#mr fires x mr veils

[fushitoru]

chapter 2: the aftermath a bridgerton!au

pairing ⸺ duke!satoru gojo x fem!reader

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

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

chapter summary ⸺ after an eventful first ball after your debut, you continue the season with thinly veiled vexation towards gojo. but fate is not on your side; you and gojo keep encountering each other, matching fire with fire (7.8k)

a/n some parts of this chapter broke my brain to write but i kind of had fun! as always thank you to @/sinn-claire for beta reading :p i was going to say i'll try to have weekly updates but i don't want to jinx it lol

prev. the debutante | next. the manor

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Dearest gentle reader, 

It appears that Her Majesty has bestowed the coveted title of this season’s Diamond upon none other than Miss Itadori, who has indeed lived up to her newfound acclaim as the incomparable of the year. At the latest ball, our shining Diamond was quite occupied, with suitors lining up in such numbers that one might have thought them to be queuing for the royal throne itself. Furthermore, blooms were budding between many of the debutantes and gentlemen, including…..

...Yet, one particular couple captivated the attention of all: none other than Mister Satoru Gojo and our season’s Diamond. After having kept his words sparse and his attentions limited to none, Mister Gojo appeared utterly taken with Miss Itadori, conversing with her intimately on the dance floor. It seems your humble Author was indeed correct⸺Mister Gojo has entered the marriage market. However, the exclusivity he has adopted may not deter the determined maidens he seeks to avoid, for the Ambitious Mamas will no doubt perceive his selectiveness as a challenge to be overcome. 

One cannot help but wonder if an announcement of particular interest will be made at the upcoming Gojo country house party. Although your Author has not yet laid eyes upon the guest list for the Duchess Gojo’s anticipated gathering, reliable sources suggest that nearly every eligible young lady of marriageable age will be journeying to Kent next week. The country house party is known to be a perilous affair. Married individuals often find themselves enjoying the company of someone other than their spouse, while the unwed frequently return to town betrothed with surprising haste.

Indeed, the most unexpected engagements often follow closely on the heels of such rustic diversions.

⸻ LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS

Satoru had no intention of squandering his time this season⸺or at any time, for that matter.

The notion of love matches held little appeal to him, despite witnessing such a union firsthand in his own parents. Make no mistake, the Duke and Duchess Gojo enjoyed a happy marriage, and Satoru held both his father and mother in the highest regard. Yet, he was perfectly content on his own.

Being one of the strongest bachelors⸺both intellectually and physically⸺has been Satoru’s destiny. Ever since his ancestors had been blessed by the royal family with the dukedom, the Gojo family had made its goal to be the most powerful nobility and the closest to the royal family. (Which is still maintained in the status quo, because the Queen dotes on Satoru, inviting him for tea every fortnight. The Queen lavished him with overly sweet biscuits, and in return, Satoru provided her with the latest gossip from court). 

But this responsibility doesn’t get fulfilled without independence; one had to accept the solitary truth that to be truly great was to remain unswayed by the fleeting pleasures of the world⸺love included.

Satoru had little time or interest for the other vices that tempted men of his station, such as lust. Contrary to the whispers circulating among the ton, Satoru had never indulged in the life of a rake or frequented brothels as many of his acquaintances did. Really, the allegations were, in truth, merely just a byproduct of his appearance and demeanor; with a young man with the stature, face, and eligibility of Satoru, the public would immediately like to slap on the label of “rake” due to his arrogant personality. Moreover, any encounters he had witnessed between men and women⸺whether dropping his friends off at brothels in his carriage after an evening at the gentleman’s club or overhearing flirtations at parties⸺struck him as shallow and an utter waste of time, especially when he was already a week behind on the ledgers and other official matters his father had entrusted to him. (He did have one indulgence, however: a weakness for gluttony, with an array of sweet confections as his loyal companions during long, sleepless nights.)

Marriage was an even greater burden. The thought of being accountable for a wife, and eventually children, seemed like a daunting task to Satoru. With sleepless nights spent on covering just a fraction of the business his father must do as a duke, Satoru was tired. He was exhausted⸺exhausted from the weight of responsibility, from striving to meet his father’s expectations, from seeking the Queen’s approval, from worrying over what Whistledown might print about him, and from the gossip of the businessmen with whom the Gojo family dealt. 

And yet, despite this weariness, Satoru was gripped by an insatiable obsession with perfection, an obsession that only deepened his fatigue. He craved approval, power, and the flawless execution of his duties⸺desires that gnawed at him even as they threatened to consume him.

Which is exactly why he needed a perfect wife. A wife that was capable, could handle bothersome people⸺which he was steadily losing the patience to deal with⸺and a reliable companion. Someone that would reduce his stress, not add to it. 

Satoru had spent all day lurking in the shadows as best as he could; being the most eligible bachelor did mean that brothers and sisters were coming up to him, singing praises of their debutante in an effort to capture his interest. But Satoru knew all too well that the loudest families often had the most to compensate for.

As ladies in white paraded before the crowd, many buckling under the weight of judgment and attention, Satoru prowled like a jungle cat, staying hidden in the throng, biding his time, and waiting for the right moment to strike.

What he noticed first about you was your way of carrying yourself. Even Auntie⸺the Queen⸺who, after seeing countless of girls today, had been incredibly bored, dragged her eyes over you in slightly more interest than she did for others. The moment you stepped through those grand doors into the court, it was evident to everyone that your stride was that of someone who understood her role and position in life⸺a confidence that set you apart from the other debutantes. Satoru’s eyes raked over you, observing you as your chest rose slightly as you took a breath in. 

And then you smiled.

Satoru's eyes widened, just imperceptibly, as he watched your expression as you made your way to the Queen. He made sure to shake his expression off to a more nonchalant one as he watched your form walk. Lesser men than Satoru would die for your smile. Men, out of all traits a woman could possess, cherished a pretty visage the most. Yet, what your smile conveyed went beyond mere beauty; it embodied innocence and the qualities most esteemed in a demure bride (which Satoru knew was just all a show, but it was indeed indicative of your skill to put up appearances, hence deeming you a reliable companion).

The corner of the young man's mouth rose.  When the Queen declared you the diamond of the season, Satoru knew he had found his quarry.

When the ball came, Satoru acted similarly: observing from behind, staying in conversation with his friends and other noble men that did business with the Gojo family as he prowled the ballroom, waiting for the right moment to ask you for your hand. And then Naoya came in when you were finally alone, away from all the incompetent men that dared to think they had a chance to court you, and Satoru almost laughed snarkily at how easy it all was. 

Approaching you, saving you from Naoya⸺it was all a perfect construction of his. Dancing, he noticed your steps were carried out with a practiced perfection and grace, and your responses to his questions displayed a respectable level of intellect. He could tell your responses were practiced and simple, your constitution and demeanor a result of much effort into presenting yourself as best as you could. But what does it matter, when you do it so perfectly?

Maybe it was a bit naive of him, but you seemed to glow when conversing with him. It amused him, as he kept watching your pretty eyes as you kept smiling while he kept throwing difficult questions at you. It was all expected, however. Satoru knew he was blessed with the brilliant blue Gojo eyes and eccentric fair, white hair; he was the most eligible bachelor for not only wealth and power but reproductive capabilities and opportunities as well. Which lady wouldn’t want to be mother to his cute and beautiful blue-eyed babies?

After witnessing such mediocre men who paled in comparison to Satoru, surely you must be smitten. Gojo could see right through you: you, the diamond, have been looking for a man as meritorious as you, and you had found it in Satoru. 

So why were you acting this way?

When you wake up in the morning and get ready for suitors, it is as you expected; there are multiple carriages outside your doorstep, and there is a line from the drawing room, extending all the way down the stairs. When Choso stumbles into the drawing room, where you and your mother are enjoying tea, he is clearly unhappy at the selection of men waiting to be let in to call upon you. 

“This is absurd!” Choso’s hands raked over his hair in an effort to process the scene he had just witnessed. “Why do I see Naoya waiting outside?”

Your nose crinkled in distaste. “Well, dear brother, I certainly cannot control which suitors call upon me. He must’ve enjoyed our conversation yesterday. The enjoyment, however, is one sided.”

Choso’s eyes widened comically. “You had a conversation with him yesterday?” He then turned to your mother accusingly, who was reading a Whistledown while sipping on her tea innocuously. “This would not have happened if I was there, Mother. This is your fault.”

Your mother continued drinking her tea nonchalantly, waiting for a few beats to grace him with a response. “I prefer this, my son, to no visitors out there because our dear Lord Itadori scared all the bachelors away with his pickiness.” Then, her eyes flashed. “And don’t give me that tone.”

You snickered behind your palm as Choso visibly deflated.

 “Kuna! Get back here!”

Pitter patters of small paws started to get closer and closer, as heavy footsteps followed it. Yuji and the family corgi, Sukuna Jr., burst into the room. Eyeing the biscuit in your hand, Kuna made his way directly to you, panting at your feet. A pet given affectionately by your-not-so-affectionate older brother, Sukuna, when he left for his year long trip around Europe, Kuna was the cutest little puppy. You and Yuji loved to spoil him, clearly shown as Yuji patted him while breathing heavily. You cooed as Kuna licked your fingers while inhaling the biscuit you had presented him. 

“Well,” your mother stood up, having finished her tea, and began ushering in the maids to clear the table. “It seems our morning will be quite busy. You’d best be prepared for a long day, my dear.”

Choso was still grumbling as he took a seat across from you, his eyes narrowing at the sight of the long line of suitors outside. “I’m keeping an eye on that Naoya fellow. If he so much as looks at you the wrong way…”

You raised an eyebrow at your brother’s protectiveness, feeling both amused and touched. “Choso, I appreciate your concern, but I can handle myself. Besides, with Kuna here, I doubt any of these gentlemen will get too close without proper approval.”

As if understanding the conversation, Sukuna Jr. barked enthusiastically, his tail wagging as he looked up at you with bright, expectant eyes. You smiled and scratched behind his ears, watching as his tiny body wriggled with joy.

Yuji, still catching his breath from the chase, flopped onto the chair beside you, shooting a grin at Choso. “Come on, big brother, give her a break. It’s not every day our sister gets declared the diamond of the season. Let her enjoy it.”

Choso crossed his arms, still unconvinced. “I’m just saying, if any of these men don’t meet my standards⸺”

“Your standards?” you interrupted with a teasing lilt. “Choso, I’d never find a husband if I had to meet your impossible standards. Besides, you should be more concerned about finding someone yourself.”

Choso’s cheeks tinted with a slight blush, but make no mistake; he was hot with anger, ready to make a snarky retort. Your mother, who had been overseeing the maids, turned her attention back to the conversation with a soft smile.

“Your sister is right, Choso. It’s her time to shine, and as her family, we should support her, not make things more difficult.” She gave him a pointed look before turning to you with a gentler expression, and he backed down as he always does for your mother. “Now, my dear, are you ready to begin receiving your guests?”

You took a deep breath, nodding as you steeled yourself for the hours of polite conversation and careful navigation of the social battlefield ahead. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Good,” your mother said, her voice laced with both pride and encouragement. “Remember, you are the diamond of the season. There isn’t a man out there who wouldn’t be lucky to have you.”

You offered a weak smile. “Let’s get this over with.”

As you walked toward the sofa where you would be talking with suitors, Kuna trotted alongside you, his presence a comforting reminder.With Yuji and Choso trailing behind, and your mother leading the way to open the door, you braced yourself for the onslaught of admirers waiting beyond the door.

But as you straighten your posture, in anticipation to greet the first suitor, you couldn't help but glance down at Kuna, who stared up at you with wide, curious eyes. You chuckled softly.

“Well, Kuna,” you whispered, “let’s see who passes your test today.”

Gojo’s gaze wandered down to Sukuna Jr. in your lap as you stroked his fur, and he gave you a saccharine⸺yet strained⸺smile. “Must this dog bear witness to our conversation? 

As if sensing Gojo’s unfriendliness, Kuna started growling, and you could feel the rumble deep in his stomach. You met Gojo’s sweet smile with one of your own. “Yes.”

Gojo blinked, and the smile on his face faltered. You noticed that this was one of the first time Gojo’s ever expressed an emotion outside of smugness, and you count this as your personal win.

“Well,” he hesitated, and then a smile was on his face as if that stumble didn’t happen. “You look wonderful this morning, Miss Itadori.”

Your eyes flashed at his audacity to talk behind your back and try to fool you with flattery. “On the contrary, I think I look rather simple.”

Gojo, none the wiser as to what you were referring to, waved his hands. “Nonsense.”

Before you could respond, Kuna let out a low, rumbling growl, his sharp eyes fixed on Gojo. The sound was subtle, but in the quiet of the morning, it was unmistakable. Gojo’s gaze flickered down to the small dog, and his smile tightened ever so slightly.

You gently scratched behind Kuna’s ears, calming him, though his gaze never left Gojo. “I apologize on behalf of my dear Kuna,” you said, your voice light but nonetheless pointed. “He tends to be wary of many, particularly those he believes to be with ulterior motives.”

Gojo nodded, unfazed, and looked down at the dog in question. Upon eye contact, all your efforts to calm Kuna went to naught as the dog stood up, tense and teeth almost bared fully, to stare back at Gojo defiantly. Gojo, to his credit, was starting to be a little wary and was giving the pup an impassive stare. 

“You know, I have an affinity for dogs. There are many pups that I have spent my entire childhood with.” He offered a chuckle and moved his hand to pet Kuna. “Dogs do have a way of sensing things, don’t they?” That was clearly the wrong decision because the dog’s growl grew louder, and suddenly, he snapped at Gojo’s hand. Before Kuna could sink his teeth into Gojo’s hand, however, Gojo smoothly withdrew it out of his reach. 

“Protective, isn’t he?” Gojo laughed, but his stare towards Kuna was veering more and more into a glare. He tried to disguise his irritation by suavely adding, “Admirable. I’m glad he has protected my lady so well.” Gojo then grabbed your hand to give you a small kiss on the back of it while keeping eye contact. You had to divert your eyes elsewhere to avoid coloring your cheeks; while you knew this was just another one of Gojo’s pretenses to charm you, you were still fazed by it. 

You cleared your throat and tried to uphold the conversation. After all, it would be outright rude to keep throwing thinly veiled insults his way when there were others in your company; he also had the potential to spread further malicious rumors about you if you showed attitude. You mustered up a fake smile, and offered, “He was a gift to me and Yuji offered by my older brother, Sukuna, when he went traveling,” you offered. 

“Is that the brother you hoped to follow to Europe?”

You blinked and faltered. You didn’t expect him to remember that tidbit from your conversation at the ball last night. While most of the preferences you had asserted were artificial⸺supplemented to you by your tutor, who had drilled what fake preferences of yours would woo men⸺you truly did gain enthusiasm for the languages because you hoped to prove your helpfulness to Sukuna in an effort to run away from your inevitable debut. At the time, you were rebelling against anything your mama said, avoiding anything  associated with being paraded around like an animal, put on display for men. “Yes,” you said slowly, “Yes, it is.” 

Gojo smiled, this time a little more genuine at the fact it was his first time receiving an authentic response from you this morning, rather than something covered with a fake smile. Just as he leaned in slightly, probably preparing to make another smooth remark, Kuna, who had been shifting in your lap, suddenly stilled, his face buried in your lap and tail facing Gojo. For a moment, you thought he might be settling down.

And then it happened.

The largest fart ripped through the room out of Kuna’s arse, which was pointed directly in Gojo’s face. While you were not a scholar studying physics, you were aware that the air dynamics did not do Gojo any favors in preventing the smell from hitting him direct-on. Gojo’s eyes widened in surprise, and his suave expression faltered entirely as the smell quickly followed, filling the air around you both.

You could feel the heat rushing to your face in your effort not to laugh out loud. Trying to keep your composure, you gently patted Kuna’s belly, who was now face up, tongue lolling out in bliss. “Oh, dear,” you muttered, your voice strained with the effort to suppress a laugh.

Gojo, for once, was at a loss for words. His eyes were tearing up, probably at the smell; whenever you and Yuji spoiled Kuna with those biscuits, he dropped nasty-smelling dungs, and you knew Gojo wasn’t spared at all. The arrogant bachelor, who always seemed to have a witty response ready, was now at a loss of words as he weakly gazed upon the weak little poot! poot!s that escaped Kuna as you continued patting his stomach in an effort to relieve your pup’s digestive system.

At Gojo’s expression, you had to take quiet, deep breaths in an effort to rein in the cackles that were threatening to overcome you. You resorted to covering your mouth as you strained, “As you can see, my Kuna is quite expressive, and he seemed quite eager to show you that.”

He offered you a strained smile. “He does indeed generate quite a bit of wind.” At that, you could no longer hold back. Genuine laughter wracked through your figure, hurting your ribs as you tried to quell it with a hand to the mouth, but no avail. Your muffled laughter was still loud, and when the giggles subsided, you wiped your tears and threw an apologetic look at Gojo, preparing to express your regret. 

But you stopped at the sheer wonder he contained in his face as his gaze fixated on your lips, which were drawn back in the ghost of the smile you had while laughing riotously. Without allowing you much time to dwell on it, he stood up and dipped his head in a little bow. “Well, I have been taking quite a bit of your time, Miss Itadori. I better let other suitors have their chance.” He kissed the back of your hand. “I hope to see you at the horse race tomorrow.”

“Likewise.” You couldn’t help but spy some red coloring Gojo’s alabaster cheeks as he made his way to the exit. As you greeted the next suitor, the imprint of a certain man’s lips continued to tingle on your hands. 

“I told you he was a rake,” Nobara muttered as she scrubbed your arm with an intensity that matched her outrage. After hearing what Gojo had said about you, she was livid. Unfortunately, your skin was bearing the brunt of her frustration.

“Well,” you mused, trying to distract her, “what rumors have you heard that make you think that?”

“Momo told me a few months ago⸺” Nobara paused, her hands hovering over the various bottles on the counter. “Which scent would you prefer for your hair?”

“Sandalwood,” you replied.

Nobara nodded and poured some of the rich liquid into her hands before massaging it into your scalp. You closed your eyes, feeling the tension from the day's exhausting and dull conversations slowly melt away under her skillful fingers. “Momo mentioned that he’s often out late at night, which seems suspicious. But now that I think about it, Momo isn’t the most reliable source,” Nobara added, her tone shifting to one of skepticism.

You quirked an eyebrow. “Why do you say that?”

“There’s talk that she attempted to lure another maid’s husband into an affair,” Nobara replied, her hands now working the shampoo through your hair with a practiced ease. “She even tried to gain access to his quarters.”

You gasped. “How scandalous!”

“I know,” Nobara said, her hands now massaging the back of your neck with a gentler touch. “So, who knows how much truth there is to her gossip. But still, Gojo’s behavior is less than honorable, don’t you think?”

You sighed, gazing up at the ceiling with a mix of frustration and resignation. “He was gossiping about me with other men, calling me all sorts of horrible things⸺‘simple,’ of all things. And yet, he has the audacity to want to call upon me?”

“You know,” Nobara mused as she continued her task, “He sounds the exact opposite of what some of your books would imply.”

You hummed in agreement, recalling the radical works you kept hidden beneath your bed. Your mother would be appalled if she ever discovered them, but you often sought solace in political writings that challenged the rigid expectations of society. “I know. And that is precisely why I have no intention of encouraging his attention this season—at least, not before I ensure his complete and utter humiliation.”

“But do take care. His connections to the Queen are quite strong.”

You drew back from Nobara's hands, much to her chagrin. She gave you a glare while you exclaimed, "What?"

“Surely you’re aware that the Gojo dukedom is among the closest to the royal family?”

You fervently hoped your mother hadn’t caught wind of Gojo's status. Yet, the way she had been observing you⸺subtly scrutinizing you in the drawing room while feigning interest in a suitor awaiting his turn⸺suggested otherwise. She had certainly noticed Gojo's growing interest, and the thought of her getting involved, fixating on a match with him, filled you with dread. Drawing your hands over your face, you moaned, the very notion of her scheming to pair you with Gojo weighing heavily on your mind.

“But that should hardly be a concern if you’ve begun to distance yourself from him, correct? You have been creating some distance, haven’t you?”

Your silence spoke volumes, and Nobara, ever quick to discern your hesitation, gasped in exasperation. “You cannot seriously be considering giving this gentleman any encouragement, can you?”

"No, no, it’s not that,” you replied, massaging your temples in frustration. “It’s just that my mother is probably ecstatic at the prospect of securing a match between me and Gojo.”

“But surely, if she knew the things he’s been saying behind your back, she would understand.”

You tried to open your mouth to respond, but it felt as if your throat had closed up. Would she really? A match with Gojo would mean elevated status for the Itadori family⸺a duchess for a daughter. What worth is there in being the diamond of the season if not to secure the most advantageous match? The very thought made your chest tighten with the suffocating realization that your mother might very well advocate for the union, despite Gojo’s duplicity.

“I⸺” you swallowed. “I’m not sure.” Before Nobara could interrupt, you stood up and reached for your robe. 

Nobara's brow furrowed as she watched you stand up. "Where do you think you're going? You’re not done with your bath, and your hair is still full of suds!" She reached out to stop you, her hands hovering as though unsure whether to pull you back into the tub or grab the robe you were now clutching.

You forced a small, tired smile, grateful for the distraction. “I need just a moment. The water's gone cold, anyway.”

“Oh, nonsense! You’ll catch a chill if you get out now. Sit back down,” Nobara insisted, her protest tinged with genuine concern. She placed a firm hand on your shoulder, guiding you back toward the warm water.

With a reluctant sigh, you allowed yourself to be coaxed back into the tub. The momentary reprieve from the conversation was a relief, and you welcomed Nobara’s determined focus on completing your bath. She picked up a sponge, her earlier frustration melting into concentration as she scrubbed your back.

“Well, we can discuss that scheming rake later,” she muttered, more to herself than to you. “For now, let’s get you properly cleaned up before your mother comes looking for you. She’d never forgive me if I let you appear anything less than perfect.”

You nodded with a lump in your throat, grateful for the change in topic, even if only temporary. The soothing rhythm of Nobara's hands working through your hair, the warmth of the bathwater, and the familiar, comforting routine helped ease the tightness in your chest. For now, the troubling thoughts of Gojo and your mother's ambitions could be set aside.

“Now, hold still,” Nobara said, her tone softening as she rinsed the last of the soap from your hair. “We’ll have you looking radiant again in no time.”

The conversation was left unfinished, hanging in the air like a question that neither of you was quite ready to answer. But for now, the silence was a welcome refuge.

"Do you have any notion of how impossible it is to charm a lady when there is a pup expelling such foul air right beneath your nose?" Satoru lamented, leaning back in his chair and raking a hand through his tousled hair. The trio gathered at the table presented a rather unusual sight: Satoru, visibly discomposed; Nanami, calmly sipping his drink as ever; and Suguru, nearly doubled over in laughter at his friend’s misfortune.

“Would you please⸺SMACK⸺cease your laughing?!” Satoru glared at Suguru, who seemed to be of no hope, now with tears in his eyes as he clutched his stomach and the back of his head, which Satoru had just hit. 

“Truly, your vanity⸺haaah⸺your vanity was in need of humbling,” Suguru managed between breaths, still snickering behind his palms. 

Satoru glowered, crossing his arms and staring daggers into his drink, as if his gaze alone could break the fine glass. “My pride had already suffered enough. She was positively frigid.”

Nanami hummed. “Perhaps she’s merely discerned your true nature.”

“It defies comprehension,” Gojo groaned, ignoring Kento’s statement. “What kind of lady disparages her own beauty as ‘simple’? I cannot fathom what has caused her such vexation. Only the night before, she was utterly taken with me!”

Suguru⸺who had now calmed down⸺was in the midst of wiping his tears when he suddenly stopped. “You don’t suppose it had anything to do with your careless words, do you?”

Kento eyed the pair in front of him with an accusatory side eye. “And what precisely did you say?”

 “Satoru, in his usual fashion, could not contain his tongue. Out on the terrace, with the garden as witness, he spoke rather unkindly, referring to the diamond as ‘simple and dull.’”

“Nonsense,” Satoru waved his hands, dismissing the idea. “The lady would never wander the gardens at such an hour in the night unchaperoned.”

“I suggest you reconsider.” Kento gave him a stern look and continued, “I happened upon her last night, emerging from the gardens, and she appeared rather disheveled.” 

This revelation gave Satoru pause, but if there was one thing certain about Satoru Gojo, it was this: his arrogance was such that he could scarcely fathom anyone, least of all a lady, finding his charm anything but irresistible⸺even if that very lady had overheard him uttering defamatory remarks about her. And this lady was one he could not let go of, unless he wanted to wave good-bye to his future.

“I am confident all will be well,” Gojo exhaled, his lips curving into a Cheshire smile. “Even if she did overhear, surely a few well-chosen sweet words will surely set matters right.”

(He was most grievously mistaken.)

“How many of those biscuits do you suppose we could finish?” Yuji was eyeing the biscuits from his seat next to you in the pavilion where you and your family were sitting. Out promenading with the other families of the ton, it was a scenic and beautiful day for you to mingle with even more suitors. The joy!

“Certainly less than me,” you remarked, sipping on your tea smugly. By the irritated pout on his face, you knew you were successful at getting a rise out of your younger brother. Knowing your mother wasn’t in sight, you quickly darted for the jam-filled biscuits, and your brother quickly followed in tow; soon, you were both stuffing your faces silly with the sugary treats.

“You two are incorrigible,” Choso scrunched his nose from where he sat across from you, arms crossed. “There’s no need to inhale those biscuits. What if someone sees?”

Yuji stuck out his tongue⸺now adorned with biscuit crumbs⸺and continued gorging, while you snickered at your younger brother’s pettiness.

“Miss Itadori.”

You began coughing wildly, caught off guard, and hastily straightened your posture to greet your guest. You turned to see Lord Ino, who offered you a slight nod before acknowledging your brothers. “Lord Itadori. Mister Itadori.”

“Lord Ino, nice to meet you on such a fine day.” You try to put a smile on your face as best as you can, even though you were caught off guard. “How do you find today’s weather?” 

Takuma grabs the back of your hand to kiss it. “I find it wonderful for the prospect of promenading. Do you care to do so with me?”

“Of course,” You stand up and link your elbows with Takuma’s.

“We’ll be thirty paces behind you, sister.” You both turned to look at Choso, who was giving Lord Ino his inevitable protective glare. Given Ino’s acceptable station, Choso hadn’t immediately protested, unlike the many suitors he had chased out of your manor the day before. He grabbed Yuji by the elbow, who, with cheeks comically inflated like a chipmunk hoarding acorns, was promptly dragged away. “Yuji, get up.” The last you saw of your brothers was Yuji’s futile protests, his mouth too full to be coherent⸺inevitably sending some crumbs flying onto Choso⸺and Choso swatting him for it.

As you began your walk with Lord Ino, the conversation naturally turned to the upcoming horse race. “Are you looking forward to the race this afternoon?” you asked, trying to keep the conversation light.

“I am,” the lord replied. “And you?”

“Very much so,” you said, a hint of excitement in your voice. “I have a feeling that the less popular horse⸺Blaze, was it?⸺might surprise everyone. The conditions seem just right for an underdog victory; the track is soft and warm, which would favor Blaze’s build.”

Lord Ino glanced at you with a polite but unconvinced smile. “But Thunder has higher odds and more bets. It’s as simple as that.”

You couldn’t help but bristle at the word “simple,” a word that had recently come to grate on your nerves. You pressed on, though, determined to keep the conversation pleasant. “I suppose there’s some truth to that, but sometimes there’s more to a race than just the odds and popularity.”

Ino chuckled softly. “Well, a good mentor and friend of mine⸺Duke Nanami⸺agrees with the odds, and His Grace is someone I deeply respect. I tend to follow his lead⸺the duke has a way of teaching lessons without hindering one’s growth.”

Before you could respond, the sound of a trumpet blared in the distance, signaling the start of the race. You looked at him, giving him a courteous nod, gesturing in the general direction Choso and Yuji were supposed to be in. “It seems the race is about to begin. I must rejoin my family.”

You curtsied as he bowed, and you watched as he walked away, leaving you momentarily alone. You took a deep breath, trying to dispel the lingering irritation from the conversation. Just as you began looking for your family, you felt a presence approaching.

You turned to find Lady Mei Mei and her entourage closing in. Their expressions were a study in artful contempt, laced with curiosity and barely concealed amusement. The atmosphere between you was thick with unspoken competition, each woman silently gauging the other’s position on the social ladder. 

“Miss Itadori, what a nice surprise!” Lady Mei Mei remarked, her tone dripping with false sweetness. “It appears you are alone and unchaperoned in a garden yet again! At least, according to what the rumors say. Was it part of yet another one of your charming ploys to get what you want?"

You met her gaze with cool composure, not giving her the satisfaction of a visible reaction. "I have no clue what you're talking about."

Lady Mei Mei tilted her head slightly, her eyes narrowing as if appraising a particularly interesting specimen. "Really?" she mused, drawing out the word as though savoring it. "It’s just that Lord Gojo hasn’t spoken with you all day. Even if Whistledown commended you in the last issue, I wouldn’t expect his interest to linger." The two ladies flanking her⸺unremarkable save for their sycophantic attachment to Mei Mei⸺giggled behind their fans, as though she had delivered a crushing blow.

You allowed yourself a small, almost imperceptible smile, one that didn’t reach your eyes. "So I’m assuming he called upon you?" you questioned sweetly, your voice laced with feigned politeness.

For a fleeting moment, Lady Mei Mei’s carefully curated composure slipped, the faintest flicker of irritation crossing her face before she regained control. She leaned in slightly, her voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper meant for you alone. “None of the suitors will be interested in you any longer. The Queen may have mistakenly proclaimed you the diamond, but a pretty face, empty smiles, and hollow words can only last so long.”

“Whatever would be most convenient for you to believe.” Her words were empty and her threats dull, but you couldn’t help but let it compound on the irritation you had experienced today. But you knew better than to let your tongue loose; you were quite impulsive when you had started, and you didn’t want to start any scandal anytime soon. Instead, you held your ground, trying to maintain your composure (outwardly, at least) as Lady Mei Mei and her entourage turned to leave, their laughter echoing in your ears. 

You tried to implement a few things your tutor had ingrained in you: taking deep breaths and setting your posture correctly. However, as you stood there, collecting yourself, the last thing you needed seemed to manifest before you: Satoru Gojo.

His tall figure approached you with that familiar, self-assured stride, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Ah, Miss Itadori," he greeted, a sly smile playing on his lips. You were already irritated, and it took all your will-power to stifle a groan. 

"I couldn’t help but notice you were conversing with Lord Ino," he remarked casually.

Give him a smile. "Indeed, we were enjoying a promenade. It is, after all, what young ladies and their suitors are expected to do."

“Quite the choice in company!”

KEEP up the smile.  "He is a nobleman, and I am of noble descent. I fail to see your point, Mr. Gojo." 

Gojo’s smile was quick and cutting. “Oh, I’ve no particular quarrel with Lord Ino. It’s simply that he’s hardly the sort I’d expect to see on your arm. After all, he’s practically Nanami’s lapdog.”

You felt the familiar irritation rising within you⸺and you were fighting for your life trying to keep a smile on your face⸺but you kept your tone measured. "And what, pray tell, are you implying by that, Mr. Gojo?"

"It’s quite simple, really⸺" 

But your patience, already worn thin, snapped at that word.

"My good sir, do you not think it rather dishonorable to speak ill of others behind their backs?" Gojo began to respond, but you cut him off. "It’s curious how quickly opinions can change, is it not? Just the other evening, you seemed to hold me in rather low regard. Tell me, do you often dismiss people as ‘simple’ when they fail to meet any of the lofty expectations you have set? Or do you perhaps truly believe yourself to be at a station higher than others?"

Gojo stiffened, the smile slipping from his face as your words hit their mark. Before he could respond, Choso appeared at your side, his protective presence a welcome relief.

“Is there any problem, sister?” Choso asked, his tone polite yet firm as he glanced at Satoru, his eyes narrowing slightly.

Gojo’s gaze flicked to Choso, his irritation clear as he opened his mouth to make a cutting remark, and you couldn’t thank the gods enough for Choso’s mother hen tendencies. But the words faltered when he recognized who had interrupted. For a brief moment, surprise flashed in his eyes before he masked it with a tight-lipped smile.

You seized the moment, turning to Satoru with a sweet smile. “I think our time is up, Mister Gojo,” you said, your voice laced with venom.

Satoru hesitated for just a fraction of a second before nodding curtly, his expression unreadable. “Of course. Until next time, Miss Itadori.”

With that, he stepped back, allowing you and Choso to walk away toward where people were gathering for the race. As you moved through the crowd, you could feel Satoru’s gaze lingering on you, but you didn’t look back.

“That horse appears rather stout, does it not?” Yuji squinted against the blazing sun as he observed the horses from his seat beside you in the grandstand. “Why has it garnered so many bets?”

Choso, seated protectively on your other side, kept a steady arm linked with yours. His presence was reassuring, though your irritation was directed at the figure seated just below you. Satoru Gojo, to your endless chagrin, was sitting with Lady Mei Mei, who had all but forced her way into the seat beside him. Though he tried to appear indifferent, his signature flirty remarks flowing with ease, you noticed the subtle signs of irritation crossing his face. Whether it stemmed from Lady Mei Mei's advances or from your earlier exchange, you couldn't be sure. You refused to meet his gaze, though you could feel his eyes on you intermittently as the crowd waited for the race to begin.

“Men can be quite foolish at times,” you remarked hotly, your voice carrying just enough to be overheard. “Some people value the superficial and materialistic over true substance, much like they do with horses. Blaze, for instance, has the qualities that truly matter.”

You could almost feel Gojo’s gaze intensify, and despite yourself, you glanced in his direction. Lady Mei Mei, ever the actress, feigned a stumble, exclaiming with a coy smile, “These crowds are rather rough on a lady!”

You scoffed inwardly at her transparent attempt to press her bosom against Gojo’s arm.

“Oh my,” Gojo drawled, his voice oozing concern. “We can’t have that, can we?” Ever the gallant gentleman, he interlaced his arm with hers. “Here, for extra protection. I wouldn’t want a pretty lady shedding tears beside me.”

Mei Mei’s smirk was as satisfied as a serpent after a meal, and she batted her eyelashes coquettishly. “If I were to cry, would you console me?”

“Of course,” Gojo replied smoothly. “Though I might find myself crying should my horse lose. The bets I’ve placed are rather substantial.”

A flirtatious giggle escaped Mei Mei’s lips. “Then I shall cheer with all my might, so you needn’t suffer any losses, my lord.”

You were perilously close to tearing your hair out.

“I appreciate your enthusiasm, my lady,” Gojo said, taking her hand and kissing the back of it with exaggerated flourish. “But rest assured, I am quite confident of a victory today. Thunder is swift and cunning, far superior to that... other horse. It’s simple, really—Thunder will win.”

Your composure cracked. “Yuji,” you called, your voice sharp. Your brother, who had been lost in thought, snapped to attention. “Despite the other horse’s popularity, Blaze possesses the one quality universal to all champions: speed and diligence. The track conditions are in its favor.”

Yuji, caught off guard, blinked in confusion. “Yes, of course, sister,” he mumbled, clearly unsure of why you were addressing him.

“And anyone who thinks otherwise,” you continued, raising your voice slightly, “is bound to lose their money. Sorely and simply.”

Gojo matched your tone, his voice ringing out. “But of course, it’s all in good fun. There’s no need for hostility over a sport, is there? Both horses are fine contenders, though I remain convinced Thunder shall emerge victorious.”

Mei Mei tittered, parroting his sentiments, but you could hardly see straight for the anger coursing through you. Unable to hold back, you retorted, “However, it is, after all, still a race. And Blaze will win.”

By now, your exchange had drawn the attention of those around you, including your brothers. Choso and Yuji exchanged puzzled glances before Yuji asked weakly, “Are you still talking to us, sister?” Meanwhile, Choso’s protective instincts flared, his gaze darting suspiciously between you and Gojo.

Before you could reply, the horses lined up at the starting gate, and the crowd collectively rose to their feet, including Gojo. “Steady now, Thunder!” he called out, his voice brimming with confidence.

Not to be outdone, you shouted, “Come on, Blaze!”

The bell rang, and the horses surged forward, the crowd erupting in cheers. Blaze and Thunder quickly pulled ahead, the two horses locked in a fierce battle for the lead. Thunder was currently ahead, its sleek form cutting through the track with precision.

“Steady, Thunder! Keep the lead!” Gojo’s voice was full of excitement, urging his horse onward.

Your heart raced with frustration as Blaze lagged slightly behind. “You can do this, Blaze!” you urged, your voice rising above the din. Without thinking, you began whistling sharply, drawing alarmed looks from your brothers. The stares from the crowd meant nothing to you as you focused solely on the race.

Blaze, as if responding to your encouragement, began to accelerate, its powerful strides eating up the ground between it and Thunder. You noticed Thunder’s pace faltering, fatigue setting in, while Blaze surged ahead, pulling into the lead with a quarter of the race remaining.

Now it was Gojo’s turn to whistle, his voice tinged with desperation. “Straight to the finish line, Thunder! Don’t let up!”

But Blaze only widened the gap, its momentum carrying it farther ahead. You couldn’t contain your laughter, a joyous sound that bubbled up from within as Blaze crossed the finish line first, with Thunder trailing behind.

“Goddamn it,” Gojo cursed under his breath, his frustration palpable. You clapped your hands in delight, your laughter ringing out.

With deliberate grace, you placed your hands on your hips and turned to Gojo, flashing him a triumphant smile. “I’m so glad the ‘simple’ horse won,” you said, your voice dripping with satisfaction. “It seems I’ve finally bested a duke.”

Gojo’s blue eyes bore into you, their intensity searing, but you met his glare with a boisterous laugh, savoring the victory as the crowd’s cheers and claps echoed around you. Until it was only the two of you, staring each other down.

Gojo ⸺ 0, you ⸺ 1.

Now, Duchess Gojo had always had a penchant for gossip, no one escaping her eye and observation. Of course, it was now the Whistledown era, for the unknown author could observe far more than the high-profile duchess, who was the receiver of much praise and attention due to her son’s eligibility. But this eligibility had only been achieved because of her ability to direct the tide based on her reconnaissance, and in all her years, no could match her sass and direction. Except one. 

"You know, Lady Itadori," the Duchess remarked, her tone laced with feigned pensiveness, "the Gojo manor in the countryside has been dreadfully quiet, and, if I may say, it has been quite some time since we last enjoyed a proper tête-à-tête.”

The two ladies stood together near the stands, choosing a more secluded spot from which to observe the horse race. Lady Itadori, her closest confidante, met the Duchess’s gaze with a gleam in her eye. "Indeed, I must agree."

For a moment, the two women stood in silence, their eyes surveying the scene before them. From the ladies flirting shamelessly to the gentlemen scrambling for the favor of the season’s debutantes, they were like spectators at a grand circus. Yet, their attention was drawn to a particular act.

Raising her fan to her lips, Lady Itadori whispered conspiratorially to the Duchess, "I might add, my diamond has been spending a considerable amount of time in your son’s company."

The Duchess met her friend’s eyes and laughed lightly. "How many days do you wager it will take in the manor?"

Lady Itadori, now fully smirking, gave a delicate shrug. "It took you and the Duke but four days."

prev. the debutante | next. the manor

general masterlist | series masterlist

a/n: reader is hearing boss music rn

forced proximity whatttt

gojo when kuna ripped one in his face

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

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[heartthrobin]

all's fair in love and war (2)

oliver wood x female!reader

wc: 7.87k

warnings: enemies to lovers, still so damn much pining, set in poa, timeline is a bit wonky, limited use of y/n, archie being my fav oc, cheese fest

an: literally fell asleep on my laptop last night editing this, i was so exhausted from school so i’m sorry it’s late !!! but i had the most fun in the world writing this and i hope everyone enjoys :)) don't forget to comment and repost your favourite writers

summary: Oliver is still impossibly miserable, maybe more uncooperative than before, except now when you look at him: you can't think of much else beyond how sweet his lips tasted.

part one

You can’t sleep.

You're not sure you'll find sleep ever again.

“I knew it, I knew it—“ Cherry had bounced the whole way to your dormitory, howling into your ear. “I knew it!”

The image of Oliver’s fluttering eyes swum around your brain as you blinked into the darkness of the poster bed. The taste of his tongue and his words still right against your lips.

It was a riddle of a calibre that you can’t seem to detangle. More than anything, you try to remember how strong has he tasted of Firewhisky - was he so drunk to really dismiss it to nothing at all?

You lingered on it all weekend.

Cherry didn’t help at all — he’s been in love with you forever, that’s literally so obvious — and Enzo even less so once he’d been filled in: Oliver doesn’t seem a bloke who let’s alcohol make his decisions for him, something about Scottish genetics I think.

The interaction plagued you: digging a wide hole in the base of your stomach. You mourned the thought that you may never have the opportunity to kiss those soft lips again, more than anything: preparing yourself for the feud between yourselves to worsen.

There’s barely enough time to make sense of your situation before you’re racing down over the grassy hills of the grounds, bag swinging violently over your shoulder and extraordinarily late for your Herbology lesson in the greenhouse.

Your morning alarm had rung right into one ear and out the other, a product of the tossing and turning you’d been doing for the last two nights.

When you swing the greenhouse door open, panting and face flush from the beating sun, the whole room turns to you. Sprout pauses where her hands are flailing in explanation.

“Sorry I’m late professor,” you wheeze, readjusting your strap over your shoulder.

Cherry is smirking at you from her bench, sidled up with Jane Emmet.

It hadn’t escaped you that you’d be sharing the lesson with the Gryffindors, but you’d precious little time to worry about it in the five minutes you had to pull a robe over your head and stick a toothbrush into your mouth.

Your eyes are purposeful in not looking over the room. Scared to catch the wrong eyes.

“Not a problem peach, we’re just repotting some Fire-Seed Bushes.” She brings a stubby hand to her chin, “uhm … well, Mr Kumar there in the corner doesn’t have a partner. Go join him by his pots.”

Archie has a lopsided smile on his face when you approach, a thick black curl drooping over his left eye.

“Hey.” He nudges gently.

You set your bag down and grab a pair of gloves, chuckling. “Hey Archie.”

The soil is warm when you stick your fingers into the dirt, shifting it gently enough not to mess over the edge of the bucket. There’s a Fire-Seed Bush sitting tentatively at the end of the bench, spitting sparks and emitting smoke.

“So …” Archie speaks first, the back of his hand bumping yours between the black soil. “How was your weekend?”

It’s a veiled question, a poorly veiled one at that. The question draws a laugh from the base of your stomach.

You shrug, adamant on missing the point. “It was alright, I guess. How about yours?”

He shrugs right back. “Wasn’t the greatest. Penelope Clearwater rejected me for Percy Weasley.”

You don't mean to, you really don't, but it draws another bout of laughter out of you - you clap your hand over your mouth. “I’m sorry—“

“No, I get it. Percy bloody Weasley?” His brow is creased, dirt-stained hands rising messily from the soil to swipe at a fallen piece of hair in his face. “Dead sure that bloke's own mother can't say he’s handsome. I’m better looking than him, surely?”

There’s the hanging insinuation that it was rhetorical, but you reply anyways: “you’re definitely more handsome than Percy Weasley, Archie.”

His head cocks down at you, stained paws finding his waist and pressing black fingerprints into the red jumper. “You really think so?”

“Without a doubt.”

Archie smiles, bumping your side against his. You think he might be blushing. “You’re very charming. I understand what Oliver sees in you.”

You jolt involuntarily, spilling some black soil over the edge of the pot.

Swiping at the mess lazily, you play the comment off with another crumbly chuckle: hoping it convinces him more than it does yourself. “Oliver sees in me what a bull sees in a red cape.”

Archie’s reaching timidly for the Fire-Seed Bush, lifting it off the counter and holding the dangerous botanical at arm’s length. “Not true. The boy’s half in love with you.”

This conversation is getting awfully uncomfortable awfully quickly. It picks at your curiosity nonetheless.

“He said that?”

He’s quick to shake off the question, eyes still trained on setting the roots of the bush into the gap in the soil. “Oliver doesn’t have to say anything. He spends practically every fucking mealtime mooning over at your table, and he talks about you way more than necessary—“

“That’s just because I work on his nerves. Oliver doesn’t love me, he barely tolerates me.”

The boy turns on you, confusion set in his brow. “Why is this news? Last I saw you, your tongue was halfway into his stomach.”

Zachariah Smith and his Gryffindor partner look up at that. Your face goes hot all over - Archie doesn’t seem to notice.

“We were drunk.” You say softly, eyes stuck on a loose leaf crackling against the wooden counter.

There’s a special kind of fear that's crawling into your heart where you stand. The fear of putting too much faith into the words of Archie Kumar.

That it’s an elaborate ruse. A set-up, canons of confetti and a banner screaming “you’ve been fooled!” if you were to indulge his words. The danger of allowing your mind to drift too far off into the possibilities of a world wherein Oliver Wood doesn’t hate you - at least not as much as he lets on.

Archie looks at you out the side of his eye, you can feel it, but says nothing. He hands you a miniature yellow-handled spade.

Instead you fill the space. "I heard Isla Flynn has a crush on you."

He perks: "really?"

Across the room, Oliver is bumping elbows with Poppy Davis.

"Ow!"

A loose spark has evidently landed on her exposed arm. The sparks that Oliver was supposed to be watching for, the ones that he is intent on ignoring with the constant glancing back over his shoulder to where you and his best mate are in the corner of the room fucking giggling at each other like toddlers with a box of matches.

“Oliver — can you just focus for five seconds!” Poppy isn’t impressed.

Oliver isn’t either, with the situation as a whole. The pads of his fingers are blistered from the repotting of the bush and Poppy’s careless bumps and his general indifference to the task at hand.

It eats at his brain. What are you guys talking about? Is it about him?

You laugh again and it’s loud enough that it draws his shoulders all the way taut. There’s another snap of a spark and Oliver feels where it lands at his wrist, but he doesn’t react.

“Just pass me the bloody spade.” He grumbles.

-

The lesson passes more slowly than Oliver could swim shoulder-deep through molasses.

It feels like years later when he tosses his gloves into the box with the rest, when the class shuffles to return tools and begin slinging half-open bags over their shoulders.

Oliver doesn’t think he’s ever packed up faster - Poppy is still scowling at him, he doesn’t care - before he’s knocking through yellow and red tied students to find Archie’s head of curly black hair.

“Hey!” He catches him by the wrist, tugging on it like a dog with a bone. Archie jumps, eyes winding down to find his friend. “What did she say?”

You’re far ahead, Oliver can make out the back of your head: hips bumping with Cherry’s up the hill towards the castle.

Archie grins. “She said Isla Flynn has a crush on me.”

Oliver groans, “Not about that, you prat. About— wait, really?”

"Yeah!" He hikes his bag higher on his shoulder. "Can you believe it? She's got that hot Irish accent and everything."

Oliver nods, "Yeah ... yeah. Good on you, mate."

He's trying desperately not to steal this moment from his best friend, but he's fucking itching to know what else you and Archie had been giggling about.

"Did she ... say anything else?" He presses, more gently than his character usually allows. "Like about me?"

Archie shrugs without looking down. "I asked her, but she seemed tense about the whole thing."

"Tense?"

"Yeah, she said something about a bull and a cape, and went like all quiet when I told her you like her--"

At that, Oliver's stomach leaps up into his throat. He grabs his best friend by the arm, jolting him to a short stop. Some Hufflepuff bumps into their halted figures, grumbling before shuffling around them.

"You told her what?" His eyes flare erratically.

Archie shrugs, an innocuously confused look painting his features. "Well I said Oliver's half in love with you, or something like that and she looked all confused about it--"

Oliver's grip on his friend's wrist tightened to a degree that a ring was sure to form on his dark skin. "You fucking pinhead! You told her I liked her?"

Pulling his arm violently from his grip, Archie has the nerve to look affronted. "You don't?"

The morning sun shining over Oliver's head feels like it's growing hotter by the second, there's a dribble of sweat running down his spine.

"That's -- that's not the point. Even if I do, which I'm not saying is the case, she doesn't need to know that."

"Were you two obliviated in your sleep last night?" Archie's eyebrows are pressed down against his eyes, slouching down to meet his friend's face. "I caught you two making out like the world was ending less than three days ago! Surely she has to figure that you feeling something for her, she's not stupid."

Oliver struggles between his thoughts, worse around his words. "That was ... we'd been drinking. For all I know, she only kissed me back cause she was trollied off Dragon-Barrell--"

"She said that, too."

Eyeing him, Oliver's hands find his hips. "Said what, exactly?"

"That you were drunk, I mentioned the kiss and she said we were drunk."

A sensation he can only identify as closest to guilt seeps up into Oliver's chest from his stomach. "She thinks I kissed her just cause I was drunk?"

Archie's hand finds Oliver's shoulder. "You should probably talk to her, mate."

He sighs, eyes drifting over the silhouette of the castle in the distance. He shakes his head like it'll rattle the plaguing thoughts loose. "We're gonna be late for Transfig."

-

"I mean, Archie is his best friend." Cherry is trying to rationalise the whole story. "I don't see why he'd lie about it?"

You shake your head, knocking shoulders with a Ravenclaw girl trying to pass through the corridor. "I'm not entertaining it, Cherry."

"Come on," she sighs, practically skipping to keep up with the furious pace you've set. "Would it be so terrible if he likes you?"

"Yes." You don't look at her.

The redhead's eye-roll is practically audible, "Let me rephrase, would it be so terrible if he likes you back?"

You meet her eyes for the first time since you'd entered the corridor.

She sighs, "we're gonna see him in Muggle Studies in five minutes. I think you should say something."

"Forget I said anything, Cherry." Heat flares at your neck again, prompted by the embarrassment of even imagining how such a conversation might go.

The rest of the walk is quiet, but you feel Cherry's gaze warming the side of your face.

Burbage's classroom is over-populated with Gryffindors by the time you drop your bag against the marbled floor beside your desk. In the corner of your eye, your brain has already fixated on Oliver's silhouette leaned against the edge of his own desk. You flush hot all over again, as if your thoughts were transcribing into subtitles and floating above your head for the whole class to read.

The click of Burbage's heels prompt the lingering students to find their seats, "Please take out your copies of Muggle Wars: Cause and Effect. We left off on page eighty-seven--"

You suddenly regret snapping at Cherry. Wishing for the comfort of her presence, your eyes glazing over where she's perched in the first row of desks closest to the chalkboard.

Unusually, the class trickles on without disruption. There's a few glances over at your direction, like everyone is waiting for another outburst from the grade's most volatile duo. They're sure to be let down, you're adamant to not even breathe in the direction of Wood.

Burbage comments on it, too, nearly ten minutes from the bell.

"It's suspiciously quiet in your corner today, captains." she looks down through her fingerprint-smudged frames, brushing over you and then Wood three seats away. "Something the matter?"

You shrug, refusing to acknowledge the boy. He seems to be doing the same: completely unfairly, the thought that he wouldn't look at you made the hair on your arms stand straight. "We can start up if you'd like, professor?"

Her face contorts into that irritated look that you'd grown accustomed to when Professor Burbage addresses you. "You're flirting dangerously with another session of detention, miss."

"She's just answering your question, professor."

Nobody in the class seemed more surprised than Burbage, although that in itself was a feat. The two Gryffindor boys in the row ahead of you swivel all the way around in their seats to look at Oliver, who'd just spoken.

You fight the twitching urge to look at him.

"Detention for two, it seems. I'll be seeing you both Friday afternoon."

A calm air settles again over the class, as if order had been restored. You and Wood had lost the interest of the room and students shift back to the board where WHAT IS A PRIME MINISTER? is sprawled across it in chicken-scratch handwriting.

Sighing, your eyes find the clock against the wall. Eight minutes left.

You pick at the end of your quill irritably: electing to dip it into the ink at the edge of the desk and entertain yourself quietly by drawing a miniature snowman at the corner of your page, trying not to think about another Friday afternoon in too close of a proximity to Oliver Wood. There's a soft whir, barely audible if you weren't so focused on outlining pebble eyes, and a tiny paper-airplane whizzes quietly from under your desk: landing squarely on the nose-less head of your snowman.

Fear prickles at you. You don't look up for the source, lest a suspicious sideways glance earns you another weekend with the party-animal Charity Burbage.

Instead, you carefully undo the intricately folded wings of the plane. It's barely big enough to fit into your palm once open, the top of the little note marked in black ink.

It was the same handwriting that marked the sign-out sheet for equipment in the Quidditch storage rooms down at the pitch.

'Thanks for that one, smart-mouth.'

Your eyes flicker up to Burbage, who's back is turned, before you dip your quill into the ink and scribble out a response. In your peripheral, Oliver is leaned back in his stool: biceps folded over each other. There's an unexplainably airy-fairy, fuzzy feeling warming your rib cavity.

'Believe this one was your fault, dickhead.'

You quietly refold the creased edges, before tapping it lightly with the end of your wand: then watch how it takes off the airstrip of your page and zips quietly under the cover of desks to land back in front of the sender.

There's a long pause - enough for Burbage to draw out a whole flow diagram of something called "parliament" - before the edge of the paper wing grazes at your calf again. It lands quietly again.

'Maybe.

We good?'

There's a gentleness to the sentence. Like you can hear it from Oliver's mouth, like he's avoiding your gaze when he whispers it.

You hunch over the note again.

Oliver's knuckles are turning white, twisting his wand in his hands under the table. He shouldn't have said anything. He's regretting the whole fucking idea of the stupid paper-plane now.

He's trying not to watch you write, not to notice how long you stared at his writing before you picked up your own quill. He does anyways.

When the airplane flutters down into his palm, Burbage is already excusing the class. Stools are scraping against cold tile, the clutter of textbooks being crammed back into bags.

'Never :)'

His eyes run over the word once, twice, three times over. A smile is tugging at the edge of his lip, he forces it taut - but his eyes are still shining unusually brightly when Archie knocks his shoulder to his.

"What you looking so damn happy about?"

Oliver tucks the note into the pocket of his robes. "Don’t know what yer talking about."

-

"But professor, why can't Hufflepuff take Saturday?"

"Well, Hufflepuff already gave up our practice days for Gryff--!"

Hooch sighed so deeply she almost melted back into her armchair. "The decision is made, Oliver. The pitch is being cleaned out on Wednesday, your team can take Saturday for any extra training."

He could practically hear the smile creeping onto your face, the smug crossed-arm look he'll no doubt find when he turns to you.

Irritation bubbles up in his throat, a familiar companion in your presence, and just as he prophesied: you are grinning.

In the weeks that followed that day in Burbage's class, it seemed that both parties decided that the topic of their shared kiss outside the Ravenclaw common room was best left undiscussed.

The arrangement is working. At least Oliver thinks so.

You still bait him and he still snaps, rising to your taunts. He still finds himself in detention more Fridays than he spends free, and his body ripples with anger when you roll your eyes at him.

But it was in moments, like this now, where your little self-satisfied grin doesn't quite vex him to the degree it once did. It's now harder to find a retort, to snap at you with a sharp-edged comment. Not when amusement crinkles at the corners of your eyes where your black lashes kiss so prettily.

Hooch swivels in her chair to find a document between one of her cluttered drawers, you take the opportunity to stick the tip of your tongue out childishly at him.

Oliver draws a tight breath, he hopes his face is still taut in annoyance, because his heart has slipped like a stone down into his stomach. That's the other issue, the tiny little obstacle in these recent weeks: he can't stop looking at your mouth. It's distracting, disarming - paralysing at the best of times.

He strips his gaze away, before he can be outed by anyone in the room. "Whatever." He mumbles.

You seem disappointed in his lack of a real response, but it passes quickly - like a shadow - over your face.

"Thanks professor." You grab up your roster from her desk and turn to the door, practically skipping out into the corridor.

He huffs.

Somehow, you and Archie have become fast friends. Mornings around Fire-Seed Bushes and Venomous Tentaculas in the heat of Greenhouse Three seems to do wonders for a friendship.

It prickles at Oliver's nerves when you pass in the corridors, when you perk up with a high "hey Arch!" and he grins down from his towering height right back at you: "hey Y/n!"

You don't look at Oliver. He's notably sour the rest of the walk.

Alright, maybe the whole arrangement wasn't really working. You were a distraction to him before, no doubt, but somehow your powers of beguilement had tripled. Especially since you seem to be behaving perfectly normal: like you hadn't given Oliver the best snog of his life outside the Ravenclaw common room that night.

Maybe it was just alcohol, maybe he is the only one plagued by the knowledge of the other's taste.

The castle has turned impossibly colder, the bitter bite of winter stinging at the loose cuffs of his robes on walkthroughs of the corridors. He can't imagine how cold the air above the pitch is going to be on Sunday when Hufflepuff faces off Slytherin for a spot in the finals.

It's all Hooch has been going on about for the last two weeks.

Oliver's had to shift around at least four practices - Roger almost twice as much, he's a pushover - to allow for you and Marcus to have more time on the pitch. His complaints fell on deaf ears, Hooch dismissed him with a wave of her bony hand and a "your time is coming, Wood."

You prance into dinner late most evenings, hair in every direction and face flush with sweat: sticking it out like a bumblebee in those awful yellow quidditch robes.

Oliver only notices because, annoyingly, he's found that he is frequenting the bench at the Gryffindor table that faces over to the Hufflepuff's. His eyes drift over the yellow-tied heads to where you clump up with Enzo and Cherry, watches you talk around mouthfuls of toast lazily, giggle behind your napkin: head rolling back to showcase that smooth neck, how it runs down to the soft slopes of your shoulders: disappearing down into your button-up.

Archie has noticed, he's sure, but hasn't done more but allude to it with teasing glances or suggestive comments.

"The Hufflepuffs up to something particularly interesting over there, Ollie?"

The speed with which Oliver's eyes snap to his peas is almost comical. He shrugs and mumbles like a child. "Don't know."

-

On Sunday morning, you don't go to breakfast.

There's an uncomfortable gurgling in your midriff, like a snake is slithering between your organs and you're sure even just the smell of eggs on toast would bring up your dinner.

Instead you find yourself at the pitch a whole hour before the game is set to start. Marcus is running laps around the grass, something he's done since you've known him.

He offers a curt wave, face set like cold stone.

It reminds you of Oliver a little bit, the distraction in his eyes.

Oliver is never all the way there, wherever he is, you think. His eyes mist over like he's halfway between this world and another. You know it's Quidditch: he dreams it, eats it, sleeps it.

But lately he's foggier than usual.

You think it's your imagination, brush off the idea as you have all the millions of others you'd had in the preceding weeks about the surly brute that was Oliver Wood. He plagues you.

Just the vibrato of his unimpressed huff when you get your way, when you quip something purposely annoying at him. It's addictive, the feel of his sugar-brown eyes glaring a hole through you.

Lately, his reactions have been closer to underwhelming. Allowing for only a moment of eye contact: gone are the quick-witted retorts, the Scottish-laced "princess" usually attached. The thought makes you wince in embarrassment, knowing that you've been pressing him harder lately: like a seven-year old jabbing at a claw machine, outwardly desperate for that brown plushy on the top of the pile.

Maybe he's over it. So deathly mortified of your shared kiss that he doesn't want to know you anymore, much less take the effort to hate you. Your chest pinches tightly.

You dress into your match robes slowly, taking your time with the loops of your shoelaces and the buttons down the sweater you're wearing underneath everything. Oliver Wood should be at the bottom of your list of priorities, normally, but now more than ever.

The team filters into the change-room, exhibiting varying degrees of nervousness. Cedric is practically green, but Herbert looks like he's about to go down a water-slide he's waited over an hour in line for. Beyond the swinging doors, you can hear the crowd shuffling loudly into their seats.

Before your wits are completely about you, Hooch is rapping on those same doors. "Onto the pitch, Hufflepuffs!"

You muster up your best excuse for a captain's speech for what might be the last match you ever play as one. The team seem satisfied, you figure it's easy to find solace before a game when you know it's not your last. As the only seventh year, comfort doesn't come so easily to you.

The crowd is deafening when yellow robes take to the sky: Marcus looks over, offering another nod, not unlike the one he'd given you earlier. You can tell he's feeling the dread of finality too.

There's a whistle blow and the quaffle flies past your face with a speed that nearly evacuates your nose from your face. Lee is announcing in the distance and the rumble of adrenaline forces your fingers over the handle. It tilts and you dip, disappearing into the sky of players.

-

The winter air at Hogwarts was biting enough roaming the corridors, but thirty metres off the ground is something wholly unnatural. Your face was burning crisp from the icy wind, the feeling in your cheeks and nose lost to the Scottish cold.

Foggy white clouds puff out with each heavy breath. Cedric zooms past and Jane loops around his moving figure to knock a stray bludger in the opposite direction.

Your eyes flash between them and the fast approaching Malcolm, he tosses the quaffle at you with a grunt and you catch it at the tips of slippery, ice-frozen fingertips.

Shooting forward again, you duck under Marcus who is hurtling through the sky at you: gone is the look of friendly fondness from his eyes, replaced with a hunger for the leather-bound ball in your grasp.

Just missing the grasp of his meaty hand, the ball passes onto Heidi.

"Another ten points to Hufflepuff," Lee's voice echoes as if from heaven. "That brings the score to ninety for Hufflepuff and eighty for Slytherin!"

It's been nearly ninety-five minutes of sitting on your broom growing colder, and you're not alone.

Around you, the team is descending into frost-induced exhaustion: Jane's nose is as bright red as a Christmas ornament and Cedric has been peeping over the top of his thick woollen-scarf for at least the last half - barely enough to catch a glance of the whizzing canary and emerald robes, much less of a tiny golden snitch.

You sigh out another white breath, letting your eyes drift over the stands. It's saturated with moving heads of faces you can't make out and yellow and green swaying banners. Your gaze lingers on the top left, in the corner facing the castle. It's where Cherry and Enzo park themselves during every match, where you know they're screaming in support, clenching their teeth at every quaffle handover. You can feel them, even when their faces blur into the crowd.

Unintentionally, you think about how Oliver's mixed in there too. Somewhere between your peers. If you had been granted another moment, if the quaffle wasn't mid-air between two Slytherins just under your nose and you'd not taken the opportunity to snatch it from them, you would have meandered into the trap of hoping that deep down in his chest - even if it was core of the earth deep - he was rooting for you, too. That he seethed at a missed goal or clenched a tight fist at his side in celebration when a Hufflepuff makes a beautiful play.

Meanwhile in the stands, Oliver has decided that the desire to play his allegiances in secret has since disappeared from his heart.

He'd played it light in the first few minutes. Mumbling under his breath at a fumbled pass or a slimy move from the Slytherins, but by the forty-fifth minute he'd found himself on his feet.

"Diggory!" His hands waved in front of him, "it was right there you fucking git--"

A Hufflepuff third year a row ahead looked at him askew, but he paid her no mind.

Archie had taken the hint early. As soon as Oliver was out of his seat, so was he. Despite being Oliver Wood's best friend, Archie had somewhat limited knowledge of the game himself and eyed Oliver's reactions to find the appropriate moments to whoop and cheer. Oliver didn't say anything, but he appreciated it more than he could verbalise.

His eyes tracked you more than anything, when you were flying between players or just floating in place: eyes like a hawk, watching over the game. His heart swelled and his pride fell to the wayside.

Just short of the two hour mark, there was a rise in the crowd.

"The seekers have caught sight of the snitch!"

Oliver's stomach rose into his throat.

"They're diving for it, Malfoy and Diggory head to head-- and Slytherin grabs the snitch, winning by 140 points!"

It sank back into place, like a stone to the bottom of the river. He watched how you froze, how you twisted over your shoulder to find Diggory's figure lingering at the bottom of the field. You shoulders sagged, hanging in the air as the others dropped to the ground.

"Slytherin have made it into the finals against Gryffindor for the quidditch cup, back here at the pitch next month!"

After a long moment, the last in the sky, you followed them down.

The raucous cheers from the Slytherins were hard to drown out, he wasn't even sure Archie heard him toss a "i'll find you at the castle" before he found himself pushing through the masses of people.

He fought against the wave moving to find the stairs, eager to return to the warmth of their dormitories, but Oliver was markedly more motivated than the majority. He stomped on some toes and nearly tossed a first year off the stands to race down the stairs.

Only once his feet had found the mushy grass of the pitch, did he pause to consider that he wasn't entirely sure what he was going to say. What was the rush for? To comfort you, tease you for your loss?

The latter option was definitely what he could do, what he could say. What was expected of him, if he was being honest. Recently, however, he's found it harder and harder to come up with remarks to hurt your feelings. Found that he quite prefers that little smile that tucks into the corner of your mouth when he says something unexpectedly fond. How your eyes practically gleam.

There's shoving from all sides of him -- get out the way, bloody hell -- and the teams pass ahead of him. Leading the march, despite it being nothing more than a slow trudge, is your figure: squashed between those of who he recognises to be Cherry Stretton and Enzo Musa's.

Their arms wrapped over your shoulders, talking animatedly into your ear on each side. Enzo tips his head to meet yours, a small touch of comfort.

Oliver sighs. He has nothing to say and no comfort to offer, wondering for a moment what he could possibly bare to hear in his own final moments as captain. He thinks that anything from your mouth would work.

So he waits, parks himself beside the stairs and waits for Archie: watching the six-legged figure disappear up over the hill.

-

You're not at dinner.

He knows because he's been watching the door for the better half of an hour. Archie pushes his plate at him, "Eat something there, Ollie."

Begrudgingly, Oliver brings his drumstick up to his mouth. "She's not eaten a thing since breakfast, it's almost eight."

Archie passes a sympathetic look over him. "Her friends are here, I'm sure she'll be by soon. There's no use you joining her on a hunger-strike."

He's right. Cherry and Enzo and some others that frequent your circle are talking around the table, around the spot that you usually fill. But dinner goes on and students leak steadily out towards bed without your return.

Eventually Oliver huffs, like an irritated bulldog, and grabs for the nearest napkin: unfolding it out in front of him.

"What are you doing?" Archie asks thickly, spitting bits of rice at him.

Oliver reaches for two chicken skewers, placing them neatly on the white square: alongside a dinner roll and a pumpkin pasty.

He wraps them over, double wraps it with another napkin too.

"What does it look like, Arch."

Placing it carefully into the deep pocket of his robe, Oliver goes to stand - lacking the patience it takes for Archie to answer, or for his inevitable teasing. "I'll find you back in our room."

He's halfway out the hall when Archie's voice calls out to him, "You don't even know where she is!"

Oliver shakes his head, brandishing a dismissive hand over his shoulder. "I know where she is." He mumbles for only himself to hear.

-

You’d watched close to twenty-one quidditch matches from the stands at the pitch on Hogwarts grounds: played in almost half of them. 

The seat is still slightly too small, just uncomfortable enough to make a person shuffle. Beyond the rim over the other end of the pitch you can see the orange sun dipping behind the horizon, drawing to darkness over your moment alone.

By now you're sure the party in the common room has long since found momentum. The one you'd been promised by the team, "it's your last game, cap, we need to celebrate!". You're sure someone somewhere is looking for you, bracing a plastic cup of Firewhisky with your name on it, but you can't find it within yourself to face it all just yet.

The silence of the evening is enough, you only wish you'd been fast enough to retrieve your broomstick that's somewhere off with Enzo. Just for one last lap.

The serenity of your loneliness doesn't persevere, however. You can hear shuffling up the steps, you're tempted to look but the sunset is slipping so quickly out of your hands that it's not worth the time wasted.

It's only when the footfalls draw closer, stopping when a body slumps into the seat beside you. The seats are so cramped that his knee brushes yours, the figure long since identified from the corner of your eye.

"Come to gloat?" You ask, eyes never leaving the sky.

He shrugs. "Not today."

You nod. His smell drifts on the breeze under your nose, like peppermint and soap and Oliver.

There's a long silence. Your robes crease against the fist sitting in your lap, you've yet to change out of your quidditch uniform, you know it will be the last time.

"You missed dinner."

"Does it matter?"

Despite your avoidant gaze, Oliver's is warming the side of your face. The evening air cools the same spot.

There's a shuffling that finally draws your eyes. Oliver is still in his robes too, and his hand emerges from a deep pocket with a folded napkin square. "Figured you'd be hungry."

He places it onto your lap with a gentleness you're coming to find more of in him. Something frighteningly warm erupts in your chest and your hands come up to it, pulling apart the napkin to find picky bits inside.

You're fighting between smiling and starting to cry. You do neither.

"You carried this in your pocket the whole way from the hall?"

His eyes flicker between the food and your face before he shrugs. "Yeah."

By now, you were fighting a losing battle and the smile pulled up at the ends of your mouth so tightly that your cheeks started to hurt. "Gross."

You pick up a chicken skewer regardless, biting into it and facing the sky again. You offer him the other one and he looks for a moment like he's going to argue but takes it quietly in the end.

The chicken is tender and only after you'd swallowed the first bit did you realise how hungry you'd actually been. You finish it without a word, going to tear the pasty in half and offering a piece to your companion.

You're picking at the roll now, tearing tiny bits off and feeding it piece by piece to yourself like a bird. "Last game."

He nods. "I know."

"What could someone say to you after your last game, Wood?" You pick at him, eyes flittering between him and the now nearly black sky. "You know, to make you feel better?"

Oliver shakes his head, leaning back and rolling his shoulders: as if the thought itself unsettled him.

"Nothing, probably. I'd probably just walk into the Black Lake and drown myself."

You think he's joking, but with Oliver Wood that was hardly a sure thing.

"You wouldn't."

"What's there left to live for?" He says it with an airy chuckle.

Shrugging, your head falls against your shoulder. "You'd have to figure it out, because I'd go marching in right after you. Carry you out if I had to."

Oliver stills, eyes wide and blinking at you. Your chest goes tight, the ghost of a smile pressing at your face.

"Bridal style and everything ..." You add quietly, stifling your chuckle.

He seems to come back to himself, nodding. "We should get back. Been a long day."

The napkin crumples in your hand, shoved down into the depths of your own pocket. You walk ahead, the pathway to the steps is only narrow enough for one person at a time, and he trails behind.

By the time you've hit the steps, Oliver moving down beside you, you're brewing around an apology. A way to thin the air, to ease where your chest is tight: swirling around well done, now you've made things awkward you git. It's halfway up to your tongue when skin brushes against the back of your hand.

Warm fingers explore your knuckles to find your cool ones, slipping to knot between them.

You work not to look down, because Oliver's skittish like that. From the corner of your eye, you can see he's concentrating his gaze ahead.

His hand tightens against yours, palm callous from years wrapped around the wooden handle of his broomstick. It's a little sweaty and sticky but you're smiling so hard you're about to be sick.

You dare to look at him, Oliver's smiling too.

-

Oliver hasn't been sleeping.

His last few days of seventh year are slipping like water through his calloused hands and he can feel it. Every hour that passes, shadowy and fleeting.

Classes feel shorter than before, the terrible jokes Archie bombards him with over dinner sound funnier than he ever remembers them being and the glimpses he catches of you in the corridor never feel long enough. The ceiling of his poster bed flashes with moments of the day that's passed, feeling like a dream you'll be jolted out of as soon as it gets good.

Even over all his hours of broody contemplation, none of it makes the final whistle any easier to swallow. It hits him like he's been smacked with a bludger in the chest.

"Gryffindor has won the quidditch cup, two-hundred and thirty points to twenty!"

He can hear the crowd's roar, the whoops of the twins floating somewhere below him. Harry's standing on the grass of the pitch holding up his tiny golden trophy. The pitch is red all over: Oliver won.

He won.

Every moment building up over the last seven years culminated into the final blow of the whistle. The wind is whipping at the hair over his forehead: Oliver thinks this might be the happiest moment of his life, but he's not entirely sure.

He never realised that it would all be so fucking soaked in sadness.

It's over. He's leaving the castle empty handed. His engraving will live on the Quidditch Cup in a dusty cupboard for years to come, yes, and he might have a frame up in his future apartment somewhere, reminiscing on the old days. That's all.

He's struck with the devastating fear that in a few short years, nobody will remember him. More than anything, he can't believe he hadn't come to this overwhelming conclusion before right now. Before Angelina is yelling to him, waving a frantic hand and sporting the biggest grin in all of Scotland, before he was seconds from taking the prize he's held in his mind for so many years into his very hands.

Will you forget him?

It nearly knocks him off his broom. He finds that it scares him the most, more than the thought of the dust-caked trophy or the lonely corner at the back of his cupboard where his Hogwarts robes will no doubt live until eternity.

He won't forget you, he thinks. He knows.

You're just so damn annoying. And beautiful, fucking whip-clever and hilarious sometimes--

The handle of his broom is tilting down to the earth now, the crowd zooming into a blur on either side of him. He hits a shaky landing, broomstick abandoned on the grass behind him as he's pulled into the arms of his team and well-wishers.

A golden trophy passes over the heads of the twins and it's shoved into his sweating hands. It's cool to the touch and so much heavier than he thought it ever could be, but he can't seem to keep his mind on the situation long enough to realise any of that. His mind is racing around the castle wondering where you might be and what's the fastest way to get there.

His eyes are racing over the heads of the roving crowd. "Wood, Wood! Speech!"

Shadowing over everyone is Archie's tall figure standing at the back, grinning down at him. The team watches expectantly.

This is it. The moment for the speech he's been practicing in his bathroom mirror since he was seven.

"I--" he looks down at the cup for the first time, his face reflecting up at him in glimmering gold. He finds he can't remember any of the words. "I need to go find someone."

There's a buzz of confusion, but Oliver doesn't linger: shoving the Quidditch Cup into Harry's arms.

"That's the shortest speech Wood has ever given." He hears Angelina quip, but he can't be arsed to turn. He's already flying, moving through the crowd at such a pace he might just have been on his broom.

The sea of students had long since started moving up to the castle, particularly the non-gryffindors: trying to beat the stampede of scarlet that is no doubt to come. Oliver's legs carry him over the smooth green hill up towards Hogwarts, head craning over students to find your side profile somewhere in the mass.

He catches few oy, watch it!'s and congrats, Wood!'s but he doesn't turn, doesn't stop running. Students bespeckle the grass like ants lining up for crumbs, and he's all the way up into the stone corridor leading to the Great Hall when he spots Cherry's velvet red curls over the crowd, and sure enough, he finds you're knocking her shoulder with your own.

It only takes one shout of your name and you turn to peek curiously back, by which time he's taken both your shoulders into his hands and steered you to the wall of the corridor.

"Wood! What are you do--"

His hands squeeze around the plush at your upper arms. "Oliver. My name is Oliver."

Your eyes are wide in surprise, the window behind you showcases the gardens and the pitch in the distance. Sunlight forms a halo over the crown of your head.

With a head tilted in confusion, you nod slowly. "Alright ... what are you doing, Oliver?"

He can feel the eyes of Cherry and Enzo burning a hole through the side of his head, but doesn't bother with it. You're blinking up at him, gentle and benign in your features. He wonders when it became like this, when you'd lost the tight brow and the frown every time you looked at him.

"I won the Quidditch Cup." He says blankly.

You nod, a small smile tucked into the corner of your lip. "I saw. Congratulations."

Oliver only nods back at you. "I wanted to tell you. I wanted to come shove it in your face."

He's shuffling closer to your figure, and he's more than pleased to discover that you aren't cowering from it.

"Of course you did, because you're a prat." But you're smiling so hard now that it's impossible to take your jab to heart. "Is that all, Oliver?"

A warm sensation is spilling into his rib cavity and his fingertips are buzzing with electricity when they come to find either side of your face.

"No." His forehead is nearly touching yours and your hands have wrapped around his wrists. "I came to ask you out on a date. A sappy, disgustingly romantic date where I bring you flowers and pay for your hot chocolate. You'd hate it."

"That truly sounds horrible." Your smile is so wide he can barely see the whites of your eyes and it pumps more adrenaline through Oliver than any argument you'd ever shared over the last seven years.

"So, is that a yes?"

You're bouncing on your toes a little bit, bumping your nose against Oliver's clumsily. The babble of passing students and gawking onlookers has practically fallen mute to him.

"Depends, are you going to kiss me goodnight after?" You whisper it, like it's a secret between just you and him.

He nods slowly, "pretty desperate to kiss you right now, if I'm being honest princess--"

You don't wait for him to finish, thank Merlin you don't wait for him to finish, and push up onto your toes: crashing against his mouth. You're kiss is as dizzying as he remembers, but softer this time. You kiss like you know he's not running away, hands pressing softly over his neck.

It's nothing like your kiss outside the Ravenclaw common room: where that one was desperate and hot and angry, this time it's born from longing and tenderness and acceptance.

It leaves him just as fucking breathless as the first time.

Somewhere behind him, he hears wolf-whistling (he's sure it's Cherry) and when you pull your lips off his, your face is flush with embarrassment.

"I will go on a date with you, Oliver."

He takes your hand into his, curling his fingers between your own. You lean up to peck him softly and bat your eyelashes at him, grinning innocuously when you whisper: "If you treat me like you did with Delilah, I'm throwing your broomstick into the fireplace."

-

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[alyrasturnz]

can you write a wedding day for matt since mr tough guy said some fucked up things about his wedding

 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎TIMELESS

❐ summary » not even the relentless march of time, with all its cruel and unyielding nature, nor the finality of death itself, could sever the bond between matt and y/n. their connection, forged in the fires of shared experiences and deep emotions, transcends the temporal constraints and the veil of mortality, standing as a testament to a love that defies the very essence of existence and eternity.

❐ pairings » husband!matt x fem!reader

❐ warnings » none

❐ a/n && w/c » i hate this so much😣 my writers block is eating me alive • 1.93k

as you took your father's hand, he felt the profound weight of countless years of memories and boundless love. with each step he guided you down the aisle, the echoes of time resonated deeply, marking not just the passage of moments, but the culmination of a lifetime's journey.

your heels delicately pressed upon the meticulously arranged petals that adorned the ground, each step a symphony of grace. you watched as your flower girls, having fulfilled their enchanting duty, gracefully took their seats, their presence a testament to the beauty of the moment.

the sun was setting, casting a perfect tapestry of pink and orange hues across the sky. you chose the very beach where you and matt shared your first kiss, a place imbued with the tender echoes of your love's beginning.

when you reached matt, he paused, his gaze locking deeply with yours, silently conveying a profound symphony of love and pride. in that moment, the world seemed to fade away, leaving only the unspoken bond between you, a testament to the journey you had shared and the future that lay ahead.

he then turned to matt, placing your hand into his with a firm yet tender grip, a gesture that carried the weight of countless unspoken words. "take care of her," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, resonating with the depth of a father's love and the gravity of entrusting his most precious treasure.

a hush fell over the gathered crowd as matt’s eyes, brimming with a mixture of love and awe, met yours. your father, with a tender smile and perhaps a glimmer of a tear, stepped back, entrusting you, his precious daughter, to the man you had chosen. the weight of the moment hung in the air, a silent testament to the bonds of love and trust that had brought you to this juncture.

the officiant smiled warmly, his eyes twinkling with the gravity of the moment, as he began the ceremony. "dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to witness the sacred union of matthew sturniolo and y/n l/n in holy matrimony," he intoned, his voice carrying the weight of tradition and the promise of a shared future.

"today, we celebrate love, commitment, and the beautiful journey that matthew and y/n are about to embark upon together," the officiant stated, his voice imbued with reverence and joy, as he acknowledged the profound significance of the vows about to be exchanged.

"and now, we will have a reading from nick sturniolo, who will share a passage that holds special meaning for matthew and y/n," he said, as nick walked up with a small, tear-stained smile on his face, the weight of his emotions evident in his every step.

nick takes a deep breath, steadying himself as he prepares to speak. "in the grand tapestry of life, there are threads that shine brighter than others. these threads are woven with love, trust, and shared dreams. today, we celebrate the union of two souls whose threads have intertwined, creating a pattern of beauty and strength. as they walk this path together, may they find joy in the simple moments, courage in the face of challenges, and a love that grows deeper with each passing day," he said, his voice laden with emotion. the crowd erupted in applause, their clapping echoing through the room as nick, his cheeks still glistening with tears, took a moment to compose himself.

with a small, heartfelt smile, he nodded to the couple before making his way back to his seat, each step measured and deliberate, the weight of the moment settling upon him.

your eyes welled with tears, the emotion swelling within you until it could no longer be contained. the tears found their way down your cheeks, tracing a path of raw, unfiltered sentiment, each droplet a testament to the depth of feeling that coursed through you in that poignant moment.

if someone had approached your younger self and foretold that you would one day stand here, side by side with matthew sturniolo, you would have scoffed at the notion. with a dismissive wave, you would have told them to kick rocks, utterly incredulous at the idea. the very thought would have seemed so far-fetched, so beyond the realm of possibility, that you would have dismissed it as nothing more than a fanciful tale. yet, here you are, defying the expectations of that younger self, living a reality that once seemed impossible.

"matthew and y/n, please join hands and exchange your vows," the officiant intoned, their voice a gentle command that pierced through the fog of your reverie, snapping you back to the present moment.

you lift your gaze to meet matt's, his eyes brimming with unspoken emotion. as you place your hands within his, the weight of the moment settles upon you, each touch a silent promise of the journey you are about to embark upon together.

"y/n, from the very first moment our eyes met, i felt an unspoken connection, a bond that transcends time and space. you are my anchor in the storm, my sanctuary, and the most precious gift life has bestowed upon me. your unwavering kindness, your boundless strength, and your infinite love have taught me what it truly means to be loved unconditionally. today, i pledge to be your steadfast partner, to stand by your side through every joy and every trial. i vow to share in your laughter, to soothe your tears, and to walk with you through every chapter of our lives. our story began the very second i found you on the swings when we were little, and from that moment, i knew you were destined to be a part of my life. you are not just my best friend or my soulmate; you are the very heartbeat of my existence. as we journey together, may our love be the eternal flame that guides us, illuminating our path and warming our hearts. with you, i have found my true home, my forever. and even when our earthly journey ends, not even death can do us part. i will find you in another life, for our souls are eternally intertwined. i will love you farther than the point when our bodies decay, for our love transcends the physical realm. with you, i am home," matt said, his voice cracking every now and then, each word laden with emotion. you let out a soft giggle, closing your eyes with a smile, feeling the weight of his words settle deep within your heart.

"in another life, you still would have turned my head. from the moment our eyes met, i knew my heart had found its eternal home. life is far too fleeting to love you in just one lifetime, so i vow to seek you out in all my other existences, to cherish every moment we share. from that first glance, my soul recognized yours, as if we were two halves of a whole finally reunited. your presence bestows upon me a sense of peace and completeness i had never known before. each day with you is a blessing, and i am endlessly grateful for the love we share. i pledge to stand by your side, through every joy and every challenge. i promise to be your rock, your confidant, and your greatest supporter. our love is a timeless melody, and i am grateful for every note we compose together. together, we will weather the storms and bask in the sunshine, knowing that our bond grows stronger with each passing day. with this ring, i pledge my eternal love, my unwavering commitment, and my deepest respect. for in every lifetime, in every era, it has always been you. you are my past, my present, and my future, and i will cherish you always, with every beat of my heart," you respond, your voice brimming with an emotion you never knew existed, every word resonating with the depth of your love. your hands tremble slightly as you reach out, gently clasping their fingers, feeling the warmth of their skin against yours.

your eyes lock, and in that instant, the world around you fades away, leaving only the two of you standing in the timeless moment. a tear escapes, tracing a path down your cheek, embodying the profound connection you share.

matt's smile was a tender curve of reassurance, a silent promise that echoed in the quiet space between you. he gently disengaged your hands, the brief separation a whisper of cool air against your skin. his hand ascended with deliberate grace, each movement a delicate choreography of care. he cupped your face with a reverence that spoke volumes, his thumb tracing the path of your tears with an almost sacred tenderness.

the touch was more than just skin against skin; it was a balm for your soul, a wordless vow of unwavering support. after wiping away the remnants of your sorrow, he reclaimed your hand, the reconnection a reaffirmation of the bond that anchored you both.

"might i request the rings now?" the officiant intoned, his voice a blend of solemnity and anticipation. madi and chris approached with measured steps, their movements imbued with the gravity of the moment, the air thick with the weight of unspoken vows about to be sealed.

madi and chris, their faces awash with emotion, gently placed the rings into the officiant's waiting hand. as they turned to walk away, tears cascaded down their cheeks, each drop a testament to the profound significance of the moment.

"these rings stand as eternal emblems of your unwavering love and commitment," the officiant proclaimed, his voice resonating with solemnity. "matthew, please take the ring and place it upon y/n's finger, repeating after me." as he handed the ring to matthew, the moment seemed to crystallize.

"with this ring, i thee wed," matthew intoned, his words a binding promise woven into the fabric of their shared future. a gentle smile curved on his lips, a tender expression that spoke volumes, as he carefully slid the ring onto your finger.

"y/n, please take the ring and place it upon matthew's finger, repeating after me," the officiant instructed, his voice imbued with a solemn gravity. as he handed the ring to you, the atmosphere seemed to thicken with anticipation.

"with this ring, i thee wed," you echoed, your voice carrying the weight of a timeless vow. you lift your gaze to meet matt's eyes, a profound connection shimmering between you, as you delicately slide the ring onto his finger.

the officiant gazes at the both of you with a gentle, knowing smile. "by the power vested in me," he intones with a voice rich in solemnity, "i now pronounce you husband and wife. you may kiss the bride."

you gaze at matt with a radiant smile, your eyes locking in a moment of profound connection. slowly, you wrap your arms around his neck, feeling the warmth of his presence enveloping you. his hands, gentle yet firm, find their way around your waist, pulling you ever closer.

as your lips meet in a tender, heartfelt kiss, the world seems to fade away, leaving only the two of you in this sacred moment. tears of joy cascade down your cheeks, mingling together in a shared expression of overwhelming emotion.

the crowd, witnessing this beautiful union, erupts in a symphony of applause, their claps echoing the joyous celebration of your love. amidst the applause, you feel the weight of this moment, a culmination of your journey together, filled with trials and triumphs, now sealed with a kiss that speaks of a future bound by love and understanding.

[demonshauntingthedoves]

Right of ravage- providing to the lord the right to devastate the fields of his own domain and much more.

Pairing: Lord Jimin x maid reader

Timeline: medieval period (inspo french revolution)

Warning: yandere, power disparity, feudal system, destruction, slavery, foul language, implied physical assault, harsh treatment, degradation.

a part of my Debt series (maknae line)

It was distraughting. You screamed watching your farm burn away.The merciless fire swallowed the precious crops.All the year’s worth of work ashened to nothing. All the food was gone.

Your loud wails echoed over the growling of fire.You were frantic and begged his brother who groped at your hair.

“You’d been returning the money since decades. You ugly peasants should never be offered slack. Now bear the consequences.” He spat in mirth and disgust and threw you in the soil.

Jimin observed the clamour from over his horse. He remained unaffected as if the earth wasn't burning beside him. Your tear clamped eyes shifted to him. You knelt before him, pleading for his pity.

Ugly sobs made you shudder. And he for sure pitied you. Helplessness in human form.

“Lord, please spare us. Please stop the fire.” You cried. The triangles of your neck and the dips of your clavicles appeared with every breath you heaved. Red rimmed eyes stared at him in hope. For he would give the last word in this.

But as much as he pitied you, he wanted to claw up that little hope in you and chew at it. So, he nodded in approval at his brother rather than dismissal and backed his horse away, watching your face turn grey like the smoke swaying in the sky.

This was exactly what he wanted.

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

You winced when the needle dug in your finger, you sucked the pierced part, before getting back to stitch the button. This pain was negligible compared to what you’d dealt with.

“Are you fine?”

You faintly smiled and nodded in response to the lady by whose feet you sat. The lord's wife- Mrs. Park. A soft feather amongst stones. Unlike the other harsh noblewomen, she had treated you so well since you were kept to work as a maid. Her kindness was a balm to all your wounds. The same wounds her husband caused.

“Ha-eun.”

Your back cowered at his voice. The said woman made her way to him, humming to her beloved. You kept your eyes lowered, resisting the trembles his fearful presence stirred in you.

Mr. Park retrieved his carriage and placed it on the bed, on the other side of which you remained.

“ My dear, you said your visit there was a month away.” Mrs. Park’s voice saddened, she pressed herself to Jimin’s side, her head over his shoulder.

“The officer has asked for me, I would need to leave today, to reach there in five days.” he informed her, eyes dissecting your reaction to the news, every flicker of your lids and twitch of your lips.

“Fine. I’ll go ready your meals to pack.” she sighed and kissed his shoulder before retreating. “Y/n, get the shirt done and come to the kitchen.”

As Ha-eun footsteps dulled, your heartbeat lurched. To be left alone with Jimin filled you with dread. You hurried to sew the last patch of the shirt and leave.

As you bit the thread and bundled it, you slowed down, staring at the pair of feet that were now in front of you.

“You forgot to greet me.” he complained, voice gravelly and authority. A shiver ran down your spine from his propinquity. You hastily curtsied him, eyes pinned to his shoes.

“Hm. My shoes seem dirty, don't they?.” you understood his demand and reached for your skirt to carefully clean them. Park now held a satisfied smile, hands sneaked in the pockets of his trouser. He reveled in watching you kneel by his toes because that's exactly where you belonged.

“ You are happy, aren't you?”

“Wh-what? My lord? No.” you bend your head lower, to prevent Jimin from noticing your lies. It was true that your heart had thrumped with happiness when you heard he was leaving.

Jimin let out a laugh, which was more of a thinly veiled threat than a joyous one, a warning of impending harm.

“You seem relieved that I'm leaving the town, relieved that you’ll be free now. Awaiting your dreams to come true.”

You bit down a painful sob when he clamped his boot down on your hand, nearly crushing your knuckles. You cried when he pressed heavily on your fingers.

“And even wishing that I wouldn't ever return back and die there. This is what you’d do, right? you ungrateful wench.” Jimin spit with an intent to injure, eyes narrowed on you.

“N-no, lord, I would- I would never wish that upon you.” words tumbled out your mouth in a stumbling rush. You needed to deny it and convince him. You couldn't do otherwise. Pleadings were better before punishments than during the course of it. You crept forward to cling over his leg for forgiveness.

He retracted back in disguised disgust, before lifting his leg and wedging the tip of his shoe under your chin to tilt it up. Humiliation burned you. You still didn't flicker your teary eyes to him. You weren't permitted to look him in the eye.

“Don't lie to me, I’ll crack your jaw open in one swing. I saw your face when I told Ha-eun.” He growled and threatened you. You winced when he dangerously pressed the tip of his shoe on your pulse.

“I swear, I wasn't happy about it. Please, I'm sorry if it appeared like that.” You snivelled, making desperate attempts to appease him. You were just trying to save yourself and delay your doom.

“Look at me.”

Your cowering eyes fluttered up. While Jimin's eyes were blown dark, lust overflooding his anger. He was aroused watching you grovel. He lowered his feet from your chin and dragged it down your breast, subtly prodding at it. Your breath began to writhe.

“Give me your hand.”

He rubbed soothing circles on your wounded hand, you closed your eyes at the show of his care, only to have them blink open in panic the moment your hand was placed on his bulge.

“My lord, please, I'm needed in the kitc-.”

“Go in the attic, now! ”

[yourmomsawh0r3]

A love beyond words

pairing : benedict bridgerton x f! wife reader

In the grand ballrooms of London, where every gaze and whisper held a secret, Benedict Bridgerton and his wife, Y/N, were a sight to behold. The two were often the subject of envy and admiration, for their union was one of deep affection and mutual respect something that shone as brightly as the jewels worn by the ladies of the ton.

Y/N, with her warm demeanor and sharp wit, had managed to forge an unlikely yet cherished friendship with none other than Queen Charlotte herself. The Queen, known for her discerning taste and formidable presence, had taken a particular liking to Y/N's spirit. Their conversations, often filled with laughter and a shared love for the arts, had earned Y/N a place in the Queen's favor a rare and precious gift.

One evening, at a ball hosted by the Duchess of Northumberland, Y/N found herself at the center of attention. As she moved gracefully across the floor, her husband, Benedict, watched her with adoration, his heart swelling with pride. He knew, as did everyone else, that his wife was a woman of rare qualities, one who could captivate even the most critical of eyes.

But as the evening wore on, a certain Lady Bellingham, known for her sharp tongue and even sharper jealousy, took it upon herself to speak ill of Y/N. The words, though whispered behind a fan, were meant to wound, and they did not go unnoticed by those who heard them.

“Indeed, it is a wonder that such a commoner has found herself in the good graces of Her Majesty. One must wonder what sort of charm she employs to secure such favor,” Lady Bellingham sneered to her companions, who giggled behind their gloves.

The insult did not reach Y/N’s ears, but it was heard by Benedict, who had been approaching his wife to ask for her next dance. His jaw clenched, and a dark fire lit in his eyes. Benedict Bridgerton was not a man to let any slight against his beloved go unchallenged.

With a calm that belied the storm within him, Benedict approached Lady Bellingham. “My lady,” he began, his voice as smooth as velvet but carrying an unmistakable edge, “It seems you are mistaken. It is not my wife’s charm that has won her the Queen’s favor, but her integrity, intelligence, and grace qualities that I fear you may not recognize, as they are so far removed from your own.”

The air in the ballroom seemed to still as the surrounding guests caught wind of the confrontation. Lady Bellingham flushed with embarrassment, her attempt to retort thwarted by the intensity of Benedict’s gaze.

At that moment, as if fate itself were intervening, the Queen entered the room. The crowd parted for her as she made her way toward Y/N, her eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and authority.

“Lady Bridgerton,” the Queen addressed Y/N with a warmth that caused whispers to ripple through the crowd, “I trust you are enjoying this evening?”

Y/N curtsied gracefully, her heart fluttering as she met the Queen’s gaze. “Indeed, Your Majesty, it has been a most delightful affair.”

The Queen’s eyes flickered to Lady Bellingham, who stood pale and trembling. “I believe,” she said, her voice carrying the weight of command, “that the company in this room would do well to learn from Lady Bridgerton’s example. She has the qualities that endear her not only to those who know her well but to myself as well. It is a rare woman who can claim such a friendship, and I would advise others to remember that.”

The Queen’s words were like a decree, and Lady Belling As Y/N floated across the ballroom, her grace catching the eye of many, she found herself in conversation with Lady Beresford, a woman known more for her sharp tongue than her charm. The exchange began cordially enough, but soon took a turn as Lady Beresford's remarks became pointed, her words dripping with thinly veiled disdain.

"You must feel quite secure in your position, Mrs. Bridgerton," Lady Beresford sneered, her tone laced with venom. "To think that a mere commoner could rise so high, only by the graces of a hasty marriage."

Y/N, ever composed, met the insult with a calm smile, refusing to be ruffled by the woman's pettiness. "I find that true security lies in the love and respect of one's husband, Lady Beresford," she replied gently, "and in the good fortune of one's friends."

As the words hung in the air, a hush fell over those nearby, who had been pretending not to listen. Benedict, who had been observing the exchange from across the room, felt a surge of protectiveness. He began to make his way toward his wife, but before he could reach her, another figure intervened.

Queen Charlotte, who had been seated on a dais overlooking the festivities, had heard enough. Rising to her feet, she descended the steps with regal poise, the crowd parting in reverence. Her approach was swift, and her gaze fixed on Lady Beresford with an intensity that made the woman pale.

"Lady Beresford," the Queen intoned, her voice cutting through the murmurs, "it seems you have forgotten your place." She paused, letting the weight of her words settle. "Mrs. Bridgerton is not only the wife of a gentleman of the highest regard but also a dear friend to the Crown. Any slight against her is a slight against me."

The color drained from Lady Beresford's face as she stammered an apology, her previous bravado crumbling under the Queen's steely gaze. "Your Majesty, I-I meant no offense…"

"Then you will do well to remember that," Queen Charlotte replied sharply, her tone leaving no room for further insolence. "Now, begone from my sight."

Lady Beresford curtsied awkwardly, retreating from the ballroom in disgrace, her head bowed low. The gathered guests remained silent, awed by the Queen's swift and decisive action.

As the tension in the room eased, Benedict finally reached Y/N's side. His eyes were filled with admiration and gratitude, both for his wife’s grace under pressure and for the Queen's intervention. Taking Y/N’s hand, he pressed a tender kiss to her knuckles.

"You handled that with remarkable poise," he murmured, his voice low so only she could hear. "But I do hope you know that I would have defended you with equal fervor, had the Queen not acted so swiftly."

Y/N smiled up at him, her heart swelling with affection for the man she had chosen as her partner. "I never doubted it, my love. You have always been my greatest protector."

Later that evening, as the festivities came to a close, the couple retired to their chambers. In the privacy of their room, Y/N turned to Benedict, her eyes filled with the depth of her love and gratitude.

"I am truly fortunate to have you by my side, Benedict," she whispered, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Thank you for always standing up for me, for being my constant source of strength."

Benedict pulled her close, his lips brushing against her temple. "And I am the fortunate one, to have a wife as remarkable as you, my dearest. Your grace and spirit are unmatched."

Thank you for understanding. I’ll continue with an intimate and affectionate scene, focusing on the love and connection between Y/N and Benedict.

As the night deepened and the flickering candlelight cast a warm glow around their chambers, Y/N and Benedict found themselves wrapped in each other’s arms. The events of the evening, particularly the confrontation with Lady Beresford, had left Y/N feeling both grateful and deeply touched by her husband’s unwavering support.

She gazed up at him, her fingers tracing the strong line of his jaw. “Benedict,” she whispered softly, her voice carrying all the affection she felt for him, “you always know how to make me feel cherished. I’m so thankful to have you by my side.”

Benedict’s eyes softened as he looked down at her, his love evident in every glance. “And I am thankful for you, my love,” he replied, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. “You are my heart, Y/N. There is nothing I wouldn’t do to see you smile.”

Feeling an overwhelming need to show him just how much he meant to her, Y/N leaned up to press her lips to his in a tender kiss. Benedict responded with equal passion, his hands cradling her face as their kiss deepened, conveying all the emotions that words could not.

As they parted, Y/N looked at him with a playful glint in her eyes, her lips curving into a smile. “Let me thank you properly,” she murmured, her voice sultry yet filled with love. She slowly sank to her knees in front of him, her hands sliding down his chest as she held his gaze.

Benedict’s breath hitched, his eyes darkening with desire as he realized her intent. “Y/N…” he began, but the words trailed off as her fingers worked deftly at the buttons of his trousers, her touch sending shivers of anticipation through him.

With a gentle touch, Y/N brought him to full arousal, her movements slow and deliberate, savoring every moment. Benedict’s hands threaded through her hair as he watched her, his heart swelling not just with desire but with the profound love he felt for the woman who had become his world.

Y/N took her time, her actions a blend of passion and tenderness, wanting him to feel just how much she appreciated his unwavering support and the love he showed her every day. She moved with a steady rhythm, her eyes never leaving his as she took him deeper, the connection between them growing stronger with each passing moment.

Benedict’s breaths grew ragged, his grip on her tightening as the pleasure built within him. But beyond the physical sensation, it was the intimacy of the act that overwhelmed him the trust, the love, the deep bond they shared. When he finally reached his peak, it was with a groan of her name, his heart full of nothing but love for his wife.

Afterward, Y/N rose to her feet, and Benedict pulled her into his arms, holding her close as they both basked in the afterglow of their shared moment. He kissed her deeply, his lips conveying all the gratitude and love he felt, before leading her to their bed.

As they lay together, wrapped in each other’s arms, Benedict whispered against her ear, “I love you more than words can express, Y/N. You are everything to me.”

“And I love you, Ben” Y/N replied, her voice soft and full of emotion. “Thank you for always being my protector, my partner, and my love.”

[hesbuckcompton-baby]

I'm Your Man - Robert 'Rosie' Rosenthal x OFC - Chapter 18

Masterlist | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 |-| Chapter 19

AO3

Summary: As the war comes to a close, the future is brought into focus.

Word Count: 3.6k

Tags: @mads-weasley @xxluckystrike @curaheehee @footprintsinthesxnd @dcyllom @storysimp @latibvles @love-studying58 @justheretoreadthxxs @blakelysco-pilot

Dear Mrs Higgins

Thank you so much for the tea set - Robert and I think it's lovely...

Frankie lifted an envelope to her mouth, running her tongue along the glue as she finished writing the latest in a long line of thank-you letters still in order from the wedding. The formal niceties felt foreign to her, even to write, and a pile of crumpled paper covered the floor by her bed where she had tossed away a litany of spelling mistakes. Rosie had offered his assistance many times, but with all the supply drops he'd been running, she had no desire to burden him with anything else.

Just as she finished signing the most recent letter, the door to the hut slammed open, making her jump and accidentally smudge the ink. "Oh, for fuck's sake, do you have to barge in here like the building's on bloody fire?"

"Frankie, turn the radio on," George huffed, striding towards her.

"Yeah, in a minute - I've got to rewrite this one now, so-"

"Now," She pressed, getting down on her knees to rummage beneath Frankie's bed. "Where is it?!"

"Over there on the window ledge," Frankie frowned, watching as George zipped across the room. "What's going on?"

"Churchill's making an announcement."

"Oh, shit-" She muttered, letter writing immediately forgotten as they fumbled to set up the radio, perched side by side on the edge of the bed as they listened closely. They had made it just in time, and as the familiar, slurring voice came echoing over the waves, a sense of importance seemed to settle over the room - one so potent that Frankie's whole body seemed clenched, her heart struggling to beat out its rhythm in time.

"Yesterday morning at 2.41am at General Eisenhower's headquarters, General Jodl, the representative of the German high command and of Grand Admiral Donitz, the designated head of the German state, signed the act of unconditional surrender of all German land, sea and air forces in Europe to the Allied expeditionary force, and simultaneously to the Soviet high command."

She felt George grab her hand. The words didn't quite seem real - how could they? Surely, they had been coming for a long time, and yet their arrival seemed so sudden, that it was as if Frankie were recalling a dream - peering through a veil into a fiction constructed by her subconscious, frozen in place as if any sudden movement might break the illusion.

She pressed her heels harder into the floor beneath her feet. It was solid. Real.

"Our dear Channel Islands will be free tomorrow. Hostilities will end officially ​at one minute after midnight tonight, Tuesday, the 8th of May, but in the interests of saving lives the ceasefire began yesterday to be sounded all along the fronts."

A bark of laughter escaped her, hand rising to clap over her mouth, suddenly embarrassed by the outburst despite being in the privacy of the hut, in the company of no one but her best friend. Beside her, George had begun to chuckle giddily, unable to wipe the grin from her cheeks.

"The German war is therefore at an end. After years of intense preparation Germany hurled herself on Poland at the beginning of September, 1939, and in pursuance of our guarantee to Poland and in common action with the French Republic, Great Britain, the British Empire and Commonwealth of Nations declared war against this foul aggression."

Blood rushed to her ears, the pounding in Frankie's chest so fierce that she almost struggled to hear the broadcast. Her lungs felt full to burst, pressing against her ribs so hard they could snap. Neither woman felt any need to listen further before collapsing into each other's arms, squeezing so forcefully that it hurt. But they didn't care.

There was no one else Frankie wanted to spend this moment with. Not Bucky, not Ken - not even her husband. There was no one she'd spent more of this war alongside than George - no one who had seen her at so many of her worst moments, no one who had brought her through them quite like she had.

This was the first instant they'd ever spent as friends during peacetime. And now they had to decide what that meant.

"I'm coming with you," George's voice came hoarse over her shoulder. "If you're going to New York, then so am I."

"What about Ev?" Frankie chuckled.

She felt her shrug. "He'll come if I tell him to."

Grinning, she held her even tighter. Weren't they all just following Rosie in the end?

"I need to find him," Frankie uttered.

George nodded. "Me too. Different him. Same sentiment."

They didn't let go for a long moment, breathing in synch. Maybe the war had brought them together, but peace was never going to tear them apart.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

An almighty swarm of airmen had gathered outside one of the huts by the time Frankie arrived, having jogged all the way from her own, and the moment she locked eyes on Rosie she was running. Even in the thick of the crowd, his gaze found her without even having to call out, shouldering his way through, beaming so widely that the cool air stung against his teeth. She let out something between a shriek and a whoop, hurling herself into his arms the moment they collided, feet swept off the ground as he spun her once, then twice in the air.

Neither needed to say the words 'it's over' - they knew the other knew, that was good enough. Besides, those words held far too much weight to deal with right now. Those words meant their time here was over - that the future was now.

As Frankie touched the ground again, Rosie's hands cupped her cheeks, littering her face with kisses as she guffawed with laughter. A few of the airmen nearby had taken to whooping and whistling at the sight, and she felt the blood rush to her face, tinting her cheeks a bright red. "Alright, alright," She chuckled, gently batting away his hands as she leaned forward to press a quick peck to his lips.

"Sorry fellas," Rosie called over his shoulder, gaze never leaving his wife for even a moment as he seized her hand, abandoning the makeshift celebration without hesitation.

"We didn't have to go," Frankie pointed out as they walked away, bumping against his side as her free hand wrapped around his arm.

"Well, I wanna celebrate with my wife."

"Oh-ho, say that again," She tittered.

"My wife," He grinned, pressing a firm kiss to her temple. "And when we get outta here I'm gonna buy you a house - hell, I'll buy you anything you want."

"Well, yeah, I'd hope so - we both know I married you for the money," Frankie teased as he ruffled her hair beneath his palm in silent reprisal. They were quiet for a moment until she spoke up again, serious this time. "Dad and the kids don't need me anymore. But... I really loved looking after those kids."

She could feel his stare, fixed on her as they walked. "You been thinking about what you said at the wedding?"

"About a baby? ...Yeah, kinda."

Nerves coloured his voice as he spoke again. "...And?"

Frankie shrugged. "Why not? Yeah."

It hadn't seemed possible that he could grin even wider, and yet somehow he managed it. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," She assured him, pulling him into her embrace as his eyes began to well up with tears. Chin tucked over his shoulder, she let herself begin to grin too. "Yeah, honey."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

George's hair blew this way and that as she walked, palms in an endless battle against the wind to smooth it back down again as she muttered to herself, scanning every group she passed for the face she was searching for. Come on Ev, where are you? Many of the men she worked alongside called out to her as she passed, but she was so focused on the task at hand that she offered nothing but the occasional wave, too distracted to properly reply.

"George!" A familiar voice called, an involuntary smile already creeping across her expression in anticipation before she had even pinned down where it was coming from. But then Blakely was hurrying towards her, engulfing her in an embrace so sudden that it was all she could do not to audibly groan. "Ah, I was lookin' for you."

"Hey!" George chirped, holding him tightly. "I was looking for you! I've got something to ask you."

He seemed to grow slightly tense at this. "Yeah, so do I."

Holding onto her cheery demeanour despite the shift in his, she pulled away. "Okay, you first."

Letting out a nervous chuckle, Everett shook his head. "No, no - after you."

"Okay... Look, it's just..." George took a deep breath, hands clasped tightly. "Frankie and Rosie are gonna go to New York together now that this whole thing is done, and I... I wanna go with her, Ev. She's my best friend."

A wave of relief seemed to wash over him as he began to smile. "You wanna go to New York?"

She shrugged. "Yeah."

Blakely began to laugh. "Babe, we can go to New York."

A grin started to crease at George's cheeks. "Really?"

"Yeah, of course," He beamed.

"Okay. Okay, yeah - now you go," She nodded, passing her weight impatiently from foot to foot.

Suddenly he was nervous again, glancing around at the huts and men around them as if self-conscious. "Alright..."

Her brow furrowed. "... You ok?"

"Yeah, yeah, just... didn't really plan on doing this here."

George's frown deepened, and Everett couldn't help but wonder how she hadn't caught on yet. "D'you wanna... go over there?"

"George," He laughed in exasperation, digging deep into his pocket as he shook his head. The faintest yelp of surprise escaped her as the diamond ring caught its first glint of sunlight, carefully unwrapped from the handkerchief that had protected it on the long journey from his mother's house.

"Oh, I'm a bloody idiot," She whispered. Raising both hands to cover her mouth, she let out a giddy laugh, beaming before he could even ask the question.

Blakely had begun to grin, pointing down at the ring in his palm as he waited for her to stand still. "Can I-?"

"Yes! Yes." George nodded firmly, planting both feet in the gravel below as she waited for him to ask the question.

"George Aarons," He started, suppressing a chuckle as he noticed the way she had begun to fidget impatiently. "Will you marry me?"

"Yes!" She cried, her answer tumbling forth so quickly that she almost cut him off completely, throwing herself into his arms as an elated laugh erupted from her throat. Arms wrapped securely around her back, he swept her off her feet for a moment before pulling away to plant a hard kiss against her lips, palms lifted to cup her jaw.

"I love you," George breathed as their lips separated, faces barely an inch apart.

Everett smiled, pressing his forehead against hers. "I love you too."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Frankie practically screamed when she first caught sight of George, entering the party as it raged in the officers' club, new engagement ring sparkling on her finger. "Holy shit!" She yelped, practically hurling herself at her best friend as she hugged her. Chin tucked tightly in the crook of George's neck, she scanned the crowd for signs of Blakely, pointing a finger as he stopped in his tracks. "You!"

"Me?"

"Thank you for marrying the love of my life," Frankie nodded sagely, gesturing for him to come close so that she could pat him on the shoulder without leaving George.

His brow furrowed slightly. "... So Rosie would be-?"

"My husband. Duh."

"Of course."

Rosie had recognised her yelp from across the bar, burrowing his way through the crowds in search of Frankie. "Ah. Hey! Congratulations!" He grinned as he spied George's ring, giving Blakely an affectionate clap over the shoulder as they shook hands. "Mind if I steal my wife for this next dance?"

"Steal away," Frankie nodded, planting a forceful kiss on George's forehead as she retracted the hug, leaving a lipstick stain in her wake. As the couple weaved their way back through the crowd, Blakely let out a snort of laughter, wiping the stain away with the heel of his palm.

"Is she-?"

"Oh, really quite drunk, yeah," George affirmed.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"I never got good at this, huh?" Frankie laughed, uttering a swift apology as she stepped on Rosie's toe. Again.

"Well, I don't think being good is really the point," He shrugged.

"In other words, you agree - I'm horrible at this."

"I didn't say that!"

Frankie gasped. "You're 'yes-dear'-ing me!"

Rosie's brow furrowed, somewhere between confused and entertained. "I don't even know what that means."

"It's when you just go along with whatever I say because I'm your wife and you don't want to have to tell me I'm an insane person to my face."

"Well, I like my crazy wife," He smiled, leaning down to press a kiss to her cheek as she hummed a chuckle. They continued to step side to side as the music continued its brisk pace, Frankie's expression twisting with embarrassment as she felt his toe beneath her foot once more, the sight of this making Rosie laugh. "We don't have to keep doing this," He offered between chortles.

"No, I'm gonna do it until I get it right, otherwise I'll get shown up every time we go out," She frowned.

"Then you've gotta do it properly," Rosie said, looking down at the floor as he nudged her feet apart with his own. "Feet like that - you step with this one, then bring them together..."

As he continued to explain, Frankie began to realise that she hadn't been listening to a word, too distracted by... well, him. It was still somewhat embarrassing to admit, but if she stared at him for too long everything else seemed to simply ebb away, his voice fading into background chitter as her gaze traced every subtle movement in his expression, her lip rising in a calm, gentle smile.

For so long, this place had gotten used to firing on all cylinders - always working, always preparing for the next thing - never hesitating, never still. But now? Now there was nothing ahead of her - no planes to prep, no mission to agonise over. She was Just Frankie and he was Just Rosie, and everything else was simply cast aside. It was rare she ever got a moment to simply stop and stare - to take in the man before her and simply bathe in the feeling of how wholly and utterly she adored him.

"No, you've- ...Honey, you've stopped moving."

His voice came into focus once more, and Frankie blinked away her stupor, shaking her head slightly. "... Right."

"You okay?" He asked, brow creasing as he tilted his head slightly, a loose curl tumbling free.

"Mhm," She nodded, reaching up without a second thought to brush it away, her warm fingertips still managing to leave a flush in their wake as they grazed against his skin. "Tired. Little too much whiskey. I'm still working my way through the thank-you letters from the wedding."

"Well, I'll help," Rosie shrugged.

"No, no, you're-" Busy with your missions. The words had nearly slipped out without a second thought. And as a grin began to make its way across his face, she knew he'd predicted them.

"No. I'm not."

"No you're not," Frankie repeated, beginning to mirror his smile. "God, we're about to have way too much free time."

"Well, I can think of a couple things to do," He smirked, making her snort with laughter.

"Shush. We'll do that later. I gotta find Bucky," She beamed, giving his arm a tug as she pulled out of his grip, squeezing his hand as she turned away.

Rosie's brow furrowed. "I thought we were dancing?"

"Later!"

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Flares illuminated the night sky as Bucky sat back in his seat, watching on idly from his perch up on the command tower. Back when this had all started, he would've been inside with the others without a moment's hesitation, drinking and singing and making merry like all the rest. But these last two years had changed him, and that tug in his chest that had once compelled him on nights like this had gone limp.

At least one thing had always stayed the same.

"You fellas need some more booze up there?"

His lip curled in an involuntary smile, craning forward in his seat to peer over the railing. Standing in the grass below, profile brightened in the flickering light of the flares, Frankie stared up at him, a bottle in each hand.

"Get up here, Bevan!" Gale called beside him, letting out that deep, hearty laugh of his. She flashed a grin, the thunder of footsteps rising towards them as she dashed up the stairs, occasionally stumbling from an overindulgence of alcohol.

"Figured you'd be all over your husband tonight, all things considered," Bucky teased, edging over to the edge of his seat so that she could perch beside him.

"He gets me every other day. You and me gotta catch up on lost time."

He smiled, slinging an arm around her shoulders as she popped the cork on the champagne she had stolen, letting out a yelp as bubbles flowed over the brim, covering her hands.

"Before we make any more of a mess, I'm gonna see if I can't find us some glasses," Gale chuckled, stepping around the small puddle of champagne that was forming as he made his way to the door. "You can have my seat, Frank."

"Thanks," She uttered, squeezing Bucky's hand with hers and leaving a sticky palm print behind as she slid off the edge of his chair, sinking into the other.

Left alone, the pair sank into quiet for a long moment, listening peacefully to the cheers and music that hummed steadily from further down the runway.

"How's it feel?" He asked after a while.

Frankie let out a huff of amusement. "Completely, utterly bizarre. I mean... everything in my life changed because of this war, and now it's just... over."

"Which is a good thing. Right?"

"Oh, of course, yunno... I lost family to this thing. Almost all the boys I grew up with are dead now. But then, almost all the best people in my life, I only met because of this war. Hell, I'm married now - I can't just go back to how it was before."

Bucky let out a long sigh, nodding along as she spoke. He stared at the floor for a while, before finally speaking up.

"Y'know... It's gonna sound stupid, but for a little while back then, at the beginning, I kinda thought you and me..."

"Yeah, I know," She nodded, a beat passing before she reached across to grab his hand, holding it in her lap.

They were silent for a moment, letting the weight of Bucky's confession rest between them.

"Your hands are really sticky."

"They are covered in champagne," Frankie snorted, letting out a cackle as Bucky wrestled his hand from her grip, wiping it clean against her skirt. "Oh, you bastard."

"That's what you get."

As their laughter trailed to a stop, she found herself sobering, taking a deep breath.

"Promise me you're not gonna be alone after this. Promise you'll call and visit and find a nice girl to marry, and you won't let yourself go home to an empty house forever."

A flicker of something like adoration crossed his expression.

"Promise."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Gravel crunched beneath Frankie's feet as she finally returned to her hut, the energy that had carried her through the night steadily dwindling. Scrunching her eyes shut as she yawned, a frown began to crease her cheek as her vision readjusted, noticing the door to the hut as it gaped open, exposing the interior to the darkness.

Creeping up towards the entrance, brow furrowed, she tapped her knuckles gently against the doorframe, peering inside. There was only one light in the whole place, and in the warm glow, she could make out a familiar silhouette.

"... Honey?"

Rosie looked up from his spot on the edge of her bed, pen clasped between his fingers as he began to smile at her. "Hey, baby."

She let out a bemused chuckle, stepping inside. "... What're you doing?"

Shrugging, he raised one of the thank-you letters she'd been working on. "You said you needed help with 'em."

Frankie sighed, beaming as she came to stand in front of him. "I didn't mean right now. You should be at the party."

"Party got boring."

"It didn't sound boring."

"You weren't there."

The admission was so earnest that she swore something inside her melted, lifting both hands to loop around the back of his neck. Casting the cards aside, he stared up at her, arms draped around her waist.

"Now I am."

She pressed a long kiss to his scalp, cradling his head in her palms. Rosie let out a satisfied sigh, his thumb rubbing circles against her hip.

"Let's get outta here," He said.

Frankie's brow arched in amusement. "And go where?"

There was a glint in his eye. "Get us a room at the pub?"

"It'll be full by now."

"Well... I did call ahead."

She gasped teasingly. "Oh, you're good."

Rising to stand, he tugged one of her hands away from his neck, pressing a kiss to the back of her palm. He had that look in his eyes, the kind that made her cackle and go terribly red all at once.

"You have no idea."

[onyxsboxes]

After a bit of delay, here are the songs titles from the LCAPT Clegan playlist

1. Learn to Fly by Foo Fighters 2. Clearest Blue by CHVRCHES 3. I'm Not In Love by 10cc 4. Death and All His Friends by Coldplay 5. Til Kingdom Come by Coldplay 6. The Queen Of All Everything by Ott 7. Love song from a dog by Shovels & Rope ft. gregory alan isakov 8. If we were vampires by Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit 9. Passenger seat by Death Cab for Cutie

10. In our bedroom after the war by Stars 11. Early mornin’ rain by Peter, Paul and Mary 12. I was made for loving you by Yungblud cover 13. Visions of Gideon by Sufjan Stevens 14. Fourth of July by Sufjan Stevens 15. Lover, You Should've Come Over by Jeff Buckley 16. The Roads by Jonah Kagen 17. Next to You by John Vincent III 18. Seen My Man (Wisconsin Demo) by Trixie Mattel 19. Beneath Oak Trees by Dylan Gossett

20. Heaven is a Bedroom by TV Girl 21. Wicked Games by The Weeknd 22. Itchy Teeth by Marika Hackman 23. Breakup by Ashton Irwin 24. Work Song by Hozier 25. I’m Low on Gas and you Need a Jacket by Pierce The Veil 26. Betting On Us by Myles Smith 27. I'm the Sinner by Jared Benjamin 28. Running to You by Jamie Drake & Jamie Jackson 29. Look After You by Aron Wright

30. Smokestacks by Layla 31. Run To You by CJ Starnes 32. Gale song by The Lumineers 33. White Ferrari by Frank Ocean 34. Can You Hear the Rain Love by Richard Hawley 35. Say Yes To Heaven by Lana Del Rey 36. Talk Show Host by Radiohead 37. Untold by RY X 38. Lovers Rock by TV Girl 39. Waiting Room by Phoebe Bridgers

40. I Will by The Beatles 41. Glimpse of Us by Joji 42. Somethin' Stupid by Frank Sinatra & Nancy Sinatra 43. When the party is over by Billie Eilish 44. I love you by Billie Eilish 45. Blue jeans by Lana Del Rey 46. The secret marriage by Sting 47. Wicked game by Ursine Vulpine 48. Love Me Like You Used To by Lord Huron 49. Need you Now by Lady A

50. Strange Birds by Birdy 51. Old Money by Lana Del Rey 52. The Night We Met by Lord Huron 53. Piano Man by Billy Joel 54. Alley Rose by Conan Fray 55. Good Luck, babe by Chappel Roan 56. Be Nice To Me by The Front Bottoms 57. Saturn by Sleeping At Last 58. So Long, London by Taylor Swift 59. From Eden by Hozier

60. I Should Live in Salt by The National 61. Demons by The National 62. Graceless by The National 63. Your Mind Is Not Your Friend by The National, Phoebe Bridgers 64. Don’t Swallow the Cap by The National 65. Dreaming by The National 66. This Isn’t Helping by The National, Phoebe Bridgers 67. Issues by Julia Michaels 68. Gorecki by Lamb 69. Ends Of The Earth by Lord Huron

70. Dark Red by Steve Lacy 71. Fireproof by Coleman Hell 72. Heavydirtysoul by Twenty One Pilots 73. All I Want Is You by Barry Louis Polisar 74. I Found by Amber Run 75. Beautiful by Josh Zandman 76. Budapest by George Ezra 77. Be Together by Major Lazer 78. On The Nature Of Daylight by Max Richter 79. Guiding Light by Mumford & Sons

80. My Blood by Twenty One Pilots 81. My Madonna by Dexter Freebish 82. Chemicals Between Us by Bush 83. Protect Me From What I Want by Placebo 84. I Feel Loved by Depeche Mode 85. Gimme Some Lovin’ by The Spencer Davis Group 86. Little Light Of Love by Eric Serra 87. Fire and Flood by Vance Joy 88. Pride (In The Name Of Love) by Clivillés & Cole 89. Holdin’ Out by The Lumineers

90. If I Go, I’m Goin by Gregory Alan Isakov 91. Letting The Cables Sleep by Bush 92. This Feeling by Chainsmokers 93. Me And You by Barry Louis Polisar 94. Silver sable by Cigarettes after sex 95. How I Learned to Love the Bomb by Glass Animals 96. Hellofazoo by Until the Ribbon Breaks 97. Mr. Forgettable by David Kushner 98. John My Beloved by Sufjan Stevens 99. Alan by Perfume genius

100. One line by PJ harvey 101. Putting The Dog To Sleep by the antlers 102. In My Arms by Alex g 103. Certainty by Big thief 104. Angel In The Snow by Elliott smith 105. Nothing Matters by The Last Dinner Party 106. The Loneliest by Måneskin 107. Till forever falls apart by Ashe, Finneas 108. Whish that you were here by Florence + The Machine 109. I Forget Where We Were by Ben Howard

110. Bite by Troye Sivan 111. Lowlife by Poppy 112. Real Love Song by Nothing But Thieves 113. Like You Do by Joji 114. Be My baby by The Ronettes 115. Burn by Tom Walker 116. Lucky by Bif Naked 117. Fair by The Amazing Devil 118. Bitch by Meredith Brooks 119. I wish you were a girl by 12 RODS

120. All i think about now by Pixies 121. I know by Fiona Apple 122. Sweet tooth by Cavetown 123. Flawless by The Neighborhood 124. Can’t Help Falling In Love by Elvis Presley 125. Simply the best by Billianne 126. I remember everything by Zach Bryan, Kacey Musgraves 127. Coal by Dylan Gossett 128. i am not who i was by Chance Peña 129. I Bet On Losing Dogs by Mitski

130. Two slow dancers by Mitski 131. Lucky to get him by Aly and AJ 132. Crack baby by Mitski 133. I don't smoke by Mitski 134. Smoke gets in your eyes by Helen Forest 135. Love by Daughter 136. Can’t Help Falling in Love - DARK by Tommee Profitt, brooke 137. Chills - Dark Version by Mickey Valen, Joey Myron 137,5. Skyline by Sibewest 138. Beautiful Crime by Tamer 139. Act natural by Margaret Glaspy

140. Betray my heart by D'Angelo 141. I will be your friend by Sade 142. Can’t Take My Eyes Off You by Frankie Valli 143. I Didn’t Know by Sofia Carson 144. You by A Great Big World 145. This Woman’s Work by Kate Bush 146. Can't you see - acoustic by Matthew and the Atlas 147. Cowboy by Jack Van Cleaf 148. Feels like Home by Caamp 149. Carry You Home by Alex Warren

150. Belong Together by Mark Ambor 151. The First Day of My Life by Bright Eyes 152. Kaleidoscope by A Great Big World 153. Monsters of the North by The National Parks 154. The great war by Taylor Swift 155. Free by Florence + The Machine 156. I know the end by Phoebe Bridgers 157. Another Man’s Jeans by Ashe 158. I’ve Told You Now by Sam Smith 159. Love Me by Elvis Presley

160. Moment’s Silence (Common Tongue) by Hozier 161. Ocean Eyes by Billie Eilish 162. Take me home, country roads by John Denver 163. Army Dreamers by Kate Bush 164. I'm No Angel by Dido 165. We’ll Meet Again by Johnny Cash 166. Cowboys are frequently secretly fond of each other by Orville Peck 167. If We Were Vampires by Noah Kahan, Wesley Schultz 168. You Belong To Me by Jo Stafford 169. Goodnight Irene by Frank Sinatra

170. All I Want by Kodaline 171. Me and my Husband by Mitski 172. The Predatory Wasp of the Palisades is out to get us by Sufjan Stevens 173. As the World cave in by Sarah Cothran 174. Dead of Night by Orville Peck 175. invisible string by Taylor Swift 176. The Ghost of You by My chemical Romance 177. We'll Meet Again by Vera Lynn 178. Love in the Time Of Socialism by Yellow house 179. Northern Downpour by Panic! At The Disco

180. Better in the Morning by Birdtalker 181. doomsday by Lizzy McAlpine 182. Guilty by Al Bowlly 183. Heat Lightning by Mitski 184. everything i wanted by Billie Eilish 185. Blood Moon by Josiah and the Bonnevilles 186. Night Terror by Laura Marling 187. Vengeance Is Sleeping by Neko Case 188. Finally Stop Dreaming by Dylan Gossett 189. The Yawning Grave by Lord Huron

190. Learning To Fly by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers 191. Hounds of Love by The Futureheads 192. Now I'm in it by HAIM 193. Stand Back by Stevie Nicks 194. Moonlight of Your Room by Joe Pug 195. Blue by Mai Yamane 196. Call Your Girlfriend by Robyn 197. Unchained Melody by The Righteous Brothers 198. Summer Of '69 by Bryan Adams 199. Fix you by Coldplay

200. Sun Bleached Flies by Ethel Cain 201. I walk the Line by Halsey 202. The Greatest by Billie Eilish 203. I'll be seeing you by Billie Holiday 204. We will not be Lovers by The Waterboys 205. Triptych by Samia 206. In a Jar by Dinosaur Jr. 207. Dionne by The Japanese House, Justin Vernon 208. Nothing Like by Mannequin pussy 209. True Love Waits by Radiohead

210. Weird Fish/Arpeggi by Radiohead 211. I’m a Fool to Want You by Billie Holiday 212. A Life of Arctic Sounds by Modest Mouse 213. Soldier Boy by The Shirelles 214. Casual by Chappel Roan 215. Ruined by Adrianne Lenker 216. Without You by Tobias Jesso Jr. 217. That's Where I Am by Maggie Rogers 218. Die Young by Sylvab Esso 219. Violet hill by Coldplay

220. You made me love you by Patsy Cline 221. Smoke gets in your eyes by Eartha Kitt 222. Piece of my heart by Erma Franklin 223. Love and anger by Kate Bush 224. Guilty by Johnny Desmond 225. I Can’t Begin to Tell You by Bing Crosby 226. People Will Say We’re in Love by Frank Sinatra 227. You’ll Never Know by Dick Haymes 228. You’d Be So Nice To Come Home To by Dinah Shore 229. Speeding Cars by Walking On Cars

230. Girl Crush by Harry Style 231. Fine Line by Harry Style 232. Bittersuite by Billie Eilish 233. Et même après je t'aimerai by Hoshi 234. Tourner dans le vide by Indila 235. What was I made For? by Billie Eilish 236. Maybe by James Arthur 237. Happy Together by Gerard Way, Ray Toro 238. Dandelions by Ruth B. 239. When the Darkness Comes by Shelby Merry

240. Silver tongues by Louis Tomlinson 241. Telepathic by Starset 242. Always by Isak Danielson 243. Like real people Do by Hozier 244. Iris by The Goo Goo Dolls 245. Can you hold me by NF, Britt Nicole 246. Moondust by Jaymes Young 247. Maps - triple j Like A version by Camp Cope 248. We made it by Louis Tomlinson 249. Adore you by Harry Style

250. Love song by Lana Del Rey 251. Satellite by Harry Style 252. Late night Talking by Harry Style 253. Home by Edith Whiskers 254. Guilty as Sin? by Taylor Swift 255. The Light by CHPTRS 256. Started With You by CHPTRS 257. City Lights (Symphonic Version) by HAEVN 258. This Is Why I Need You by Jesse Ruben 259. Never Stop (Wedding Version) by Safetysuit

260. Sacrifice by Elton John 261. Who we are by Hozier 262. Politik by Coldplay 263. All I need by Radiohead 264. Can't pretend by Tom Odell 265. Would Anyone Care by Citizen Soldier 266. Hold My Hand by Lady Gaga 267. Warriors by Willyecho 268. Brother by Kodaline 269. Protector by City wolf

270. Texas reznikoff by Mitski 271. Pin by Grimes 272. I'm your man by Mitski 273. Haunting by Halsey 274. Twin flame by Weyes blood 275. Why Can’t The Dark Leave Me Alone? by Toni Fisher 276. No Other Love by Jo Stafford 277. Your Best American Girl by Mitski 278. Careless Whispers by George Michael 279. Sailor Song by Gigi Perez

280. Sidelines by Phoebe Bridges 281. not a lot, just forever by Adrianne Lenker 282. forwards beckon rebound by Adrianne Lenker 283. Norman fucking Rockwell by Lana Del Rey 284. Long Long Time by Linda Ronstadt 285. Break by alex_g_offline 286. Some Velvet morning by Nancy Sinatra, Lee Hazlewood 287. Overtime by Rainbow Kitten Surprise, Kacey Musgraves 288. The John Wayne by Little Green Cars 289. Pale blue Eyes by The Velvet Underground

290. You'll Never Know (78rpm version) by Frank Sinatra, Bobby Tucker Singers 291. Come on Mess me up by Cub sport 292. While I can by Keaton henson 293. Flying :)) by Tom Odell 294. Cornflower blue by Flower Face 295. Remember by Seinabo Sey, Jacob Banks 296. Once more to see you by Mitski 297. Back to the old house by The Smiths 298. Symphonia IX by Current Joys 299. So real by Jeff Buckley

300. Half return by Adrianne Lenker 301. Fade into you by Mazzy Star 302. All We Ever Do is Talk by Del Water Gap 303. Dirty Little Secret by Artemas 304. Too Sweet by Hozier 305. Anyways I Love You by Wild Rivers 306. like you’re god by Mehro 307. Size too small by Sufjan Stevens 308. Cheers Darlin' by Damien Rice 309. Lotus Flower by Radiohead

310. Twilight Time by The Platters 311. Because of You by Tony Bennett 312. if i needed someone by The Beatles 313. Standing next to You by Jungkook 314. Falling away with You by Muse 315. Exist for Love by AURORA 316. Sata vuotto by BEHM 317. Blood Sport by Sleep Token 318. Oblivion by SYML 319. Timezone by Måneskin

320. Own my mind by Måneskin 321. Pushing Up Daisies (Love Alive) by Brothers Osborne 322. Unbroken by Tim McGraw 323. I Was Born To Love You by Queen 324. You’re My Best Friend by Queen 325. Think I’m In Love With You by Chris Stapleton, Dua Lipa 326. Something To Talk About by Bonnie Raitt 327. Parachute by Chris Stapleton 328. Love The Lonely Out Of You by Brothers Osborne 329. Here Tonight (The Acoustic Sessions) by Brett Young, Charles Kelley

330. Stay A Little Longer by Brothers Osborne 331. The End by Halsey 332. Birds of a feather by Billie Eilish 333. Found Heaven by Conan Gray 334. Down bad by Taylor Swift 335. I do by Renee Rapp 336. The good I'll do by Zach Bryan 337. Half Light by BANNERS 338. Resistance by Muse 339. Far from home (the raven) by Sam Tinnesz

340. Francis forever by Mitski 341. I love you by RIOPY 342. This must be the place (naive melody) 2005 by Talking Heads 343. Maps by Yeah yeah yeahs 344. Cinnamon Girl by Lana del rey 345. I'm on Fire by Bruce Springsteen 346. Fire on Fire by Sam Smith 347. I'm Making Believe by The Inkspots and Ella Fitzgerald 348. Watch Over You by Alter Bridge 349. Summer song by Remy bond

350. Off to the races by Lana Del Rey 351. Almost (sweet music) by Hozier 352. giveuwhatuwant by The Driver Era 352,5. Birds of a feather by Billie Eilish 353. Big Mike’s by Dijon 354. Simulation Swarm by Big Thief 355. I Wanna Be Yours by Arctic Monkeys 356. Little Bit More by Mk.gee 357. Be Well by Ama Lou 358. Unknown/Nth by Hozier 359. Asleep by Smiths

360. Lucky by Atta Boy 361. Big Jet Plane by Angus & Julia Stone 362. Parallel Universe by Clara Benin 363. Dói Tanto by Gabriel Froede 364. Eyes Off You by Prettymuch 365. Secret Love Song, Pt. II by Little Mix 366. Finality by Woods of Ypres 367. Pra Ser Sincero by Enganheiros do Hawaii 368. Wherever You Go by The Calling 369. Janeiro by Esteban Tavares 370. I will follow you into the dark by Death Cab for Cutie

371. Tiny vessels by Death Cab for Cutie 372. King and Lionheart by Of Monsters and Men 373. Bloom (Eros) by Sleeping At Last 374. No One’s Gonna Love You by Band of Horses

25/10/24 edit: 17 songs added (357 -> 374)

[fauxraven]

The Time Paradigm [VI]

pairing: Dream of the Endless x fem!reader

summary: the death of a Dream, the anguish of another

warnings: gore, Dream’s endless (but hot af) anger, character death

word count: 2.9k+

Enter the Dream, weary traveller

Chapter VI: Mutually assured salvation

GaiaPrime-57, Londinium, Half the Lifetime of the Universe,

A window snaps shut.

A droplet drops.

A zipper zips shut.

Zips open.

Chipping nail polish cracks further with every slide of the zip. Zip up; zip down. Zip up; zip down.

The suitcase slams on the floorboards. A frustrated groan leaves the chipping nail polish.

‘’Yes. Yes, I understand that too, Mr. Harris.’’ Up and down and up and down again until it jams. The phone gives a groan under cheap nail polish and exhausted fingers. ‘’Pedro, come—hop on my suitcase.’’

The curly head of a child pops around a corner; small, for his age, smallest of his class, in every aspect. He holds a soft toy that’s half bunny half elephant and about 5% extinct species. He hops on the suitcase silently.

‘’No, obviously, I don’t expect you to hop on my suitcase, Mr. Harris.’’ The zipper draws back, jams again. ‘’Pedro? Remember the Chuck E. Cheese ball pit?’’

The child throws himself onto the suitcase. The zipper is still stuck.

‘’Yes, I know. But the lease said—just one really. Yes, the other intends to stay. I don’t know, a few months. Yes, just me. She’ll stay. Yes—yes! Perfect, thank you, so much!’’ The phone drops on a red faux suede beanbag. ‘’Kid, this isn’t working.’’

‘’It was zipping a bit funny when Aunty Anna tried it too.’’

‘’Anna was within a file-mile radius of my suitcase?’’

The half-elephant half-unicorn dips a head of a cotton into a nod. She pulls him up and throws the suitcase open.

‘’You have got to be kidding me!’’

A pink garment falls to the floor. Followed by a white veil and a cable knit stitch the colour of ebony. Footfalls draw closer with every piece she plucks from the intestines of the suitcase.

‘’Pizza’s ordered. What? You said healthy; veg—what the bloody hell are you doing?’’

‘’You tell me. What part of ‘going there for work’ do you not understand?’’

‘’I understood perfectly! Blimey, I even packed you nice professional clothes.’’

‘’Lingerie? That’s what you call professional?’’

‘’Pleasure and business. Precisely in that order,’’ a lacy thong drops, adding to the growing pile forming on the floor. The child has gone away, thankfully. ‘’What if you meet a hot and loaded British bugger? What then? You’ll be glad I packed the essentials, that’s what.’’

‘’It’s a job in a quiet countryside house; the closest village is eight miles. The only guy I’ll see is pushing ninety and I’ll spend my days wheeling him around—passionately.’’

‘’Just loaded then?’’

‘’Business. I’m going there for business. I’m not like you, Jo. Hell, how many did you—okay, who needs this many thongs?’’

‘’That one’s a stray, actually.’’

On cue, the top layer of the unholy pile shifts into a ginger Tabby cat.

‘’Tell me you did not keep that thing.’’ Johanna snags in a beanbag, hissing at the cat when it tries snuggling up against her leg. She plucks a magazine from the coffee table and starts thumbing through gibberish. She isn’t really paying attention to the words; she isn’t paying attention to anything.

‘’I let you keep the kid!’’ The woman fires back, sitting on her haunches.

‘’Kids aren’t strays, love. Besides, this one’s just using ya for food and free snuggles, hope you know that.’’

‘’Since you’re missing the point, I’ll just cut to the chase—where did you find a whole kid? Where are his parents?’’

Johanna spares her a coy look over the magazine. ‘’Don’t you mean when are his parents?’’

‘’No, I really just mean where are his parents, the people who are supposed to care for him and report him missing should you decide to keep him any longer than you already have.’’

Johanna opens her mouth, tongue fit with a quick retort, but a zipper zips shut and a bell tolls; and life goes on. Without her. Always without her. She ought to move on too.

A sharp snap! rescues her from grim thoughts. A luggage handle is drawn and a decision is made.

‘’Looks like I’m all set. Walk me to the door?’’

‘’Promise to visit for Bommy Night?’’

‘’Sure. Why not Christmas or Easter or any other normal holidays?’’

‘’I want you on Bommy Night.’’

A suitcase is wheeled over the threshold of a small London flat. A dream leaves through the door.

‘’Hun, it happened four hundred years ago, think you can let it go, eventually?’’

‘’Bommy Night?’’

‘’Bommy Night.’’ She sighs. ‘’And do clean up while I’m gone. This place is a mess.’’

A door shuts behind an idyllic picture, a semblance of normalcy, a modicum of love.

In all her lives, Johanna Constantine has never particularly enjoyed loneliness. But loneliness far outweighs death, grief, sorrow, work. So she lets it go. She lets love overflow. She lets her only friend forge her own path through the world. A world cleansed of any demons, ghouls or whatnots that come bump into the night.

Still, she hangs onto the knob. Still, she pauses before the door. Still, she glances at the quiet flat.

A piece of paper and a mess of clothes strewn about a dust-covered couch.

All that’s left of her.

There’s a child in there somewhere, but she doesn’t bother finding him. She knows it won’t last. She knows nothing ever lasts.

An orange cat pushes its head against her calf, purring lightly through her bones.

She might take that gig at Saint-Anne’s. She might blow up the Houses of Parliament. She might phone Rachel.

Endless possibilities.

⌛︎ ⌛︎ ⌛︎

GaiaPrime-57, Edge of the Worlds, Mytikas Peak, Two Millennia Before the End,

He isn’t sure she is breathing.

Granted, his kind do not need to breathe, but nearly all living things do.

In the beginning, breathing was surviving.

Breathing was new, invented by some higher power, meant to be the latest trend in a series of many; holy gifts bestowed upon humanity before it even became humanity.

But in humanity breathing has found meaning.

One’s breathing tells a tale of life—of life and of love and of sorrow and of pain.

In times forgotten but not forgiven, he’d relish in the steady breath of sleepers.

He’d watch the ephemeral rise and fall of a passing chest with great fascination, overcome with a strange mixture of relief and indifference when the fleeting moment inevitably ended.

He’d listen to the soft thrumming of a laboured breath fanning across his own lips, bodies tangled, hearts mingled, minds miles apart. He’d pour his heart into everything that he was and everything that he wanted and he’d breathe them all into his arms… and they would always end up drowning. He’d choke the breath right out of them.

His sorrow was great; but his love was suffocating.

To add insult to injury, evolution has made breathing mandatory; essential.

But she has defied every rule, every law, every principle and sacred promise from day one.

So he is almost certain she is not breathing at all.

And he needs her to breathe.

He isn’t sure why—perhaps because she’s got a kind smile and she’s happy and she’s wounded and she’s saved his life.

A debt he can never repay, to his dismay.

He cannot stand between a flying sword and her lovely face. He cannot mend her wounds with a flick of his wrist. He cannot call out her name so sweetly and stir something buried within the depths of a blazing nova.

But he can save her life.

The hopeful thought digs, and soft golden grains of sand guide him to Chiron’s bedchambers.

He finds the Centaur reading. He calls to him, nearly falls to his knees.

Morpheus, Dream of the Endless, Oneiros, the Shaper of Form and everything he has ever been and ever will be—is utterly devastated.

Strangely enough, nothing gives the King away.

Nothing on the hard face, the wild hair nor deep eyes, nothing in the dark billowing robes and the shining ruby; it’s a feeling in the air, a rapture through time itself that tells Chiron something dreadful has happened.

That, and the dying girl in his arms.

For his usual aloofness, Oneiros proves to be very cooperative.

He lowers her to the cushioned table, per Chiron’s orders and stands aside to let him work.

He watches, powerless, as the doctor tears through fabric and blood-marred skin and frowns.

‘’What is it?’’ His voice is cutting, demanding, that of a sovereign hanging onto his crown with one hand. In the other, lie his wants and desires. Duty warring against something barely blossoming. Something deadly. Something very nearly dead.

‘’The stitches hold still.’’

‘’Is that not a good thing?’’

‘‘Terrible. Very terrible, Milord.’’

Gilded scissors cut deeper, digging into raw flesh and crusted meat alike, dragging unintelligible pained murmurs from the victim’s throat.

‘’She’s coming to, my lord.’’

‘’Not quite. Faster.’’

Scissors chop away, blood bursts everywhere, screams rip free, golden liquid bearing the smell of spoilt milk leaks through veins.

‘’By Zeus—’’ The Centaur curses; the Dream Lord hears it—neither moves an inch.

‘’What is that?’’ Oneiros rasps, anger lacing his even tone as he stares deeper into the leaking wound.

‘’Adiona—‘’ Chiron stammers, wide eyes burning a hole into a gaping canyon. ‘’Go, find Adiona, and any servants and willing gods.’’

Oneiros does not move. His star-filled gaze has darkened; the stars are slowly dying as they gawk at the trickling drops of blood and the large puddle of liquid gold pouring from the wound.

‘’Oneiros, go!’’ Chiron calls to him, they share a glance over the woman and then his eyes sweep over her fevered form again. A pale hand he hadn’t noticed falls from a limp grasp. He is gone in a swirl of sand.

What happens in the split second of his absence is a secret kept between the doctor and the universe.

But for clarity’s sake, the scene is as follows; this tale is not for the faint of heart.

Blood pours.

As a doctor, surgeon, centaur, son of a ruthless beast, he has seen blood. Some might say he is used to the sight of it. Blood and pus and bodily fluids, all fascinating in their diversity. After its inevitable loss, the human body can produce nearly one liter per day. That's two gallons full of pungent blood. He fears she might fill up five pitchers of wine with her blood alone.

But the blood doesn't bother him. It is terrifying.

Blood pours, pours.

Vicious droplets gushing from a gaping wound—a Sunday to him.

He'd operated during the Dhorian Invasion and all that followed humanity's first brush with extraterrestrial forces. He'd served as a soldier for a time, a nurse, a brother, a friend, a gravestone. He thought he'd seen all the world had to give and take.

He hadn't.

He probably still hasn't.

Blood pours pours pours.

Red splotches dot his skin—her skin, the difference is hard to tell anymore.

He reacts mechanically, his body switching to auto-pilot. His arm lifts, a hand reaches and nibble fingers dig through shining flesh and golden remnants of bone. He knows what this is, this gilded ambrosia spreading through her veins. He knows what it is and he knows what it does, so he carries on, hands digging through her entrails as her screams overpower the wet squelching of his crass ministrations.

He digs and he digs until the voice that comes from her throat is nothing but a distant echo carried by a Roman breeze, a flutter of a butterfly's wings.

By the time the doors to his antechamber burst open, he's elbow deep into the angry flesh of her.

A flurry of gods and goddesses and servants stand arrayed about him, gawking eyes narrowing at the sight of the carnage.

''Chiron,'' a voice calls to him, and then two, and then three and a thousand and one. They pierce through the silent spell in the room and noise comes back to him at once, a moist, most disturbing noise.

He carries on; acutely aware that somewhere along his ministrations, she had stopped screaming.

''Chiron, there's too much blood.''

''Is this all from the... inside?''

‘’I could not find Adiona.’’

‘’No matter. Hold her hand.’’

Wordlessly, he gives commands. A world of gods and servants obey, gathering tools and knowledge, changing bandages and spoiling cloth after cloth with dried pungent blood. It just never stops, the flow keeps pouring, rushing over all of Mount Olympus. The rivers of blood spread like gossip on Haloa, splitting into narrow paths, designing warped veins on the pristine floors. The irony.

The servants still the traveller. It is useless. The violent writhing has subsided, only slight tremors remain, faint whimpers and an assembly of gods.

Hephaestus beats her chest repeatedly with brawny arms.

A Cherub's small rounded fingers are pressed against her pulse. With every passing second, they press harder still.

Calliope, ninth daughter of the Hecatae, is sponging up blood and gilded pus from a corpse.

A painting that will never make it to a museum.

Oneiros knows she is no longer breathing. Her hand lays slack in his palm.

Chiron perseveres. Delicate fingers pry him off the body carefully.

The stranger-traveller-lover-of-dreams is... dead?

''It's alright, Chiron. You did your best.''

''You were very admirable. As was she; she shall be remembered as such.''

''Really nothing you could do.''

''Try again.''

A death knell drops. A pipe organ is playing somewhere deep within the bowels of the palace. The eerie melody cannot reach them. Nothing can save for sorrow and grief and the Dreamlord's quiet anger.

''My Lord?''

''Try. Again.''

Chiron holds his haunted gaze. The ninth daughter of the Hecatae raises a graceful hand to the side of his face. ''Oneiros—''

''Save her.'' he repeats, rasping voice never changing in tone. ''You owe her that much.''

''Do I?'' The doctor's eyes sweep over her form again. Just a moment ago she'd been laughing, mocking his customs and reminiscing gibberish. Just a moment ago, she'd been carried in by the prince of stories for whom she obviously harbored a strong inclination. ''Do you?''

Just a moment ago, she'd been more than a cold lump of meat on a decorative table.

''I know when to admit defeat, Dreamlord. Please, forgive me.''

''No.''

''Oneiros, he did all he could.''

Cold, starless eyes barely brush against some ninth daughter. Under his stare, she feels smaller than a grain of sand.

''No,'' Chiron says before the Dream Lord can retort. ''No, I did not.''

''Chiron—‘’

His shoulders deflate, turning away from Calliope's comforting touch. ''She came to see me this morning. After the feast.''

''Well, what did she want?'' a rough, gravelly voice asks. The Cherub hops on a corner of the table, bare legs brushing over the tip of her dead sandaled feet. She is a corpse now, everything about her is dead, expect, perhaps, her heart. It shall live endlessly.

''She asked me to check the wound. I had to remove the bandage and cut her up, I'm afraid.''

The temperature drops, the air turns crisp, burning the doctor's lungs when he draws a deep breath and looks into Morpheus' eyes.

''Tell me, is this your doing?''

''I wish,'' he surrenders, summoning all the strength left in him. His hands are covered in blood, his arms reek of death and his scalp is as damp as that of the victim. The blood has gilded vein-like streaks stretching across his arms. ''This—this is something else. Something impossible.''

He orders the blood-covered servants to leave. As they fill out wordlessly, he watches, scrutinizing them one by one. The doors close on blood and fabric and a forbidden glance.

To the remaining world, he whispers one word.

''Δηλητήριο.''

''Poison?'' Calliope echoes, frowning. ''It cannot be. Zeus had all the hemlock shrubs removed after the Phaedra incident.''

''Only this isn't hemlock, Calliope. This is something else. Something new.''

''Could it be lethal to us?''

''Of course not, dimwit! Why would you even think that?''

''Look what it's done to her, Anteros! A powerful beauty, was she? I mean no disrespect my lord.''

Hephaestus considers himself a man of bravery and honor.

He isn't anywhere near as obnoxious as Plutus, or inconsiderate as Aergia, and twice the man Anteros pretends to be. But he must admit that the tendrils of pure darkness sprouting from the Master of Dreams’ shadow make him a tee tiny bit frightened.

They expand, licking across the polished floors, continuing their creeping journey toward the foot of the table, snuffing out all light and life from the closest particles of this plane. The shadows grow, shape, de-shape and reshape in a senseless and endless twirl.

Calliope has always been braver than him.

She turns and in one graceful twirl places herself between the tendrils of darkness and her half-brother. Between the god and the Endless. She stares him down. He stares right back.

The tendrils tremble around the edges.

Chiron pinches the bridge of his nose wearily. A cherub sucks a thumb into his mouth, watching the game with bright amused eyes.

A shadow stills, the air turns sour.

A gasp is breathed, a heart is released.

A stranger-traveller springs from a table, cheered on by a collective shriek. A toddler tumbles from her table. A palm is pressed to her cheek, lovely brown eyes coming into view. Shadows retreat into the darkest parts of an ancient soul.

She breathes. She lives. She cries.

''Please, please, don't send me off on a burning boat.''

-

A/N: yes I am alive, no, I’m not sorry (a tiny bit still).

Also… finally introducing the premise, how do we feel about that ;)

Gotta sort the rest of my drafts before I update again, but I’m currently working on a Sandman x DBD crossover so updates on this series might take a while. And since the algorithm seems to be against me, I'd recommend a follow to be sure not to miss them!

[on-my-vigilante-sht]

Forced Love III

John Wick x Reader

Summary: Arranged marriages aren't uncommon in the crime world but John Wick never expected to be forced into one with is boss' daughter.

Chapter Summary: After an attack on his wife, John decides he needs to retire. But retired life isn't as safe as he thought it was.

Warning: Minimal use of Y/N, canon level violence (this is where it starts to get actually violent), sibling rivalry, mentions of SA, cursing, betrayal, medical stuff

Word Count: 5.2K

Masterlist

Two years later, the couple found themselves at yet another “charity ball.” Viggo’s daughter had been a regular attendee since she was seventeen and he decided she could handle being him for a night. But for the past two years, John Wick had been regularly added to the guest list as more than just a bodyguard. Of course he still acted like a bodyguard, but now he was more present. Rather than skulk in the shadows, he was practically glued to his wife’s hip, remaining silent and sending glares to all the dangerous people of the crime world who would dare pose a threat to Mrs. Wick.

“Stop scaring people,” she lightly reprimanded her husband. “I have work to do.”

He kept the smile tugging at his lips off his face, still scanning the room. “It’s not my fault they’re intimidated by my presence alone,” he shrugged.

She just rolled her eyes, going back to scouring the crowd for other members of the Russian crime syndicate. Although other Russian families were supposed to be her allies, the Tarasov family had been in a few small turf wars with other branches of their crime syndicate, making Y/N wary. But she didn’t show it. She was Viggo Tarasov’s daughter, this was New York, her turf. And the guard dog behind her made sure everyone knew it.

Spying one of her uncles, Alexi Petrov, who had been a problem over by the East River, she approached with a bright smile on her face. “Дядя,” she greeted.

A smile came over his face as well. “Y/N, how good to see you,” he greeted his niece. “I haven’t seen you since your wedding.”

“Yes, that’s right. And you remember my husband? John Wick?” she introduced, stepping to the side.

John stepped forward, reaching out to shake his hand. He purposely let his suit jacket fall open so the lesser Russian mob boss could see the gun resting inside. Petrov also grabbed John’s arm in an intimidation tactic, but only found a knife tucked into the assassin’s sleeve. “It’s nice to see you again,” John greeted.

“Likewise,” Petrov replied. “How’s your father?” he asked his niece, eager to be the thorn in his older cousin’s side.

“He’s well. Having a little trouble with your cousin out west but it shouldn’t be a problem for us.”

“Yes, well I’d hate if you lost control of your ports,” he said smugly.

“Aw well aren’t you just a doll,” she said sweetly, taking a glass of champagne from a passing waitress. “Just a tip, you may want to give your guys a heads up. Word is, The Boogeyman is after them.” She then leaned up on her toes, giving him a familial peck on the cheek. “I’ll see you soon,” she smiled before turning, John following after her.

The rest of the night full of thinly veiled threats went smoothly until it didn’t. Suddenly, the lights went out and before John could pull his wife closer, acting as her human shield, a man appeared from the crowd, sending a knife into Y/N Wick’s stomach. The mercenary didn’t even get a chance to tell his boss the job was done because The Boogeyman’s knife was disemboweling him a second later.

The lights came back on quickly. Every gun in the room was raised but no shots had been fired. The night’s guests understood why there was a blackout when they saw the mercenary choking on his own blood on the ground, and John Wick clutching his wife’s side desperately trying to stop the bleeding. Suddenly Kirill appeared in the crowd. “We’re tailing Petrov, catch him!” he yelled, taking his charge into his arms. “I’ll get her help.” John nodded, reluctant to leave his wife but he still very much wanted revenge. He ran towards the back exit, gun already drawn, ready to drag his prey practically into hell.

Meanwhile, his wife desperately wanted some comfort as she realized what had happened to her. “John?” she called after him.

“Hey,” Kirill caught her attention, “he’ll be fine. You’ll be fine. The ambulance will be here soon,” he assured. She nodded, seemingly understanding and cooperative. Surrounding them were other employees of the Tarasov family, ushering the crowd away from the injured girl. Which created enough of a clearing that she could see her attacker. She began hyperventilating upon seeing her still alive attacker, groaning in agony with his guts spilled across the floor. Upon noticing her terrified expression, Kirill blocked her view, pushing her head to face in the other direction as he angled his body to block the sight. “Calm down,” he tried to reassure the girl. “You are nowhere near as bad as him, John made sure of that. You’re just gonna get some stitches and you’ll be up and walking in no time.”

She nodded as best as she could, tears streaming down her face as her father’s loyal employee kept her head turned away. Just as her pain became seemingly unbearable, the paramedics arrived, pushing their way through the still clamoring crowd. She couldn’t see much, her vision going hazy, all she could see were many people in uniforms surrounding her, passing medical equipment between each other. She was then jolted into reality by the absolute agony of being lifted onto the gurney. She had sent John to the doctor with stab and bullet wounds so many times, she had no idea how he managed to still be up and moving around. She shortly lost consciousness after being wheeled outside.

~

John had managed to catch Alexi Petrov—the idiot had run on foot with no backup and no getaway driver. He thought he’d be able to run to the Continental and just regroup from there. But John caught him easily, leaving him hog-tied in a Tarasov SUV. “No one touches him until I get back from the hospital. Got it?” he demanded from one of the drivers.

“Of course,” he assured, getting into the car and driving off towards Viggo’s building.

John, in turn, hailed a taxi, getting a ride to the hospital. In the waiting room was a guard. Upon seeing John walk in, the guard stood up. “She’s in room 514,” he told the assassin. He gave a nod of thanks before heading to the elevator.

Once he reached the fifth floor, he went to the door that had yet another guard outside of it. He let John in, no questions asked, leaving John in the room with just Viggo and an empty space where a hospital bed should be. John immediately began to fear the worst: that his wife had died or that Viggo had taken her away from him, deeming him not good enough for his daughter.

“Relax,” the mob boss said, “she’s in surgery. That bastard nicked her kidney so now they have to go in and repair it.”

“Oh…” John said. He had dealt with more than his fair share of stabs. But he had been lucky, they were all flesh wounds.

“I heard you caught Petrov. Good work. I assume he’s tied up in my basement awaiting your arrival?”

“He is,” John agreed. “No one is allowed to touch him until I’m there.”

Viggo nodded. “Sounds about right. He better pray his heart gives out. They said the assassin was still breathing when Charlie went to go pick him up.”

John nodded, considering his next words. “This life isn’t safe for her anymore and you know it.”

“I know,” Viggo agreed, remembering the loss of Iosef’s mother. This world wasn’t kind to women. They were seen as leverage amongst many of the older criminals.

“She won’t be safe as long as I’m still involved.”

“You’re asking for an impossible thing,” Viggo countered. John didn’t say anything, just continued to stare. He needed to get out of this life for her. “An impossible thing requires an impossible task.” Viggo then laid out five names and a time constraint of one night.

“It’ll be done by Sunday night,” John assured. “I just have a few things to take care of beforehand.”

Viggo nodded before standing up, heading for the door. “Good luck, John.” The assassin just watched him go. He wasn’t going to stay for his own daughter?

After another hour, the door finally opened and the orderlies wheeled in his wife’s hospital bed. John stood up as soon as she came in, trying to go to her but the doctor intercepted. “The anesthesia should wear off within the hour but overall, she’ll be fine. We saved her kidney and she should make a full recovery in about a month.”

John thanked the doctor, going over to his wife’s side. He grasped her hand, holding it to his chest as he began to break. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t protect you,” he cried. The guilt weighed heavily on his soul, he had broken his vow to her that he had made right after they were married. “But we’re gonna be safe soon. I’ll make sure of it.”

Just like the doctor promised, an hour later the hand that was intertwined with John’s squeezed his fingers slightly. “Y/N,” he whispered, snapping to attention. His fingers squeezed in return, looking for some sort of assurance that he hadn’t made the movement up. And when her eyes peeled themselves open, John swore he had never been happier. “Oh thank god,” he breathed, his head falling onto the bed in relief.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m okay,” she assured her husband, her hand pulling out of his embrace so she could thread her fingers through his hair. “The doctors said it was an easy fix.”

The assassin took a few deep breaths before lifting his head up to look at her. “I can’t let anything like this happen ever again,” he swore.

“John, I’m fine. It’s not your fault.”

“I’ve made a lot of enemies. And one of these days it won’t be a random knife attack from a family member you pissed off. One day, someone’s actually going to try to kill you for being my wife.”

“What are you saying?” she demanded, fearing the worst.

Reading her face and the fact that the EKG was beeping faster, John’s face softened as he went to comfort his wife. “No, it’s nothing like that. I’m not leaving you,” he assured. “No. I, uh, asked your father for retirement. After I finish one thing.”

“What are you finishing?” she asked. Any relaxation she was feeling after her husband’s assurance was fading away as she conjured up images of what her father could possibly be making John do.

“Don’t worry about it. Caterina is gonna take you home. I’ll be home in a couple days and then we’re gonna get a new place. Away from the city,” John explained calmly, stroking her hair soothingly.

“John, what are you doing?” she demanded, tears beginning to prick her eyes out of fear for her husband.

“Everything is going to be okay,” he assured. “Soon enough we’ll have a house out in the country and we’ll have peace. Together.” He stood up, getting ready to leave. But first, he leaned down to press a kiss to his wife’s forehead. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she cried. “Please come back to me.”

“I will,” he assured before walking out.

After a miserable rest of the day in the hospital, she was finally released and Caterina finally came to get her. “Oh ягодка,” Caterina exclaimed as she entered the hospital room. Her cousin was already sat up, struggling to lean down enough to get her shoes on despite the fact that she was still only wearing a hospital gown. “I brought you some clothes.”

“Thanks,” she said, standing up. She had no pain standing up or walking given all the pain meds she was on, but any movement in her torso made her feel like her skin was going to be torn open. She took the clothes from her cousin before hobbling into the bathroom. With some creative solution and heavy leaning on the numerous handrails in the bathroom, the heiress has managed to dress herself. She had no idea how people like John managed to suffer through wounds like this and keep going like they weren’t stabbed or shot. “That wasn’t easy,” she said, hobbling out of the bathroom.

Caterina gave her a sympathetic look before standing up with a bright smile. She then pointed to the wheelchair that had been placed by the door. Y/N opened her mouth to argue but Caterina held her finger up like she was shushing a child. “Don’t argue with me. I’m not gonna get stabbed by John just because you tripped and tore open your stiches.”

She didn’t even bother arguing, sitting in the chair with a huff. Caterina gave a triumphant smile, wheeling the chair out of the room before passing her cousin off to an awaiting guard. As Caterina and the guard chatted idly, Y/N was lost in thought, worrying for John. She knew that in order to buy their freedom, John would have to do an impossible thing. Her husband was the best, they called him Baba Yaga—the one you sent to kill the boogeyman. But he was still human, he could still be killed and that was a horrifyingly sober reality.

Once they arrived at Viggo’s main building, they pulled into the ground floor garage. The first floor of a building was a designated garage for his family and employees. But the floor under that was a dungeon of sorts. It’s where Viggo sent his enemies and prisoners to be interrogated, punished, executed, whatever sort of bloody business he had. Viggo’s daughter had never once been down there, but as she was wheeled past the lower level entrance, towards the elevator, she caught sight of the cleaning van. And conveniently, the “cleaners” were carrying up several bags wrapped on multiple layers. “Who was that?” she asked the guard, waiting for the elevator.

“It’s none of your concern, miss,” the guard simply dismissed.

But his lack of cooperation wasn’t a concern because Charlie had come up to the garage level. “Mrs. Wick, it’s good to see you,” he said through a bright smile as he walked over. “I’m glad to see you out of the hospital so soon. Based on what John did to Petrov, I thought you’d be down for at least a week.”

“Uh, no I’m fine,” she stuttered out. “Did you talk to John?” she asked, desperate for some sort of clue of where her husband was.

“Only briefly,” Charlie answered. “I have to go, but I’m glad to see you, Mrs. Wick.” And with that, he headed back to his van while she was pulled into the elevator.

The next twenty-four hours were agonizing for her as she wondered where her husband was or if he was even still alive. Sometimes she sat quietly in her room, waiting to hear the sound of gunfire or sirens wailing but the city seemed silent that night. She didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing. Caterina had tried to keep her distracted for most of the night but eventually gave up, going home to get some much needed sleep. And when Viggo tried to speak to his daughter, she just screamed at him for giving her husband an impossible task that could very well get him killed.

But when John Wick returned in the wee hours of the morning, the first person to see him was his wife. He took the stairs all the way up to their floor of the building, wanting to remain unseen. He first went to the bedroom, finding the sheets disheveled and a few books on the ground—relics of the fight Viggo had with his daughter when she threw several things at him, screaming at him to leave. Next, he went to their sitting room, nothing. Before he checked any of the guest or specialty rooms, he went to the kitchen. There, he found his wife brewing a pot of coffee. He whispered her name softly but it was easily heard in the dark of the night.

“Oh my god, John,” she cried, immediately throwing herself into his arms. She always worried for him when he was working but she had never been this scared.

“It’s okay. I’m here,” he assured her, clutching her body to his tightly. “I’m done. I’m out. I’ll always be with you from here on out,” he promised. “There’s a house out in New Jersey I think you’ll like. It’s got big windows and a pool.”

She smiled at his offer. “I’m sure I’ll love it.” She then pulled away, taking the chance to inspect her husband. Even in the dark of the kitchen she could see the blood soaking through his shirt. “Please tell me this isn’t your blood,” she demanded from him.

“Not all of it,” he admitted, slightly sheepishly.

“Here, sit,” she said, directing him to one of the bar stools. He complied as she flipped on the lights and grabbed their borderline surgical first aid kit from one of the cabinet. Unless John knew he actually needed serious surgery, he would just insist that his wife patch him up. She began unbuttoning his shirt, finding his bulletproof vest underneath. “At least you wore your vest,” she said, finding bullet holes in it. She went to push it off his shoulders but gasped when she found a bullet in his shoulder, blood spewing from the wound. “John!”

“I’m fine. It’s close to the surface. You just have to pull it out and stich it up.”

She sent him a slight glare as she carefully pulled the vest off of his body. She had told him to go to the doctor so many times but he always refused so she just stopped arguing. Heading to the opposite side of the kitchen, she grabbed a bottle of whiskey and rubbing alcohol. She handed the drink to her husband before pouring some of the rubbing alcohol onto some gauze and beginning to clean the wound. He thanked her for the drink as she started sterilizing the other equipment.

“Yeah, well I figured you’d refuse pain meds.”

“I don’t like how they make me feel.”

“Okay tough guy,” she teased, prodding around his wound looking for the bullet. “Is this it?” she asked, feeling a hard lump.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Use the forceps to dig up towards it and grab it. Don’t stop until you get it out no matter what I say.”

“Okay,” she uttered nervously as she grabbed the forceps. Steeling herself, she dug into the wound for a few minutes trying to get a grip on the bullet. The entire time, John stayed still except for letting out a few groans of pain. “I’m sorry,” she apologized every time one of her movements made him cry out.

“It’s okay, keep going,” he assured her, taking a deep swig from the bottle of whiskey.

After a few more moments of struggling, she finally managed to pry it out. She then stitched up his shoulder before moving on. “Any other stab wounds or bullet holes I should know about?” she asked.

“No, just some bruising from the bullets,” he said, getting off the stool.

“Go get in the shower,” she told her husband. “I’ll clean this up and get you something for the bruising.” But before she could walk away, John grabbed her wrist, holding her in place.

“Hey, you also have a major wound. Sit down, let me check your stiches,” he told her.

“John I’m fine. The doctors did them.”

“Please?” he begged, wanting to make sure his wife was okay. So she reluctantly sat down, lifting her shirt enough to reveal the bandages covering her stiches. The assassin peeled the bandage up as his wife hissed in pain at the tugging of her still sensitive skin. Once he had removed the bandage, he inspected the stitches. “Yeah, looks like this bandage needed to be changed a couple hours ago.”

“Oh…” she said, her voice hollow. “I kind of lost track of time since you told me what you were doing.”

“I’m sorry for scaring you,” he said, wiping down her stiches with rubbing alcohol and prepping more bandages.

“Don’t be. You got us out. And I’ll be grateful for you for forever because of that.”

After he taped down the new bandage, he stood up, pressing a kiss to her lips. “I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you too.”

“Now, about that shower?” he asked suggestively.

“John!” she yelled, lightly smacking his shoulder. “You have a bullet wound and I have a stab wound!”

~~

Five years later, the couple found themselves in a seemingly idyllic life. They had settled in that beautiful home in New Jersey that John had found them. Y/N had taken up a job as a journalist for a small lifestyle magazine. She didn’t need the money, John had made more than enough for them to live on for the rest of their lives, but she wanted something to do other than just lounge around the house all day. Similarly, John had started an informal business of buying beat up, classic cars and restoring them to sell. Beyond a Christmas card from Viggo, they had no connections to their previous lives so nothing could drag them back into the deep.

“Hey,” Y/N said, knocking on the side of the garage as she entered, “I was gonna go to the farmer’s market to get stuff for dinner. Wanna come?”

“Yeah,” John said, standing up while wiping the oil from his hands, “just let me get cleaned up real quick.”

“Okay,” she smiled.

As John walked into the house to wash his hands, he pressed a kiss to his wife’s forehead, making sure to keep his greasy hands clear from her. She giggled as she watched him go inside, waiting for him. “We can take the Mustang,” he said, already grabbing the keys. She stepped outside, past the old Chevelle he was working on, towards John’s vintage Mustang. It was his pride and joy. Sometimes she thought he loved it more than he loved her.

Once they arrived, they headed to the stands, looking for the ingredients for their dinner. As they walked through the crowd, John couldn’t help but go back to his roots. Always looking around for a threat, making sure his wife was close to him and safe. While slipping into domestic bliss was easy for her as she had picked up a job and made a few friends, John had struggled. He wasn’t used to people without cruel intentions and not being known as the most dangerous person in the room. But this is what he wanted and in time, he had really came to love his settled life. He even became friendly with a few of the dads in town, most of them eager to see whatever new toy John would fix up and sell next. They continued through the farmer’s market without incident just like their lives had gone for the past five years: completely without incident.

“So, what are you making?” John asked, placing the bags of groceries on the counter.

“Seriously? You couldn’t guess based on the ingredients?” his wife asked, disappointed in her husband’s cooking knowledge.

“No,” he admitted. “Cooking wasn’t one of the classes at assassin school,” he joked.

His wife shook her head and tsked. “When will they learn that even highly trained assassins need life skills?” she joked. “Okay, I am making you barbecue cajun salmon with mango salsa.”

John smiled. One of his favorite things about getting away from the crime world was the discovery that his wife was actually an amazing cook despite the fact that every meal of her life had been prepared for her. “Sounds good. Do you need any help?”

She went to the bag of produce, putting them all into a bowl. “Can you wash and chop these into cubes?”

“Yeah,” he agreed, taking the food. He went over to the sink, rinsing off all the fruits and vegetables before grabbing the cutting board. While he was doing that, she was preparing the salmon and the glaze to put in the oven. They worked in mostly comfortable silence, just enjoying one another’s company as they prepared their dinner. Occasionally, one would creep up on the other in order to wrap their arms around their partner’s waist and attack the side of their face with kisses.

That night they cuddled on their couch, dinner finished and their dishes sitting in the sink. Her head rested on his chest, his arm wrapped around her shoulder to keep her close. “Hey, so I have a buyer out in Pennsylvania for the Chevelle so I’ll be out all day tomorrow,” John told his wife.

“Okay,” she mused, already half asleep listening to the rhythmic beating of his heart. “I’ve got a few articles I should catch up on so maybe I can get some work done without you distracting me,” she teased.

John smiled, holding his wife closer and pressing his nose into her hair. “Not my fault you’re distracted by me,” he defended with a laugh, which earned him a light smack against his arm.

~

By dinner time the next day, Y/N had completed all of her articles. She had been right in her assessment, she was way more productive when John wasn’t constantly assaulting her with kisses. Just as she was considering whether she should cook dinner or just order takeout, she heard a window shatter.

All of the self-preservation training John had instilled in her kicked in and she immediately ran to the closet that was in the office. Once she had locked herself in, she realized how dumb she was for not grabbing her phone to call 911. But since this was probably a simple robbery, she decided it’d be safer to stay hidden. The burglars probably assumed no one was in the house and would be in and out as soon as possible. Sure, John would be pissed when he learned someone had broken into their home, but he’d be even more pissed if she tried to intervene and got hurt in the process. She remembered the night she got stabbed all too well. The man who had done it and the man who ordered it both suffered long, agonizing deaths.

As she continued to hide in the closet, she listened for any sign of them leaving. She couldn’t hear anything except for the occasional door opening or something being smashed. When they finally reached the office, she held her breath, just waiting for them to grab her laptop or something in leave. But then the door of the closet opened and her body went cold. It was like her entire body had been drained as she stared up at the man wearing a ski mask. “I found her!” he shouted before dragging her out of the closet.

She immediately began screaming and struggling in protest but these men were clearly trained because he held her in a way that none of her defensive moves could escape. The man dragged her out of the office, into the living room where she found two other men standing, both wearing ski masks and holding baseball bats. She was thrown to their feet, breathing heavily as she looked up at them. “Who are you?” she managed to choke out through terrified sobs. “We have money, just please don’t hurt me.”

The slimmest man, standing to the side began to laugh like a comic book villain. “Trust me, we don’t need your money. I just need you gone,” he said. Before she could ask what he meant, the man pulled off his mask, revealing the face of her half brother.

“Iosef, what are you-” But before she could finish her sentence, he was bringing his baseball bat down onto her. He struck her ribs and she immediately knew he had cracked at least some as pain exploded in her ribs.

“I’m not letting you take what is rightfully mine,” her brother spat as he brought the mask back over his head. The other two then began bringing their bats down on her body, trying to beat her to death. All she could do between the screams and sobs was try to protect her head as they assaulted her body. But the man behind her cracked his bat against the back of her head like a golf club. Her hands took the brunt of the force but it was still incredibly painful to have hear hands smashed in.

She screamed in pain as they continued their assault until she was sure she was going to die right there. Eventually her screams stopped as her lungs felt like they had collapsed in on themselves. She was sure all her ribs were shattered and all her internal organs had ruptured from the blows.

When she stopped screaming they stopped beating her. Iosef had stopped beating her long ago, leaving the work up to his henchmen despite the fact that this had been his idea. Once the beatings stopped, one of Iosef’s friends pushed her so she was now laying on her back. He laughed seeing her bruised, bleeding, and tear stained face. Reaching down to her pants, he began undoing the buttons. She wanted to tell him to stop but she physically couldn’t pull in enough air to form a word. Fortunately for her, Iosef happened to turn back around at that moment.

“No! What are you doing man? That’s my sister,” he cried. Not out of defense of his sister, simply because he was grossed out by it. “C’mon let’s finish the job. Her husband will be home soon.” The prince of the mob then pulled out a large hunting knife, sauntering over to where his sister laid on the floor, coughing and spitting up her own blood. “Sorry to do this,” he said mockingly, leaning down close to her face. “But you leave me no choice. You won’t be inheriting dad’s business now.” And with those final words, he drove the knife into the center of his sister’s chest, leaving the blade impaled in her to send a message. “Let’s go!” he ordered his lackeys as they ran out to the car, shouting in celebration.

Meanwhile, Y/N laid in a puddle of blood on her own living room floor. As she stared up at the ceiling, her vision fading, she began to pray for the first time in her life. She prayed mostly for John. That he’d be okay and he’d be able to continue his life not drowning in grief, revenge, or guilt. She just wanted him to be happy, he deserved to be happy.

Masterlist

[thehistoriangirl]

The Tides Have Veiled [Fourteen]

This chapter is calmer than usually :3 is that suspicious? I wouldn't know...

Viktor x Fem!Reader---/Gothic AU/Haunted Sea---3.4K---SFW

> MASTERLIST <- Previous // Next ->

Synopsis:  Piltover the Old has an old lighthouse that looms over an abandoned port. From the house in the wailing cliff’s edge, the lighthouse owner watches that the beacon is being lighten up each time darkness arrives, so that monsters wouldn't dare to crawl inland, or so legends say. Both buildings are haunted, maybe even the man himself, by both past and present ghosts. Surprisingly, the keeper’s work is beyond turning on the beacon every night— but the rest is on you to discover.

Chapter Summary: Just when you're about to confront one of your fears, Viktor's there to confess.

Tags: Strangers to Lovers | Ghosts | Slow Burn | Dark Magic(?) | Some Lore | Fluff (!!!!) | Some kithing :3 |

Taglist: @lunar-monster @local-mr-frog @bittercyder @blissfulip @ihopeinevergetsoberr

Fourteen: A Ghost Roaming the Coast

It was almost dusk when you gathered your petty bravery, watching the sky bleed and the waves shine with the last glimpses of sunlight.

 Calculating against the clock hung on the wall and the keeping log, you had around forty minutes until the sun died down for good today, finally overshadowed by the beacon.

Your steps echoed against the wood of the lighthouse’s staircase, hands eager to gather the raincoat perfectly folded over the table and the pair of boots tucked against a side of the hearth so they could get warm enough against the upcoming winter currents.

You observed the flames, Viktor’s words resonating inside your brain in between the crackling fire, allowing your mind to get lost in their dance though your jaw tightening didn’t pass unperceived.

I believe you hit your head with a rock when you were walking along the beach.

“Yes, sure,” you seethed. How would you end up on the opposite side of the bay if that were the case? You should be dead if your head would have hit any of the sharp rocks at the foot of the cliff where you sought refuge last night.

And the woman—the ghost—it hadn’t been the first encounter. Even if you tried to delude yourself into thinking of it as a poor excuse of a slip of imagination, like the force that was about to push you to the edge of insanity; you knew better.

Sadly so. As much as ignorance would’ve been a blessing.

Even then, knowledge perhaps will be the only thing to keep you alive. Once you understood everything, you would be able to know what to do now you knew that there was no solace in the city for you.

Not with whatever had poisoned your blood with salt water.

That was the only thought while you fished your keys from the depths of your oversized wool sweater, securing them with a cord in your pants’ hem.

The cave was real, you felt it in your being, in the way your fingers still seemed to vibrate while remembering the touch of the faint purple glow on its walls. How the song resonated in your bones as if they were hollow, filling you with homesickness you didn't know it was there until the melody made it overflow.

How someone could feel such a thing when one has never known a home anyway?

What a twisted life this seemed to be.

But before settling a foot outside, a flash of the ghostly tail made your hand brush along the table’s surface to grab the handle of the kitchen knife.

It wouldn't be much, especially if you were correct about what you believed that creature was; though you didn’t wish to be so exposed and hopeless again. It was enough that for a considerable portion of your life, you’d been sheltered and tucked away as an old doll—you didn’t wish your end to be like that, too.

You were a keeper now, away from the shabby hut by the coast, now instead watching the whole landscape from your tower, maintaining the light on against the darkness, the mist, and the restless things roaming in the night. You were different.

You probably hit your head against a rock.

Voices mixed in a cacophony that pounded your head. Your mother went out of her mind after having you. That's why she left you.

You can’t run away from your blood.

No, you weren’t your faceless mother. You wouldn’t let the sea claim you too. And yet… you kept walking toward the exit, toward the waves. Tempting life and destiny only to soothe your mind once the cave stood, materialized, and real in front of you again.

Would Viktor care if the next evening he’d find the beacon still on, his keeper gone?

Would you care if he didn’t?

Hairs prickled your eyes when you shook your head in a violent attempt of denial, albeit the thoughts kept flowing like currents, so many your mind had gone murky, limbs led by instinct alone.

Open door. Close door. Walk. Fetch key. Open do—

A flap of cold wind hit your face like the slash of a dagger; the dark, grey sky quickly being covered by the view of a long, black coat. The wind carried the familiar essence like an invisible embrace.

“Where are you going at this time of day? It’s almost nighttime.”

You jumped away, a scream getting caught up in your throat as your mind scrambled to act. Get away. Grab the knife. Why does the voice sound so familiar?

Looking up, you conjured another ghost trying to haunt you, grabbing the knife from the pocket of your raincoat so forcefully your knuckles were white. Instead of hollow sockets, you saw a pair of golden stars still visible despite the cloudy night.

You opened your eyes, heat pooling up your face. “I was going to look for you,” you said, hoping to craft an acceptable lie with the nonsensical words spilling out of your mouth.

Viktor arched an eyebrow. “With a… knife?”

Your lips pressed in a thin line. Silence dragged, and Viktor leaned against the rusty threshold of the lighthouse’s gate, giving you all the damned time in the world to explain.

"We're not on so good terms, I suppose,” you answered begrudgingly, wishing to imbue a more amused and sarcastic tone instead of the hollow, plain tone that got out. Gaze averted and your free hand playing with your hair, you were a terrible liar, which wouldn’t explain why Viktor didn’t believe in what you told him this morning besides being pure reticence.

The screams of the cliff started creeping up the rock, toward the open lighthouse, and perhaps it was your imagination, but you felt a gentle trembling movement of the hill beneath your feet.

Your hands enveloped his wrist, pulling him inside the little garden and closing the gate behind him with a slam. Standing face to face, you could see his breathing spiraling up to the sky between the drizzle starting to compose a rhythmical dance over your coat.

“I regret talking to you like that. It was unprompted and uncalled for," Viktor said, eyes gentle and ever-present, boring into yours in seek of something you couldn't quite place yet. “I came to apologize.”

It couldn’t be so easy—you knew it wasn’t just forgiveness. It couldn’t be.

"You don't have to say things you don't mean only to appease me. I know you said it on a whim, which must’ve let you slip a thing or two decorum wouldn’t allow you to say in other circumstances.”

“And whims are all built in poor wording.” He sighed. “I don’t regret marrying you. I regret what this marriage has put you through.”

Your brain took much longer than needed for his words to seep in. “… what do you mean by that?”

Viktor's eyes settled on yours, and this time you gathered your courage to keep them on him, between the little mole under his eyes to the bridge of his nose. You saw browns and yellows on the irises, molted gold casting shadows behind its wake.

He brushed your shoulder ever so slightly. “My cursed wife. Don’t believe I haven’t noticed.”

A childish part of you fluttered when he called you ‘his wife’, perhaps hoping that all these steps you had walked together meant something more than just a clause in a job application. Though anger still bubbled up your belly for his words that were so heavy the wind couldn’t carry them away just like enough blood couldn’t become invisible while diluted in water.

You crossed your arms, as if he could see your heart hammering against your chest.

“I’m not yours.”

“I know. Albeit that’s not what everyone thinks about us.”

And what do you think about us? You wished to be brave enough to ask him.

“Curses are hereditary,” Viktor continued, his voice soft in a mutter while his gaze was lost in something over your shoulder, though when you looked back, you could only see the flicking shadows of the empty staircase. “They do not fade away with time as everything else tends to do because the ones that impose them are outside its reign. It persists in blood.”

He didn’t need to tell you what he was referring to. Ghosts. Witches. Spirits. The house and this lighthouse. You felt a shiver down your spine, cold sweat gluing the hairs of your nape. A gaze that penetrated over the rock of the tower and into your back. A gaze belonging to a woman's empty sockets.

“Are you trying to scare me?” You hugged yourself, hoping he wouldn’t notice your shiver. This time it was working.

“Let’s get you inside,” Viktor replied, taking his cane from its place propelled against the wall and pointing the handle toward the door. “You’re getting wet and I don’t want you to get sick.”

“Do you believe me?” You sounded childishly hopeful when you should’ve been surprised, not minding his cold palm sliding into yours to guide you down a more than familiar path.

“I don’t think there’s a purpose for you to invent something like that.” Viktor raised a hand when you were about to protest, your eyes deeply crinkled in a frown. "I know there are… strange happenings in this town. Of course, I believe you."

"I thought I had fallen and hit my head?" You huffed, the gentle crackling of the fire enveloping your cold bones once Viktor closed the door and helped you out of your humid coat, taking the knife and settling it on the table.

“There are certain things it’s better not to say out loud on land,” Viktor replied, almost embarrassed with the way his cheeks and ears were tinted pink, though all you saw could be a product of his closeness to the fire.

“And it’s good to talk about them now?” you said, looking up toward the beacon room and catching a glimpse of the golden light flicking through the stairs.

“No. But I didn’t want you to remain angry with me.” Shyly, he took your hands in his and gave them a light squeeze. “I care about you, and I couldn’t let a day pass by and know that I’ve hurt you. I’m sorry.”

You looked up at him, the flames making his eyes twinkle—and it would’ve been a mischievous way if it weren’t for the gentleness of his touch, fingers surrounding your wrists, a slight arch of his eyebrows created by worry.

The gentle mutter of your name slipped through his ajar lips.

Your hands slid around his torso, taking in the essence of his clothes, like orange and salt and books. He was solid, warm, and real, his lithe muscles shifting under your touch, cheek settled just above his chest.

His indecisive gasp reverberated deep inside your bones, hotness climbing up your neck once he hugged you back, his hands moving from their place on your arms down your waist. The movement made his unbuttoned coat open to envelop you whole, chest flush against his dress shirt.

For a long time, the only thing that existed was Viktor's heartbeats complementing yours, breaths mixed in a slow rhythm turned a soothing dance once he started swaying you side to side.

His cane’s handle poked your side, spell broken when your mind cleared enough to realize what you were doing, that you were too close, that perhaps his movements originated from exhaustion from coming down the house toward the lighthouse. That this was still just a façade. You pushed your hands over his chest to break the hug, only to find his hands still grabbing the soft curves of your hips.

“Viktor…” you said, looking at his chest now that locking eyes with him was so difficult, your mind running in circles over the memories of the wedding, the softest friction of his lips over yours.

The fake wedding, your brain tried to add, unsuccessfully.

“I don’t want to lose you.” He nodded, deep in thought as his right hand ran up from your waist up to cup up your cheek. “I promise I’ll do my best to keep you safe. I promise you.”

You smiled, the movement making his thumb brush across your skin in slow, gentle circles, a view so intense he might want to paint you to behold in his memory forever.

Viktor leaned closer, the rebel locks around his forehead almost hiding his intense expression. Your hands grasped his arms, thinking your knees would fall at any moment. His nose skimmed against yours before his lips landed atop yours in a motion so fleeting you might’ve been imagining if it weren’t for the gentle motion of his lips opening, accompanied by a squeeze on your left hip.

You sighed, wanting to move one of your hands atop his heart.

“I—I’m sorry,” Viktor jumped backward, almost tripping with the leg of the table. “I don’t know what I’m doing… I… I overstepped.”

You held his hand before he could pull away. “No, you didn’t,” you muttered, looking at the ground. “I’m your wife after all.”

Viktor’s sheepish smile left you breathless, looking between the yellow hues of the fire the bright red of his cheeks reaching his ears, even.

“This is so unprofessional. Come on,” he told you, reaching for the metal pole you used to extinguish the logs inside the hearth. Using your oil lamp to move around, Viktor approached the staircase with confident steps even as he hooked his cane in the crook of his elbow and started ascending using the handrail, a path so familiar maybe he could even crawl it in the darkness. “I want to keep watch with you tonight.”

It was your turn to frown with concern. “Aren’t you tired? You just returned from the city.”

“I’ve had many things around my head to even think about sleeping. There will be time—that is, of course, if you want me here. I’ll understand if you’d prefer to be alone.”

“I don’t want to be alone,” you replied almost immediately. Viktor turned once he reached the top, extending his arm to let the shine of the lamp illuminate your way up.

“You won’t be. Not if I can avoid it.”

Your head tilted to the side, looking over his shoulder to see the messy room you used every night; with the old logbooks open over the table and half the window still sealed with wood boards, pens scattered over the yellowish pages of the unfinished diaries you’d been scribbling on to avoid Viktor’s curiosity when you asked for another notebook.

Would Viktor see you as another delusional keeper if he got a better look at your writings?

“A worker will come to replace the glass on Thursday,” Viktor said, his steps never faltering while approaching the table. If he read the old keeper’s words mixed with your deliriums, he didn’t show any different emotion as he walked toward the closed door at the far end of the room. “The wood covers the view of the sea.”

“I prefer it this way,” you couldn’t stop from saying. This way you wouldn’t see the woman.

“I can’t say I blame you,” Viktor sighed, his steps getting further away as he entered the machine’s room, all his silhouette embraced by the comforting darkness inside. “Both haunting and beautiful.” Walking toward him, you heard the crackle of the couch give in under his weight. You closed the door with a gentle click now you were sure everything was for the night already tinting the horizon navy blue. Viktor hadn’t brought the lamp, and neither did you, remembering that day when the storm raged outside and yet you were warm and safe between his arms. You wouldn’t need the light if he was there. “Like you.”

You chuckled, ignoring the way your heart started pounding relentlessly against your ribcage. “Am I haunting?”

He hummed, grasping your hand to guide you toward the couch until your legs were against each other caged inside the tiny space. “Haunting does not always mean something frightening; but something special and unforgettable.”

Unforgettable… “Will you remember me once you go work as a teacher full time?” your voice was barely audible over the purring of the motor in the control panel, it was a miracle that Viktor could hear it, just as it was a miracle being so close to him tonight.

The pause that followed you allowed you to sense the cool of the night starting to crawl over your feet and fingers from under the metallic door, and you couldn't stop thinking how you had survived last night soaked in freezing water without catching hypothermia.

“I’m not planning to leave you alone in this town,” he muttered. “I can arrange another bedroom in my apartment.”

You recollected the horrible dream, how your lungs pleaded for mercy once the living room was flooded, tears mixed in with salt water as if they had always belonged there. His disappearance toward the bathroom almost all night. And the stain of crimson diluted into the water.

“I don’t think I will survive outside this town, Viktor. And I’m terrified of figuring out.”

“I’m here with you,” he said, patting your knee. “There’s always a way.”

“I hope you’re right. I don't want to be trapped in here for the rest of my life, whatever short or long it may be…” You sighed, feeling the breaking of your voice even before you uttered another word. “I want to escape my family’s fortune, though I think one may never be too far away from their blood.” I don’t want to keep feeling like I'm drowning near the coast and away from the sea. “I’m just… so tired of being… me…”

You heard the rustle of his hand patting your head. “I understand. One might think I should know it by now—the cursed owner of the haunted house by the cliff. But there’s always hope as long as there’s life. And I must… confess, that my world would be dull without you in it.” He exhaled. “I was so scared of finding you by the coast this morning. I… I thought…”

A chill ran through your spine, and you sought his warmth, leaning your head against his shoulder. “What haunts you, Viktor?" you whispered in a reckless attempt that no other spirit but him could hear it.

You felt him tremble slightly under your cold touch. “What always haunts everyone—the past.” He shifted to accommodate you better, hearing the muffled clank of his cane against the wall as he rotated himself to allow you to set yourself between his open legs, your back flush against his chest as if he were a cocoon. “And what haunts you?”

So many things, you were just like a small, naïve child. The screams of the cliff. The ghostly woman. That following sensation of being watched inside Viktor’s house. Of one day waking up in the hut by your aunt’s screams, the lighthouse and him all but a fantasy. “Knowing that everything I see and hear at night is a lie. And knowing that it’s not.”

Viktor posed his chin atop your head. “I believe you,” he said after a while, his breath drawing goosebumps against your ear. “I believe you.” There was a pause where you heard the palpitations of your heart picking up just like the rain outside.

“You shouldn’t walk by the beach at night,” he muttered, settling his head in the crook of your neck to whisper against your ear. “That’s why fishermen go to open waters and don’t come back until the sun is up again.”

“I was… I was returning from my uncle’s funeral. I…” you swallowed the lump in your throat. “I saw him first. And then the woman. M-my mom…”

He hugged you, his hands around your waist. “I don’t think that was your mother,” he said, soothing you with his reassuring touch and his closeness, tucked away from the world. "Why don’t you rest for a while? I’m going to need you alert and awake tomorrow afternoon.”

“Why?”

“I’m going to show you the open ocean.” He cleared his throat. “I mean… I’m researching about mareel, luminescence in algae that floats on the sea at night. I… it would be my pleasure to show you. If you’d like to come with me.”

“Oh! Well… I’d love to.” You smiled even though he couldn’t see it in the darkness. “Viktor…” you called, neck crooned toward him. “Can you kiss me again?”

You heard his faint chuckle, his head moving toward yours in the dark, hands cupping your jawline and neck as his thumb brushed along your bottom lip. You parted your mouth open, hot breath hitting against his fingerpad before his breath met yours in an eager sigh once you pressed yourself against him.

In that room there was no time nor hurry, embraced in the cold wind and sheltered by the rain tapping against the roof; so you allowed your mind and body to lose yourself in him. If only for tonight.

[rasshu-benaiokny]

〚 Scrawny Debt Collector 〛MDNI

• An inspired Gyutaro x OC (Rasshu) NSFW Fic + Pic (at end)

• Based off of the Unfinished "The New Girls Boots" fanfiction

• NSFW: Non-con, Intimidation, sex at work, closed hours, intoxication, virgin.

• Both featured characters are 20+

〚 Setting & Feel 〛

A modern AU where a new lady has been hired at the busy office building; Rasshu Benaio. She is lively and sweet but she hides her positive traits under a veil of aggression if she's scared. Unfortunately, she is scared of the ugly tall man who collects debts for the business; Gyutaro.

〚 Uwah, Lets Go! 〛

It's been a good 6-8 months since Rasshu started working at this nice place. She's a part of the marketing crew as she's in charge of designing ads for Kimetsu events along with Tengen; one of the flashy mascot-like men for such a huge business!

Watching the stars pour out into the black-blue sky outside her window, Rasshu furrows her brows as she nearly finishes her work for today. Working a bit after hours isn't anything new for this lady as she barely can get any meaningful work done when Tengen, Mr. Rengoku, and Inosuke of all people are her co-workers in this hectic office! Typing about on her laptop, she jots down ideas that flesh out Tengen's already existing ideas for the upcoming Halloween special! She's adding context to his idea trying to rope them all together for when the others review it but her time is dwindling as her alarm creeps up on her, scaring her stiff!

With a feint smile, she rubs her jaw and lifts up her mask once more as she fills up her satchel, ready to take her belongings home. It's 11PM sharp and she knows that she's usually the last one to be here at this time so Mr. Rengoku expects her to clean up anything on the way out.

After making her desk look decent for tomorrow morning, Rasshu lets out the smallest of sighs as she locks up the marketing office. Light footsteps echo with every step the woman takes walking down the long dark, daunting hallways alone as she starts to hum a random tune, trying to keep her paranoid mind unassuming for the moment. The quiet has always unnerved her after all. But, as she walked out into the open floors of the lobby she began to see big muddy prints going outside! Letting out an audible groan, Rasshu already seemed to know whose footprints these were; the damned debt collector's, Gyutaro Shabana!

He's a rather messy man that reaks of self-hate and misogyny... He was the only one who actively antagonized her weekly, throwing little jabs at her, making fun of her mask habits, and even spreading rumors that she steals when she's working late! At first, Rasshu thought it was a race thing but he treats everyone like shit when they start, it's just... Rasshu kept taking his crap to heart.

Looking at the footprints in front of her, she instantly believes that he just made a mess so people would think it was her fault since she is the only one who consistently leaves after the janitor does. It's a stretch but she can't help it, Gyutaro has always been out to get her. So with a mean snarl, she shakes her head and unlocks the janitor's closest mumbling to herself as she brands a clean-looking mop!

Rasshu: That Scrawny ass Debt Collector... trying to set me up like always... if he wants me fired so much, why doesn't he just fuck'n fight! I bet I could gut him so damn fast that Sonic wouldn't even be able to see what was coming to that bitch...

After a few minutes, Rasshu finally cleaned up the footprints that plagued the shiny white floors of Kimetsu. With a smile, she put up the mop and swung her satchel around her shoulder, feeling a bit proud about her tiniest deed until she heard something, or more accurately, someone.

With all of the lights already cut off, Rasshu froze as she saw a huge silhouette blocking her in the closet but before she could even begin to fight this intruder, a large pair of hands insnared her as the closet door slammed with both of them in it! Writhing with rage, the woman groaned and bit the intruder's hands until a mocking voice rang out! The Intruder was Gyutaro and he wasn't too happy after hearing Rasshu mock him.

Gyutaro: "Scrawny ass Debt Collector" "Bet I could gut him" Heh... big talk for someone squirming around like the pathetic piece of crap she is... So damn annoying too... Kek...

Immediately , the man shoved Rasshu into the wall behind her stunning her! She couldn't believe what this man was doing! He would always berate her verbally but nothing like this, she was honestly shocked by what he was doing, did he actually hate her this much? but as she was stuck in thought, she was quickly disoriented as Gyutaro turned on the bright closet lights. Instantly, Rasshu's eyes took in the sight as she realized what was happening... That subtle smell of alcohol on his rancid breath, that blush flushing his dirty skin, and the way he couldn't contain that malicious smile while he looked at her. The damned man was drunk off his ass, but why here! Instantly, with a surprising amount of concern, Rasshu angrily berated the man before her!

Rasshu: Mr- MR SHABANA?! Are you OUT OF YOUR DAMN MIND MAN!? Drunk? At WORK?! I know it's after hours but you can still get in trouble! Damnit and to think your smaller sister is the sane one for once... Address now, I'll call an Uber or a taxi before you make more of a mess than you've already...

The angry woman started to trail off and Gyutaro started to scowl as he walked up closer to her... He seemed worse for wear but Rasshu was already getting a bit nervous as he got almost nose-to-nose with her. Most of the time she was able to hold her own against this bully of a man, but tonight his demeanor was something else... and finally, confirmation of what was of his mind dribbled from his haunting words.

Gyutaro: Hey... Now... where's that big brave act you be putting on for me so much? Eh... Are we afraid of what the Scrawny Debt Collector can dish out? Because from what I know... I'm PRETTY DAMN GIRTHY where it counts...

Lifting up his baggy shirt, he slightly reveals the base of himself. Seeking a reaction, he leans in more until his breath stings Rasshu's eyes as she begins to internally freak out, looking for anything to put down this man as fast as possible but it is too late.

Lunging at her, the ragged man digs his dirty nails into Rasshu's waist as he pulls her body into his caved-in form! Fighting and throwing strong-armed punches, Rasshu roars out to Gyutaro, threatening him more and more until it turns into death wishes, and then to pleads! The man tanks kicks, punches, bites, and nearly anything waiting out her stamina until she was weak enough to finally stop. Rasshu pants under her mask as she is on the verge of tears as she looks at the ugly man with complete and utter rage, asking why... why her? Rasshu was so damn confused that it was physically hurting her just to wrap her head around this until Gyutaro gently, pulled down her mask.

Finally laying his eyes on the complete picture, Rasshu's face was fully in view; never truly seen by anyone else before. Her jaw was riddled with small scars. Her gritted teeth showed that the right side of her teeth were messed up! Unfortunately, that seemed to be her last straw as her frustration slowly turned to humiliation... with tears streaming down her cheeks and dripping down her neck, she cried believing that Gyutaro would use this against her. Why wouldn't he?

Still restraining her, Gyutaro pinched her chin and stole a kiss, holding her there for as long as he wanted. And just seeing the disgust and confusion etched on her face when he was done was enough for his crooked smile to contort into a sinister one.

With his biceps flaring up, he grabbed one of rasshu's legs and hoisted it up to her limit, forcing her to stretch her legs wide open as her other foot struggled to keep herself from falling! He held her there as he listened to her frantic pleas for mercy, but he wasn't here to play nice. Gliding his free hand down his pants, he took out a sharp pocket knife as he flicked it open, and dangled it in front of Rasshu's face. Knowing the context, Rasshu inadvertently clammed up as the man proceeded to glide the blade down her leg slowly, stopping at the small mound just below her stomach. Rasshu glared at the man one last time, hoping that it would be enough to hinder his actions but her eyes widened when the sound of splitting fabric filled her ears! Gyutaro vigorously cut himself an easy-to-access hole in her pants revealing a black pair of panties. They were a simple kind, with no one to impress, which was normal for someone as single as Rasshu.

Gyutaro didn't even care to look at her face as he put his palm directly on her panties, imagining how her secretive area looked. As he groped her, he listened to her frantic heartbeat just as well as he rubbed the nook of her panties, seldomly dipping into her pussy's wet crevice from time to time. After prodding her with just his two fingers, he pressed his weight against her as he took a fist full of her panties and ripped them clean from the hole in her pants! Feeling the cold bitter air on her bare pussy, Rasshu squealed but no one was in a large building, and wouldn't be for hours on end... Her breath ecelerated and she almost felt like she was going to pass out but Gyutaro made sure that he paused for long periods of time, listening carefully until her heartbeat went back down.

After Rasshu was calming down again, Gyutaro made sure he was face to face with her as he began to rub his rough fingers between her glossy folds... He knew how to work a woman's body, its what he was used to with how ugly he was anyway, so it was no different with this woman. Rubbing Rasshu's clit, she shut her eyes from the piercing blue gaze of the devil himself. Gyutaro seemed to feast on her reactions after all and Rasshu was simply the most reactive one who worked at Kimetsu, it was always easy picking her out from a sturdy crowd. Rubbing in circles, Rasshu seemed to relax slightly but she wasn't giving in to Gyutaro in the slightest so he devilishly plugged his two longest fingers deep into her, milking a squeak from the woman that was barely standing at this point.

At this point, Gyutaro knew that Rasshu's body wouldn’t be able to give much resistance now and that was all he really needed now as he picked her up. Hoisting her other leg up above his shoulders followed suit by the other! Rasshu wasn't ready at all as she tried to push herself off of Gyutaro but with a bit of taunting, Gyutaro would feign like he was about to drop her, causing her to latch on to him for safety. It was a nice sight to see the annoying worker he bullied often, holding on to him like this in such a manner, even if it was rather unfair... Rasshu started to talk a little louder, trying to sway Gyutaro's morals once more but then with the flash of a knife, she pipped down once again. Reluctantly, Rasshu used her arms to hold herself to the wall that she was being pushed against as the man positioned himself. dropping his baggy pants, his member sprang and bounced a bit, allowing his hard tip to bump against Rasshu's rear, making her flinch...

grabbing his shaft, Gyutaro played around as he rubbed his tip between Rasshu's folds as he watched tears run down her face occasionally... toying with her feelings, toying with her virginity. Without a moment's notice, Gyutaro forcefully cups his palm over Rasshu's mouth as he fully thrusts himself into her causing her to squirm and squeal in distress! Getting the hard part over with, Gyutaro slams himself fully into her as a mix of her blood and slick begins to coat his dick with each lustful pound. Not letting her rest, he gets his fill of pleasure until he pulls out, causing a pop sound to echo. lifting his saliva-covered palm from Rasshu's mouth, he reluctantly says sorry to her. Sniffling from what seemed to be the worst pain she'd ever been awake for, Rasshu avoids Gyutaro's glare as he puts himself in again! Fortunately, this time Rasshu's taking him rather well as he pounds just a bit more passionately than before. Seemingly allowing her to finally adjust to him.

Taking full advantage of this moment, Gyutaro digs his nails into her plush skin and starts to adjust himself slightly. And then pulling her arms into his grasp he performs a reverse full nelson of sorts?! Gritting his crooked fangs, he growls something under his breath as he begins to thrust vigorously but something's different! Rasshu begins to arch her back slightly with each thrust as something in her clicks! Shutting her eyes again, she begins to feel warm as her body feels this indescribable tickly feeling. After resisting for so long, Gyutaro's brows perk up as he hears small moans coming from his prey! Finally, he found her spot! Filled with determination, Gyutaro bites down on the nape of Rasshu's neck to keep her still as he speeds up his thrusts, milking her for the most long-awaited reaction he could get! Working up a sweat, Rasshu's legs jolt up as Gyutaro jams his hand down between their bodies! Followed by a choke-up, Rasshu nearly gags on her moan as Gyutaro yanks on her clit. Tightening up her core until she couldn't anymore and then with a failed attempt to stop herself, Rasshu shamefully squirted on herself, covering Gyutaro's lower half as she began to cry again... Her face was red hot and gyutaro pumped himself more and more until he snatched himself out, spilling his cum all over the wall and floor near him.

Crouching down, he let Rasshu's body slide down the wall to the floor onto his lap as he waited for Rasshu to finally look at him directly. It took a while, maybe 20 minutes for Rasshu to acknowledge him despite being in fear of what he would do next. Her red disappointed eyes finally, reached his blue droopy cold eyes for half a second before she looked away. Gyutaro let out a frustrated sigh as he reached his hand out and over Rasshu's head, resting his palm in her fluffy soft hair... He seemed a bit, conflicted as he watched the coworker that annoyed him, be so worried. Rasshu wanted to run away but she was just frozen laying within the man's lap as he thought to himself and then he finally spoke.

Gyutaro: Hey... Rasshu... I gotta ask you. Do you hate me? Keh, what a dumb ass question was that... I just swooped you up, took your V card, and expect you to NOT hate me?... Stupid... keh. I just wanted to know since you always seem to avoid me all the god damn time. Hell, you even hang out with that weird Uzui guy so much. I just thought you liked mean men and stuff. Rasshu: I... I... Mean men? I-I wouldn't hate you if you didn't hate me you damn man whore! Fuck! Like, who does this drunk? You can't tell me that you had some semblance of respect after humiliating me like this and now you're just gonna tell everyone that I'm just a slut or something... Finding anything to down me. Gyutaro: GNAH! Dont get loud with me! You can't expect me NOT to take you when you keep egging me on! Acting all offended when I tease you for any little thing! Acting all tough around your friends like you aren't teasing me with your cute ass! Hell, You can keep my name out of your mouth You Know?

Rasshu: THATS BECAUSE YOU ARENT TEASING, your insults hurt... and-and... how the hell am I teasing you?

Gyutaro: Dont act stupid you prude, I remember the first time I heard you. You were with that Uzui guy and y'all were pointing and laughing at me. Hell, each time yall pass me in the damn hallway, you do it! SO DONT ACT ALL HIGH AND MIGHTY Rasshu: YOU DUMB WHORE- ON MY FIRST WEEK UZUI WAS PICKING ON ME YOU DUMBAS BITCH- WE WAS TALKING ABOUT WHO WE THOUGHT WE WOULD WANT TO TAKE HOME AND WHEN I POINTED YOU OUT, UZUI FUCKIN- Gyutaro: wait- you chose me?...

For anyone who read this all or who totally skipped everything (cuz ik i would) Here

[honeymaplelatte]

Dark Red - Rengoku x Reader

What if, on that fateful day nearly a hundred years ago, the demon slayer core had lost? 

What if the king of demons had conquered the sun, achieving immortality? 

Thrilled to gain an inside eye into the mysterious world of the Blue Spider Corp., Y/N has begun her dream job at the country’s leading pharmaceutical company, owned and operated by none other than the infamous and elusive CEO, Muzan Kibutsuji. In her attempts to establish a place for herself in this peculiar and oftentimes ominous workplace, Y/N catches the attention of dangerous eyes and ghosts of the past. As she begins to uncover the truth behind the veil of secrecy surrounding Mr. Kibutsuji and his empire, she encounters a whole new world of friendship, love, and betrayal.

Fandom: Demon Slayer

Pairings: Rengoku x Y/N, Muzan x Y/N

Content warnings: mentions of violence

I.

  It was your first day of work. 

     Already late despite having sprinted nearly halfway across the city upon realizing you overslept, you finally arrived at the massive, breathtaking glass doors to the largest building in the entire skyline. Frantically huffing as you tried to smooth your hair, your heartbeat thundered in your ears as the adrenaline continued to course through your entire body. All you could think of was how you were about to walk into your own firing on day one. 

     How could I have blown this? You whined to yourself, horrified that despite setting ten alarms, you had still managed to oversleep due to something as humiliatingly childish as a nightmare. You hardly ever had them, but something about this one had kept you tossing and turning through the night in fits of uneasiness. You blamed the news you had watched the night before. 

While the city used to be one of the safest in the world, during the past year it had been plagued by a dark shadow. What started as a freak homicide case quickly became an onslaught of violent murders, leading citizens to believe there was a serial killer, if not an entire group of them, running rampant. There seemed to be no correlation between the victims - just that they were alone and vulnerable. The remains, if anything more than dried blood on the ground, were horrific. You would have sooner thought it was some kind of animal mauling them until it became far too frequent and eerily calculated to be explained so simply. Just last night, they found another young woman - or what was left of her, splattered on the wall of an alley. 

     Still able to picture the man that had been hunting you through your dreams with his wicked, glowing eyes of blood, a shiver went down your spine. You tried to shove the image out of your mind, well aware that you had far worse real fears to face as soon as you walked through those doors. 

     You had fought tooth and nail to earn a position at the largest and most elusive pharmaceutical company in the country, Blue Spider Corp. While you had only earned an entry-level position in administrative work, it was notoriously impossible to work your way in, so you had spent years crafting the perfect resume. You were nearly on the verge of tears at the thought that you might have thrown it all away. 

     No point in throwing a pity party, I just have to walk in there and take it. Holding your head up high, you stepped towards the doors that flew right open, trying to waltz in there like it was your everyday routine. Making your way over to the front desk, you approached a small young woman who appeared around your age typing away at her keyboard. Upon noticing your presence, she glanced up, meeting your eyes with her own which were a dazzling purple. You were taken aback, having never seen eyes such a unique color. Looking closer, you noticed that the ends of her ebony hair faded to a matching shade of violet. 

     Huh. I honestly imagined a company like this would have a stricter policy on appearances, you thought to yourself before addressing the woman. 

     “Hi, my name is Y/N, and it’s my first day. I’m running a few minutes behind, but I was supposed to meet with my supervisor, Mrs. Sato?” Your voice shook as you spoke. Damn your nerves. 

     The woman took in your frazzled disposition, clearly aware of the anxiety surging through you due to your tardiness. After a moment of what seemed to be brief contemplation, she smiled in reply, and for some reason, it gave you a sense of comfort. 

     “I see. It’s nice to meet you, Y/N. My name is Kocho. Let me tell her you’ve arrived”. She reached for the phone, dialing your supervisor. Your leg bounced as she relayed your arrival, fighting the urge to bite your fingernails. Following her confirmation, Kocho set the phone down and turned to face you. 

     “I’ve let her know, and she’s headed here now. Congratulations on your first day. Tell me, are you new to the city?” 

     “No. Surprisingly enough, I’ve lived here my whole life, so you think I’d know my way around enough to be on time.” You laughed nervously.

     “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. You’ve worked hard to prove yourself and earn a position here, I doubt a few minutes would be enough to send you packing. I only asked since we get people from all over the world coming to work here, so I naturally get curious.” 

A wave of relief washed over you. Maybe this place wasn’t as cutthroat as you thought it was from its reputation. You thanked God that the first person you encountered had been so welcoming. 

     Prompt as ever, your new supervisor popped out of the elevator, striding over. She had a scowl on her face, her menacing gaze locking in on you. Your heart sunk to the floor, any hope of recovering from your mistake buried six feet under. 

     Kocho smiled and began to speak before you had a chance to introduce yourself and grovel for being late. 

     “Ah, Mrs. Sato! Please forgive Ms. Y/L/N for her tardiness. She actually arrived a few minutes early, but I held her captive with my chattering! ” Kocho giggled, causing Mrs. Sato to glare daggers her way. Your head whipped to Kocho, eyes blown wide with shock. 

     “A rather incessant habit of yours, Ms. Kocho. I do hope you remember your place, and how particularly replaceable it is.” She spoke coldly. 

     Mrs. Sato turned back to address you, the wrath in her eyes smoldered to a mere annoyance at Kocho’s carefree antics. Apparently, this wasn’t Kocho’s first time pushing a few buttons. 

     “I apologize for Ms. Kocho’s lack of professionalism, pay her no mind in the future. Please follow me, and I will get you settled in.” 

     Following her brief scolding, she abruptly turned, heading back to the elevator. You gave Kocho a look of pure confusion and bewilderment, so grateful you could have cried, to which she simply winked and went back to her computer. After whispering a heartfelt ‘thank you’, you scurried after Mrs. Sato and headed into the elevator. 

     “Now, to formally introduce myself, I am Mrs. Sato. As you already know, I’ll be your supervisor, which means I will be overseeing you in your training alongside your team members. It’s a relatively small team you’ll be working with, but they’ve been here quite some time, so don’t be afraid to ask them questions.” 

     “I see. It’s nice to meet you Mrs. Sato, and thank you for taking the time to show me what’s expected. I am incredibly grateful for the opportunity, and look forward to working with you all.”

     A brief smirk of satisfaction shadowed her face, seemingly pleased with your manners.

     “Likewise. It can be a tough job, as we move at a fast pace and expect high output. Work hard, and you’ll be able to keep up.” 

You nodded earnestly, taking in her every word. You wanted to do your best to impress your team, hoping to settle in the ranks quickly. The company itself may be shrouded in mystery, but you had heard whispers of how it's a survival-of-the-fittest world behind those glass doors. 

     “While a majority of what you need to know regarding the role will be covered later today, I’d like to mention a few overall company policies. Firstly, as I’m sure you’re aware, there is to be no photography, videography, or social media posting of any sort within the building, and you’ll be asked to sign an NDA that you will not share any inside information with anyone. We have a rather strict security and privacy policy to ensure our internal affairs are kept confidential.

     “Second, the top floor is limited to authorized personnel only. You are never to go there under any circumstance unless directed so by a superior who has an entry permit. Given your position, this should never be asked of you, so I want to ensure you understand that it is essentially off-limits. Any violation of these policies will result in immediate termination.” 

     “Of course, I understand.” You said, eyes wide. You were well aware of the iron wall between the public/media and the inner world of the company, but you had no idea how extreme the precautions were taken internally as well. There must be some seriously confidential information on that floor. You found this mildly questionable, considering the company produced pharmaceuticals given to the public, but luckily concerns like that were above your pay grade. 

     “While I know these rules may seem extreme, Mr. Kibutsuji takes these measures to ensure the protection of himself as well as the company.” She hesitated for a moment before continuing. 

     “Lastly, this is not policy, but merely a word of advice. Should you ever by some chance encounter Mr. Kibutsuji himself, you are not to meet his eye. He is an incredibly private man and prefers a more…traditional form of respect. If he asks anything of you, no matter the request, do it without any questions asked or a moment of hesitation.” 

     You swallowed thickly, hoping you would never cross paths with the man. 

     Of all the rumors circulating the company, its largest mystery was shrouded in the CEO, Mr. Kibutsuji himself. No one had ever seen the man’s face, so his notoriety only became sensationalized. Due to his immense fortune and success, he demanded to be completely removed from the public eye. You could only imagine what kind of enemies that level of wealth could incur. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t excited at the opportunity of potentially seeing the mystery man for yourself when you got the offer, but now it wasn’t exactly a thrilling prospect. It seemed there was a reason he was so notorious, if not feared. 

     Before you got the chance to even begin to come up with a response to that weirdly ominous warning, the elevator doors pried open with Mrs. Sato promptly exiting to your floor. You took a deep breath, straightened your shoulders, and followed her through the entrance to your new territory.

     Taking a moment to admire the breathtakingly modern architectural atmosphere surrounding you that could hardly be described as an office, your eyes greedily took in the seemingly infinite space of desks, seating areas, and floor-to-ceiling windows that allowed light to pour into the floor. And this is only one of them. The workers flew about in an almost comically cinematic manner, with mumbles of ‘Here’s those reports’, and ‘Fifteen until the meeting!’. You fought the urge to break out into a giddy grin, ecstatic to have your first big-city job. Hearing the buzz throughout the room made you process that you’d made it. Walking through a room of what was likely some of the most innovative, hardest-working people in the country, you were able to hold your head just a little bit higher, knowing that your shoes hitting the floor meant you just might be one of them - someone who belonged there. 

     Snapping you out of your daze, Mrs. Sato rounded a corner and came to a stop, gesturing to an open desk set nestled right along the flow of traffic. Not the window seat you’d secretly hoped for, but maybe it would be a chance to meet some coworkers, at least. 

     “This desk will be yours, and I’ve already arranged for the necessary paperwork to be delivered to you momentarily. Kanjori from HR should be here any minute, as well as-” 

     “Is this Y/N!?” A woman’s cheerful squeal cut off Mrs. Sato rather abruptly, much to her distaste. 

     The culprit sprang around the corner, holding a stack of papers taller than her head. Before you could process how heavy they must have been, the woman practically slammed the stack onto the desk, the obnoxious boom that thundered throughout the room confirming your suspicion (and amazement). 

     “Kanjori, please keep your voice down,” Mrs. Sato scowled, straightening her glasses. 

     “Oh yes! Right. My bad.” Kanjori sheepishly laughed. Just as quickly, she whipped her head towards you, taking your hands in hers as her smile glowed. 

     “It’s so nice to finally meet you! I’m Kanjori, but I’m sure you gathered that already! I hope we can become great friends! Tell me, do you have any plans for lunch? Why don’t we go together!? If you like ramen there’s this amazing place just down the street, and...” 

     You could hardly get a word in, but even if you could, you might have been rendered speechless. She was, by every definition of the word, beautiful. She had curves in all the right places that would put models to shame, and to match it a smile brighter than the sun itself. You found yourself flushed with an embarrassing level of envy at the pure sensuality radiating from her. Gauging from the looks of the men at the surrounding desks suddenly sitting straighter to preen themselves with rosy cheeks, you knew you weren’t the only one who thought so. 

     Another figure rounded the corner in a flash, seemingly instantly flashing into the conversation.

     “Kanjori, I love the enthusiasm! However, after the last incident, we were told to take a more subtle-”

      The voice trailed off, coming to a faltered stop as your eyes met those of the man it belonged to. 

      Towering over you was suddenly one of the most handsome men you had ever seen. If you thought Kocho’s eyes had been a shock, meeting your inspection were eyes of pure ruby and gold, more mesmerizing than a summer sunset. Amazingly enough, his golden hair had warm tips of crimson that appeared shockingly natural. His gaze was frozen, taking you in with a sense of curiosity that made heat rush to your face. 

      It was almost as if the very essence of his being was ablaze.  

[triplesilverstar]

The best desserts are savored slowly

The best desserts are savored slowly

Rating: 18+ Minors DNI 

Pairing: Knives X F!Reader

CW: Dom/Sub undertones, office sex, phone calls, slight voyeurism 

Word count: Roughly 1.8K

A/N: Chapter seventeen of the series, A Date Night with Nai that doesn't end as you expected. Or does it?

Giggling over the rim of your martini glass, while Nai rolled his eyes at you tapping the napkin to the edge of his lips. “Enjoy your laughter Pet, it may be your last of the evening.” 

“Oh, come on Mr. Saverem, you have to admit it’s not often the waiters hit on you.” It had been funny to hear the waiter when Nai had declined dessert to utter that he could think of a better dessert for the handsome businessman. 

“Perhaps I would have considered his offer, if I was so inclined.” His tone is clearly one of disbelief. “Now Pet what sh-” Interrupted by the sound of his phone ringing, nodding at you in apology before grabbing the device. 

One thing that had changed as your relationship developed was Nai taking business phone calls with you nearby. Kissing your fingers once while you had been snuggled against his broad form on his couch “I trust you to keep my secrets Pet.” 

Finishing your drink you watch the briefest tick of the vein in his forehead, he’s pissed off with something. Teal eyes going across your form as he ends the call. “It appears I am required in my office. A mistake was made in coordinating timings and I have a business phone call.” 

“It’s alright Nai. These things happen.” You shrug, certain it won’t be the last of your dates to be interrupted. 

While you smile in understanding at him, something flashes across his face, before he sends you a bone chilling grin. “I wonder, Pet. Would you like to accompany me?” His tone is seductive and it sends a signal from your brain straight to your core, lighting a fire in your belly. 

“Of course Nai.” Happy to accept his hand as he leaves more than enough to cover your bill on the table. 

It’s a short car ride back to his office, watching the lights of the city sparkle in the night as you ride in the elevator. While the world becomes smaller, Nai is right behind you one of his warm palms kneading the flesh of your inner thigh under your skirt to touch the bare skin. 

His breath warm against your neck, his head tilted forward to mouth at the soft kiss he knows is there and you feel a very distinct hardness pressing against your backside. 

You might have an idea what he has planned for the two of you once he gets to his office, his mouth and hand pulling away from your skin as you near the top of the elevator shaft. Standing to his full height, as while he only expects Legato to be waiting outside of his office it wouldn’t do for any of the other staff members to see him all over you. Not because he would be worried about being seen with you, more he doesn’t want anyone in his damn personal business. 

As the musical chime of the elevator door’s opening ring in the small metal room, you follow Nai once more heels clicking on the polished marble tiles as the blue haired bastard known as Legato appears behind the secretary desk. 

He’s been waiting for Nai without a doubt.

“Good evening Master. Again I apologize for the inconvenience of this, I will ensure the staff are made aware to coordinate that the timings are for your convenience not our overseas partners.” Legato gives the smallest of bows to Nai, voice carrying his usual lilt of disinterest. At least until his gaze lands on you, and your joined hands. 

“Shall I provide entertainment for your little Pet while you’re otherwise engaged Master?” A thinly veiled sneer of displeasure on his face even if his tone remains the same. One you return as his eyes flash with hatred in those burning golden eyes. 

“That shall not be required Legato. She’s going to accompany me.” Brushing past his chief of staff as if he means nothing and pushing open the large wooden doors of his office. You know Nai cares for the man far more than he lets on, but as of late he’s been letting his own displeasure towards the blue haired man’s attitude when it came to your person known. 

A quick step has you right behind the broad blond man. Something about Nai’s office always makes you feel small, well aware it’s designed to have that effect on anyone who enters your gruff lover's domain. Designed so that the desk he resides behind is framed by the large glass panels, a small sitting area off to the side of the room as well as a conference table. 

Both areas are just far enough from the door that Nai would be able to watch like a predator from his desk. The king of his kingdom reigning over it as he so decides, and while you aren’t as far into the underbelly as he is, you do know his business is growing at a steady rate. Enough that he’s no longer considered a small fish in a large pond. 

Sure steps, and Nai is behind his desk and sitting in his office chair leaving you standing while he sets up his work space as he needs for the meeting before setting his sights on you. A lick of his lips and a hand though his normally slicked back hair resulting in some of the tufts breaking away from the hardened mass. 

“Now Pet. I’m going to require you to be silent for this meeting, so will I need to have your lips wrapped around my cock? Or can you find another way to remain silent so you can keep me nice and warm another way?” A little surprised Nai is leaving the choice up to you, a nagging suspicion that whichever one you don’t take you’ll still end up doing tonight. 

“I think” you tease, biting into your plush lower lip and letting a dainty hand reach for his belt buckle and beginning to undo it “I would like to warm that nice cock of yours up if that’s ok? I can be quiet since you asked me so nicely.” Keeping your own voice seductive while Nai grins in response, lifting his butt just enough to help you work his pants and boxers down enough for his throbbing cock to spring free. 

A quick snap of his wrist and Nai has your jaw grasped in his hand, forcing you to open your mouth so he can kiss you his tongue exploring your mouth at his leisure keeping the pressure there so you remember who’s in control. 

When his hand releases you, the lingering warmth from his fingers radiates along your skin, almost breathless. “Now. I do require you to be silent, Pet, this call will be on speaker phone.” A second softer kiss to the corner of your mouth before leaning back in his office chair and patting his thighs. Helping you get into position so you’re straddling him chest to chest, the fabric of your underwear pushed to the side so Nai’s cock can slide into your slick pussy. 

One thing you’ve noticed since dating him, you don’t need a lot of prep anymore when it comes to even the thought of having Nai inside your core. With your legs hanging through the gap under the arm rests and your chin resting on his shoulder enjoying the feeling as he fills you. Another brief kiss pressed into your hair and one of his palms on your lower back. 

“Silent safe signals.” A long exhale as your body tightens ever so slightly. You should have expected that, to Nai, everything is a game of some kind. As he starts his teleconference you don’t miss the subtle twitching of his hips under yours, the smallest of movements as his cock shifts just enough inside of your walls to elicit a response from your muscles. 

Most of the call is more of the same, while Nai is actively participating in his phone conversation you focus on breathing while using some kegel exercises to keep his cock nice and hard inside of you. On occasion Nai would lift your hips before dropping you, or pressing his warm palm to your lower back to get you to roll your hips more against his making him throb inside of you. 

Focusing on filling your lungs slowly before exhaling again, feeling the expansion of your chest pressing against the hard muscular chest of your lover, hidden beneath the fabric of his shirt and suit jacket. 

At what you can only assume is near the end of the call, things change as Nai places one of his hands between your bodies, placing his thumb on your clit and starting to rub feather light circles against the nerve cluster. 

You respond almost instantly as it makes your core clench, immediately shoving your hand into your mouth and sinking your teeth into the base of your thumb to try and stifle the moan that almost slipped from you. 

From the corner of your eye you watch the lazy grin that spreads across Nai’s face, the speed and pressure of his thumb slowly building. Your own reaction instantaneous, hips jerking to seek more friction, inner walls clamping and unclamping around him. 

Shutting your eyes as Nai presses harder, faster, and you know what he’s trying to do, to try and make you cry out so you’ll break his little rule. Instead you bite harder on your thumb, certain there’s an indent of your teeth into your flesh, tears forming on your closed eyes. 

“If that concludes our meeting, I bid you a goodnight. My chief of staff will handle the formal contract in the coming days.” Hearing the call disconnect you finally crack your eyes open once more, still doing your best to remain silent since you don’t have permission to make a noise yet. 

“You’ve done well tonight, Pet. Do you think you deserve a reward?” You keep silent even as Nai removes your hand from between your teeth, while you didn’t break your skin the area is red and tender. “Good girl, games over.” A press of his dry lips to the area and the pressure against your clit relents for a while. 

Tilting your head so your forehead is pressed against the warm skin of his neck, you empty your lungs before answering. “I think I do, you started playing dirty at the end.” Snickering lightly while Nai keeps a gentle hold of your hand. 

“Then shall we have you cum on my cock before we depart” Grabbing the back of your neck and smashing his lips to yours, tongue plundering your mouth while the hand at your sex starts to dance along your sensitive skin once more. It doesn’t take long, the rough pad of his thumb working your quickly since you had been hovering at that edge for a while. 

Pulling your mouth away as you cum while sitting on his lap, head thrown back as you scream his name, walls fluttering around his cock while Kni watches you with a grin as you come undone for him. 

A sight he’ll never get tired of, as you slump forward after your high panting softly in his ear. Resting his hand on your lower back, you’re his, and he’s not going to let you go.

Ever. 

Back to masterlist

[feverinfeveroutfic]

Tijuana sunrise | kinktober 2024 | day xxvi.: “devil’s tea time”

pairing: chuck billy x alex skolnick x oc

prompt: threesome

word count: 3920

song: “keeps gettin’ better” by christina aguilera

It had been a while since I had seen my two boys, and at that point, another fire had sparked up in the hills behind Lake Tahoe. A small fire, but I could still see the smoke plume off in the distance whenever I looked out the back window. Freddie stayed next to me with his big purr and his tail stretched up behind him with the little hook at the end, as if he was there to comfort me. Belle curled up next to me on the couch with her tail tucked under her chin; I treated her to more scratches behind her ears as a result. We knew the feeling, and she did as well.

Just the three of us on call lest we be evacuated again.

But I was in need of something. I was in need of a bit of comfort.

Chuck and Alex had gone back to the safety of the Bay Area, but I needed to see them again. I had no idea if we could have another go at the waters below, especially with the leaves on the trees beginning to change color: I had been a polar bear a couple of times, but I had no idea about them, though.

On the third day of the fire, and the smoke seemed to be picking up the pace in a thick veil over the hillsides behind my house, I finally picked up the phone and dialed Alex’s number first. I leaned back on the couch with Freddie and Belle on either side of me, as if they knew that I was calling him. As the phone rang, I couldn’t help but chuckle to myself at how these two animals loved Alex, how they warmed up to him so quickly and how he was more than happy to give them all the attention they craved.

After four rings, I caught his machine as well as the sound of his full, tender voice. I smiled to myself at the sound of his voice, but I decided to hang up and give Chuck a call before I could even so much as leave a message.

That time, the phone rang once.

“Hello?”

“Hi. It’s Portia.”

“Oh, hi! I was just thinking about you. What’s happening?”

“It’s funny because I was thinking about you and Alex just now,” I confessed. “Freddie and Belle miss you guys, too.”

“Aw. Well, Alex and I have band practice today and tomorrow, and I also work a part-time job. But I think we can meet up again before it gets too cold. How does Friday sound?”

“Friday sounds wonderful,” I assured him; Freddie put his front paws down atop my thigh and I petted his head with two fingers in response. He pinched his eyes shut and purred at me. “Freddie agrees, too.”

“I would hope that he does,” he said with a bit of laughter. “So, I’ll call him once I get off with you and tell him and then we can go from there.”

“Sounds like a plan,” I said.

And after we hung up with each other, I kept my eye on the cordless phone as it rested in my lap. I closed my eyes and thought about our last rendezvous together out there in the waters. It was going to be too cool come Friday, but that didn’t mean we couldn’t be able to wash the pain away.

Indeed, Friday morning came about with some low-hanging fog in junction with the haze from the fire nearby, and I had whipped up a big pot of coffee and contemplated making cinnamon rolls for them when Chuck pulled up to the curb outside of my house, that time on a motorcycle instead of his truck. Belle stood at the bay window of my kitchen with her paws up on the window sill, and she wagged her tail at the sight of him. She growled and barked at a low level, but I was quick to open the front door to greet him.

He had on a snug black leather jacket and he kept his long, molasses-colored hair tied back in a snug ponytail behind his head to protect it from the winds on the way up. His eyes seemed to twinkle in the hazy morning sunlight.

“Hey, stranger,” I greeted him, and Belle skirted up behind me with her tail furiously wagging.

“Mr. Skolnick should be here soon,” he informed me, and then he put his arms around me and planted a kiss on my forehead. He then sniffed the air behind me. “Damn, what smells so good?”

“Cinnamon rolls and a pot of coffee,” I replied. “Come on in, babe.”

He followed me in, all with Belle wagging her tail at him and putting her paws on his lower legs. He scooped her up and held her close to his chest, and she returned the favor with licks on his face. He pushed the door closed behind him with his stout leather boot, and then he followed me into the kitchen. Freddie trotted into the room with his tail erect, complete with the little hook at the top; though Chuck had his hands full, he nudged Belle over to the other side of his chest so he could reach down and scratch his ears and the center of his back.

Meanwhile, I took a clean mug out from the cupboard and poured him some fresh black coffee.

“I like mine black,” he decreed; I nodded at that, and then carefully, I sliced a cinnamon roll out from the pan, fresh and warm and covered in that milky creamy white frosting on top. I returned to him with my hands full, whereby I set both the plate and the mug down before him.

“Okay, you two, I have to eat—” Gently, Chuck set Belle back down on the floor, and then his face lit up at the sight of the cinnamon roll right before him. I poured myself a cup of coffee with a bit of cream, and then I took my spot right next to him at the kitchen table.

“I need a thrill,” I confessed to him.

“What kind of a thrill?” Chuck took a bite of cinnamon roll and then he ran his fingers through his coarse black curls. The hazy afternoon sun made his luminous eyes sparkle, much like the waters down by the shoreline.

“Like when the three of us were down by the water,” I recalled. “All of that.”

“Mmm, I still think about that day,” he confessed to me as he took another bite of cinnamon roll. “This is delicious, by the way.”

“Thank you—all homemade!”

“I know Alex thinks of that day, too,” he continued, “like on the ride home, he was just completely beside himself as to how much he loved it. When I told him that you had called me, he just about hit the roof. He’s ready for something.”

“Quite the excitable boy, now,” I declared with a chuckle. I sipped on my coffee, and I could feel some soft cat fur against my legs right then. I reached down to pet Freddie when a car engine rolled up to the curb right outside of the house.

“There’s our excitable boy now!” Chuck declared as he took another sip of his coffee.

Alex breezed up to the front door, with his long black curls nicely brushed and slightly damp as if he had showered before coming, and his body wrapped in a little black leather jacket. The small plume of gray hair at the crown of his head seemed to shimmer as if made of pure silver. Belle ran up to him with her tail furiously wagging at him, and he greeted her with his hands stretched out before him for her to sniff.

He crouched down before her and scratched her ears and the fluffy tufts of curly fur on the crown of her head. Freddie stroked up behind him with his tail erect once again. He petted Belle with one hand and Freddie with the other, the latter of whom purred the loudest purr I had ever heard him do before. I walked on over to the counter to fetch him a roll and a cup of coffee when Belle swatted one paw at him.

“I’m petting you, I’m petting you,” he assured her in a gentle voice, and Chuck laughed out loud at that.

“How do you like your coffee, Alex?” I asked him, and I couldn’t help but smile at him doing double duties with my animals.

“A little bit of cream, not too much,” he replied as Belle swatted at him again. I poured him some coffee as well as a little bit of cream, and then I served up a plate of cinnamon roll for him.

“I have breakfast waiting for me,” I heard him tell Belle, and he stood to his feet over her as well as Freddie, who was still purring loud enough for it echo over the kitchen floor. He ran his fingers through his hair, and he padded over to the kitchen table. Freddie followed him over to the table, still with his tail erect with a little hook at the end. I handed Alex the plate of cinnamon roll with a fork, and then I doubled back for his cup of coffee. He let Freddie bring his little nose to the tip of his finger before he dug into the roll, still hot and aromatic with the cinnamon.

“These are delicious, dude,” Chuck told him, and Alex took a bite for himself.

“Yeah, they are,” he said with his mouth full. I sat back down and sipped on my coffee; Belle rounded the table to greet me and I happily petted her head and soft ears.

“Excitable girl,” Chuck remarked with a gesture to her as she took her spot next to me. He then gestured back to Alex, who looked as though he was making love to that cinnamon roll. “Excitable boy, excitable girl.”

“Speaking of excitability…” Alex began again, and that time, he set down his fork and unzipped his jacket. He let it drape over the back of his chair, and then he ran his fingers through his hair again. “…this might seem stupid. In fact, a big part of me feels really stupid for suggesting this in the first place. I just think of when we were down by the water and how amazing that was between the three of us. What I have in mind, sort of as a follow-up to that, I feel pales in comparison.”

“What is it?” I asked him as I held my coffee mug up to my lips, and Belle bowed her head before me as I stroked the back of her head. Alex leaned back in the chair with his arms extended out before him. His fingers fanned out as far as they could go over the surface of the table. He closed his eyes and bowed his head ever so slightly. Chuck and I leaned in closer to him as if he had been harboring a huge secret from us. He was harboring something from us.

“Alex?” I asked him. “What do you have in mind?”

“Ménage à trois,” he blurted out.

“Really?” Chuck asked him, taken aback. Alex shook his head.

“I know. It pales in comparison.” He opened his eyes and gazed on at me with his head still bowed a bit. But I shook my head at that.

“I don’t think it does,” I assured him. “If anything, I’m kind of aroused by that idea. I’m at the center of a trio, nestled up between two really gorgeous guys.”

“Yeah, I am, too,” Chuck said with a sly smile. “Especially now when Portia phrases it like that.” Alex lifted his head more.

“Really?”

“Yeah, let’s do it,” I quipped. “Just let me finish my coffee first and then we can have a go at it.”

“I have to finish my coffee, too,” Alex retorted back with a quick flash of his dark eyebrows at me. Chuck meanwhile leaned back in his chair and reached down to pet Freddie, who had strolled on over to him. Indeed, as I kept on at it with my own cup of coffee, I could feel the tension between us.

And I could feel the tension even more so as I finished first and walked on into the living room. I dropped my pants and draped them over the back of my recliner chair. When I stood upright and smoothed down my sweatshirt with both hands, some long fingers drummed on the back of my ass. I peered over my shoulder to find Alex behind me, who had already taken off his shirt and let it rest around the back of his neck. I smiled at the sight of his body, at the fine line of hair in the middle of his chest and the way that the line stretched all the way down to the button of his jeans.

“Bit of foreplay?” I asked him.

“Would you like a little bit of foreplay?” He almost fluttered his eyelashes at me.

“Please. More touches on my ass, please.”

I skirted around the recliner to the middle of the floor, and he stroked up behind me. He squeezed my ass with both hands, to which my back arched. I peered over my shoulder and showed him a playful little smile.

“Use your fingers, baby,” I told him. He slithered his fingers into the inside of my panties, down around near my lips as if to start fingering me.

“You should take them off, Alex,” Chuck suggested.

“He takes them off when I say so,” I scoffed. Indeed, Alex kept on fingering my lips from behind, which only made my back arch more. I pressed my head against his chest.

My heart pounded. Butterflies swirled about in my stomach. He moved his fingers further up my lips towards my clit, and I could feel my tongue slithering out from the feeling.

I could feel him growing firmer: his dick was rising up against my ass. Thus, my cue.

I stooped forward and fell to my hands and knees. He tugged down my panties all the while, much to his amusement. I lifted my head to see Chuck’s long sinewy legs right before me.

“Doin’ it doggy style—” Alex grunted out. “I don’t have any protection so let’s do it like this.”

There was a brief pause. Then the tip of his dick rubbed against my bare ass.

“Okay, so what do you think I should do?” Chuck then asked me.

“Well, c’mere. You taste like coffee and cinnamon—I need the taste of you against my own tongue.” He cracked me a smile and unbuttoned his pants for me. His zipper caught a little bit, and thus, he shoved his pants as is, down his legs to his feet. He crouched a bit so I could reach his dick, which was already growing wet from the feeling.

Putting my lips around him was like putting my lips around a thick cucumber. Then there was Alex, driving his own burgeoning erection clean up my ass.

I scraped my teeth against Chuck’s tightening skin, which made him gasp. He gasped and then followed it up with a loud laugh.

“What’s she doing?” Alex grunted out, already out of breath.

“Putting her teeth on it!” Chuck nearly lost his balance, and he steadied himself on my shoulders. My heart was pounding but I had these two boys in the palm of my hand like melted chocolate.

Alex ground against my ass, but Chuck came quickly, to which I could feel something pearly on my tongue. He took his dick out of my mouth, and I coughed and cleared my throat. I looked up at him and the flustered look on his face.

“What’s the matter?” I asked him.

“I came too quickly,” he sputtered.

“Well, here—I can fix that,” I assured him, and I climbed up to join him.

“Well, don’t just leave me here!” Alex exclaimed.

“Hang on, excitable boy—I’ll get back to you,” I vowed to him and the fact he was literally holding his dick in his hands. I then rounded Chuck’s body. “Okay, come here, you—” I put my arms around his waist, and I put my hands down the front of his body to feel him. I looked around him to see Alex raising his eyebrows at us.

I put my fingers around that thick length, and I stuck a finger up inside the hole at the tip. I held it there for a moment, but it was useless: he writhed and pushed back against me.

“God—god!”

“Hold still, hold still—” I insisted, and I kept putting my finger in there. It was still useless. He held onto his dick and jerked it away from me.

I staggered forward and lost my balance. I fell to the floor with Alex right underneath me. Chuck burst out laughing as he fell back the other way, towards the foot of the recliner. I opened my eyes and kept my hand on Alex’s chest.

“Oh, dear,” I muttered.

“Oh, hello,” Alex said, and he cracked me a smile. I ran my hand down his warm bare chest; my fingers caressed over the fine hair right in the middle of his chest, and I scratched him there a bit as if I was scratching behind Belle or Freddie’s ears.

“I’ll give you like… fifteen years to stop that,” he told me. “That feels really good.”

“I’m jealous,” Chuck confessed. “Alex can’t come but I get my ass slapped even a little bit and I’m frosting a cake.”

I buried my face into Alex’s chest, and he and I couldn’t help but laugh. I then lifted my head and glanced back at Chuck right as he inched over towards us and the other side of the couch.

It was then I had an idea. I lifted myself off Alex’s body and nearly fell backwards onto the floor before them, complete with my legs wide open.

“Hand me that pillow,” I commanded. Chuck handed me the pillow from the left side of the couch, and with one hand, I stuck it between my legs, right up against my hood. Gently, I rubbed the edge of the pillow against my already stimulated skin. I opened my lips and closed my eyes. It tickled me so much that I could feel my nipples poking out from under the cups of my bra.

“Oh, fuck,” Chuck breathed out.

“Oh, fuck me,” Alex followed up, and I opened my eyes in time to see him falling down onto his knees before me. I kept the pillow tucked between my legs as I sank to my knees in front of him.

“Get it, Alex!” Chuck cheered him on. But I licked my lips and held back to tease him. Alex fell to his hands and knees right in front of me, the dirty boy he was.

He lunged for me with one hand out before him. I glanced up at Chuck, who then winked at me. I didn’t say anything as he lunged for Alex’s bare ass, and he shoved his thick dick right square up the boy’s ass. Alex’s back arched, and he pinched his eyes shut, and he let out a low groan from the feeling. I kept the pillow nestled between my legs as I sat down all the way before him. I took off my bra and showed him my nipples, fully erected and pointed like little needles.

“Come here for some tea,” I whispered to him. I thought he was going to put his face in between my breasts, but he instead brought his lips to my left nipple, followed by my right, and then he put his face down in between my thighs. Even with the pillow there under my hood, he still put his face between my legs. He still put his face into my clit while Chuck had his fat one up his ass.

I once again couldn’t help but laugh, but that time I was laughing from the euphoria, from the fact that I was in the thick of all of this. I laughed, and Alex was making me come even harder than I did when I was right in between the two of them.

That velvet tongue up inside of my hood and around the head of my clit. He peeked up through his bangs at me. Those steely blue eyes, as blue as the Tahoe waters, as blue as the kiss of water to cradle me away from the inferno that threatened my house.

My back arched as his tongue lapped up within me. His back arched again as Chuck rode in slow, deep, and hard inside of his ass.

I came a whopping fifth time, and I fell down onto my side. Alex coughed, and then he let out a low moan as he was about to come again. Chuck barred his teeth as he ground down even harder onto him.

Alex’s elbows buckled, and he face planted right onto the rug.

Chuck leaned over his back with his dick still shoved up into Alex’s ass.

Belle scurried into the room right then, complete with some licks on Alex’s nose and lips. He pinched his eyes shut while she wagged her tail at him.

And I once again couldn’t help but laugh.

“Can I get a napkin?” Chuck then asked me, and I could see that he came all over Alex’s bare ass and the back of his thigh.

“A napkin and maybe some more cinnamon rolls,” Alex added, and he chuckled as well, but that time from Belle’s soft velvet tongue on his face.

“Cinnamon rolls and I think there are some comfy pillows for you and me, Alex,” I added. But before I could even so much as hobble into the kitchen, I reached over to Chuck’s dick for another groping. Alex peered back at me and the fact that Chuck was taken off guard, and he joined me in holding his thick shaft. Chuck held still and he put his hands behind his head.

“Now this is a ménage,” Alex assured me. “Nice and slow. No questions asked.”

“A ménage and a bit of cream included,” I said, and I ran my fingers up Chuck’s stomach. Alex meanwhile ran his fingers down his shaft. Chuck closed his eyes and relaxed before us. He seemed to be calming down and moving back into his body. Much like me with the fear of the fire, he just needed some coaxing. A few gentle strokes on his skin and he could calm things down, just like with me and the water. A little gentle submerging and I could overcome what ailed me.

Belle then growled at us, albeit a playful growl, as if she wanted the attention instead. I glanced back at her and the way that she tapped her tail against the carpet and the way she had a twinkle in her eye.

“She’s jealous,” Chuck told us.

“She wants more of me, too,” Alex added with a little smirk.

“And I was going to get us some rolls and pillows,” I said, and I let go of Chuck and briefly scratched Belle’s little ears before Alex took over for me.

[revolversandlace]

Blemished Silk | Chapter Twenty-Seven - Give me Closure

Chapter Index

Arthur Morgan x f!OC Longfic

Mature Rating - 10.2k Words

Chapter Tags & Warnings: f!OC POV, Strong Language, References of Child Abuse, Period Typical Sexism,  Explicit Smut

Summary: Amelia finds herself in conflict with Cornwell’s men, and after discovering her Uncle Josiah has been attacked, she finds herself turning to Arthur for comfort. 

Saint Denis, June 1899 

The coach rattled across the Lemoyne countryside, the small crack of the window making little difference as the thick summer air wrapped around them like a snake. 

However, regardless of the sweat that Amelia felt trickling between her skin and corset, she simply couldn’t stop herself from smirking. 

Of course, she attempted to put out the thought of Arthur from her mind, a niggle of guilt sitting close with her. She saw a man shot to death, not a stone's throw away from her as her staff fought their lives. Yet even so, she had still found a way to enjoy herself without a second thought as everyone else in the house no doubt tossed and turned, startled by every creak.

But her night was soundless, with nothing more than Arthur’s heavy breathing as his hand covered her waist. 

‘You seem in awfully high spirits, ma’am,’ Mr Jameson said, his face as neutral as ever. 

The guilt stirred once again, but Arthur aside, she was still in a good mood. There was a fire in her stomach, a rush of excitement that filled her blood.

‘I have a good feeling about today,’ Amelia smiled. 

‘What is our agenda for today?’ Mr Jameson said.

Amelia smiled, the thought of Cornwall grimacing at her audacity. The outrage he would poorly conceal at a woman matching him with just as much business acumen as he believed he held. 

‘No doubt there will be further discussion about selling the assets or signing them over to Mr Cornwall under a thinly veiled threat. But we will stand firm.’ Amelia said. 

‘Forgive me, ma’am, but that hasn’t seemed to work.’ Mr Jameson said. 

‘I’m aware. I have a plan to make a compromise with him, but not one that will mean that I give him an inch of ground.’ Amelia smiled, turning to her advisor. ‘Between that and sending both you and Talako to West Elizabeth soon, I’m certain that things will finally start to look up again.’

‘I trust you ma’am.’ Mr Jameson said.

‘Thank you, Mr Jameson, that means a lot.’ Amelia said with a small nod as the carriage rattled across the wooden bridge that led into Saint Denis, the sound of wheels changing to a heavy, rhythmic echo. 

‘We could certainly do with a good turn of fortune.’ Mr Jameson said.

As the carriage pulled to a halt outside of the limestone hotel, Amelia paid the driver as her shoes clipped across the pebbled road. Greeted by the doormen, they made their way through the grand entrance way with marbled floors, crystal chandeliers and palm ferns at every corner. 

After speaking with the clerk, who promptly led them to their table at the hotel bar, Amelia saw two gentlemen already seated. Both of which she recognised, but neither was Mr Cornwall. 

‘Why hello again, miss,’ Mr Cooper said. ‘I believe you have already met with Mr Hornbrook.’ 

Amelia studied their faces, the cold and cruel grimace already playing on Mr Cooper’s face as she could feel her own mouth pressing into a taut line. Mr Hornbrook, however, had a softer demeanour. She had never particularly disliked the man, and even felt a twinge of sympathy that he chose a line of work with a man such as Leviticus Cornwall. 

‘Gentleman. This is my advisor, Mr Jameson. Where is Mr Cornwall?’ Amelia said, clutching her hands around the band of her purse. So far, this was turning out to be a rather disappointing meeting indeed. 

‘He was unable to make it. He had an important business meeting.’ Mr Cooper said.

Stifling back a laugh, Amelia took a deep breath in an attempt to hide her annoyance, or any sign for that matter, that she was disgruntled. Mr Cooper was not a man that she wanted to give the upper hand to in any situation. Both she and Mr Jameson took to the settee opposite the men. 

We will do this the hard way then, Mr Cooper, she thought.

‘Of course he did. Very well, if he doesn’t deem this as important, then this shouldn’t take too long.’ Amelia said. 

‘Our proposal remains the same, Miss Edwards.’ Mr Hornbrook said ‘However, given the recent boom in the northern Great Lakes, Mr Cornwall has reviewed his offer.’

Amelia eyed him curiously but before she could say anything, one of the waitstaff approached them, taking their drinks order as they all waited patiently for the young man to excuse himself. 

‘He can review it all he wishes, gentleman. I am not selling.’ Amelia said, holding her shoulders back and her chin high, the way Uncle had always taught her. 

‘I know it’s difficult for a… woman, such as yourself, to keep an open mind,’ Mr Cooper said, ‘but I’d suggest you read the offer.’ He almost spat the word ‘woman,’ like that in itself was a derogatory term. Amelia supposed it was on purpose, an act to intimidate her as usual. She felt her pulse quicken as it had previously been around Mr Cooper. He was certainly not a man whose company she enjoyed by any means. 

She pushed the thought of their last encounter from her mind. Reminding herself that thoughts of her father would do her no good, at least of all now. She was her own woman, and a damn fine one at that. Her pride would not allow her to be spited. 

As Mr Hornbrook took a folded note from his leather-bound pad, he slid it across the table towards her. She eyed it ruefully, picking it up and unfolded the paper. 

‘One million dollars?’ Amelia said, unable to keep her voice from faltering. She felt weak, unsure how this was anything other than a parlour trick. 

It was a tempting sum of money, too tempting perhaps. 

‘I’m sure you’re aware of the situation with longleaf pine.’ Mr Hornbrook said, his round glasses slightly slipping down the bridge of his nose, ‘price has quadrupled in the past three months alone, as with the expansion across the southern western territories, it’s in extreme supply especially in demand with the more lucrative properties.’ 

He was a distant man, but not cold. Just the sort that Amelia supposed would rather be left alone with his numbers and ledgers than to spend time with his family. 

‘As generous as this offer is, I will not concede.’ She said in response, and the waitstaff returned, setting their drinks out before them. ‘What I can assure Mr Cornwall is, however, is that my northern production will not expand in any areas that he is already operating in to ensure that no competition is being driven so he can continue to exploit the markets there.’ 

She could see them exchange a look, but not one that she could read. Mr Cooper took out a fat cigar from the inside of his jacket and ran his thumb across his lips with a smirk. An expression she had seen before and one that was slowly becoming a tell. 

‘We have a counterproposal.’ Mr Hornbrook said after a moment as they all took a sip from their glasses. 

‘You certainly are in the mood for negotiating.’ Amelia said with a tight smile, her head also growing near tight, her concentration briefly faltering in the summer heat. 

‘In the event that you do not wish to sell, Mr Cornwall proposes a syndicate for both the lumber and wool.’ Mr Hornbrook said, closing the leather-bound book, resting it on his knee. 

‘Is this some sort of joke, gentleman?’ Amelia said, her eyebrows pulling together, her face utterly readable, and she could feel the tension emanating from Mr Jameson at her side.

‘Not at all.’ Mr Hornbrook said, ‘In the event that you do not wish to sell, Mr Cornwall has suggested you sign him as an official partner. He will take over the operations under Cornwall Industries and you will retain some of the profits which will allow you to focus on other endeavours.’ 

She felt as though someone was sitting on her chest. Her thoughts raced, unsure as to whether this was a good thing or not. Surely it showed that Mr Cornwall was becoming desperate with the endless rebuttals. But she sensed it was a trap, somehow. Would he simply dissolve her company and leave her destitute? She thought it lucky and if she knew anything about the countless lawyers he had on retainer, any contract she signed with him could not possibly lead to anything good. 

‘And what endeavours would those be?’ Amelia said, unsure exactly what her next move was. She needed time.

‘A woman of your age. Probably best you find a husband, if you can. Start a family as you’re intended to do.’ Mr Cooper said, his ashy blonde eyebrows arching in amusement. 

‘If I had any interest in either marriage or children, I would have done exactly that and would still continue to run my business.’ Amelia said, although her voice sounded distant to her own ears. Why couldn’t she think of her way out of this? A syndicate? But why?

‘You sure about that, miss?’ Mr Cooper said.

Amelia ignored him, taking another sip of her brandy. 

‘Even if I did wish to form a syndicate with Mr Cornwall, or anyone else for that matter, creating a bottleneck in the market through a monopoly would make no sense. Our prices are dictated by the consumer and without competition, the product would become so inflated due to greed that the business would simply collapse. Whatever profits I would “retain” would not be for long, of that I assure you. In fact, if the index is correct, that is exactly what is happening to Mr Cornwall’s oil.’ Amelia said. It was a textbook speech, and she knew it. But she didn’t have time for the nuances of east coast business. 

‘Your tenacity will not serve you well, miss.’ Mr Cooper said.

‘And why is that, Mr Cooper, because it seems that my tenacity is exactly what has made me the only successful self-made businesswoman in the south.’ Amelia said, her patience running thin as she desperately wanted a moment of silence to just think. It’s not just about the business anymore.

She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but her gut whispered to her. Something was behind their words, something they knew beyond the negotiations. They had made it all too easy for her. One million dollars, or team up with Cornwall? Something wasn’t right at all. 

‘Tenacity does not keep you alive, Miss,’ Mr Cooper said.

‘Sir, mind your tone,’ Mr Jameson said.

‘I have had quite enough of this nonsense both here and on my estate.’ Amelia said. ‘And I assure you, gentlemen, if you continue to partake in this manner of discussions or any other actions against my estate, you will be met with force time and time again.’ 

She met Mr Cooper’s gaze, a look which he held full malice in. A challenge and a dare for her to carry on. 

Amelia had heard of wild beasts in the British Raj, a giant cat with orange fur and black stripes. She would hear the men from her childhood speak of hunting them and turning them into rugs, as they were the greatest conquest on earth. Bigger than lions, a solitary creature that would hide in jungles and rip villages apart once the cover of darkness had fallen. At that moment, she knew who the tiger was in the opulent hotel, and it certainly wasn’t her. 

‘Mr Cornwall has an associate,’ Mr Cooper said, his eyes glistening with the promise of a kill. ‘I believe you may know of him, a Mr Fairfax. Need I remind you again of your situation as a spinster, you are legally still the property of Mr Fairfax.’  

She could feel the heat from Mr Jameson, but was thankful that his diligence kept him from looking at her. Another series of questions she would no doubt have to answer. She felt sick as her stomach turned inside of her, giving her that awful feeling that she was falling. Although she was grateful, she was able to hold her composure a lot better than the last time her father’s name was brought up. 

There was a small part of her that even expected Mr Cooper to play this card, if she was being quite honest. 

‘I am no such thing, sir. Mr Fairfax, whomever he may be, is sorely mistaken in who he believes me to be.’ Amelia said, her voice a hell of a lot calmer than what she truly felt. ‘This is America, and my guardianship, if you wish to speak in legal matters, is with that of Mr Trelawny.’ 

‘Ah, yes, Mr Trelawny. I believe he has had a meeting today with some friends of a Mr Stoudemire.’ Mr Cooper said. 

Amelia stood slowly, standing over the men with a gaze she felt was so scathing it could melt metal. Amelia had tolerance for many matters, but she would not be manipulated through her kinship with Josiah. 

‘Your threats once again remain empty and uninteresting.’ She said, a fire burning in the pit of her stomach, ‘my business will continue to operate. I am not a woman to be bought with either money or intimidation. Mr Cooper, if I see you at my residence again, I will consider it an act of trespassing. Please tell Mr Cornwall that perhaps he should look at a map more often, for there is plenty of room in America and plenty of trees. Mr Jameson, shall we?’ 

She waited for no retort and no good days. Although Mr Hornbrook scrambled to his feet as she left, Mr Cooper remained seated, and she felt his eyes on the back of her every step of the way. 

‘Ma’am, I do not like that gentleman or his tone,’ Mr Jameson said, as they walked up the pavement towards a stationed carriage waiting for their next patron. 

‘No, neither do I. I will admit that I am concerned, though. We need to get back to the estate immediately and find Uncle.’ Amelia said, a slight shake in her voice. 

If what Mr Cooper said was true, and she had no reason to believe he was lying about this - or anything else for that matter - she feared the situation she would find her uncle in. 

‘What did those men mean, ma’am. Seems I’m missing some details.’ Mr Jameson said.

‘You are, Mr Jameson.’ Amelia sighed. ‘I fear that my life before coming to America is catching up with me.’ She felt cold, far colder than she should have felt for the middle of June in Saint Denis. 

‘Ma’am?’ Mr Jameson said.

‘I will tell you, in good time. Just… one problem at a time.’ Amelia said, as he guided her into the carriage.

Taking a deep breath, Amelia scrunched her hands together in her lap, looking up at the leather ceiling. 

‘Perhaps we need to look into more guards.’ Mr Jameson said, his bushy silver eyebrows folded together in concern. It had been a trying few months for them all and she knew that Mr Jameson was the sort to take on those burdens with a particularly personal responsibility. It was admirable really, if not another thing to be added to her list of worries. 

‘I am confident in our security, Mr Jameson.’ Amelia said, trying to find some composure. Some answer in her own mind, but there was nothing. She felt that her head had been taken over by wasps, buzzing and angry, smashing into every corner of her skull in the same vein that they threw themselves at the windows in the last month of summer. 

‘What about when me and Talako leave?’ Mr Jameson said.

She knew it wasn’t his fault, but she was growing rather inpatient with Mr Jameson. She knew he cared deeply, but God, she just needed a moment to think clearly. 

‘I’m sure Mr Morgan can handle things at the estate.’ Amelia said, her voice more curt than she intended as she gazed out the window into the smoggy side streets of the city that nestled in the swamps. 

‘Seems there’s been a lot of trouble since he came around.’ He said, his face passive, but she knew all too well his dislike of Arthur. 

‘What are you trying to say to Mr Jameson?’ She replied, turning towards him with narrow eyes. She knew she was being mean spirited, but she feared the last few days had pushed her over the edge into some delirious state. 

‘Nothing by it, ma’am, just an observation.’ Mr Jameson said, clearly sensing the strain from Amelia. 

‘Good, keep it that way. Uncle trusts him and he’s proved very useful since he has been employed.’ 

‘Ma’am, maybe all this suggestion of getting married might be something worth considering. If there’s a personal vendetta here, it could buy you some time.’ Mr Jameson said. 

She couldn’t believe her ears. Almost feeling the rage boil to the surface, she took a deep breath, calming herself and the shake of her hands. After a moment, she spoke softer this time. 

‘It’s doubtful. Besides, I would rather sell before I sign everything over for free to some extortionist.’ Amelia said.

‘Of course, ma’am, I didn’t mean anything by it.’ Mr Jameson said.

‘I know, Mr Jameson.’ Amelia said.

‘I admire you, ma’am, I really do. I hope my daughters will grow to be someone like you.’ Mr Jameson said.

She smiled despite herself. Mr Jameson was a much more personable man than even she sometimes gave him credit for. 

‘That’s very touching, Mr Jameson. I hope they too learn that they can succeed in the world on their own merits.’ Amelia said.

‘Oh, I have no doubt about that.’ Mr Jameson said.

‘Hopefully, with this venture to West Elizabeth, it could give us another advantage. Anything would be a win at the moment. I just hope Uncle is okay.’ Amelia said, her mind still reeling from what on earth he was doing with Mr Stoudemire or his associates in the first place. 

‘Who was that man they were speaking of? Mr Stremer?’ Mr Jameson said.

‘Stoudemire. Another ghost from my past I fear.’ Amelia said with a heavy sigh, growing wearisome from all these men trying to force their way back into her life in one capacity or another.

‘Is he dangerous?’ Mr Jameson said.

‘I’m beginning to think anyone linked to Mr Cornwall is dangerous, quite frankly. But how he’s involved with him, I’m not too sure…. You see…’ Amelia faltered, unable to formulate the right words, but Mr Jameson deserved some explanation at the very least. ‘Mr Stoudemire, he was… a friend of my father’s back in England.’ 

Before she could even decide whether to continue, Mr Jameson interrupted her, placing a tentative and unsure hand over hers. 

‘Then we should hurry.’ Mr Jameson said.

‘Quite.’ Amelia said.

His hand lingered for only a moment, and Mr Jameson was a cordial man, not one for affection, well at least not in a professional situation. She would count him as family as much as the others, but naturally, they did not share the same familiarity that she and Josiah shared. It was touching regardless, and she gave him a weak smile. Perhaps Mr Jameson was perfectly capable of reading between the lines, and had made his own connections through what he had seen and heard regarding Amelia’s past. 

Not that she really minded if he did. He was as loyal as a hound, for which she was eternally grateful. 

‘I’m still not sure if this is the best time for me and Talako to be leaving the estate, ma’am.’ Mr Jameson said.

‘No, perhaps not. But I fear we haven’t got too much of a choice at this time. The business must come first, above all else.’ Amelia said.

‘Very well, ma’am.’ Mr Jameson said.

The journey felt long, much longer than it was in reality and when they finally arrived at the estate, Amelia made little time as she slammed the door behind her before Mr Jameson could aid her as she shoved some bills into the driver’s hand. 

Her heart entered her throat, and she nearly tripped over her damn dress as she saw Mrs Fearnsby standing on the porch, her hands wringing at her apron. 

‘Mrs Fearnsby, what’s the matter?’ Amelia said, her voice rose as she rushed towards the estate. 

‘Please ma’am, there’s no cause for alarm, but there has been an incident.’ Mrs Fearnsby said, her face taut, more so than usual, and Amelia already had her suspicions. 

The front door opened, as Arthur stepped out, his imposing figure casting a long shadow on the wooden beams of the porch as his hat rested low on his brow. 

‘Arthur, what is it? What happened?’ Amelia said as her heart beated furiously, as tears threatened to spill from her eyes.

‘Your Uncle, he’s been hurt, but he’s doin’ okay.’ Arthur said.

It was her worst fear as Amelia carried on right up to Arthur, searching his face for something, anything. 

‘Where is he?’ Amelia said, desperate to make sense of this. She knew he hadn’t been hurt by a simple horse riding accident. 

Was this what Cornwall and her father were going to resort to? It wasn’t enough to punish her but everyone else she was close to. Was it their plan to threaten, beat and kill them one by one until they strong-armed her into exactly what they wanted?

‘Restin’, ma’am.’ Arthur said, but she barely heard the words as she looked over her shoulder to Mr Jameson, a look of equal concern on his face. 

‘He’s been placed in his room. A little bit sore, but he is asleep at the moment.’ Mrs Fearnsby said.

She looked between the three of them. How was everyone so damn calm? 

‘That doesn’t tell me what on earth happened,’ Amelia said, her voice bordering on yelling. It wasn’t often that Amelia raised her voice, but she had no control over herself. 

‘Amelia, he’s okay. Just had a… misunderstanding at a saloon.’ Arthur said, his arm nearly reaching out to her, before placing it on his gun belt. 

‘What do you mean?’ Amelia said, barely understanding Arthur’s words. 

‘Couple of fellers were drunk, thought he was someone else.’ Arthur said with a simple shrug. 

‘Mr Morgan, we will speak of this in private.’ Amelia said, trying her best to get her head in order as she pushed past him into the house. 

Amelia reached the study so quickly she was sure at one point she was taking the stairs two at a time. She could hear Arthur behind her, but could barely look at him. The day was proving to be testing to say the least. 

Her shaking hands reached for the decanter and she left the door open, waiting for Arthur to enter. She poured two healthy and ill-advised measures into the glass, the whiskey splashing over the side and over her fingers, leaving a cool, sticky trace. 

‘Arthur, I want to make it perfectly clear, if you are lying to me…’ Amelia said as she heard him enter cautiously, shoving the whiskey at him. 

‘Whaddya mean?’ Arthur said, as he removed his hat, a look of almost amusement on his features. God, she wanted to slap him there and then. 

‘Are you lying to me?’ Amelia said more firmly, in no mood for games or jokes as she swallowed heavily at her drink. 

‘Look, Amelia, he’s okay. Just a bit beat up.’ Arthur said, almost nonchalant as she walked to the door and slammed it shut. 

‘“A bit beat up” for god’s sake Arthur, this is serious!’ Amelia said, her voice becoming shrill as she took another gulp, almost choking on the liquor’s heat. 

‘I know, I know.’ Arthur said, as he too followed suit, swallowing thickly. 

‘I know he was with some men on behalf of Mr Stoudemire.’ Amelia said. ‘And I know you’re lying.’ 

She could have spat fire, kicked and screamed at him. Why was he lying? Did he have something to do with this?

She felt herself slipping as she turned her back to him, finding her way to her seat at the desk, her hands falling into her face. Perhaps this was her undoing. Perhaps it is what would finally would turn her as mad as all the men of town supposed she was? 

‘How you know that?’ Arthur said. 

‘Unimportant. What happened?’ Amelia said into her hands, her breath becoming more ragged by the second. 

He said nothing, and as she reached again for her drink and her smoke. He just looked at her with a near blank expression. 

‘Is it something to do with the robbery’ Amelia said, as she struggled with her lighter from her hands shaking. On the third click, the flame shot out, and she hastily lit the cigarette, throwing the metal lighter down. 

‘Hell if I know. Look okay, it was some bounty hunters, but listen -’

‘Bounty hunters?! What the fuck, Arthur,’ Amelia said, growing more hysterical by the second. 

‘It was a misunderstandin’ all the same. They thought he was someone else. It’s been dealt with.’ 

How was he so damn calm about all of this?

‘What does that mean?’Amelia said, punctuating every word, as she took a swig, a puff, then another swig. 

‘I mean, it’s been dealt with.’ Arthur said, his voice firm and dark. 

‘Arthur, what aren’t you telling me? How is it that one of Cornwall’s men knew Uncle was with them?’ She was sure the staff could hear her from the other side of the door, not that she particularly cared. 

‘I don’t… I ain’t sure.’ Arthur said. 

Resting her forehead on the heel of her palm, Amelia shook her head, hoping it would clear the cobwebs that had somehow formed. If only she could think straight… 

For what felt like the thousandth time of the day, she took a deep breath, steadying herself. 

Uncle is alive. That is the most important thing. You can’t let them win.

‘There’s a man, the awful sort.’ She stuttered, ‘works for Cornwall, I was with him today and he said that Uncle had a meeting or sorts but the way he said it…’ Amelia said, chewing at her lip as Arthur stood, finding his way to her side of the desk. 

‘You think Cornwall’s behind the robbery?’ He said, kneeling down on his haunches as Amelia almost wanted to ignore him. 

‘Well, why not?’ She seethed as she turned to look down at him, his blue eyes coursing like the ocean. ‘He’s been trying to buy me out for months, then he doesn’t even attend this meeting, brings up Stoudemire and now Uncle is beaten. This can’t be a coincidence.’ Amelia said pitifully, sniffing as she took another large swig of her drink. 

‘Mmm, somethin’ don’t seem right.’ Arthur said, rubbing at his stubble with his hand.

‘Oh, you think?’ Amelia said, throwing her hand in the air with exasperation.

‘C’mon Amelia. This ain’t my fault. We found your uncle and he will be okay, just sore for a while.’ Arthur said. 

‘Who’s we?’ 

‘Me and Charles.’

Amelia wanted to chide herself. Arthur was right. This wasn’t his fault and once again he was a candle in the ever-growing darkness around her. 

‘Arthur, I think I know who’s behind this, I just…’ taking a drag that turned half her cigarette to white hot ash, Amelia sighed as the smoke filled the room. Arthur placed his hand on her knee, giving it a slight squeeze. 

‘Talk to me,’ he said, so gently she was mistaken if she had heard him correctly. It reminded her of the way that one would talk to a spooked horse, soft but firm. 

She felt so uneasy, so sick with the situation that seemed to become her never ending reality. Her trust was thin, but she couldn’t do this alone anymore. And if Josiah had ended up worse… God forbid, she needed a contingency plan. The secrets that both her and uncle were theirs alone, and he had always cautioned her against telling anyone. So far she had kept that unspoken promise, an abandoned life that, in her childish mind, she thought would simply disappear as long as she never spoke of it. 

Perhaps it was the stress of the day that made her feel so paranoid, but as she stubbed out the remnants of her cigarette, she stood as Arthur did the same. 

‘Not here,’ she said, finishing her drink, ‘are you familiar with Ringneck Creek?’ 

Arthur gave a small nod, his eyes not leaving her face. She didn’t dare think about what his face made her think about, not with everything that was going on. But it would have been easy to fall into those stormy eyes of his and never think about anything else again. 

‘Meet me there in an hour,’ she said, looking away from him.

‘Okay, one hour,’ he nodded solemnly, giving her arm a small squeeze as he left, leaving her to her thoughts. 

She knew she wasn’t thinking clearly, at a time she arguably needed it the most. She had always had this problem. Once a thought burrowed into her, there was nothing else but that single railroad in her mind. 

Amelia was unsure whether she was subconsciously blind to it all, choosing to ignore the dots, or whether perhaps she was nowhere near as intellectual as she thought she was. But that niggle she had since the first robbery, since her first meeting with Mr Cooper and certainly after today only made her confront what she had known deep down for sometime. 

She made her way to Josiah’s room, rasping her knuckles lightly across the wooden door. She heard no response but let herself in any way. A candle burned gently on the drawers with the curtains closed. The smell of iodine and salt filled the room and she gently walked over to the bed where he lay. 

There was already a chair propped close to it, presumably from where one of the servants had spent their time cleaning him with the washbasin and a freshly filled jug of water that stood on the end table. 

She could hear his laboured breathing, his black hair falling across his brown as his face was a molten of purple and yellow. Although it was not as bad as she supposed, there was something about seeing her uncle in such a way that made her realise the mortality of it all. How fragile they all truly were. 

Her uncle was not a strong man in the traditional sense. He wasn’t one to raise a gun or boom his voice at defiance. But he was strong nevertheless. As slick as a newt, she had always thought of him as. Mystical and illusive to the world, but never to her. Not really. He was her confident, her guide and protector, her best friend and mentor. No doubt that without him, sooner or later she would have been shipped off to one of the specialised women's infirmaries or even dead. But not with Josiah. 

Yes, he was odd, but none of that really mattered. Not then and not now. But as she sat on the chair, folding her skirt underneath her knees, she leant her elbows on the bed, looking up at his newly beaten face, watching his chest rise and fall as though all the wind had been knocked from him. 

A single tear rolled down her cheek, thick and heavy, as she wiped at it furiously. She was about to break their promise, but he at least deserved to know from her lips.

‘I’m sorry, Uncle,’ she mused under her breath, placing her hand on his chest as she had seen mothers do to their sick children, ‘I don’t know if you can hear me, but keeping our secret cannot do us any good any longer. You brought Arthur here because you trust him… You trust him to keep us safe. And…’

What were the words? There were no words she could think of and words she had only seen in those books filled with dross and unfettered romance, but she was sure in her convictions. 

‘We need him,’ she said, I need him. But she kept that part to herself. There was only so much Josiah needed to know. 

‘The business is everything to me. I need to do what I can to protect it.’ 

He made a sound, a choking sound in his throat as he began to splutter, coughing with a wince as his eyes screwed shut even more so. 

‘C…Caneton?’ He said, barely audible. 

‘Uncle?’ she replied, finding his hand in haste and bringing it to her lips. 

‘There’s… there’s,’ his voice strangled as he weakly grabbed at her hand, ‘too many secrets.’

He said nothing else as his breath returned to its even and slow draw as he fell back into a sudden slumber. 

Smiling to herself in pain, she rose and planted a soft kiss on his forehead. 

‘Sleep well, Uncle,’ 

Before she had left, she had given stern instructions that Josiah was to be checked on every half an hour and to be kept as clean as possible. She knew the staff were as good as any, and she had seen it enough times, but at least giving the instructions made her feel in control of the situation. She told Cook to save her portion of supper, for she feared she would not be back in time for serving and that Mr Jameson and Talako should make plans on their trips to West Elizabeth and be prepared to give her a report upon her return. 

If nothing else, she was thankful for some alone time, just her and Tallulah as she made her way north to Ringneck Creek. 

It turned out to be a beautiful late afternoon as the heat had finally dropped, giving way to a light breeze with wispy clouds breaking into the sky, offering some release from the stifling warmth and humidity. Of course, as it always did, it brought the annoyance of midges and mosquitoes, but as she left the swamps behind, they became fewer and further between. 

Passing Mattock Pond, she knew there was little of the ride left, and almost fearing the conversation she was about to have with Arthur, she clacked at the bridle bringing Tallulah into a sauntered as she heard the low growl of an alligator not too far away. 

The woods and thickets around her sieved out the sun, splitting it into golden beams in the way she always loved. Despite it all, she couldn’t help but breathe in the air, a soft smile appearing on her face in that moment of peace. Of course, she knew it was not enough to solve her problems as much as she would entertain the thought of selling it all and growing old in the woods with nothing but an axe and a shack that fell apart at the seams. 

But Amelia, however, was not that sort of woman. She was a woman of purpose, one who was lucky enough to find it and one who would not let it wash down the kitchen sink. 

As Tallulah threw her head between the tree trunks, the birds sang their afternoon song as the racoons rustled and nattered amongst the ground.

Making her way up the creek, Amelia searched around for Arthur and Montague, her heart building with both excitement and trepidation. She was never one to be so cavalier with her emotions, with her past especially, but she reminded herself this wasn’t about her or about them. It was about the business, about those she had made a secret pact with God to protect. Once again, her uncle was right. There were too many damn secrets. 

As she reached the end of the creek where the brooked turned into a splay of shallow water, she saw him. Perched on a boulder, he had his foot propped on the rock, the other leg dangling as he puffed on his smoke that danced in sunbeams. She heard a plop in the water as he threw his arm back, skipping stones across the surface. 

She couldn’t help but smile. She was not unfamiliar with the flights of fancy that most women had, the idle daydreams of the man she wound no doubt end up marrying and spawning a child or four. But never in her wildest dreams was it to be a man like Arthur Morgan that her heart would be claimed by. In all her endeavours, not one made her feel so enamoured, or to be so much like those fainting maids on a couch. Not that she was, of course, but she was damn close. 

‘I hope I didn’t keep you waiting,’ she said, sliding off of the side of her horse as he looked up at her from the brim of his hat. 

‘Not at all,’ he said, returning her smile as he pushed himself from the rock, pacing over towards her. 

She appreciated the chivalry as always, even though it seemed so unlike a man like him. Yet he was as gracious as those who had been taught such things, and then she wondered where a man like Arthur had learnt it from. He was as wild as the bobcats of the mountain, quick with a gun and so dirty that sometimes she thought he would use mud instead of cologne. All of it, however, was part of his charm. The charm of America and the wild. 

As she readjusted her habit as Arthur tied up her horse on a nearby trunk near Montague, the horses nicked at each other. Well, Tallulah did anyway, the temperamental beast that she was. Montague took it in his stride, neighing softly in a greeting as though it was almost expected. 

He shrugged his jacket from his shoulders, pulling the sleeves down his arm. In an instant, her heart began to thrum in her chest. What is he…? And just like that, he gave it a swift shake, placing it on the boulder and gesturing for her to sit. 

‘Thank you,’ she muttered, attempting to hide her blushing cheeks beneath her curls as she took to the rock, crossing her ankles. 

Arthur, however, returned to his horse, unbuckled the saddle and retrieved a bottle of a ruby brown liquid she did not recognise. Making his way back to her, he popped the cork, taking a swig before handing it to her. 

‘What is it?’ She said curiously, holding it up to the light. It truly was a beautiful colour, almost a light coloured port. 

‘Guarma Rum, hard to come by, hell of a lot better than that Kentucky Bourbon,’ he said with a smirk, pulling a fresh smoke from his packet. Placing two in his mouth, he lit them both from the match that he struck across the bottom of his shoe. 

Giving it a sniff, Amelia was not as repelled as she would have thought. It was strong as the fumes burned her eyes, but it had a sweetness to it, like hibiscus and sugar cane, but she had no doubt that it packed a punch. 

Taking a tentative swig. She wasn’t wrong. It kicked at her throat, but by no means it was unpleasant and Arthur didn’t take his eyes from her as he held out the cigarette. 

‘That’s certainly the best thing that’s happened today, I must admit,’ she said with a slight laugh, wiping at the corners of her mouth. 

‘Thought you’d need it,’ he said, taking the bottle from her and propping his foot on a rogue log, folding his elbows across his knees. ‘You gonna tell me then?’ 

She met his gaze, almost unsure of herself. She couldn’t help but slump her shoulders in, almost recoiling from the question. Once again, she had found herself emotionally vulnerable, alone, and sharing a bottle with Arthur. Life could be ironically cruel sometimes. 

With a breath to steady herself, Amelia looked on at the thicket before her. It truly was beautiful. A place she wished she had more time to visit. Perhaps after all this nonsense, she’d make more time to visit it with a book in hand. But today was not that day. 

‘I know who’s behind the attacks,’ she said as Arthur straightened, eyeing her up and down with some sort of scrutiny. ‘ I don’t have proof but… It’s complicated.’

She nervously looked at him, trying to gauge him. She wasn’t scared per se, but she didn’t want to think that she was stupid or hysterical or whatever other words men tended to lend towards themselves when it came to women. Not that Arthur was like that, of course. 

‘Cornwall?’ he said, narrowing his eyes. A look flashed across him, one she had seen before and equally brief. 

‘In a roundabout sort of way. Now, like I said, I don’t have any proof but -’

‘Tell me,’ he said with a low grumble. 

That was exactly what she didn’t want. She knew he was not angry with her, but after today; she didn’t need any outbursts, any snap judgements. She just wanted to tell him, as difficult as it would be. 

‘It’s…’ Amelia stopped herself, as Arthur passed her the rum, for which she was thankful. As her fingers brushed his ever so slightly, he sat next to her, pulling another drag on the cigarette. 

‘There’s a man, Mr Cooper. I mentioned him earlier. He’s a man that is not to be taken lightly. A thug I presume of Cornwall’s,’ she said, almost stumbling over her words as they shot out. ‘He has this awful way about him… Anyway, some time ago he came to the estate on behalf of Cornwall, made some threats, tactics of intimidation, nothing utterly out of the ordinary but…’

Where to even begin, the story was so long, so convoluted at this point and at times Amelia doubted her memory on what had or hadn’t happened and how much her mind had inflated or hidden away in those secret boxes at the back of her mind. 

She took another swig of the bottle, a slow feeling of comfort wrapping over her. There truly was something about being amongst the trees and fresh air once the alcohol took hold. She felt like a child again, the word bright and curious. 

Arthur, however, said nothing, as she struggled to find all the pieces. In her mind, she was so sure, but as soon as she began speaking, it all seemed so daft. 

‘Well, anyway, he mentioned my father. Said that he sends his regards,’ she sighed, drinking another two gulps before passing the bottle back to Athur. ‘It’s him Arthur, I know it is.’ 

Arthur flicked the butt of his cigarette, holding his silence. She had a feeling it was a tactic of his. No questions, no judgements. Oddly, it seemed to be working and Amelia suddenly felt compelled to tell him all. 

‘I was seventeen when I found out I was to be wed to Mr Stoudemire,’ she said, the words falling from her lips, God, I am drunk already, ‘I knew him very briefly, he worked with my father in Parliament.’ 

Arthur raised a brow as she looked up at him from underneath her lashes. 

‘It’s the English government. They’re all bankers, aristocrats and well anyway…’ That rum was strong, ‘He was so old, at least in his forties. I cried for a week when my mother told me not that she cared. She just said that I should be lucky that anyone agreed to it. She was so awful for her words, would tell me I was never good enough, that I brought shame to the family in one capacity or another, but Father… He was…’ 

She swallowed. Scrambling for another cigarette. 

‘After I found out about this arrangement, I ran to this place, not unlike this really. A friend of mine, Edmund, we would play there often. Write poems that sort of thing. He lived on the estate next to ours… Well.’ 

Giving another sharp intake of breath, Amelia looked around the forest, finding those small alcoves of beauty anywhere she could. 

‘I was found with him. It was quite unsavoury at our age to be alone with one another, you see. My father dragged me back to the house by my hair and beat me so hard I bled for days and couldn’t sit. He was the sort of man that even when I was a small girl he would find his way to my bedroom when he had enough wine and whack me so hard… He was a terrible man. But after that incident, after Edmund, my arm was broken, I had welts on the back of my legs - I couldn’t leave my room, and even after five weeks when Josiah came to visit…’ 

Silence hung in the air, as Arthur continued to look at her, not a word of pity or anything, but she could see something so dark in his eyes she nearly recoiled. 

‘I was his property. My father’s I mean,’ Amelia stammered. Years of the secrets and the relief it brought her seemed to merge together into a terrible shake as she broke into a sob. Wiping at her nose, Arthur placed his arm around her, pulling her in close as he rested his chin on the top of her head. The smell of his sweat and rum and smoke, the usual comfort he brought her, filled her as she sank into his chest. 

‘He’s a monster Arthur, I don’t know how they’re connected, but it’s him, I know it.’ 

‘Hey,’ he said, putting his finger under her chin and lifting her face to look at him. The same way he did last night. ‘We will fix this.’

That was all she needed to hear. She smiled at him as he brought his thumb to her cheeks, wiping away her tears. 

‘It’s not about money, Arthur. They want to destroy me. My father was a proud and powerful man. I don’t know how he’s found me after all the precautions we took, but he has.’

Arthur nodded, passing her the rum again. 

‘Well, then…’ He began, still with his arm wrapped around her as Amelia snuggled deeper into him, bringing her knees to her chest. ‘’Spose, we just have to destroy them first.’ 

She wanted to laugh, but she could sense the devilry in his words. Was this what she wanted? To meet fire with fire? Is that something she was prepared for? Something rumbled within her, and at that moment, with the alcohol with the promises that Arthur whispered to her, she thought that she could sanction such things. But whatever those things were, she kept to herself at that moment. 

The silence found itself between them yet again. A silence she had grown used to, as a small fox kit ran out to the edge of the creek, followed by its siblings as they lapped at the edge of the water like a cat with a fresh bowl of cream. Their mother wasn’t far behind as neither of them moved, watching the young find their solace in the soon to be evening light. Their mother gazed at them, hungry and fearful, as Arthur reached into his pocket, pulling out an oatcake. 

Breaking it into several pieces, he slowly released his embrace for which any other time, Amelia would have been disappointed by. Yet as he bent his knees and slowly crept towards the edge of the creek, he scattered the crumbs, and made his way back to the rock as silently as he left it. 

The three kits raised their tiny noses to their air, their marbled brown and auburn fur moving with the wind. Arthur sat back down next to Amelia, pulling something else from his pocket. As she looked over at him curiously with another swig of the rum, she saw it was a pencil and he leant gently and quietly to his satchel on the floor. She watched him with a juvenile curiosity, smiling to herself with a new weightlessness, as Arthur pulled a small leather-bound book from the bag. 

He flicked it open with his thumb, licking at the pencil, as the rough edges of the pages sprawled to a blank canvas page. 

He drew effortlessly, a line here, a line there, and with the smudge of his thumb and a crosshatch, the image jumped to life. The creek, the trees, the foxes and all the surrounding light. He seemed to do it with nothing other than instinct. Looking up here and there before, one of the kits barked, chasing the others back into the grove. 

She smiled again, admiring his talent as he closed the book as easily as he had opened it before, storing it away and prying the bottle from her hands. 

How things had changed since their encounter in the stable. Even since last night, there was a change between them. As easy as he had drawn the lines on the paper. Natural, easy and oh so wonderful. 

‘You know,’ he began, lighting another smoke, ‘my daddy used to belt seven hells into me. Damn mean bastard. Used to beat my mother too, what I remember of her.’ 

Amelia swallowed the saliva from her throat. Whatever the hell that rum was, it certainly wasn’t weak. 

‘Lot of mean bastards out there. Hell, I’m one of them,’ he chuckled, passing the bottle back to her. 

She looked at him curiously. Arthur was a lot of things, but she could never imagine him beating a child. Those who did were certainly the cruellest of the cruel. There were men who stole, cheated and lied. Some because they could, because they were greedy or didn’t even have much of a choice. But even most drew that moral line. A line that children were innocent, a compass that was not to be reckoned with. But she knew the truth of this world, even if what she saw was just a fraction of it. 

The unjust held her in a chokehold. Her empathy was the thing that drove her, drove her to stop the world from being what it was. She was to protect, to serve, to help. And through it all, no matter how different she and Arthur were on the surface, that was most likely the thing that drew her to him. His sense of duty, his sense of good. 

‘Arthur,’ she whispered, the rum making her sway slightly. Her mind was true, or so she thought at that moment. Her body may have betrayed her intoxication, but her mind told her that she was right. Hell, it didn’t even matter if she was right, she wanted to tell him.

‘Yeah?’ he said, his foot slipping from the boulder as he passed the rum back towards her. 

‘My name… it’s funny, it’s not even my real name,’ she slurred, her composure slipping by the second, not that she gave a damn. ‘I was born Lady Beatrice Fairfax. For all that it was worth. I never liked the name, anyway.’ 

Arthur turned to her as she readjusted herself on the rock, her heels digging into the dried soil of the mud. Arthur chuckled throatily as he took the bottle from her once more. 

‘Funny that,’ he said, his muddy cheeks blushing ever so slightly. ‘My ma’ was a Beatrice.’ 

She snapped her head around, looking at him in such a cockeyed manner. She was sure she was going to fall over. 

‘That’s not funny!’ she nearly screeched, snatching the cigarette from his fingers and taking a drag before passing it back to him. 

‘Promise,’ he said, a boyish smirk plastered across his face. 

There was something so endearing about him. About all of him. He could go from a mean old cowboy to a cheeky boy at church in the back of the pews. She hated him and loved him in equal measures, and she playfully pushed him on his arm. 

Did I just… think what I thought? 

She was abashed with herself. A man she barely knew had only laid with once, and in that moment she was ready to take his hand and run off into the forest with him and never look back. 

Crossing her arms in some hope of steadying herself, she leant her head on his shoulder. An easy gesture and all the troubles of the day slipped away. As she always did with Arthur, she felt ever so selfish, allowing her problems to dissolve into nothingness as she felt his warmth and strength. 

‘What the hell is the stuff made from?’ she said, eyeing the bottle, tittering away. 

Arthur lifted the bottle. There wasn’t even a third gone and yet, they were both beyond squiffy. 

‘Damned if I know,’ he said. A chortle broke from his chest. She felt the rumble of it, as the air took a sudden sink, the chill of the early evening finally settling in. ‘You wanna head back?’ He said, his voice low and so wonderfully drunkenly seductive? 

Lifting her head, Amelia looked up at him. Maybe it was just because she had already made herself so emotionally vulnerable, the baby foxes, or the fact she was so damn infatuated with Arthur, but she shook her head with the pout of her lips and wide eyes. 

‘Not yet,’ she muttered, as they both broke into a laugh and Arthur crashed his mouth into hers. 

Giggling into his mouth, she absorbed everything he had to offer her. It was wet, sloppy, drunk and so foolish. Not that it really mattered. 

Falling into a tumble on the ground, the leaves crunch beneath Amelia as she let out a gasp underneath Arthur’s weight. 

She felt like a clumsy adolescent, her hands making her way into his hair, knocking off his hat as his fingers dug into thighs, fumbling with her silk stockings. She continued to kiss him feverishly and urgently, the taste of liquor heavy on both of their lips. 

The sun dipped behind the trees, casting a warm glow over them both as Arthur wrestled with this gun belt, he cast it aside, bringing his lips down to her neck as Amelia moaned into Arthur’s ear. 

Pushing his hips into her, Amelia gasped, as her body responded in kind, as she lifted her skirts, whilst his rough hands explored every inch of her body. She felt dizzy, both from the alcohol and him, the pleasure coursing through her in a desperate heat as she felt the heat of his body on hers. 

Her mind was no longer her own as Arthur continued to kiss at her neck, her jaw, everywhere and anywhere he could find as he moved himself lower, leaving a trail of wet kisses on the lace of her dress. 

He pulled at her undergarments, wrestling them from her legs as they tangled around her ankles. She laughed at their eagerness as Arthur chewed his lip, looking down at her. Her heart fluttered at the sight of his as finally he freed her of her drawers, slipping his hand underneath her skirts. 

Her breaths were already coming through in ragged gasps as his fingers found her wet and ready. She cried out as he slid two of his thick fingers into her, as she let out a long mewl into the summer air.

He was gentle at first, letting her get used to the feel of him inside her. She had never felt anything like it before. It was almost indescribable. The alcohol mixed with a sheer audacity of what they were doing, out in the open. He worked the inside of her like an instrument, curving his fingers to find that perfect spot. As if by magic, she was lost to his touch. Her body was his and his alone to command. And when he began to thrust his fingers deep into her core, her body gave in to his demands, writhing and moaning at his mastery of her body.

Just when she thought she was about to be undone right there and then, Arthur brought his mouth down to her, his tongue rolling over her most sensitive parts as she gave a cry of pleasure, her back arching. 

Her hands found their way into his hair as Arthur grabbed at her hips roughly with his free hand, pulling her further into his mouth whilst his fingers moved faster in and out of her.

Amelia felt as though she would go insane from the feeling of release. She wanted more, wanted him to fill her, to give her more of whatever he was doing to her. His fingers were still moving, sending waves of pleasure through her. She felt a tingle between her legs as his tongue pressed harder against her swollen clit, making it throb and ache. 

She was so close to exploding, so close she thought it was going to be impossible to stop herself from crying out loud and yet, as if by instinct, she closed her eyes and bit down hard on her lip as he lifted himself from her, leaving her aching and empty.

‘I want you so much,’ he growled into her ear, and all Amelia could do was moan in response. 

She had never heard a man sound so sensual or so passionate. There wasn’t a word in the English language that could describe it. It was as if a beast was taking her over, a beast that she knew she had no control over and there was no part of her that wanted anything else.

Arthur fiddles with the buttons on his jeans as he bent down to kiss her again, his mouth sweet from her own juices as she mewled into his mouth, seemingly only to encourage him all the more. Before she could even think, he thrusted himself deep inside of her, leaving her breathless as all air seemed to leave her body.

They moved with each other, almost animalistically, their sounds filling the forest whilst their hands grabbing for anything they could. He pounded at her, deep and hard, as Amelia felt the pleasure building as Arthur’s warm breath grunted on her skin. Whatever the rum had done to her felt like a tainted potion, sending the both of them in a debauched frenzy of lust and passion. She was moaning, panting, screaming and shrieking with abandon. All the while, he continued to pound away at her.

Her back arched, and he fell upon her, his lips kissing at her neck, her cheek as he drove himself deeper into her.

In a flash, her orgasm ripped through her like a bolt of lightning from the heavens as a group of birds shot from the trees, retreating from the sound. 

‘Fuck,’ Arthur grunted as he pulled himself in haste from her, his spend landing in thick drops on the ground between her legs. 

Amelia panted, wiping the sweat from her brow as Arthur sat back on his haunches, putting himself away. 

‘You sure you didn’t put something in that rum?’ Amelia said with a breathless laugh. Her eyes were spotted with black dots that danced across her vision as her chest heaved. 

Arthur said nothing as he ran his hand through his hair as he leant over to retrieve her bloomers. 

‘Told ya it was better than Kentucky,’ he said with a smirk as he grabbed at her ankles, putting them through the leg holes of her undergarments, before he stood on uneven legs. 

As Amelia dressed herself, her legs still shaking from their encounter; she hauled herself up, attempting to pick the debris of nature that had found its way into her dress and hair. Twigs, leaves and even a weevil had managed to bury themselves into the lace as her breath slowly abated, leaving a warm tingle of bliss throughout her entire body. 

‘Am I muddy?’ She said to Arthur, attempting to look over her shoulder to see the state of the back of her, but thankfully after a brisk brush of Arthur’s hand, she managed to escape too much incrimination of what they had been up to. 

‘I’ll ride with you back to the estate, but I’ve got some stuff I need to deal with,’ he said hoarsely as he picked up his hat, dusting off the dirt. 

‘Thank you, Arthur. And please… What I said to you -’

‘I ain’t tellin’ no one,’ he said with a warm smile, walking over to her and planting a kiss on her head. ‘But you best get back before the search party comes hollerin’.’ 

She nodded, unsure how she was even going to be able to ride back in her state. 

However, as Arthur knelt, lacing his fingers together as he boosted her onto Tallulah, going back to the estate was the last thing she wanted. Maybe selling the business wouldn’t be the worst idea. Before she could continue her train of thought, Arthur gave her a pat on the side of the thigh. 

‘When you get back,’ he said, sliding the rum into the satchel on her horse, ‘make sure you check your dresser. I left ya a little surprise,’ he said with a wink. 

[fire-of-rebellion-pbta]

Fire of Rebellion 2023 Playtest

Type of Game: Voice

Location: Discord

Schedule: Saturdays, 9am-12pm Philippine Time

Start Date: January 28 (Session 0.5)

Campaign Length: 8-16 sessions

No. of Players: 4-5

Safety Tools: Lines and Veils, X-Card, script change, more on request

Notes: This is a game about rebelling against Empire. As such, this game ought to be POC-friendly. Themes of racism and xenophobia may come up, but I expect these topics to be treated with gravity if and when they do.

I would like setting and tone to be defined by the group as a whole. But consider thinking about what you want to see in this campaign. What does the world look like? The Empire on its throne? The Rebellion that fights to free it? The Fire at its heart?

To apply, simply DM me here or on Discord at Mr. Bottle#7873 expressing interest and we can work together from there.