Then you leave," she shrugged. "We never have to bring it up again. Just continue on with our work relationship."

Simple as that. Except nothing about April had ever been simple, had it?

"So how'd you get into all this?" Trent asked, watching as April poured them both some champagne.

"Photography or the other stuff?" Her eyes glinted mischievously.

"You know which one."

"Same way anyone finds their thing, I suppose." She settled in her chair. "Tried it, loved it, kept going. Speaking of..." She tilted her head, studying him. "Those marks I left on you. How'd that make you feel?"

The champagne suddenly felt thick in his throat. "I... liked them."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Proper liked them actually."

"Mmm." She took a slow sip of champagne. "Tell me how you usually are then. In bed."

"I take charge mostly," he said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. "Do the leading and that."

"So you do the bending?" She smirked over her glass.

"Yeah."

"But does that satisfy you? Like for real?" Her foot found his leg under the table, sliding up slowly. "Does it feel amazing you taking all of the control or..." she paused, watching his reaction, "do you need someone to be in charge sometimes?"

He laughed nervously, hand tightening around his glass. "Never thought about it before. I mean I do like little choke while I stroke but nothing like..." he gestured around the room.

"Okay so this can be your last visit here."

"You'll do that?" The words came out before he could stop them.

"Yeah," she said softly, something genuine breaking through her dominant persona. "It's about your pleasure too, Trent."

Mother of Christ.

"I should probably tell you what I'm into," April continued, leaning forward slightly. "I'm a dom - that means I like control. All of it."

"Like what you did with the..." Trent gestured to his neck.

"Marking you up? That's just the start. I like restraints, commands, proper domination." She studied his face. "You said you like choking?"

"Yeah," he admitted, feeling his face heat. "Gets me proper going."

"What else?"

"I dunno... never really explored much. Been curious though."

"About?"

"Just... different things. Being told what to do maybe." He couldn't believe he was saying this out loud.

"Good," she smiled. "Because I'm not a switch."

"A what?"

"Someone who goes back and forth between dom and sub. When we're in the bedroom, I'm in charge. Simple as that."

His mouth felt dry. "And if I wanted to try..."

"We start slow. Build trust. But first," she leaned back, "you need to get checked."

"What?"

"Full panel. I don't do condoms."

His eyes went wide. "Raw? That's..." Risky. Mental. Completely hot. "Actually one of my fantasies."

"Of course it is," she laughed. "You're such a boy. But yes - once we're both cleared, no barriers between us."

His brain was already going places it shouldn't.

"You're thinking about it now, aren't you?" That predatory smile was back.

"Maybe."

"Good. Keep thinking about it. But remember..." she stood up, moving behind his chair. Her lips brushed his ear as she whispered, "I'm going to ruin you for anyone else."

A knock at the door made Trent jump slightly. April just smirked, crossing the room with that confident stride that had his eyes following her every move.

The same pin-up waitress from downstairs wheeled in a proper feast - some posh looking steak for him, seafood linguine for April.

"You ordered for me?"

"I do that sometimes." She settled back in her chair. "Part of the whole control thing. Problem?"

He cut into the steak - perfectly medium rare, exactly how he liked it. "Nah, this is actually mad good."

"Course it is. Already figured out what you like, haven't I?"

Something about the way she said it made his stomach flip. She had been watching him, hadn't she? Learning his habits, his preferences. Even that first night at the party, she'd known exactly how to push his buttons.

"So what else you got figured out about me then?"

"Plenty." She twirled pasta around her fork. "Like how you pretend to be this proper confident footballer, but really..." her foot found his leg again, "you're curious about giving up that control."

His breath caught. Mad how she could read him like that.

"Tell me more about what you're into," he said, trying to regain some composure. "Like, what should I expect?"

"Already thinking ahead?" That devilish smile was back. "Well, I told you - I'm a dom. I like control, discipline, watching someone submit to me completely."

The way she said it - like she was discussing the weather - had his head spinning.

"But it's not just about the physical stuff," she continued. "It's about trust. Power exchange. Like how you trusted me to order your food. Small things building up to bigger ones."

"What kind of bigger ones?"

"Patience," she smirked. "We'll get there. But first..." She leaned forward, those eyes locked on his. "Tell me more about these fantasies of yours. The raw thing got you excited."

"Just... yeah." He felt his face heat up. "Something about it being bare. More intimate like."

"Mmm. And the choking? You said you've done that before?"

"Bit of it, yeah. Nothing major though."

"And how'd that make you feel?"

"Good, I guess?" He paused, thinking. "But sometimes... sometimes I wonder what it'd be like–"

"Having someone control you?" Her voice dropped lower. "Tell you what to do? When you can move, when you can speak... when you can cum?"

Fucking hell.

"We'd start slow," she added, watching his reaction. "Build up to things. I'm not about to throw you in the deep end."

"What would we start with then?"

"Simple commands. Teaching you how to follow orders. Maybe some light bondage if you're good." She said it so casual, like she was planning a training session instead of... whatever this was.

"And if I'm not good?"

That predatory smile was back. "Then you get punished."

My Lord in heaven.

"You're thinking about it again," she observed, sliding her foot higher up his leg. "I can see it in your eyes. The way you're gripping that fork."

He hadn't even realized how tense he was.

"Finish your food," she commanded softly. "We've got more to discuss."

And fuck him if his body didn't respond immediately to that tone. Like it already knew who was in charge.

"Yes..." he hesitated.

"Madam," she supplied, eyes glinting. "Better get used to saying that."

"Yes, Madam."

Something in her expression shifted - pleased, almost proud. Made his chest do weird things.

"Good boy."

Those two words shouldn't have affected him like that. But here he was, squirming in his chair from just her voice and praise. Did he also have a thing for that too?

"I think," she said, watching him eat, "we're going to have a lot of fun together. Once you're checked and cleared, of course."

"How long's that usually take?"

"Eager, are we?" She laughed. "Few days for the results. Then..." her foot reached his thigh and his dick hardened, "we can properly begin."

The rest of dinner passed in a haze of loaded looks and subtle touches. April kept dropping little hints about what she had planned, each one making his head spin more than the last.

By the time they finished eating, Trent felt like he was burning up from the inside. Everything felt heightened - the brush of her hand as she reached for the champagne, the way her lips curved around each word, how her eyes never left him even when the waitress came to clear their plates.

"Time for you to go," she said finally, standing up. "Got an early meeting tomorrow."

"That's it?"

"For now." She moved closer, close enough that he could smell that spiced vanilla again. "Unless you've changed your mind?"

"No," he said quickly. Maybe too quickly, based on her knowing smile.

"Good. I'll text you the details for getting checked. And Trent?"

"Yeah?"

She leaned in, lips brushing his ear: "Don't touch yourself tonight. That's your first command."

His whole body went hot. "And if I do?"

"Then I'll know." She pulled back, those eyes dancing with mischief. "And the punishment will be... memorable."

Fucking hell.

What had he gotten himself into?

But as he made his way back down those stairs, past all the sounds and sights that had shocked him earlier, Trent couldn't stop grinning.

Whatever this was - whatever April had planned for him - he was all in.

Even if it ruined him in the end.

…………..tbd

#quainwritings #trent alexander arnold #footballer x oc #footballer x reader #trent alexander imagines #trent alexander arnold fanfiction #trent alexander arnold x reader #taa x black oc #taa x reader #liverpool fc fics #quain’s masterlist

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red-riot-unbreakable-heart · 20 hours ago

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Shoto's First Kiss Chapter 9 Update

Okay so Shoto's First Kiss Chapter 9 is almosttttt done! I've just about finished writing it out but it's gonna need hella edits, so expect it to drop next weekend or Valentine's day weekend? Thanks for your patience here all! It will be a 40-50 page chapter. There's a lot to cover!!!

Posting a snippet of Chapter 9 below as a holdover - the plot is ofc subject to change! But want you to enjoy a lil dramaaaa while you wait! :)

“Well…” Toru says nervously into the phone.

“What?” Hitoshi says blankly, turning to you for an explanation about your friend’s uneasiness with that piece of the plan.

“So. Um. Mineta didn’t volunteer to be our distraction out of the kindness of his heart.” You say awkwardly as Hitoshi’s tired eyes bore into your own. “We promised him that he’d get to kiss me in exchange for his services as bait for Mr. Vlad.”

“Damn. Offering sexual favors in exchange for services rendered? You guys are way more hardcore than I thought.” Hitoshi actually looks impressed. “So hopefully Mineta didn’t say anything about that fun little bargain to Mr. King after he got caught. Sexual Quid Pro Quo is definitely grounds for some kind of legal action or punishment.”

The blood in your veins goes cold. Shit.

“But it was his idea!” Mina shrieks through the phone’s tiny speakers. You wince at the sound. You feel shaky like you might start crying again.

“Yeah but you all agreed to it. And Mineta held up his end of the bargain. This could be really bad if the school found out about it.”

Neito mouths something angrily on the screen and the corner of Hitoshi’s mouth quirks upwards fondly.

“Neito…you’re on mute, babe.” He says in that gravely voice of his.

Monoma quickly unmutes himself and repeats what he was saying:

“But it’s only a kiss! It’s not like we promised Y/N would sleep with him or anything!” He says, gesturing wildly. His face is a bit pink in response to Hitoshi’s using such an unexpected term of endearment.

“It doesn’t matter…you still made a trade of a physical favor for a service. I don’t know what kind of punishment they’d slap you with, but this sort of thing would definitely rub the UA administration the wrong way if they found out about it. Let’s just hope Mineta didn’t say anything too incriminating. I can stop by his dorm and ask him before I got to bed, if you’d like.” Hitoshi smirks. “I think he’s afraid of me, so I’d probably be the best person to do it.”

“Could you, please?” You say in a strained voice. Hitoshi looks over and sees how pale you’ve gone, he awkwardly pats your shoulder in what he must think is a reassuring way.

“Yeah, for sure. It’ll be fine. You’ll see.” He retracts his hand from your shoulder and gives you a thumbs up.

“Alright. I think we’ve mostly got our story straight. Don’t mention the alcohol. Don’t mention me needing to kiss Mineta. Don’t mention Hatsume. Don’t mention Spin The Bottle. Say we wanted to throw a game night to promote unity and bonding between Classes A and B. We good?” You quickly recap, counting off your fingers as you make each statement. “Dang, that’s a lot to keep track of.”

Everyone nods to confirm that they’re aligned (Toru doesn’t say anything to indicate that she’s not aligned, so you assume she’s invisibly nodding).

A message appears at the top of your phone screen from Shoto, a tiny preview of his text reads out in a bubble:

Shoto: You doing alright?

You quickly move to swipe the bubble away, hyperaware that Hitoshi can see any message that flashes across your screen. You quickly remind yourself that it’s not weird for your classmates to check up on you - you’re one of the party ringmasters, after all! And the message Shoto had sent was completely innocent, so…

Another message from Shoto scrolls across the screen as Toru rattles off a list of questions for Hitoshi to ask Mineta. You try to swipe the message away but you accidentally pull up the text screen over your friend’s FaceTime faces.

Shoto: This sounds awful to say, but getting to sneak away with you to the janitor’s closet almost makes getting caught worth it.

You swipe desperately to get the text screen to disappear and after a moment succeed. Toru is still speaking, saying something about Hatsume’s drones. You throw a terrified glance at Hitoshi’s direction. He’s looking at you, violet eyes wide with shock. His eyebrows are comically far up his forehead.

Oh yeah, he definitely just got a glance at Shoto’s text.

Oh God. Now he knows.

“Alright, Hagakure.” Hitoshi quickly turns back to the screen and nods in agreement at whatever your friend is saying. His facial expression instantly falls back to neutral –his eyebrows relaxing and his eyes narrowing back to their usual lazy squint. You stare straight ahead and try to keep all of your blood from rushing to your face. You feel hot all over but in a bad way. You don’t know Hitoshi super well, but you know he’s a good person. He wouldn’t spill your biggest secret to the world, right?

Hitoshi seemingly ignores you as he continues talking into the FaceTime. “Yeah, that’s a good idea. Alright, I’ll ask him all of that. I think we’re all on the same page – get a good night’s sleep everyone.”

Good nights are exchanged, and one by one your friends drop off the call. Hitoshi clicks off your phone so that the screen goes back. He slowly turns to you, his expression still uncharacteristically surprised.

His voice is as even and measured as ever when he says:

“Holy shit, Y/N. How long have you been fucking Shoto Todoroki?”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

HAHAHAHAA Okay so yeah that's part of Chapter 9! I'll keep plugging away and hopefully will have it your way soon! For now, here's the rest of the series to catch up on <3

Shoto's First Kiss Series so far:

Part 1: Shoto Todoroki x Reader | First Kiss ❄️🔥💋

Part 2: Shoto Todoroki x Reader | First Kiss ❄️🔥💋 PART 2

Part 3: Shoto Todoroki x Reader | First Kiss ❄️🔥💋 PART 3

Part 4: Shoto Todoroki x Reader | First Kiss ❄️🔥💋 PART 4

Part 5: Shoto Todoroki x Reader | First Kiss ❄️🔥💋 PART 5

Part 6: Shoto Todoroki x Reader | First Kiss ❄️🔥💋 PART 6

Part 7: Shoto Todoroki x Reader | First Kiss ❄️🔥💋 PART 7

Part 8: Shoto Todoroki x Reader | First Kiss ❄️🔥💋 PART 8

XOXO,

Red Riot Unbreakable Heart ❤️

P.S. Here's the link to my 🔥Master List! 🔥 I just posted a new story feat. a super hot and mushy Touya Todoroki if you're into that sort of thing: Touya Todoroki: Sexy Uber Driver!? | Touya x Reader AU Imagine 🌶 💕

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avastyetwats · 3 days ago

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Cooking was one of Fet’s favorite things to do, something he learned from his mother. It was both a creative outlet and something that helped him to destress. Some recipes he learned from his mother, others from videos or cooking shows and the like, and some he learned on his own, by trial and error. By experimenting. His own delicious concoctions. There were even times he’s cook something tasty, and healthy, for his stray little kitties that liked to hang around his apartment. His heart clenched at the thought of his sweet furbabies, hoping that they were alright, but with the strigoi out and about, he feared the worst. But cats were survivors. Independent and powerful hunters, but also affectionate with the right people which was one of the many reasons he loved them. They also helped him keep the New York City streets clean from rats. He smiled just thinking about them.

He started to hum a tune as he stirred the veggies and seared the steaks, clearly in his element from how relaxed he was. Almost as if he’d forgotten about the end of the world just outside. As if nothing was wrong and everything was right. And with Quinlan here? It certainly felt like that. Like… like this was their home and he was cooking a meal for him. The thought made his heart flutter, warmth filling him once again, but it was also kind of crazy, wasn’t it? To think of something like that when they hadn’t even kissed. Or when they didn’t even know what they were. It was basically the equivalent of dating someone and already talking about moving in together after only a week. Too soon… but then again, was it really if you felt so strongly and so sure?

Shit. The steak! He’d become distracted by his thoughts that he left the steak sizzling a little longer than intended, so he quickly flipped it and sighed in relief seeing that the cooked side wasn’t overdone. His preferred was medium rare. Anyone that ate well done wasted the steak. And rare? Well… he couldn’t judge, now could he? But he could tease and that’s exactly what he did when offering Quinlan a steak.

“Hey, what can I say? I’m a very persuasive guy.” He smirked, walking to the fridge and opening it up. He scanned the shelves and let out an “ah-ha!” When he found it. He grabbed the steak sauce and walked back to the stove, applying it to the meat with an excited hum. Then he applied some seasoning and damn did it smell good! “Best seasoning for steak right here. It—“ His words stopped when he turned and found Quinlan in fewer layers of clothing. The vest hugged his form and he could see the outline of his torso and found himself wondering what he looked like underneath. He seemed muscled, well built and in great shape and… hmm, did he have nipples? He shook his head. “Huh? No. Nah, think I’m good here. If you want to pour the drinks, that’d be great.” He looked at the blood bag in his hand. “Water for me, though.” He joked, taking the steak off of the pan and throwing on another. He was a big boy and he was hungry. “Want to try a bite?” He cut a piece of the still sizzling piece, moaning at how juicy it looked. “This one’s cooked, but you never know, you might like it with the seasoning.”

The touch to his shoulder was a little comfort, but in this moment he sort of wished he had hugged him. Had they even embraced yet? He actually didn’t think so. Quinlan was indeed short on hugs, and he wasn’t exactly sure how he’d act if he received one, other than maybe awkwardly try to return it.

He’d spoke of supplies in hopes of changing the subject, but clearly Fet knew that and he was wanting to comfort him. Fet was forever an optimist, and he knew he didn’t need to tell him that. They both knew that this family was dead.

But the question as to her name. He almost said Jessica until he realized. It had been two hundred years, but he would always remember that name. “ Lizzy. “ He reached out to toy with the elephant a moment, because he wasn’t quite sure he could look him in the eye. He might actually start to cry, which he hadn’t done in a very long time. “ I used to buy her things like this. She had plenty, but what was one more doll? “ He took a deep breath, sighing. “ I bought her this beautiful stitched coudoroy bear. “ A little smile. “ It was her favorite. “ He slightly sniffed.

#c; vasiliy fet #strxgxi

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transgender-catboy · 1 year ago

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Gonna do some of this as a warmup before I take another crack at the owed stuff, went grocery shoppin today and need to cool down

#im thinkin rat sam king nova unprof otter #who else... oh! annie walp and dave #yeah. that fills this one #might do another after if this turns out alright #i got a lotta mutuals :3c

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rmayuscula · 4 months ago

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age gap autumn girl fuck you

#laid down on his bed he asks if i’m alright with him locking the door i say should i be afraid of you locking the door he rolls his eyes #i’m watching a pot on his stove we’re alone in his apartment he’s standing right behind me and i look at the glass of his kitchen window #so i can catch his reflection he’s just standing there waiting for his vegan pasta his meatless dish but i still feel like prey this #weekend i shared a hotel room with the kids they came over at night to watch a game and they’re all cuddled up around me they’re all #laughing and laughing and laughing and telling me about their exes and their boyfriends and i’m under the arm of one of them and he says #kitty kitty you’re going to fall off the bed i rest my head on another’s calf and she says kitty your hair is so soft and they’re all #laughing #i keep this in my drafts and a month after it's freezing at night i'm looking up at a man that might be fifty or at least forty five i #ask his name which i don't remember now because i was plastered. i was so drunk i tell him mister whatever-his-name was you're so handsome #and he blushes like i'm the one chasing him and that's because i am. i am laughing with all of my teeth out. he giggles pretty like i've #spent years doing and i ask him what is it sir what is it and he says i'm not usually told that and i nudge a little more i say you don't?#how? you're so handsome i say it in the way they all taught me in the way i've heard it before i keep going until he leaves for his place #but he doesn't invite me back because it's clear i've made him uncomfortable so i frown a little and lean back towards the boy i made out #with the night before i tell him huh old guy won't fuck me and he laughs he says so you really like them older i say yeah i laugh #i laugh and then i say but they don't seem to like me anymore he makes a joke about me having cut my hair short and i say no it's because #i'm too old for them now and he shakes his head do you see how fucked up that is he tells me and i just laugh harder but don't tell him it #is the truth. but not the whole of it. the rest of the truth is in me prowling through the bars another night and making eyes at them #instead of baring my neck when they come at me it's in me growing into a man in the steel of elevators and their sheets in the ac of their #offices and the heat of their cars and outgrowing them not to turn away from them but to become them that salivating beast they all are #all of us are i lean back on walls and show them a hip a boot-ed-on foot that is still small a wrist that is still thin a jaw that still #won't grow fuzz but don't they see right through they see right through this too small costume i've put on for them in the same way i #used to swear i saw through them too i swore i saw them for what they were but without even noticing they've done what they do in movies #and books and songs and middle-school health classes like in every warning that was given to me but here in this far away country i just #laugh and laugh harder when he says it makes sense though i mean i'm older than you too and he's only 24 and he says it so boyishly #almost with a pout and i cackle and he laughs too and there we are and we sound like children there in the street

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nochepsicodelica · 28 days ago

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NSFW

"What are you doing? It's two in the morning, doll," Toji's voice drawls out, sleep morphing his voice into something quiet and gravelly.

You pause the show you have playing on your phone and look up at Toji, who's leaning against the dining room entryway. He has two random clumps of his hair sticking out, his eyes are slightly puffy with sleep, and there's this pout on his face that just pieces it all together.

"I woke up and wanted something sweet. I had a bite of cake and an orange. Well, two oranges," you say, giving him a glimpse of the progress you've made on the second one. He hums and goes quiet, groggily watching you continue to eat the fruit. "Go back to sleep, baby," you coo. "I'll head back in a few minutes."

"Come back, now. I'm tired," Toji says, crossing his arms over his chest. He really looks like the grumpiest of bears.

You chuckle at the almost whiny sound in his voice. "Five minutes."

"No. Too long."

"Three minutes?" You counteroffer.

Toji shakes his head. "No, baby. Now."

"But..." you hold up your remaining two pieces of orange.

"Finish up. I'm waiting on you."

You sigh and stuff the two pieces of orange in your mouth, before standing up to wash your hands.

You follow behind Toji as he leads you through the dark hallway, back to the bedroom. He waits for you to walk in before shutting the door and joining you on his side of the bed. Immediately, he tries to steal all your warmth, because the sheets and the blanket feel cold on his naked torso and his legs. He buries his face in the crook of your neck and throws an arm over your chest, while his legs trap one of yours between them. He's all consuming.

"Why'd you get out of bed?" You murmur, stroking the back of his head. Toji lets out a quiet grunt, falling silent, again, after. You smile and stop talking so that he can go back to sleep. You bring your phone up and start scrolling through your socials, only to earn another quiet, but more disapproving grunt. "Sorry," your whisper, turning down the brightness of your screen.

"Turn it off, ma. It's too early for you to be awake," Toji chides.

"But I can't go back to sleep. I'm not tired," you explain.

"I can put you down. Just turn it off, alright?"

You sigh, defeatedly, and turn your screen off, before setting it on your nightstand.

"Turn onto your side," Toji tiredly mumbles, instructing you so that he can turn as well and spoon you. His arm goes over your waist and below your shirt to caress the bare skin of your tummy. His thumb slowly strokes your soft skin, moving back and forth in a soothing manner. "Relax," he says, coaxing a relieved sigh out of you. "There you go. You've got sugar in your system, now, ma. It might take a little longer to get you to sleep."

"Sorry," you mumble into your pillow. Your eyes don't feel heavy and you don't feel the least bit sluggish. It always feels nice to have Toji rub your tummy, and this method of getting you to sleep is ninety-nine point nine percent effective, the point one percent being this time.

"I don't think me rubbing your stomach is gonna save you this time," Toji says, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. He gets a quiet, disappointed sigh from you, followed by silence. He doesn't want you to feel bad. You're not the first person ever to wake up craving something so badly that it doesn't let you stay asleep, and tummy rubs aren't the only method he uses to help you get to sleep. "Want me to go down there and make it all better?" He murmurs.

"You need to sleep, too," you say, considering his own tiredness.

"I'll sleep just fine without you tossing and turning all night. Let me help you."

So, you do. You let him go under the blanket and pull your shorts and underwear down, both in one go. You feel his lips on your thighs, slowly making their way towards the part of you that very quickly grew needy, and once his tongue makes contact with you, your first instinct is to bend your knees and plant your feet on the mattress.

"Relax, baby," Toji says, under the blanket. His hands push on your thighs so that your legs go down, again. "Don't tense up too much. We're getting you to sleep, 'kay?"

"Sorry," you mumble, shutting your eyes to allow yourself to focus on the way Toji's mouth works on you. His hands stay on your thighs and rub your skin, soothingly, with the same gentleness he uses for the tummy rubs he gives you.

All that can be heard as Toji builds you up through the quietness of the night, are your soft breaths and the rustling of sheets, as you squirm and slightly arch off the bed. His tongue offers gentle licks to your clit, before he envelops the sensitive bud with his lips and starts suckling on it. Every time your legs go up, he hums against your cunt and pushes them back down, and it keeps going this way until he's had enough. You don't listen and he's corrected you multiple times, so he had to resort to locking your thighs in place with his arms.

"T-Toji," you whimper out, writhing under him and the relentlessness flicking of his tongue. "Please- Please?"

"Shh... I know, baby," he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your cunt, before continuing.

Your legs are quivering and it's so hard to lie still when you've been edged and denied of your orgasm three times, now—all work done by solely his mouth. His soft, warm tongue has been lapping at you for long enough to have thin strings of your arousal and his saliva connecting you to him, even for a mere second, before those strings snap.

It doesn't take much more than Toji sucking on your over sensitive clit for a couple seconds, for you to finally get that powerful orgasm you've been grasping, but never fully reaching. Your toes curl, your hips roll against the mattress as your back arches off the bed, and you gasp sharply, a sound that leads the rest of your sounds of pleasure out, as Toji helps you ride out the sensation. While, normally, he would be a little mean and overstimulate you, even just the slightest bit, he opts out of it, this time, because the purpose of this from the start was to get you to sleep, and based off the sounds you made, Toji knows you're going to sleep so good.

Once you've calmed down, your breathing steadied and your body still on the bed—now entirely relaxed—Toji cleans you up with his tongue. Slow, gentle strokes, because despite this act of kindness being for you to achieve rest, he can't—doesn't want to—waste your sweet essence.

When he's done, he slides your underwear back on and uses your shorts to wipe his face, before tossing them somewhere behind him on the bed. Toji peeks out from under the blanket and takes in your peaceful expression. Your eyes are shut, not a crease in your brows, and your breaths come softly through your nose. This is it.

He tries to be as careful as possible when crawling back up to his side of the bed, not wanting to wake you up after just getting you to sleep. It seems like the coast is clear when his head hits his pillow and he carefully shifts so that he can watch you until he falls asleep. Then, he sees you stir and he starts thinking that maybe the orgasm didn't fully wear you out, but just left you dazed. He doesn't say anything when you briefly open your eyes to look at him, but when you lean in to leave a chaste kiss on his lips, he's furthermore silenced. Immediately after, you bury your face in his chest and doze off for sure, this time. Toji coils around you and instantly returns to his all consuming way of sleeping with you.

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geneviveleocardius · 28 days ago

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crying over movies

and pregnant with simon riley’s baby

the sound of your sobs cuts through the quiet of the house, sharp and raw. simon drops the knife he’s been using to chop vegetables, his heart lurching in his chest. it’s not unusual for you to cry these days—pregnancy hormones have been working overtime—but this… this is different. this is gut-wrenching, the kind of crying that makes his pulse race with worry.

he rushes into the living room, where he left you curled up on the couch watching after sun. the sight that greets him stops him in his tracks. you’re a mess, your face red and blotchy, tears streaming down your cheeks, big eyes wide and glassy as you clutch a pillow like it’s the only thing tethering you to reality.

“love?” his voice is low, calm despite the panic clawing at his chest. he crouches in front of you, his hands reaching out to cradle your face. “what’s wrong? is it the baby? are you in pain?”

you shake your head frantically, your sobs hitching as you try to speak. “n-no, it’s not—” a deep breath, and then another sob escapes. “it’s not the baby. it’s—oh my god, simon, it’s just—”

he watches you, his brows furrowed, utterly baffled. “just what?”

“the movie!” you wail, throwing your arms up dramatically. “it was so sad, simon! and—and then i started thinking about us and the baby and—and—oh my god, you’re never gonna be a single parent, okay? i’m never leaving you!”

his eyes widen at the declaration, and he blinks, stunned. “what tha—?”

“and you have to promise me, simon,” you cut him off, your voice shaky but insistent. “if something’s ever bothering you, you’re gonna tell me, right? we’re a team, and i love you so damn much, okay? you can’t ever leave me, because i’d just—” a hiccup. “i’d die without you!”

he stares at you, his lips parted slightly, trying to process the flood of emotions pouring out of you. he’s used to your mood swings by now—the tears over burnt toast, the laughter that turned into crying because of a stupid dog video—but this? this is a whole new level.

you’re still sobbing, your breaths coming in hiccupping gasps, and his heart aches in a way he doesn’t quite understand. “love, you’re gonna hyperventilate,” he mutters, sitting beside you and pulling you into his arms. you melt into him instantly, your hands clutching at his shirt as you bury your face against his chest.

“i mean it, simon,” you mumble, your voice muffled by his shirt. “i’ll never leave you. you’re stuck with me forever.”

he lets out a low chuckle, the sound rumbling through his chest. “bloody hell, i should hope so. wouldn’t have married you otherwise, yeah?”

“and the baby,” you continue, ignoring his attempt to lighten the mood. “we’re gonna be the best parents, and—and if you ever think i’m not doing enough, you have to tell me, okay? i’ll do better. i swear.”

“sweetheart,” he says softly, leaning back so he can tilt your face up to look at him. your tear-streaked cheeks and swollen eyes might look like a disaster to anyone else, but to him, you’re still the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. “you’re more than enough. you’re everything. and you’re not going anywhere, yeah? we’re fine. we’re better than fine.”

your lower lip trembles, and more tears spill over. “i just—i love you so damn much, simon. you can’t ever leave me. promise me.”

he exhales, a soft huff of disbelief, before pressing a kiss to your forehead. “you’re unbelievable, you know that?” he mutters against your skin. “but alright. i promise. i’m not going anywhere, and neither are you. happy?”

you nod, sniffling, and wrap your arms tighter around him. “so happy.”

he holds you close, his large hands rubbing slow circles on your back as your sobs gradually quiet into soft hiccups. he’s still not entirely sure how you got from a movie to this existential meltdown, but one thing’s for sure: he wouldn’t trade this chaotic, hormonal, beautiful mess for anything.

#simon ghost riley #cod modern warfare #modern warfare #simon riley x reader #cod #simon riley #call of duty #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #ghost riley #ghost x reader #pregnancy #aftersun

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ranoutofficssoiwritemyown · 4 months ago

Text

You decide to sleep on the couch after an argument

love and deepspace

characters: Zayne, Sylus (pt2 with Rafayel and Xavier here)

note: they might be a little mischaracterized so bear with me.

Zayne

Usually, arguments with Zayne don’t get this heated. There was no yelling, not on his part at least, but he could be really cold with his words when he wanted to be. Not that you were any better. Some things you said hurt him to no end. So you came up with a decision - to sleep on a couch tonight. To be honest, it was more because to be petty, than not wanting to spend a night beside him. You gathered your pillow and blanket and got comfortable on the couch, which made Zayne sigh out loud when he entered the room.

“What is this?”

You turned your back to him as an answer. Another sigh comes out of his mouth. He’s exhausted, physically and emotionally, and you acting like a brat doesn’t ease anything at all.

“I know you’re mad, dear but is this necessary?”

No answer.

“Alright”

He left the room and before you could convince yourself that you didn’t care he was back with a blanket of his own and took a seat in an armchair. You turn your head towards him in confusion.

“What are you doing?”

“I guess we’re not sleeping in bed tonight”

“I’m not. You can go”

“I believe I didn’t stutter”

You scoffed and turned around again.

“suit yourself”

Minutes pass and sleep doesn’t come to you. Whether it’s because of an uncomfortable couch or an absence of his arms around you is hard to say, but after turning around thousands of times and still not being able to sleep is frustrating.

Finally, Zayne had enough of watching your struggle.

“How about we go to bed?”

“No” came your response after a second of hesitation. With a small amused smile on his face, he hovered over the couch.

“What do you say… I take you to bed and you can curse me out for it tomorrow?”

You shifted a little but didn’t answer, which made his smile widen. He gathered you in his arms and your lack of objection was all he needed to take you to your room and tucking you in bed. Even though you seemed to warm up he didn’t know how far he could push you, so kneeling beside the bed to be on your eye level he started:

“If you still need space I can-”

“Stay”

He smiled at you tucking your hair behind your ear.

“Okay”

He got up and kissed your forehead before slipping in beside you and pulling you closer.

"I'm sorry..." you mutter

"Shh, we'll talk about it tomorrow... but I'm sorry too"

You smile a little. You two will sort this out tomorrow.

Sylus

What Sylus says, goes around. His word is the law. This is what he’s used to. That's how it's always been.

Then you came into his life and even though he’s still in charge of how things go in the N109 zone, you just need to say the word and everything will be how you like it. No questions, no hesitation. He would give you the world if you so much as whispered the need. Whatever you want, whatever you need, he will make it happen.

Unless, when it comes to your safety. Now don’t get me wrong. Sylus knows you can defend yourself and then some. But when it comes to the N109 zone, there are things Sylus knows better than you. Additionally, The fact that you can be reckless in your battles does nothing to help ease his worries.

That was the reason for the heated argument tonight. Sylus with his harsh words and snarky remarks always finds a way to infuriate you. So you two go on and on for half an hour now and none of you seems to back down. You storm off to your room and take your things to get comfortable on the couch. However, on your way out Sylus blocks your way. He raises an eyebrow at the blanket and pillow in your arms.

“Now, what exactly do you think you are doing, sweetie?”

“move”

“I asked you a question”

“I’m not sleeping beside you- Sylus” you exclaim as he hoists you over his shoulder. you punch and scratch his back but to no avail.

“Careful with your claws, kitten”

He drops you on the bed climbing over you.

“Now listen, this is what will happen. You will stop acting like a wild kitten and sleep beside me. I am sorry for hurting you but we will discuss it tomorrow, when we are both a lot calmer. Understood?”

You don’t want to give in so easily. You also don’t want to sleep without him tonight. So you nod avoiding eye contact. He, however, doesn’t accept it and raises your chin with his finger to make you look at him.

“Use your words, sweetie”

“Yes”

“Splendid” He removed himself from you so you could get under the blanket. He laid beside you and pulled you closer so your head was resting on his chest.

"Sy... I'm sorry too"

"So I'm Sy now?"

This man.

"Nevermind, you're still a prick"

You try to remove his arm but he holds you tighter as he laughs.

"Alright, alright. I'm sorry, sweetie"

You felt him kiss the crown of your head as he caressed your shoulder with his thumb. you return to your previous position and listening to his heartbeat, sleep lured you in soon enough.

#love and deepspace #lnds zayne #lnds sylus #zayne x reader #sylus #sylus x reader #lnds #zayne love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #sylus x mc #sylusposting #love and deepspace zayne #lads zayne

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chuluoyi · 5 months ago

Text

𝐃𝐀𝐖𝐍'𝐒 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓

- zayne x reader

as dawn breaks, a new chapter begins. now husband and wife in the truest sense, both of you embark on the path of happiness together. yet, bittersweet loose ends remain still. will they eventually stay in the past for good, or cast a permanent shadow over your lives?

genre/warnings: 18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, pregnancy & sex, mentions of complications related to pregnancy, brief description of childbirth (c-section), hunter!reader (not l&ds mc -> l&ds mc is zayne's late ex-girlfriend here)

note: part 2 to nocturne of twilight. my god, i honestly didn't expect it'd turn out into another 8k fic but here we go :')

Lately, Zayne has come to realize just how much joy you bring to home when you’re happy.

Your smile and giggles simply light up the place.

And moreover, you get happy at the simplest of things—head pats, his snowmen... Even when he responds with jabs just to get a rise out of you, there's always a part of his heart that softens.

Today began just like one of those joyful days. He dropped you off at the Hunter Association base before heading to the hospital, and later, he planned to pick you up and perhaps stop for macarons on the way home—

Or so he thought, until...

"Hello, Dr. Zayne! Sorry for startling you. Can you come to my office? Your wife just collapsed and she is brought here."

. . .

Zayne raced to Dr. Munson's office on the third floor, panic gradually overtook his every step. His mind whirled with all the possible reasons you might end up at—

Ob-gyn office. Wait, what?

The realization struck him just as he flung open the door to his colleague’s office.

"Ah, the man of the hour has arrived!" Dr. Munson greeted him with an ear-to-ear grin.

Zayne gave a quick nod but bypassed him to head straight to the bed where you were.

You looked pale and sluggish, your eyes squeezed shut. He immediately took your hand in his, interlacing your fingers, and you opened your eyes in surprise to see him there.

"Zayne..." you murmured, giving his hand a gentle squeeze and offering a faint smile.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice filled with concern as he gently touched your cool cheek.

"A bit dizzy..."

Seeing you so meek made something inside him lurch. Just this morning, you had been full of life, pouting and playfully teasing him, and now you looked so exhausted.

"Well, maybe you already know this, Dr. Zayne, but still, congratulations!" Dr. Munson clapped his hands merrily. "Your wife is pregnant!"

Pregnant. Zayne stood frozen for a moment. In truth, while the very thought flitted in his mind from the moment he walked in, it didn't make it less surprising all the same. "I see..."

Then he turned to look at you, and to his surprise, you looked away, a shy smile played at your lips, as if you were trying to make yourself as small as possible.

A child. You were with child. His child.

"How far along?"

"Almost ten weeks, give or take. Well, aren't you the one who knows the most?"

"Is she alright? Anything I need to watch out for?"

"Ooh! How sweet!" Dr. Munson laughed crisply. "The cool-headed Dr. Zayne is worrying about his wife! The nurses are going to have a field day when they know this~"

Zayne shot him a look, but didn’t miss a beat as he retorted, "Of course I am."

You looked up at him silently, your heart fluttering at his earnest response. Zayne had always been resilient, but now he seemed more dashing than usual as he fired questions after questions at Dr. Munson about you and the baby.

Baby... both of you were going to become parents. It still felt surreal, but with Zayne’s warm grip on your hand, it began to feel real. You were almost giddy.

But then, it struck you— the baby was around ten weeks.

Then it meant the day of the conception was that night.

. . .

“Here, hold onto me.”

Zayne opened the door to his car and supported you as you carefully stepped out. You were still unsteady on your feet, so he returned you back home to rest rather than heading back to the Hunter Association’s base.

“Have you been feeling unwell these past few days?” he wrapped an arm around your shoulder as you made your way inside. “Usually, the symptoms have been noticeable for a while.”

“Hmmm,” you pursed your lips, feigning coyness. “I... don’t think so?”

Zayne quirked an eyebrow, sending you a withering stare as he realized your ruse. “So you have.”

“Hehe...” you flashed him a sheepish grin, causing him to shake his head in exasperation and pinch your cheek. “Ow!” you squeaked, quickly bringing your hand to your face.

Zayne stifled a smile, then gently guided you to the sofa. He crouched down in front of you, meeting your gaze as he took both of your hands in his.

"You need to tell me these things from now on, alright?" he said, and his steadfast gaze made butterflies flutter in your stomach.

"We..." you started, steeling yourself, "are going to have a baby," you gulped, feeling heat spreading to your cheeks.

He was unfazed. "Mm, we are."

You shifted uneasily, avoiding his gaze. "Are you... happy?"

Your voice wavered at the end, and your hand felt clammy. Suddenly, your stomach too twisted with nausea. Who would've thought that you would conceive a baby from a night that he called a mistake?

However, Zayne tilted his head, seemingly taken aback. "I am."

"Huh?"

"I am happy," he repeated, blinking back at you. "Are you?"

You gaped, caught off guard by his candid response—but then again, when had your husband ever been anything but straightforward?

"But you don’t seem happy!" you accused, pursing your lips. "You’ve been frowning the whole way home."

He shot you a flat look, his expression unchanged. "This is just my face."

You continued to pout, and Zayne sighed. His frown softened as he gently cupped your face, making you look up at him.

"You silly girl, what husband won't be thrilled when they hear that his wife is expecting?" he caressed your face, before poking it. "I'm just worried about you, you still look pale."

"You..." your eyes found his uneasily, at a loss of words. "But this baby is…" Your gaze dropped, anxiety swelling. "From… the night of—"

Your response stunned him, and you didn't dare to look him in the eye. It was still something that gnawed at you inside, because what if—

What if he thought this baby is a mistake?

In that moment, understanding dawned on him. His ashen eyes widened in surprise. You braced yourself for his reaction, but then—

His hand rested on your head, patting you gently. "You carrying our baby..." he faltered, gazed fixed on your averted eyes and then lips. His voice came almost in a whisper:

"This... is the best thing that has happened to me."

Thump! Your heart soared, warmth flooding through you in that very instant as you met his gaze. On the contrary, Zayne felt a crushing weight seeing the tears shining in your eyes. How deeply had he hurt you before that you’d doubt his feelings?

"I promised you that I’ll treasure you better," he said, pulling strands of your hair behind your ears. "This time, let me prove it to you."

Somehow you felt like crying at the sheer sincerity in his words. "You... like the baby?"

A gentle smile touched his lips as he took your hand and pressed a kiss to it. "I do. Truly."

"I... am so happy too," you finally choked up, the first tear slipping down your cheek. You quickly brushed it away, feeling a bit silly for tearing up. "I... have always wanted us to be a family..."

Zayne pulled you into his arms, letting out an exasperated but fond sigh. "A certain someone really does like to cry... And now with a baby on the way, am I going to lose my mind worrying about both of you?"

"Hmph," you wrinkled your nose. "A certain dad-to-be better work on his skills to express himself better, then."

"I'm going to focus my energy on more important things, such as thinking of all ways I should do to keep you from getting into trouble."

"...? I don't get into trouble!"

"You stumble even on empty air, I've seen it myself."

Two years ago, you had envisioned your happily ever after with him, and then you weren't sure if you would get it at all. And now, as you walked towards a new beginning together, you were wholly certain.

At least, that was what you thought.

The days following the reveal of your pregnancy were filled with bliss.

Only that, sometimes... you ask for tall order—

"Zayne... I want that plushie..."

"We have tried it three times already. That machine is rigged."

"B-but! Look, that couple won some!"

Some weeks later, the two of you were at an arcade, and your eyes were literally shining as soon as you saw the Happy Snowman plushie in the claw machine.

And ever since, you had been tugging at his sleeve and dragging him to catch it for you... only to no avail so far.

Zayne pinched the bridge of his nose. "With the way you’re acting, no one would believe you’re about to become a mom."

"Isn't that the whole point?" you fired back, puckering your lips, before mustering your best puppy eyes and bringing your hands together. "Please? Baby wants it so much."

He knew you were using the baby card just to get your way, but you looked so adorable doing it that it often worked—evident from how he lined up once more for the long queue at the claw machine.

"This is the last time," he decided, giving you a flat stare when you two reached your turn. "If we lose, we're buying the one in the souvenir shop."

"Teehee~" you giggled in delight. You'd get your plushie either way. Zayne was always listening to you even with his grumbles, and it made you inwardly kick your feet in joy.

Despite being cross, Zayne was better at this than you. He almost snagged some plushies several times, and this time, he skillfully maneuvered the claw, pressing the button with precision—

“Oh!” Your eyes sparkled as the claw secured your prized Happy Snowman. “Zayne! Just a little more!”

"Yeah, yeah..."

Just like that, the claw released the snowman into the hole. As soon Zayne handed it to you, you practically squealed. "Ahh! Finally I got you!"

You were so full of childlike excitement, even though you were just months away from bringing a child into the world yourself. Zayne watched you silently, and despite himself, a soft smile tugged at his lips.

"Do you want more?" he asked. "We still have three chances left."

"Yes!" You beamed at him. "I want the penguin and crow!"

Apparently, he was weak to your wishes. He then took the machine again, and maybe luck blessed him this time because soon enough, he got you two of them right after the chances ran out.

“Hehe! We’re bringing them home!” You patted each plushie with delight, your giggles drawing the attention of nearby kids.

"Mom, look! That uncle gets many plushies!"

Zayne felt his eyes twitch. Uncle...?

You tried and utterly failed to hold back your laugh.

And you heard another couple bickering nearby as they threw glances at you and your husband—

"I want that crow plushie..." the woman lamented, despondently eyeing the claw machine and the three plushies Zayne had managed to win for you.

Her boyfriend, a scary-looking tall man with red eyes and rider garbs, turned to her with a snort. "Why would you even need that ugly crow for? We have crow at home."

"...Mephisto doesn't count! You're just saying that because your luck and skill are trash!"

"Tch. I can open a whole arcade just so you can tear those plushies into shreds, sweetie... just so you know, there’s a price when dealing with a devil, hmm?"

Opening an arcade only to satisfy his girlfriend's wants? You thought in a passing. Crazy.

. . .

And then your emotions are practically a whirlwind of roller coaster...

“You’re mean!” you sniffled, pointing a righteous finger at your husband and the kitty cards on the table. “You always reduce my kitties whenever you get the chance!”

Zayne exhaled, trying to explain himself. “I just make do with the cards I’m dealt with.”

“But you’re trying to take out my cats all the time!”

“That’s the gameplay. If I let you win, you’d say I’m underestimating you.”

“So, are you saying I’m bad at this?” You looked at the cards with heartbreak etched on your face, your lips quivering. “Am I?”

Uh-oh, he knew what it was. You were a stone throw away from bursting into tears and one wrong word could set you off altogether.

“No, you’re not bad...” he began, carefully choosing his words. “The kitties... they’re just not cooperating with you, that’s all.”

“So, they’re cooperating with you,” you pouted, cross. “Is that what you’re trying to say?!”

Sigh... this is going to take a while...

But ultimately... you’re also incredibly precious.

“I’m going to make an amigurumi for our baby,” you announced, smiling brightly as you settled between his legs with a crochet kit and a snowman pattern in hand. “I just know they’ll like it.”

“You know how to crochet?” Zayne asked, resting his chin on your shoulder and slipping an arm around your waist, gently touching your growing bump.

“Hmph!” You tilted your chin up with a smirk, turning to face him. “Of course, I can!”

“Oh…?”

“It’s a little side hobby,” you explained with a giggle. “I can’t resist having and making cute things~”

Zayne thought he’d laugh, but instead, it was a wave of bittersweetness that washed over him. Because apparently, even after being married to you for two years, there were some things about you he didn’t know.

He was fond of you. He knew you liked a fair amount of sweets, what your favorite food and color were, and that you couldn't sleep without turning off the lights. But then he realized...

"Does it have to be a snowman?" he asked, his eyes fixed on how skillfully you handled the hooks.

"Mm-hmm! It does."

"Why do you like it so much anyway?"

"Ah..." Your movements paused slightly, and you suddenly looked down, a hint of sheepishness in your expression. "Well..."

This way, you looked adorable somehow. Zayne squeezed you gently. "Hmm?"

"You might not remember it... but the first time we met..." you felt heat creeping up to your face but pressed on nonetheless. "I asked you to demonstrate your Evol and you showed me by creating a snowman out of thin air."

Right at that moment, Zayne could've sworn that his heart skipped a beat. That meeting... how many years ago was it? Five? Six?

He could barely remember it until you mentioned it, and yet you held that memory dear.

"Maybe it sounds stupid to you," you puffed out your cheeks. "But I think you’re similar to a snowman. You look cold on the outside, but you bring happiness to so many people. You save lives…"

The way you described him so highly made him flutter inside. Suddenly he felt soft. Soft for you. You were utterly precious, genuine and all this time, he hadn't even truly realized it.

"And to me, you..." you gulped, suddenly self-conscious. "You are... warm, just like the sun..."

The sincerity in your words touched him so deeply that it left him speechless. You had loved him and it was evident in all your actions.

Now the question is, has he done the same for you?

You brightened his life just by being yourself. Most of the time cheery, sometimes snarky, and often times decidedly spoiled... all those sides of you—

He adores them all. And he knows he'll treasure you until the end of time. And now, he's going to show you that.

Before he realized it, he had planted a kiss on the nape of your neck, and you sucked in a breath as you dropped the crochet hooks. "Zayne...?"

And then his lips pressed harder, trailing kisses along your neck, while his hands slipped inside your pajama top, caressing your skin ever so gently. The unexpected touch made you unwittingly moan.

"Can you... finish crocheting another day?" he breathed in your ear, cupping your breasts tenderly, and you almost jolted. "I'll be gentle, I promise."

It felt as if your face had caught fire, your whole body flushing with sudden excitement. Your heart raced wildly at his husky voice, and the very thought that your husband desired you was deeply thrilling.

"But you..." your voice hitched, trying not focus on his fingers. "...are never gentle."

Zayne blinked at you in surprise. "Am... I? That's not true."

"Should I jog your memory?" You pursed your lips. "One time, you threw me on the bed—"

"Well—"

"And that time you had me on all fours—"

"That's—"

"And the night we conceived this baby too—"

"Right. Alright." Zayne’s cheeks flushed with warmth as he released his grip on your mounds. "You might have a point, but this time, I assure you…"

He turned you to face him, and before you could even react, he leaned in close, his breath tickling your collarbone as he whispered:

"I will take good care of you tonight."

He made good on his promise.

This time, his hands moved with a gentleness that took your breath away. Zayne started with peppering your skin in soft, lingering kisses—starting at your jaw, then trailing down your neck, collarbone, and chest.

And when his lips finally reached the slightly visible but firm swell of your belly, he paused, pressing a kiss there that seemed to hold all the love he had for your baby.

The sight pulled at your heartstrings. The very fact that Zayne cherished this little life growing inside you filled you with a happiness so profound, it nearly overwhelmed you.

And soon...

"Ahh... aah!" you writhed, arching your back, your lower body laid bare as his tongue lapped eagerly at your folds. It was, by far, the most erotic thing your husband had done to you— he usually didn’t spend this much time for your pleasure.

But as always, he was not much of a talker during sex. Only dangerous gleam in his eyes as he glanced up from between your trembling thighs that let you know he had no plans of stopping anytime soon.

"Ngh!" You gasped when the tight ball of nerves inside you finally burst, mewling helplessly as you yanked on his hair, and he ate you out even more greedily in response. You had always known it, but moments like this made it undeniable—

Zayne turns completely into a different man while bedding you. Who would have guessed that the stoic, straight-laced head of cardiac surgery could be reduced to a man consumed by lust at the sight of his wife's body?

. . .

He had always liked having you on top. This time, Zayne made sure to prepare you exceptionally well before easing himself inside you, yet, just like every other time, you still felt impossibly tight around him.

“Ah, ah... I-I’m—!” you whimpered tearfully, your walls clenching around his girth, face overtaken by sheer pleasure. “’s full...”

It didn't take him long to bust, really. With a beautiful wife sitting on top of him, eliciting sounds like that... how could he resist?

But maybe he pushed you too hard. Lust won against all his senses as he relentlessly slammed his hips against yours, and he distinctly felt the moment you stifled a scream and came hard around him.

"Are you... alright?" Zayne asked in a groan as he reached his orgasm, his release flooding inside your womb in a rush as you clung into him tightly, shuddering and spasming.

You nodded and collapsed against him, savoring the feeling of how filled up you were. In return, he cradled you close as he slowly pulled out of you. "I-I... am..."

You curled into him, and he pressed a tender kiss on your head. In that moment, you truly felt that there were only two of you in this vast world.

Gently, he lifted you—one arm supporting your legs, the other around your back—and carried you to the bathroom to clean you up.

. . .

“Drink.” Zayne held the cool glass of water to your lips, and you obediently took a sip, your gaze lingering on the gap in his bathrobe where his chest peeked out.

He was so, so considerate. He carefully handled you as he washed your body and wrapped you in the bathrobe earlier, soothing you each time you let out a whine.

It was the most comforting aftercare you had experienced. After making sure you weren’t parched, he tucked you under the comforters, joining you soon after and pulling you close.

“Are you comfortable now?” he asked quietly, straightening your hair.

“Mm-hmm.” You snuggled closer with a smile, tracing a finger along his chest.

Somehow the way he cared for you now made you remember how your relationship was back then. He didn’t dote on you this much, he was good to you but you knew deep in your hearts that he wasn’t really there. But now…

He is yours. In every sense.

“You’re tickling me,” Zayne tutted gruffly, catching your hand and pressing it to his chest.

“So? What will you do?” you teased with a playful grin. “Will you eat me up again?”

“…” His narrowed eyes made you giggle, and you pressed yourself even closer, relishing the afterglow.

You had promised yourself not to bring it up again, but feeling vulnerable in this moment, you couldn’t help but whisper:

“You… have changed,” you muttered under your breath. “Thank you… for thinking of me.”

You couldn’t see his expression, but his arms tightened around you suddenly. Warmth spread through you, feeling as though he were shielding you from the world itself.

Weeks passed by, and soon enough, you reached the middle of your second trimester.

“We’re going to find out the gender today!” you excitedly noted in the passenger’s seat. Zayne glanced at you with a smile, silently looking forward to it too.

He was relieved that your first trimester had passed smoothly, with only a few bouts of sickness. Now, before he knew it, you were already halfway through the journey.

“If it’s a girl, I hope she won’t be a troublemaker like her mom,” he slyly retorted.

You shot him a glare. “And if it’s a boy, I’ll make sure he doesn’t spend all his time studying and turn into a robot like you.”

The journey to fatherhood still didn’t feel entirely real to him with your chirpy self, but as your belly swelled and rounded with each passing week, he began to realize that the day was quickly approaching.

It made him feel warm, and he wished he could show it to you better just how much happiness you brought to him now.

You rummaged through your bag and exclaimed, "Oh, I forgot the appointment card!"

Zayne sighed, turning the steering wheel with a small shake of his head. "See? The little mom can be so scatterbrained at times."

You slouched in your seat, crestfallen. "Sorry..."

"It’s alright," he gave your hand a gentle squeeze as he noticed your expression drop. "I’ll get it. Where did you leave it?"

"In the first drawer of my vanity desk, I think…"

After arriving back at home, Zayne headed straight to your shared bedroom and searched through your drawers. The first drawer only had your perfumes, so he moved on to the second drawer, which apparently only had more makeup supplies.

And so, he pulled the third drawer, and there were a stack of envelopes there. Curious, he pulled one out, thinking it was the card he was looking for—

—but then, suddenly, he was in a state of shock. Never would have he expected to find what he had on his hand then.

For a moment, everything around him seemed to blur, his entire world reduced to those three stark words on the page. His mind struggled to process what he was seeing, a heavy weight settling in his stomach as the realization hit him.

Petition of Divorce — and your signature... was there.

Something seemed a bit off about Zayne, you noticed later that day.

You were really looking forward to finding out the baby's gender, and you thought he was too. He stood by your side all the while, holding your hand as the ultrasound probe pressed against your skin and you waited with bated breath for Dr. Munson to announce—

“Well, it’s a girl!” he declared with a wide grin. “Whoa, Dr. Zayne is going to be a girl dad, huh?”

“Oh my…” Your eyes sparkled with joy at the news. You were fine with either, but you knew Zayne had secretly been hoping for a girl, and you turned to him with pure elation. However...

“That’s… good.” His response was brief, and although he was smiling, something felt off. You had been observing him for too long not to notice—you knew when your husband was distracted.

What is he thinking? Despite yourself, you began to worry.

“Zayne?” you asked later, holding his arm as you both exited Dr. Munson’s office. “Are you thinking about work?”

He turned to you almost immediately. “No.”

“Then why are you frowning?” you asked innocently, trying to lighten the mood by touching his face. He swiftly caught your hand.

“This is a public place,” he said in a strained voice, causing you to stiffen at his tone. “I’ll take you home first.”

Something was not right. Now you were convinced and it started to bother you.

“Actually… I need to go to the Hunter Association's base first to finish my deskwork,” you said.

His brows furrowed even deeper. “Can’t you just submit your leave?”

“Ah... I’m on half-day leave today. I need to wrap up as much as I can before I go on maternity leave later.”

“Next time,” he snapped, his gray eyes locked on you, “Whenever you have appointments, take a full-day leave. You’re in no condition to be working, especially as you get further along.”

"Zayne, are you... upset with me?" you fired the question then, because it seemed like he really did, and suddenly you felt a bit sick at the very thought.

He was certainly not expecting you to ask that, and for a moment, Zayne froze, before he exhaled and his frown softened a bit.

“…no,” he finally said, his tone gentler. “I just don’t want you to push yourself too hard.”

But ever since that day, you knew something had happened to him that he suddenly he became a little distant towards you.

. . .

Zayne hadn’t meant to snap at you. If anything, knowing you were carrying a baby girl filled him with unbridled happiness.

But still, there was still a part of him that wanted to demand answers from you—that part of him that was deeply hurt by what he discovered.

In hindsight, maybe he shouldn’t take it too hard. No matter how much he reflected on it, he knew he hadn’t been the husband you deserved. He knew his faults and understood how much he had hurt you. From the very beginning, you deserved someone who would see only you and no one else—and he hadn't been that person before.

Even with that understanding, he was left with an unresolved hollowness. You had doubted him enough that you were ready to file for a divorce once. It didn't mean that the same thing wouldn't happen in the future.

Does he have it in him to make you happy? He had promised you he would. While he wasn't the most affectionate, he tried his best, and he intended to keep trying.

But now, after learning this, he found that not only you, but even he too was able to doubt himself.

"Zayne...?"

You peeked your head inside his study one night, several weeks later, a hand resting on your bump. You really didn't want to bother him when he just arrived, but you figured you had to tell him.

For the past week, you’d been throwing up, and it didn’t feel right. He had been at a symposium in another city since the start of the week, and you tried to wait it out. But today, you almost blacked out, and now you were genuinely afraid.

"Y/N?" he turned to you just as he laid his briefcase and the moment he saw you, he frowned at how pale you looked.

Zayne immediately stalked towards you and pulled you closer, feeling your neck to check your body temperature. His eyes widened in realization. "You have a fever."

"I-I... feel lightheaded today," you sputtered, clutching his arm. "And... I’ve been vomiting too..."

"I'll get you checked in at Akso," he decided, grabbing the car keys and led you out of the room by the shoulder. "Why didn't you tell me in your calls?"

Very lame excuse, but you tried to defend yourself nonetheless. "It wasn't this severe before—"

"You should have told me." His response was curt, but his fury was evident. You almost shrank at his tone, but Zayne didn't reprimand you further as he helped you into the passenger seat.

The drive was tense and uncomfortable, making you feel even worse. The silence only amplified your anxiety, and it didn't help that you had noticed how distant he was lately.

"I'm sorry—" you blurted but then suddenly, you sucked in a breath, wincing and fisting your dress when you felt the start of a cramp just below your ribs. "Ahh..."

Zayne’s panic surged at your pained gasp. He gripped your hand reassuringly, all trace of anger vanishing instantly. "We’ll arrive soon. I promise you’ll be alright."

At that moment, despite all fears you had—for your baby, of his sudden shift of behavior—you held back your sob and squeezed his hand in return.

. . .

You would be staying at the hospital until all the test results came in.

Zayne sat on the chair beside you, gaze fixed on you as you lay connected to an IV drip in the private room. Though he tried to mask it, he was still shaken. He knew better than anyone that fever and cramps at more than 20 weeks often signaled something was wrong with either the mother or the baby.

The thought of ailments beyond his control affecting either of you made his chest tighten. He loosened his tie and let out a sigh, trying to ease the constriction. "How do you feel now?"

You looked at him, managing a smile as you replied, "I’m fine now."

Seeing you bedridden like this was something he hadn’t realized he dreaded until that moment, and yet, there you were, smiling. You... smiled.

He couldn’t understand why the sight he usually adored suddenly stirred this swirling anger in him.

Your answer seemed to hit a nerve in him as his expression darkened, and anxiety struck you again, twisting something in your gut. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you before..."

His lack of response only deepened your unease. "Before today, I didn’t feel faint at all, so I think it’s just something I ate."

He still didn't deign you with any answer. Zayne’s apparent disregard for your words frustrated you, bringing you close to tears. "Say something..." you urged, feeling the tears burn behind your eyes. "I know you're upset, but now I'm scared too."

You really wanted him to comfort you. You knew the Zayne from several weeks ago would do just that, but now you had a feeling that the man before you now wasn't that same man any longer.

"We’ll see when the results are ready," he said then, facing you with a stoic, matter-of-fact tone, as if he were delivering a diagnosis to a patient rather than speaking to his wife. "Don’t fret too much. Have some rest."

Is that... all he has to say to you? A part of your heart withered at his detached response, the tears frozen in your eyes. What happened to him?

You were about to confront him for an answer when his phone suddenly vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and answered.

"Hello? Yes, it's Zayne. Who is this?" he questioned flatly, eyes narrowed into a dissatisfied frown, before suddenly his expression lit up with understanding when the person on the other line introduced themselves.

You could hear the faint sound of a man's voice from his phone. And when Zayne addressed him, a sudden chill spread throughout your body.

"Caleb? It's... been a while."

You felt cold. Caleb. You never really knew him but you had certainly seen him. Once at a funeral, and once at your wedding. He too is Zayne's childhood friend, and more than that, he is the brother of—

Why? Why did all emotional suffering you had to go through, somehow or another, always come down to a dead woman who was once your husband's lover?

When he ended this call, you didn't even pretend to be considerate anymore. "What does he want from you?"

Zayne looked taken aback by your sudden hostility but answered calmly, "He’s in Linkon now and asked if we could meet."

"Must you really see him?"

"What are you getting at?"

"I don’t like it," you spat, venom clear in your voice, turning to him. "I don’t like it at all when you have to be involved with people related to her!"

Finally, you said it. You had never made it clear before, but this time, you felt like you were entitled enough to. You were having his daughter, and if he was still entangled in an illusion of his past girlfriend with you, then—

Zayne responded to your outburst with a suppressed sigh, visibly keeping his frustration in check. "He is an old friend, Y/N. You're too emotional right now that you jump into conclusions and stress yourself out."

He was right, your emotions were spiraling, but right now you were too heartbroken to care for it.

"Do you know what I fear the most?" you asked, tears shining in your eyes. At last, you voiced the dark, unspoken curse that had haunted you since the very beginning of it all:

"I’m afraid that one day, you’ll wake up and realize that either me or our baby is a mistake."

Zayne barely got any rest that night.

In the end, faced with your tears, he didn't respond because he didn't want to prolong the argument. More strain for you could put both you and the baby at risk.

Later, he told himself. No matter how much he berated himself for not noticing the signs of your illness sooner, or wanted show you that you and his unborn child meant everything to him now— later. He wouldn't risk you, and it would be better if you talk later with cooler heads.

Little did he know, that "later" would never come.

Numerous missed phone calls from the nurses station after he stepped out of the operating room sealed your fate. And when Greyson burst into his office, out of breath and panic-stricken, it was like being doused in scalding water.

"Dr. Zayne! Miss Y/N! Sh-she has just been rushed to ER for severe bleeding!"

Just like that, his world crashed and shattered beyond return.

. . .

"Dr. Zayne, I'm not sure how I should break this news to you... As a medical professional, you already know how serious this condition is..."

Everything was his greatest nightmare realized. Dr. Munson’s diagnosis struck him with a searing force, paralyzing him on the spot.

"Your wife has preeclampsia."

The nurses said you had been screaming and bleeding heavily. He too had seen it himself—the blood splattered across the pristine floor when he arrived, just moments after you were rushed to the emergency room—and the sight made a chill run through his spine in horror.

"She just experienced a partial placental abruption because of it. This causes bleeding in the mother, and also increases the risk of premature labor."

Dr. Munson’s explanation was crystal clear, yet it sent Zayne into a daze. It felt as if his chest had been ripped open, leaving him hollow as he stared numbly at your figure, peacefully asleep after the emergency treatment you had been put through.

Zayne clasped your hand in his, feeling the invincible knife lodged in his heart twist painfully.

You aren't supposed to be this cold. He gently griped your hand, his face contorted with agony. How terrified must you have been? How much did it hurt? Despite trying to push the memories away, seeing you like this brought back the nightmare from three years ago.

Only that this time, it was you. And not just you, but his unborn child as well. Both of you... there was a chance that both of you wouldn't survive.

The sheer thought made him stagger, because no, if it was the devil’s way to punish him, then it was beyond cruel. He had failed you once already, and he knew what happiness was by being with you, and to lose all of that in one blow—

"Zayne! Can you make me one more snowman?" you pleaded, your eyes sparkling as you pointed to the little gap between snowmen already perched on the window. "Just one more! It’ll make the line perfect!"

"I’m afraid that one day, you’ll wake up and realize that either me or our baby is a mistake."

It was so, so painful. His chest constricted at the contrasting memories and it took everything he had not to give in to his spiraling fears.

With everything I have, I love you. None of it mattered anymore. The divorce papers, whether he could make you happy— what was important was that It was unthinkable to lose you now. He would trade his life if it meant sparing you, because the pain of losing you would destroy him.

You had always loved that little thing he made on a whim. He opened your palm and shaped the ice through his manipulation, placing the palm-sized snowman in your grasp, hoping it would protect you throughout the night.

You remembered the excruciating pain, the primal dread of losing your baby, and the horrifying sight of crimson streaming endlessly between your legs, also how you screamed for anyone for help.

When you regained consciousness, the scent of fresh linen and alcohol was the first thing that greeted you. Dawn had already arrived, but the sky outside remained dark.

Your right palm felt cold, and that’s when you realized you were holding something. At the same time, you noticed the weight in your other hand—

Zayne. Your husband slept on the edge of your bed in such an uncomfortable position while holding your hand, his brows taut into a frown, only with a coat to cover himself.

He is here. You quietly watched him, and despite everything, you realized once again how much you loved him—even more that he was here for you.

Snowman… you stared at the little toy in your other hand, and overwhelming warmth washed over you at the thought of him creating it for you just before he slept.

The baby… what did you go through? Is she fine? You really couldn’t shake the feeling that something grave had happened to you.

You had to know. You pulled your left hand out of his grasp and caressed his face. He has to shave soon, you noted, feeling the stubble that had started to grow there. Still, you couldn't help but marvel at how handsome he was.

Your gentle touch soon caused his eyes to flutter open, and Zayne jerked awake, instinctively catching your hand. "You're awake..." he rasped, his voice rough with exhaustion.

He looked at you as if he was in disbelief, and immediately rose and squeezed your hand. You looked up to him, feebly asking, "What... happened to me?"

His face fell right that moment but you pressed on, "Tell me. I have to know..."

Zayne's reluctance was obvious, but the plea in your voice made him waver. Finally, he sighed and sat down on the edge of your bed.

"The test results have come back," he began, his voice adopting the clinical tone you recognized from when he spoke to his patients. "Your blood pressure is abnormally high, and there was protein found in your urine sample... These are signs of a condition called preeclampsia."

Shock marred your features in that moment, because you had heard what it was and what it meant for your baby.

"The only cure for preeclampsia is delivery. And at the same time the placenta has detached from the wall of your womb. This way, our baby—"

You had watched Zayne deliver devastating diagnoses to his patients before, and he was always steadfast. But this time, even his voice wavered.

His gray eyes seemed to glisten under the light as they held your gaze. "She's being deprived of oxygen and nutrients because the placenta can no longer supply them. You may also experience heavier bleeding, more cramps, and fetal distress. The best course of action now is to deliver the baby as soon as possible."

It felt like receiving death sentence. No matter how you looked at it, the conclusion was the same. "B-but..." you stammered, your whole body trembling, shaken by the enormity of it all. "S-she's just... barely twenty-six weeks..."

The way devastation bled in your voice pierced him. Without a word, Zayne pulled you into his arms, letting out a long, drawn-out breath as he held you close.

"I'm here," he assured, trying to console you. "You don't have to be scared. We'll monitor you closely until it's possible for you to give birth to the baby in around thirty weeks. I'll make sure of that."

The first of your sobs began. "...i-is it me?" you clutched at his coat mournfully. "Did I… p-put the baby into distress somehow— that it causes the placenta to fall away?"

"No," he firmly shushed you. "It's a condition that can flare up anytime. Don't blame yourself for it."

Still, how could you not? More than yourself, you feared for your unborn child. You sobbed harder, and Zayne held you even as his coat had started to dampen from your tears.

Your predicament broke his heart too, but at the same time, he found the perfect moment to finally show you the entirety of his heart.

"You told me you were afraid I'd come to see both of you as a mistake," he murmured, gently running his hand through your hair in an attempt to soothe you. "But how can our daughter be a mistake when—" his voice caught, choking on the words, "—when I've loved her so much already?"

The strain in his voice made you look up, and you were taken aback by the intensity of his gray eyes that bored into you.

“Both of you... are so precious to me.” Zayne locked his eyes with yours, sincerely meaning everything he said as he cradled the side of your face. “The thought that anything might happen to either of you... is unbearable.”

He pressed his forehead against yours, his voice hoarse, “What if… you continue to bleed and it leads to seizures? What if— you and the baby won’t make it? These are so unbearable for me.”

His words went straight into you, and for a moment, your tears receded as they sank in.

"I can’t give you my past." His voice tinged with melancholy, the expression on his face was torn. "But I promise you, at least in this lifetime..."

He gazed at you with the unwavering look you had fallen in love with, the same gaze you once admired from afar, long ago.

And then, his next declaration took your breath away and made your heart soar like never before. A wave of love surged within you, almost overwhelming you—

"Right this moment and my future—it's for you. For both of you, always."

From that moment on, you knew you would trust him completely. From that moment on, you finally let go of your doubts, knowing that you had nothing to fear with him by your side.

Zayne was by your side whenever he was able to.

You were on bedrest at the hospital ever since, but he always stayed the night here to accompany you, barely going back to home for a change of clothes.

"You’re really making a snowman..." he remarked, observing your fingers and the crochet hooks he’d brought from home so you could keep yourself entertained. "I think you need to add a bit more fluff there..."

Your face brightened with a grin as you cut the yarn. "Don’t worry, I’ll make it extra round."

The weeks in the hospital dragged on, but they also gave you more time to work on your amigurumi. When you finished putting the final touches on it, you proudly presented it to Zayne—the snowman with a blue shawl and black hat, two little round eyes, and a beaming line of smile. "Ta-da! Look, it’s even cuter than the ones you made!"

A happy you was always the sight he loved to see above all. "Yeah..."

"Do you think she'll love it?" you suddenly asked, poking the snowman doll you just made, feeling warm at the thought that your cherished baby will soon play with it too.

You looked so endearing that Zayne felt an overwhelming urge to pull you closer. “She will,” he chuckled, giving you a reassuring pat on the head. “Didn’t you say before she will?”

And soon, you reached the thirtieth-week mark. The time had come to finally deliver your baby.

. . .

"I can't feel anything..." Your voice came out as a soft whine while you lay on the operating table, your lower body numb and obscured by the surgical curtain shielding you from view.

Zayne, standing beside you in a mask and headcap, grasped your hand, his fingers intertwined with yours. "If you could feel it, you’d be screaming."

The C-section was the only way to ensure both you and your daughter would survive. It felt surreal to know they were basically cutting you open, yet you were unable to feel anything.

"Will... she come out healthy?" you asked your husband hesitantly, worried about your soon-to-be born baby. "I'm worried..."

Zayne glanced at you and gave your hand a light squeeze. "Don’t worry too much. You should be more concerned about yourself. Think of all the food you want to have when you get home, and I’ll get it for you."

You shot him a glare. "You make me sound like a foodie."

"You are a foodie."

Despite the ongoing surgery, Zayne’s lighthearted jabs were his way of easing your anxiety. Even though they irked you, you appreciated his attempts to lift your spirits.

And soon—

You heard a feeble cry, though quickly drowned out by the cheers of the surgical team beyond the curtain. You gasped and turned to Zayne, who was fixated on the tiny baby in Dr. Munson's hands.

He didn't even blink. It was almost as if he was spellbound by the sight. Nothing mattered because his daughter was here. Really here.

"Zayne…" your voice then broke the spell. He turned to you, who weakly smiled at him with tears in your eyes.

For the first time in your life, you saw tears of happiness glistening in his eyes as he stared at you— the woman who had just given him a daughter to love and dote on.

He immediately leaned in to press a kiss on your forehead. Your heart felt so full, even though he wasn’t able to fully express it in words. In that moment, you could feel his profound love for you and the new life you would embark on together.

"She is so small..."

You pressed yourself as close as you could to the see-through glass of the neonatal unit, straining to get a glimpse of your baby daughter. Though you weren't well enough to walk three days after the surgery, you insisted on Zayne wheeling you over in a wheelchair just so you could have a peek.

"She’ll grow big soon," Zayne said, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder when he noticed your sadness. "She’ll stay there for a few more weeks, and then we can bring her home."

However, your expression twisted into a worried frown as you watched the gentle rise and fall of your baby’s tiny chest inside the incubator. Even when he had reassured you that it was by all means just an unfortunate condition, you couldn't help feeling that it was your fault somehow that she ended up there.

She had his tufts of black hair, but you weren’t able to get close enough to remember her face clearly. The fact that you hadn’t held her in your arms yet made your heart ache.

"Mommy is sorry that she can't carry you to full-term..." you croaked out, lips wobbling, a hand tracing the glass separating you from your new baby, and Zayne inhaled sharply at the sight.

It hadn’t been easy, but you had made it through. Both of you had. And to him, that was more than enough. So, you needed to hear it too.

He crouched down in front of you, catching your attention instantly. You tilted your head as his hands rested gently on your shoulders.

“Thank you for delivering our daughter safely,” he said with the softest of smiles, ever so genuine just as you were in all times of the two of you together.

Your eyes widened a bit at his sudden gratitude, and when he took both of your hands together in his, gazed at you with such earnestness in his clear ash-grey eyes, and traced his thumbs over your knuckles, your heart skipped a beat.

“And most of all, thank you... for being safe too.”

Those words brought immense warmth to you, and the prettiest of smile lit up your face then at the way he looked at you as if you were his most prized treasure. Just like that, once again, he cast all your fears and doubts aside.

And deep down, you knew that with him by your side, everything was going to be alright.

taglist

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cheriecoke · 1 year ago

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nanami kento, who hates dating, and didn’t do much of it in his early twenties. but now, he’s almost thirty, watching all the people he works with settle down, have kids, and he thinks he wants that. so he might as well try.

so satoru sets him up on a few dates — friends of friends, he calls them. and at the end of every one of the dinners, kento goes home empty, exhausted, because he knows what they want is not the same.

still; he thinks maybe he’s being a little self-destructive, maybe too picky, maybe he just got so used to being alone. with satoru’s insistence, he gives all the women another call, invites them over to his apartment.

the first time was a disaster… kento had barely set the dinner on the table before his cat had hissed at her, scratched her down the arm in a thin gash. and though it did draw blood, it was hardly enough to warrant that reaction.

he didn’t even try to stop her as she picked up her bag and left, huffing like she’d been morally offend. kento, though, could only smile to himself in amusement.

because maybe kento was a poor judge of character, a man who was secretly hoping nothing would pan out — but his cat could certainly tell the good from the bad.

it became a little game to him, after that. seeing if anyone could win his pet over, and if they could, perhaps they were the one. his darling animal was a fickle thing anyway. a bit too defensive, quick to bite anything threatening after years on the streets.

naturally, no one came back twice.

he was close to giving up, accepting his solitude because he was tired of empty conversations over dinner. but then, he ventured out over the weekend to a new coffee shop, during hours he normally didn’t spend out of his home, and met you.

though you only talked for a moment, kento felt like maybe he’d known you in a past life. a part of him thought maybe it was strange, the way he kept coming back to talk to you, catching you at the end of your shift to see if you wanted to grab a coffee sometime.

by the second date, kento started to think you could turn out to be his best friend.

by the third date, kento wondered if soulmates were real.

on the fourth date, almost two months later, an appropriate time to get to know someone when you were as reserved as kento, he invited you over for dinner. it was, perhaps, the final confirmation he needed to let himself be with you.

he let you through the door, smiling softly as you told him about the book you were reading, and hung his coat on the rack. a moment later, you stopped, distracted, hands covering your mouth in a gasp.

“kento! she’s the cutest cat i’ve ever seen, you didn’t even show me pictures!” you exclaim, and, a few feet away, crouched down. “look at her pretty eyes…”

“careful,” kento said, “she’s not very—“

but the cat approached your outstretched hand, sniffed once, before letting you scratch her under her chin, purring loud enough for kento to hear across the room.

“shes such a sweetheart, you told me she was mean!” you smiled, making a cooing noise as you threaded your fingers through her fur. “kento’s a liar, isn’t he… you’re so precious.”

a few moments later, she snapped her jaw at you in a biting motion, and you only laughed, withdrawing your hand. “alright, i get it, i won’t bother you anymore.”

though she still brushed against your legs, just as she did kento’s, and seemed to communicate some sort of message to him.

“do you want any help cooking?” you ask, tucking your hair behind your ears. “i’m a disaster in the kitchen, but—“

“sure,” kento said, his chest tightening as he blinked back at you, only in his apartment for minutes and already looking as at home there. he wondered if it was possible to fall in love so quickly. “but only if you want to.”

#this is very silly #i just wanted to get it out of my drafts #i’ve had this thought for a while but #i decided i didn’t want to write a whole drabble so now you get this #kento being inexperienced at dating & not enjoying it is very special to me #and so is him having a cat tehe #selfship coded i suppose bc reader is me but it’s not that obvious i hope #kento 💋 ⋆ ˚｡⋆#nanami x reader #xoxo rylie 💌 ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆#jjk x reader #nanami x you #nanami fluff #nanami x gender neutral reader #xoxo rylie 💌 ⋆ ˚｡⋆

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ghstzzn · 28 days ago

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roommates for dummies!

pairings: lee heeseung x f!reader, jay park x f!reader, jake sim x f!reader, park sunghoon x f!reader

synopsis: desperate to get off of your bestfriends couch, you decide to reply to an ad online in search of a roommate. sure, you were skeptical about living with four men—but if anything, just desperate. it wasn't long before you started to completely regret this decision. however, some things just might be worth the stress and anger.

part one! wc: 5.7k

tags/warnings (for this part): SMUT. theres no fivesome happening (sorry..), threesome(s), fingering, rough sex, unprotected sex, pullout method, oral ( m rec), deepthroating, cum eating/cum play/just cum stuff ig, voyeurism, degradation, name calling, some praise, manhandling, sex standing up idk just trust me, no aftercare, silly bit at the end, heeseung thinks he's sooooo funny! that's it for this part i believe.

🍊: havent posted smth fr in awhile kind of nervous. not much happens except sex but thats the point of this. by the way this is one of three/four parts ♡ enjoy and Uhhhhhh uhhhuhhh uhhhhhhhh

masterlist / part two

MINORS & AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT

you savored every second you spent outside of your new home.

sure, you were beyond grateful to have a place to live. in fact, you were lucky considering how quickly you got in this situation. losing your old place due to unforeseen circumstances, a.k.a, your ex boyfriend kicking you out of his apartment after you caught him cheating on you despite you paying more than half of his rent.

though, you figured his new girlfriend could handle that portion now.

you crashed on your friends couch for a few days, actively searching for anyone looking for a new roommate. she assured you that you could stay as long as you needed, and there was no need to rush, but you were stubborn and had quite the false sense of being independent.

which is why you clicked on the first ad you saw. a nice five bedroom house, the spare having its own bathroom and it was closer to campus unlike your last apartment. you couldn’t find much information on the poster, but you were desperate so you quickly dialed in the number on screen and waited while it rang.

you were taken aback when a male voice loudly boomed from the other side. you pulled the phone away from your ear and double checked the number— it was typed in correctly.

“hello?” he spoke again. “hellooooooo-”

“uh, sorry.” you cleared your throat. “i saw an ad online that you were looking for a new roo-”

the male cuts you off, “yeaahhh. man, was wondering when someone would respond.” you cringe at the way he interrupted you. “you lookin’ for someone else? no offense but you sound a little… y’know, like a girl.”

you let out a sigh, nodding even though he couldn’t see you, “i’m calling for myself… i wasn’t aware you were a man but– actually, i’m a little desperate.”

“yeah? desperate?” he chuckles. you raise an eyebrow at the response. “alright, can you meet me here then?”

caught off guard once more by the sudden eagerness of the stranger, you stuttered out a quick yes.

“cool. i’ll text you the address n’ shit.”

the phone hangs up, not sparring you a moment to respond. you blink as you stare at your phone, watching as you receive a few messages from the number you had just called.

at least you had other options if this didn’t go as planned.

jake spun around in the barstool at the kitchen island, letting out a puff of air as he waited patiently.

“you waiting for something?” jake turns his head towards the voice. jay walks through the kitchen, chewing on some kind of protein bar.

the antsy male leans forward against the counter, “our new roomie. she said she’d be here ten minutes ago.”

“oh.” jay responds before stopping in his tracks as he actually lets jakes words enter his brain. “wait, what? new roommate? she?”

“yeah man,” jake lets out another huff. “she’s late.”

“no, run that back.” the other male draws circles into the air. “when the fuck did we get a new roommate? and why is it a woman?”

“we have a new roommate?” another voice rings through the kitchen.

jake turns around in his chair with a sigh, “yes guys! jeez, you all need to learn patience– she’ll be here soon.”

“she?” the voice, belonging to heeseung, questions.

“that’s what i’m wondering!”

“ladies please, one at a time.” the male stands from his seat. “we have a new roommate, yes. she’s a woman, also yes.”

heeseung furrows his eyebrows, thinking for a moment before jay speaks up once more, “don’t we get a say in this? or at least some type of interview?”

“is she hot?” heeseung chimes in immediately after, receiving a scoff from jay.

“totally.” jake snickers. “her voice told me enough about her. sounded so nervous too, it was cute.”

“you don’t even know what she looks like?”

“you seriously only think with that dick of yours.” heeseung comments, shaking his head.

“says you!” jay frowns at the other roommate.

the doorbell rings twice, drawing the attention from all three males. heeseung straightens his posture, quickly checking his appearance in the reflection of the stainless steel refrigerator. jay finishes his protein bar in one bite and clears his throat.

jake rolls his eyes at the two, “careful now, don’t pop a boner in front of her.”

he practically skips over to the door, almost giggling out loud. he pulls the front door open just before you ring the doorbell once more. “was starting to think you weren’t gonna show.”

you look him up and down, quite shocked at the attractive face he had.

“uh, yeah, sorry about that.” you respond, clearing your throat. “traffic was heavy.”

“that’s okay, babe.” he opens the door wider, inviting you in, not even hiding the way his eyes immediately land on your ass as you walk in front of him.

your gaze immediately fell on a taller man with red hair, who you assumed was heeseung (you weren’t viewing this house without stalking the people who resided in it), now wearing a beanie and leaned over the counter with his chin resting on his hand. he shot you a crooked smile and waved his fingers at you.

“hey roomie.”

jay looks at the man in disbelief; and so do you.

“i’m actually just here to tour and interview… right?” you turn to look at jake who shrugs.

“i mean we all agreed you could move in.”

“since whe-”

jake cuts jay off and steps closer to you, “you said you were desperate right? you don’t seem like a weirdo or a bitch so just give us a move-in date and you’re good.”

you squint your eyes at him, confused and questioning this entire thing. your friend's couch doesn’t seem like a bad idea, she even offered to renew her lease for a bigger space in a few months.

“we promise we won't bother you or anything,” he continues, “you have your own bathroom and the door has a working lock. swear on our lives you’ll barely see us.”

before you could even respond, the front door opens and slams shut. a taller man walks past you and jake, clearly locked into whatever was on his phone. he continued to walk past the kitchen before stopping and spinning around.

“new roommate.” heeseung tells him. the other male lets out an “oh” and nods his head at you before walking away, probably to his room.

you let out a sigh and the three remaining boys turn their attention back to you.

“can i just see the room?”

bothering you was the only thing these fools ever did.

the front door shuts with a slam and you’re immediately greeted by heeseung sprawled out on the couch scrolling through his phone, completely ignoring the mess leftover from their small house party from last night. the one that kept you up half the night despite begging them to turn in early for the sake of your sanity.

you run your hands through your hair, frustrated that the house looks exactly the same as it did early this morning. well, save for the leftover food that heeseung managed to put in the fridge. kicking off your shoes, you make your way into the kitchen and grab the trash bag that was left on the counter and start tossing all the empty beer cans and disposable cups in.

heeseung looks up from his phone to find the source of the angry slams and movements, smirking when his eyes land on you.

“woah there,” he calls out to you, “wake up on the wrong side of the bed today?”

you look up from the trash bag, throwing a can in it with so much force it somehow bounces out, only fueling your anger, “save it.”

heeseung chuckles, standing up from the couch and stretching while letting out an obnoxious groan. he walks around the couch and leans against the back of it.

“are you gonna help or just stand there?” you motion towards the mess on the counters.

“no, yeah, i think i'll just stand here. i’m kind of loving this scene with you in the kitchen.”

you look at him, disbelief written all over your face, “so you’re lazy and a misogynist, nice!”

“what? no,” heeseung looks almost offended at your accusation. “no, babe, i’m not a misogynist– i literally love pussy. i could prove that to you right now if you’d like.”

“not a misogynist, just horny. got it.”

your roommate only shrugs and pulls out his phone once more. the carefree attitude of his was only adding to the frustration building in your chest. you cross your arms and glance around. “where are the others?”

heeseung hums, you only assume he’s using the full power of his brain as he recalls the whereabouts of the other three roommates, but really he’s only focusing on how your tits bounce ever so slightly with every angry movement if your arms.

“jake’s asleep, jay’s attending a group meditation and sunghoon… should be home in a few. why? miss them?”

you wanted nothing more than to take the metal scrub pad near the sink and scrub at the stupid smirk on his face. instead, you nod and take a deep breath.

the door opens just on cue however. sunghoon walks in, kicking his shoes off in two different directions with a bag of full of bottles clinking against each other. the noise of the liquor bottles only added to your rage.

“really? more alcohol?” you comment and point towards the counter where a few unopened and opened bottles sat. “you have all of this– plus the entire mini fridge full of drinks.”

sunghoon raises a brow at you, “okay. but that’s liquor for functions, not me.”

you wave your hands in front of you. it made zero sense to you.

the taller male looks at sunghoon, “what’s wrong with her?”

“man, i don't know.” heeseung replies with a sigh, “she came in here all pissy and started slamming shit.”

they were having a conversation about you– in front of you.

“what? why?”

he shrugs again, “like i said, don't know. maybe she should follow jay to one of his meditation sessions.”

you roll your eyes, “you’re not funny, heeseung.” he lets out a snicker. you grab a rag from the counter and chuck it in his direction.

sunghoon whistles at the action and sets the bags he was holding onto the counter.

“i’m seriously regretting this whole living arrangement.”

heeseung pouts and crosses his arms over his chest dramatically, “hey! we aren’t that bad to live with.” he protests, though his tone is playful. “at least give us a chance to redeem ourselves. look, we’ll help clean up the rest of the mess.”

you sigh and nod, it’s the least they could do but you won't protest. turning around, you glance at sunghoon, who was now storing away the liquor he had bought and the leftover bottles.

“...except, it looks like you’ve finished.” heeseung grins. “thanks, darling.”

you shoulders fall in defeat, “i fucking hate you.”

he chuckles loudly as you study the room. he was right. you had completely cleaned the kitchen, minus the few liquor bottles that sunghoon had just stored away.

“no, no. she missed one thing.” sunghoon calls out causing the two of you to whip your heads in his direction. he crouches down and picks up the can that bounced out of the trash bag earlier and tosses it in the trash. “hah, how funny is that? it was right next to the bag too.”

heeseungs no longer holding back his laughter. you question whether or not the dude is blasted out of his mind right now because you definitely didn’t find a single thing about this funny.

“hey, chill.” sunghoon butts in, “i’ll wipe down the counters and shit.”

you turn to face him, “did you by chance buy any cleaning supplies while out?”

“no, why?”

heeseung laughs louder, wiping at his eyes.

“i really don’t understand what could possibly be so funny about any of this.”

his laughter eventually dies down, finally shutting up. “sorry, sorry.” he clears his throat. “but seriously, thanks for cleaning up. you’re a real one for that.”

you hum and let out a sarcastic sure, heeseung nods and walks past you, patting your shoulder causing you to scrunch your face in disgust. you turn to follow his figure with your eyes, but you catch sunghoon staring at you.

“what?”

“hm, nothing. just wondering when you’re gonna snap out of your little tantrum.” he responds calmly, leaning against the counter. “it’s getting old, to be honest with you.”

you bite your lip, holding back a response to him. you watch as heeseung wipes his hand on a paper towel, throwing it on the counter right after.

sunghoon sighs dramatically, shaking his head. “seriously, what’s the big deal? nobody here is forcing you to clean up after us.”

“but it’s all the time,” you groan. “the constant parties and get-togethers you host while i’m trying to sleep after a long day or studying– then having to come out and clean it all up because you three are nowhere to be seen? i can only deal with so much.”

his expression hardens and heeseung leans against the counter with a bored expression, “well, maybe if you’d let loose for once and joined in on the fun every once in a while, instead of holing yourself up in your room like a hermit, you wouldn’t be so uptight.”

“fuck off.”

sunghoon scoffs, “my point exactly. you’re so uptight and bitchy— it’s not fun. you aren’t better than us for that.”

“sorry i don’t want to be involved in your weird ass parties.” you respond with a shrug.

“such a princess,” heeseung giggles, “always complaining, never participating. seriously, they aren’t as bad as you make them seem.”

sunghoon nods in agreement, “yeah, i’m telling you that you’d be able to tolerate us a lot more if you cared to let go of that boring, angry personality of yours and showed up.”

you throw your hands up, more than done with the conversation. “whatever, i don’t care anymore. just… just clean up a little more. it’s all i ask.”

heeseung pouts exaggeratedly, eyeing the way you surrender in defeat “oh come on, princess. don’t be like that.” he tries to sound apologetic, “we’re only messing around with you.”

“yeah! we don’t care if you prude around alone in your room!” sunghoon adds, “but just for you, we’ll clean up after ourselves, your highness.”

“you both are childish.” you spit out, biting the inside of your cheeks as the frustration threatens to spill out in the form of tears.

heeseung grins, not at all put off by your insult, “childish? rich coming from the girl who’s about to cry from a little teasing.” he taunts, voice laced with amusement.

you scoff in response, turning around so you could leave the situation and escape to your room, but sunghoon has other plans as he steps right in front of you. his arms automatically wrap around your waist to steady you, his face mere inches away from you as you look up at him, shooting him a glare.

“where do you think you’re going, princess?” he flashes you a knowing smile, voice low and teasing.

you attempt to lean away from his face that only seems to inch closer, jumping slightly when the back of your head comes into contact with heeseungs chin. “to my room– away from the two of you.”

“oh, don’t let us stop you then.” heeseung grins from behind, his cheek nuzzling against your hair.

“let me go then?”

“but we weren’t done,” sunghoon attempts to feign a pout, but his smirk grows stronger as he studies the way your body reacts to him, “we still have to thank you for cleaning the mess up.”

heeseung hums against your ear, “seriously. how sweet of you, doll.”

“you can thank me by leaving me alone.” you mumble, though you do nothing to back away from the situation. you couldn’t deny the way your heartbeat sped up from being sandwiched between the two, or the way your core pulsed from the way sunghoon traced small patterns into your side.

sunghoon chuckles, all knowing of what was running through your mind, “aw, but where’s the fun in that?” he asks, hands sliding down to your hips, giving them a teasing squeeze. “we love spending time with our favorite roomie.”

your hands fall on top of his, unsure on whether or not you should remove them from your hips. his eyes follow the movements of your hands, letting out a soft chuckle as he watches the way your mind struggles against the need you feel for the two.

“mm, not so fast baby.” heeseung purrs, his hot breath hitting the shell of your ear. “what did we say? gotta give you a proper thank you.”

“how?”

sunghoon smiles, looking at heeseung before turning his attention back to you. “they say actions speak louder than words,” he responds. “we’ll make sure to make it very clear just how grateful we are for you.”

you gulp as he responds, your thighs clenching together at the tone of his voice. the gaze in his eyes told you exactly what the two men wanted from you, the way they looked at you as if you were prey.

heeseung grows impatient from behind, his face nuzzling against your skin as he peppers kisses down your neck until he reaches your shoulder, biting the skin causing you to let out a gasp. he chuckles darkly before tucking his finger under the thin strap of your tank top and letting it fall off your shoulder.

he lifts his head and switches to your other shoulder, resting his chin on your shoulder as he travels his hand down your torso, reaching the waistband of your shorts.

your automatic response is to grab his hands but sunghoon shakes his head and grabs them, linking his fingers between yours and bringing them up to his shoulders. he leans in closer, his breath ghosting your cheek.

sunghoon begins planting soft but deliberate kisses against your skin, following the trail that heeseung had left earlier, kissing and sucking the bite mark left by the other male.

the man behind you takes the chance, shoving his hand down your shorts that he had undone moments before while you were distracted. he grins when he doesn’t feel any other fabric beneath your shorts.

“isn’t that just convenient?” he grins, giddy at the fact that you weren’t wearing underwear.

“w-wait,” you stutter out, suddenly aware of where you were standing.

sunghoon grips one of your hands, guiding it over his chest, “shh, it’s fine.”

heeseungs hand dips lower, his middle finger sliding through your slit. he lets out a groan before removing his hand from your shorts but quickly yanks them down, letting them fall to your ankles.

you let out a small yelp due to the quickness of the male. he glides his finger from your dripping hold, gathering your slick and moving to your clit, tapping it a few times before pressing down.

“can’t believe you’re already this wet just from a little bit of touching,” he groans against your shoulder. “really thought we’d have to ease you into this– but you wanted this bad, huh?”

sunghoon smirks against your neck, lifting his head, wanting to see your face as heeseung pleasures you with his fingers, “c’mon, don’t tease her. poor girl probably hasn’t been touched properly in awhile.”

“is that true?” the male behind you questions softly but teasing, “were you just waiting for one of us to fuck you stupid?”

their teasing voices combined with heeseungs fingers massaging at your clit cause you to let out a soft whine. one buck of your hips has sunghoon reaching down and holding your hips in place for heeseung to continue his attack on your sensitive bud.

“you don’t even have to respond,” sunghoon mutters, “look at the way you’re whining and squirming.”

heeseung slips a finger in your core, pumping a few times before slipping another one inside of you. the feeling of your warm cunt walls wrapped around his fingers is enough to send him reeling, he grinds his hips into your ass with a grunt.

the male in front of you has to tighten his grip on your hips, rolling his eyes. you let out a loud moan when heeseung curls his fingers inside of you, he brings his other hand to cover your mouth.

“don’t wanna wake jakey up, do you?” his voice is low, hot breath hitting the side of your face. you shake your head desperately as he continues to finger fuck you, scissoring and curling his fingers, hitting the sensitive spot inside of you with ease.

“look at her, hee.” sunghoon mumbles, admiring the way you look between the two men, “so pretty like this, isn’t she? if i knew this was a good way to get her to shut up, i'd have done it earlier.”

heeseung chuckles darkly, lips trailing against your neck once more, “she’s so fuckin’ greedy too. literally dripping down my hand… aren’t you, baby?”

you let out a muffled whine and nod your head shamelessly.

“yeah? you’re doing so good like this,” he continues, “but i think you need more.”

heeseung pulls his fingers out of you and removes his hand from your mouth. you’re about to question him but he’s pushing you forward while pulling your hips back against him. sunghoon holds you steady as the male behind you undoes his pants.

“take your time, hee.” sunghoon comments, slowly losing his patience. “jay’s gonna be home soon.”

“‘m fucking trying,” he mutters in response, successfully freeing his hardened cock with his one hand. “hold her still and shut up.”

sunghoon rolls his head back in irritation and tightens his grip on you.

“you’ll need to cover her mouth too. i’m not sharing her between you and jake today.”

your taller roommate doesn’t respond again but brings his hand up to your mouth with a smirk. you whimper softly through his hand when you feel heeseung slide his tip through your wetness, gathering it on his cock. he rocks his hips a few times, teasing your clit before catching onto your hole and slowly pushing in.

“fuuuck,” he hisses. “she’s so damn tight, sunghoon.”

“just fuck her,” sunghoon responds impatiently, he tilts his head down at you. “that’s what you want right, babygirl?”

you let out a muffled grunt when heeseung bottoms out inside of you. he waits only a few moments before pulling out almost completely, then pushing back inside of you with more force and speed.

the two men have you perfectly held in place, controlling the movements of your body as heeseung speeds up his thrusts. each rock of his hips draws out a moan from you, covered by sunghoons hand.

heeseung groans softly, his pace never slowing as he takes all the pleasure he can get from your body. “she’s seriously so tight.” he growls, his grip tightening on your body. “feel that? feel how well you wrap around my cock, baby?”

your eyes squeeze shut from the pleasure. your cunt continues to squeeze around his cock as he pounds into you. sunghoon watches the way his roommates cock disappears inside of you, the way your juices glisten everytime he pulls out before slamming back in.

his own cock twitches in his pants, he’s so painfully hard and getting impatient. sunghoon wishes it were just him here instead of heeseung, wishing it were him being the one to fuck you– and only him. you let out a high pitch whine as heeseung speeds up his pace, his tip hitting your g-spot deliciously. he brings a hand down to rub at you clit, causing you to jump from the overwhelming pleasure.

“mm, she jus’ gets tighter.” he slurs, drunk on the way your pussy sucks him in. “you like that, don’t you? shit.. y’gonna make me cum if you keep doing that.”

your eyes are shut, in a complete daze from the way his cock is fucking you. sunghoon smirks at the sight, in love with the way you’re fully enjoying every second of this.

“minutes ago you were about to rip our heads off,” he coos, “now you’re over here drooling on my hand over some cock. just a little slut, aren't you? maybe i was wrong about you being a prude.”

heeseung’s barely keeping it together behind you as his hips meet your ass with haste, hissing and groaning with each thrust. he’s uncoordinated and sloppy yet still hitting that spot deep inside of you, throwing your body towards sunghoon, who keeps a bruising grip on you as the other male pounds into you.

your past self would be embarrassed to see you now, yet, you couldn’t feel an ounce of shame at the moment. it feels as if heeseung’s fucking all the frustration out of you.

it’s dirty. the way the two men have you sandwiched in the kitchen— straight out of a cheap porno. every time you start to think about jay or jake strolling in and catching the three of you, it only makes your core throb more with need.

“what are you thinking about?” sunghoon whispers, leaning closer, offering his chest for your head to lean against. “hmm, baby? you thinking about something else while fucking yourself on heeseungs cock?”

the male mentioned lets out a loud groan, gripping your hips and pulling you back harder against him. you could tell he was close, as were you. your hands tug on the fabric of sunghoons shirt, attempting to pull yourself up. but with his hand on your mouth, you can’t let them know so you rely on your body language.

“gonna cum for me?” heeseung grumbles, leaning closer to you. his thrusts are deep and rough as he chases his high. “c’mon, cum on this cock…”

you feel your cunt flutter around him as you hit your peak, a muffled squeal leaving your mouth as you finally cum. heeseung pants, giving you a few more thrusts before pulling out completely and fisting his cock until he’s cumming all over your lower back and ass.

sunghoon removes his hand from your mouth causing you to take a deep breath, he wipes his hand on his pant leg which goes unnoticed by you.

“jesus-” heeseung breathes out from behind you, hand gripping the counter. “fuck, that was good. why didn’t you tell me you felt this good before?”

you don’t reply to him– you just continue to lean against sunghoon as you regain all composure. the tall male keeps a hand on your waist as the other slowly unbuckles his belt. your other roommate redresses himself after using a paper towel to wipe himself down, giving your ass a small smack in the process.

“yo,” sunghoon calls out to him, earning a raised eyebrow in response. he cocks his head behind him. “keep jake in his room, yeah?”

“now?”

the man you were still using as support scoffs, “yes, dude. now..”

heeseungs stands there for a moment, looking at you as you finally turn around, slowly reaching to pull your shorts up. he clicks his tongue and walks off with a groan.

as soon as his footsteps fade away, sunghoon yanks your arm away from the article of clothing and pushes you against the kitchen counter. you gasp when the cold countertop makes contact with your skin. “s-sunghoon!”

he smacks his lips and pushes your sticky lower back down to keep you still, “you seriously thought i was about to let you walk away? after you made me watch him fuck you like that?”

he lifts his now cum covered hand off your back, studying it for a few moments. “not gonna let me have any fun? especially after you used me like a fucking wall?” he grips your face with his other hand, leaning over you as he shoves his fingers in your mouth.

the thick salty flavor hits your tongue immediately and you close your lips around his soaked fingers, the rest of the cum on his hand completely coating your chin and jaw.

“you like that?” sunghoon chuckles darkly. “you know how pathetic you look right now?”

you groan around his fingers as he rocks his hips against you, grinding his bare cock in your slick. he doesn’t waste a second before shoving himself inside of you causing you to bite down on his fingers from the sudden full feeling once again.

sunghoon hisses in response, pulling out before roughly thrusting into you. the corner of the counter is digging into your hip but you couldn’t be bothered to resituate yourself. he pulls his fingers out of your mouth and snakes his hand in between your thighs, pressing against your clit as he starts to pound into you. his other hand is on the back of your neck, a tight grip as he uses it to stabilize himself.

your own cum is dripping down your thighs as sunghoon’s cock forces it out with each thrust. it’s truly a struggle to stay quiet, your moans are coming out in rough whimpers and deep breaths. you lay your upper body flat against the counter and hide your face in your arms to help muffle your sounds of pleasure.

though it wouldn’t even matter if anyone could hear your cries because the sound of wet skin slapping against each other could surely be heard from the other side of the neighborhood.

“fuck, you’re taking me so good right now. heeseung loosened you up for me, didn’t he?” sunghoons voice is low and rough, almost stuttering over his words. “so fuckin’ greedy for cock– look at you.”

if it weren’t for your arms, your face would be squashed into the hard countertops from the sheer force of his hand around the back of your neck pushing it down. sunghoon doesn’t notice, nor does he care about his roughness because truly all he cares about is cumming.

you can hear the door slam and you try to lift your hand, in sheer panic, but sunghoon shoves it back down with a grumble.

“t’sup?” sunghoon lets out a sigh and throws his head back.

“nothing,” the voice, belonging to jay, responds. he throws a few envelopes on the counter and sighs. “another noise complaint– like dude, who fucking cares? they act like the cops are gonna bust us or something.”

never in a million years did you think you would be getting backshots while two people had a completely casual conversation as you were between them.

sunghoon groans, his pace barely slowing, “my parents own half this fuckin’ neighborhood.”

“that’s what i’m saying! these complaints are useless.” jay responds, an annoyed tone lacing his voice. “is that– y’know what, i’m tired. clean the counters when you’re done.”

and with that, jay is walking away. you only hope he’s heading to his bedroom. however, your entire body is hot with embarrassment yet you feel yourself about to cum any second.

“fuck– sunghoon! s-slow down.” you barely cry out as you cream around his cock. he rolls his eyes, not that you could see, before pulling out completely.

you take a deep breath before he grabs you and spins you around, pushing you to your knees. your hands fly to his thighs, trying to catch yourself before bruising your knees.

sunghoon spares you a wicked smirk before tapping the tip of his cock against your lips, in which you invite him in with zero hesitance. he doesn’t start slow, immediately pushing his cock to your throat, enough to bring tears to your eyes before pulling out to let you breathe.

and he does it again. and again. until you're coughing around his cock.

“yeah, just like that, baby.” the male sighs, hand gripping your hair. he lets you take another deep breath before shoving his cock deeper down your throat. “look at you gagging– fuck, this is so good.”

he repeats his actions until his cock is twitching with the need to cum. sunghoon gives a few thrusts before pulling back slightly and cumming all over your tongue and throat. his release was almost too much for you, but he didn’t care that it was dripping out of your mouth, or that you were borderline choking on it.

“swallow.”

you try to shake your head no but he only tugs on your hair, “you can.”

shakily, you cover your mouth as you gulp, swallowing his sticky release. sunghoon chuckles, completely satisfied.

“you’re so fucking easy, you know that?” he cooes. his thumb, sticky with heeseungs earlier release, wipes at your tears. you can only stare at him as he continues to degrade you. “oh, don’t be ashamed, princess, it’s perfect for us.”

you wipe at the corner of your mouth before grabbing your shorts that are laid close by. grabbing the counter edge above, you pull yourself up, not at all wanting to ask for sunghoons help. he leans against the counter, fixing his belt, completely uninterested in you.

slipping the shorts on felt useless in front of him. what was there to hide at this point?

“i’m gonna shower.”

“yeah, sure. i’ll try not to use any hot water for the next hour.”

you give him a nod. well, this is fucking weird. but you honestly would rather take this than it be awkward. genuinely, you would rather not have him force himself to give you soft and sweet aftercare.

“jays cooking tonight!” sunghoon calls out to you as you head back to your room. you roll your eyes and push your door open.

you:

hypothetically, i have this friend who wanted to move out of her current place because she HATES her roommates but she just fucked 2 of them…. at the same time and suddenly doesnt want to leave

from: chaewon 💓

what the FUCK did u just say to me

you:

so basically im fucked

🍊: @filmnings @deobitifull @leov3rse @hooniehon @roslayy @strxwbloody @cutiepatootiejungwon @jakeswifez @yuriknows @d-dilemma (bold couldn’t be tagged / taglist now closed!)

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