#please tell me if you want something changed :)

[pukicho]

You've changed, man. I don't know what it is but some time in the past six months your shitposting got a bitter edge to it. Sure you could blame the political climate or world events on it but...I dunno. I used to scroll your blog to momentarily escape the hardships of today but now it feels like even you're not a safe place any more. I wish you luck on your journeys onwards but I'm sorry to say I cannot travel with you any more. Be well, puki, and I hope whatever troubles you passes.

Escapism is important and I try to offer that to a degree, but ultimately, I am a person. I experience hardships, I empathize with the worsening conditions of my world. As long as I care about things external to myself, I will subtlety, or blatantly express them in some way in my blog, which I’ve done for years, not merely 6 months.

Unbeknownst to you, these concerns are often the inspiration for some of my most beloved posts.

You’re free to leave of course, if my 1 serious post out of every 30 fucks your day up that badly, then please, feel free! - I simply don’t see my blog as escapist fluff, it never has been, even if that is often the outcome. My page has always been about my interests, and I just so happen to enjoy making people laugh.

I see it more as a fun place to hang out and express the feelings I feel inclined to express, most of which are fun and goofy, some of which are not. I love our little playful back-and-forths, and I enjoy seeing your insights, even if some of you are fucking stupid as shit. Sometimes I just like using you guys as little guinea pigs, testing my odd expressions out on you, and sitting back and seeing the outcome.

Ultimately, I try to balance balance 3 things on my page:

Comedy, as you know - I like making jokes, I like testing them out on people. Even if they suck, I like writing them regardless. Sometimes I sit back after writing something I know objectively sucks, hit send, and watch as everyone tells me how much it sucks. It brings me joy.

A desire for money - because if not, I wouldn't be able to make posts half as often as I do (ie, shirt sales, promoting my music, etc) - Sometimes that anxiety for money also bleeds into my posts, it has for years; and I hold back from being even more desperate about money than I feel I should be sometimes.

And the point you brought up: The occasional comment on something real that matters to me. - Over the past 3 years, if not longer, I’ve made a few uncharacteristically-serious statements on things like Covid, Gaza, The Presidency, hell, even the indigenous people of Australia... and more.

Why do I feel inclined to discuss these things? Because I want to. My page has always been about what I want. Fortunately for you, what I usually want to do is to make you laugh! But sometimes I wish to express other feelings, because I have a platform that allows my voice to travel further than that of others!

For those angry at all the qualms I don't bring up, try to understand my balancing act, as someone who understands your desire for escapism, and the comfort that it brings you. If the veil falls, remember, we are of like-company - - and maybe, this veil was only ever in your head to begin with.

[pellucid-constellations]

Azriel finds you in the cold.

Azriel x Reader (780 words, based on a request!, warnings: hypothermia, angst)

Masterlist here

~~

You were used to the cold. You grew up in its unforgiving teeth and clawed past winters when the bite felt almost too strong. There were methods to survive it, tactics to overcome the painful numbness that crept along your skin, but there didn’t seem to be a pattern to this cold. You were alone and this chill was with you. 

You should have listened to Azriel. 

It’s not a normal snow, he had warned, you should wait for me. But everyone seemed to forget that you were new to being fae, and when you were new, you felt invincible. You could live through the winters of your mortal years without a second thought. You couldn’t die from snow or ice or sleet. 

Or, so you thought. 

You huddled against the tree trunk, your fingers stinging and burning—but that didn’t make sense because the only substance that surrounded you was the blizzard. You could feel your body begin to slow, movements becoming labored when they shouldn’t. You hadn’t felt this kind of weakness since before becoming fae. 

Azriel was going to kill you; he’d be so furious to find your body here, surrounded by nothing on the outskirts of the winter court. Each soft whisper he’d pressed to your skin was loaded with adoration and praise for you being his mate above all else. He’d waited for you, he would tell you, and now you were going to die a meaningless death. 

Your grip on your cloak was concrete and rigid, but it was pointless. The snow had already seeped into the material and chilled you to the bone. 

You were tired. 

Closing your eyes seemed like the right decision. Sleep would help you gain the strength to sift through the white haze and find the border to these lands. 

Your lashes brushed your cheek and darkness felt warm. 

Until the incessant tug at your ribs became unbearable. Until a voice was calling you home and the concept of home ticked your heart rate up a beat. 

“Open your eyes. Please,” the voice stressed. Your body was numb and nothing was coherent over the whistling wind. 

There was pressure on your face and the air felt more stagnant, but everything else remained unchanged. 

Going against every muscle and desire in your being, you fought the weight of your eyelids and were met with the image of Azriel in the blistering cold. He was wrapped up to his neck as you were, but he was taking all of it off. 

“No,” you mumbled, the word barely a sound in the wind. 

Azriel’s gaze snapped up to you, his hands still clutching the scarf he was prying from his shoulders. His hands, with no gloves to cover his skin, cupped your cheeks. You couldn’t feel the heat of his skin, but you could feel the quivering of his fingers. 

“Good,” he seemed to mumble to himself. “Good, you’re awake. Okay, okay…” 

It was nonsensical and your brain was far too muddled to make sense of it. You only raised the dead weight of your arm to wrap stiff fingers around the material of his cloak. 

“Keep… it on,” you whispered. 

A spark of something shot across Azriel’s face. His lips parted as snow settled on his brow. “I need to take it off. I need to get you warm.” 

You let out a shuddering breath. Azriel, with his brows painfully furrowed, watched you for only a second more before he continued his motion to get you pressed to more of his skin and wrap the remaining area of his winter wear around you. 

“I love you, do you hear me?” Azriel spoke by your ear, the tone of his voice unwavering despite how his body shook. As if he wanted the strength to seep into your bones and warm you. As if that would work. 

He stood with you in his arms, your body now jarred by the change in temperature. He was moving quickly but not flying. Through a bleary blink, you saw the ice forming on the juncture of his wings.

“Answer me, y/n,” Azriel demanded.

“I’m tired,” you replied. 

“I know. I need to get past the border and then we’ll be home. You can sleep then, but not before.” 

You hummed a response. 

Azriel seemed to tense beneath you. “I love you,” he repeated. “Please don’t do this.” 

You wanted to tell him that you weren’t doing anything—that it was too cold for him to be here. But in the comfort of his arms, you let the darkness of his shadows lull you to sleep. In your dreams, you heard your name, over and over. 

[azsazz]

Drown in Me

Garrick (Fourth Wing) x Virgin!Reader

Summary: Anon Req: well I absolutely love Garrick. I just know he is such a softie with his partner. Just imagine that you too hate each other but something change during a mission or something and in a two simple word,, you fucked ". And you're virgin and he is so gentle and after he is so sweet.. Ohh I love this man

Warnings: Angst, smut, oral (f receiving), fingering, consensual sex.

Word Count: 4417

Notes: DOES NOT CONTAIN SPOILERS FOR ONYX STORM.

I hope whoever requested this actually ages ago is still around. Sorry it took me so long. I'm obsessed with the beginning, it was so much fun to write 💙

_________________________________________

Chradh lands in the middle of the flight field with a roar that shakes the walls of Basgiath.

It’s directed at you, you know it is.

There’s no ducking away from the golden, narrowed gaze of the brown scorpiontail, nor his equally pissed rider. You swear Chradh is glaring at you, and he huffs a breath that reeks of sulfur.

Uisge, your green daggertail growls low in his throat. He stands tall behind you and equal parts of you want to preen and run, because standing between two dragons is never a good idea.

The Section Leader is not pleased, Uisge notes, and yeah, you already knew that.

Tell me something I don’t know, you retort, but lift your chin as you watch Chradh’s rider dismount with a grace you can only wish to emulate someday.

Your breath sticks in your throat at the sight of Garrick, despite the anger written clear on his face. He runs a hand through his now dry, wind-blown black hair, and you’d laugh at the way it sticks straight up if yours wasn’t still plastered to your skull after the unexpected dip you took during flight lessons today.

The Section Leader is not a strong swimmer. You wince. Yeah, that was found out during flight lessons today, too.

You’re frozen beneath that harsh look Garrick pins you with as soon as his boots hit the ground, his hazel eyes glowing with fire. He’s more than angry, he’s fucking fuming, and your boots squelch as you shift your weight to your other foot. You wince as the water from the soles of your boots floods your feet again. You hope you don’t look like a drowned rat.

More like a tiny, water-logged sheep, Uisge adds unhelpfully. Your shoulders fall in defeat. But a tiny sheep with sharp teeth. Head up, little one.

And well, a sheep with sharp teeth is better than a sheep with no teeth at all, so you raise your chin and patiently await your punishment.

Chradh pounds his strong wings, lifting from the ground, his annoyance with you and Uisge clearly over with. You’re sure the two male dragons are speaking through their mind connection, but you’re thankful that Garrick’s dragon is leaving the scene, even if everything that happens here will be seen through your section leader’s eyes.

It’s better not to have the audience for the reaming out you know you’re going to receive.

Much to your chagrin, Uisge follows.

Wait. Where are you going? We should be bearing punishment together! You can’t leave the sheep to face the wolf, you argue, because Garrick most definitely looks like a wolf right now.

I eat sheep and wolves for breakfast, Uisge replies. Is he insinuating that he’d like to eat you? You’re sure you wouldn’t taste good. And neither of them is secretly trying to fuck the other.

You gape, swinging your gaze to your dragon, but Uisge’s back is to you as he flies toward the vale, his daggertail sweeping in the wind.

Garrick approaches, the hilts of twin swords glow in the sun as it beams across the flight field. He could kill you in more ways than one with those weapons, and others, too, according to the neatly aligned patches that trail down the right arm of his flight jacket. Your jacket is bare, with the exception of the lousy wing and year patches you carefully sewed on. You’ve been awaiting receiving your signet patch, and maybe after what happened in training today, Garrick will get on that for you.

A distant roar has you realizing that you shouldn’t be lingering in the flight field lest the next wing prepare for training, so you spin on your heel and start for the courtyard.

Garrick catches up to you quickly, his strides longer than yours. His fingers are tucked into fists at his sides and there’s a low warning growl in his throat that tells you he’s not pleased with the way you walked away from him.

“What the fuck was that back there?” He questions, and you can hear him struggling to keep the anger from eking into his voice. Too late for that, you can hear his frustration clear as day.

Your boots squeak with each step you take and your damp leathers are beginning to chafe against your skin. Being in the blistering sun isn’t helping in the slightest, and you really wish your room was closer to the flight field right now.

And yeah, perhaps slipping off of Uisge’s back during flight maneuvers wasn’t your smartest decision, but you needed a bigger body of water than the bathtub to work on channeling your signet, and this was the only way you were going to get that done.

You didn’t expect Garrick to dive after you.

“I already told you; I slipped.”

“And I already told you,” Garrick scowls, and it twists the pink scar on his jaw in a way that makes you want to trace it. “I don’t believe you.”

You set your jaw as you make your way up the stone stairs, trying not to cringe when every step fills your boots with water. You release your tense shoulders and attempt to drain the liquid from your clothing with a flick of your hand, but all you can manage to do is propel the water from your leathers into your boots.

It’s infuriating.

“You haven’t fallen off Uisge once during flight training, and all of a sudden, a few weeks after your water wielding signet appears, you go tumbling off into a lake?” He asks it like you think he’s stupid. You think he’s far from stupid.

I don’t, Uisge says, and you force your walls up with all of your might.

He’s been watching you?

You mutter, “I didn’t think you’d follow me.”

“It looked like you really fell off! You were under the water for longer than you should’ve!” Garrick says, and you frown. You couldn’t have been under the surface of the water for more than a few seconds. “What the hell was I supposed to do? Let you drown?”

He was much closer to drowning than you were, little one, Uisge’s voice creeps through your mind and you have to force the smile threatening to split your lips away.

“Uisge knows what I’m capable of,” you argue, but it falls flat at the outright disbelief on Garrick’s face.

“He knows what you’re capable of?” He scoffs, then tacks on a dry, mocking laugh. “You can barely even power an ink pen, for Amari’s sake.”

That’s because you’ve been focusing all of your energy on training your signet. Much more important that being able to power a stupid ink pen, in your opinion.

You stay silent so long that you’re on your floor before you know it. With an angered flick of your wrist, your locks click and your door opens an inch. You want to growl in frustration, that door should’ve swung open and stuck in the wall with the anger you attempted to force into it.

You’ll get there, little one, Uisge’s voice trickles through your walls. There really is no getting rid of him.

Leave me alone, Uisge.

I do not take orders from you, he retorts, but you feel him draw away nonetheless.

“Look,” Garrick sighs, shutting the door behind you with lesser magic. It’s an easy move that you have yet to master. “I can’t lose one of my riders to their own stupidity. I won’t let you.”

As his words settle in, you’re all too aware that he’s standing in the middle of your room, only a few feet from you, and the door is closed.

“I wasn’t going to die, Garrick. I knew what I was doing,” you answer, shrugging out of your flight jacket. Although it is no longer water-laden, the temperature in the room has risen, and you need out. You hang it on the back of your chair, missing the way that Garrick’s hazel eyes drink in the sight of the rest of your flight uniform. Today, you chose something thin and lightweight so you aren’t weighed down by the water you knew you were going to practice in. “I promise. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“I do, though,” Garrick swallows, and you watch the way his throat bobs. Fuck, he can’t believe he’s doing this, but here the fuck he is, about to confess what’s been haunting him for weeks. You.

“Why?” You surprise him by saying. You cross your arms over your chest, not realizing that the move pushes your breasts higher. In your haze of annoyance, you fail to catch the way his eyes dip down for a peek. “I don’t see you jumping off dragons after any of the other riders!”

“That’s because I don’t have to worry about them,” he argues, taking a step closer. You’re a defiant little thing, so you move closer, too, which leaves your crossed forearms brushing his chest.

“You don’t have to worry about me!”

“I do!” He all but roars. You rock back on your heels in surprise but catch yourself.

Garrick runs a nervous hand through his hair. He’s no longer meeting your gaze, instead staring out the window over your shoulder. Something’s wrong. Something he clearly doesn’t want to tell you.

“Why?” You whisper.

“What?” He croaks; throat raw.

You glare up at him. You wish he would look at you. “Why do you have to worry about me?”

“I—” he trails off, helplessly, and you can see the way he’s talking himself out of admitting what’s on his mind. Maybe he’s even talking to Chradh.

“You what, Garrick?” You prod, an icy bite to your tone. “You think I’m weak?”

“No,” he answers vehemently. His gaze zeroes in on yours and he looks at you like he can’t believe you even said that.

“Then what is it?” You demand. “If it’s not because I’m the weakest link, then why are you worried about me?”

“Because,” Garrick roars, crowing in on you. You fall back but he keeps pushing forward, until your spine slams into the wall and there’s nowhere else for you to go.

Your arms fall as you brace yourself against the wall. Garrick’s chest heaves, and you swear you can feel the rapid beat of his heart from how close you stand. His front is plastered to yours, and there’s a flutter in your stomach that swirls at the fire in his eyes.

“Because I can’t get you out of my fucking head,” he admits, tone taking on a soft edge that converges right between your thighs. Your gaze flickers from one hazel eye to the other, confused at his sudden revelation. “Doesn’t matter where you are, what time of the day it is, you’re always on my mind.” He lifts a hand and gently brushes a strand of wet hair back that clings stubbornly to your cheek. The heat of his skin is searing, just like his words. “It’s like you’re a second Chradh,” he laughs drily, “Though you’re much prettier than him.”

You’re pretty sure that this isn’t real life. That your section leader didn’t just admit the very same thing you’ve been feeling for him since the first moment you laid eyes on him. It must be real, because you’re here, pinned to the wall by his big, strong body, and he’s looking at you like you might just reject him.

And you don’t know what the fuck to do. Sure, you’ve kissed people before, but you’ve never done anything more. You know for a fact that Garrick is well-practiced, with those broad shoulders and handsome face, his deep, dark hair and bright eyes that could surely turn anyone into a puddle.

The words stick in your throat. You don’t know what to say, where to start, and the longer you’re silent in front of him, the more apprehension creeps into his eyes. He shifts uneasily, and you wrack your mind for a response.

Ugh, just kiss him already, Uisge’s voice pops into your head.

Not now, Uisge, you bite, and then you heed your nosey dragon’s advice, and kiss Garrick.

You can tell he’s caught off guard by the way his body stills against yours. Still, you push onward, making it known that you’ve wanted him just as long as he’s wanted you by dragging your palms up his chest, reveling in every ripple of muscle you can feel through his flight jacket.

By the time your hands lock at the nape of his neck, Garrick’s hands are on your hips and his mouth moves against yours.

He lifts you into his arms, pinning you against the wall. Your legs wrap around his waist and he rolls his hips into yours as his tongue traces the seams of your lips. You gasp and Garrick slides his tongue into your mouth like he’s done it a million times. He brushes against yours tentatively, and when you don’t shy away from him, he advances.

One of his large hands slides up your waist, finding its way beneath the thin fabric of your shirt, exploring the smooth skin of your sides.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to kiss you,” Garrick mutters against the nape of your neck before sucking a harsh mark there. Your head thumps against the wall and your back arches into his body at the feeling of being claimed. It feels like threshing all over again, but this is better. Sorry Uisge.

Other than a rumble of protest down the bond, your stubborn daggertail doesn’t interrupt.

“How long?” you gasp when his lips find the spot that makes you melt into him. Your fingers scrabble against his flight jacket, nails scratching the thick fabric. Garrick growls in frustration, pulling back just far enough to drop his swords, unzip himself, and tear the fabric form his back. His black shirt follows, exposing those beautiful broad shoulders of his. You can’t help but trail your fingers across his pectorals and down his chest, admiring every inch of his body. Zihnal must be with you right now, because you’ve never felt luckier than you do right now.

“Since the day you chose Uisge,” he pants, helping you discard your own shirt. Your bra quickly follows, and Garrick’s hazel eyes latch onto your body like you’re the best thing he’s ever seen. Your nipples pucker under his heady gaze and he loses his train of thought in favor of bending down to suck a pert bud into his mouth, reveling in the way that you gasp and wriggle as he circles his tongue around the hard nub.

Threshing. He’s liked you since threshing, when you chose Uisge. You think it’s an odd way to phrase what happened that day, but in Garrick’s eyes, that’s exactly what it was. You, stubborn thing that you are, staring down the green daggertail with that look in your eye, the same one you always give him. The same one that makes his cock ache.

“Garrick,” you gasp, arching into him. He’s not close enough, not with your trousers still acting as a barrier from where he ruts his thick cock into you. Your fingers claw at the waistband of his pants. “Off.”

Garrick peels you from the wall, trailing his mouth back up to meet yours in a kiss that steals your breath. He’s very good at this, gentle, too, as he lies you on your bed and he works your pants loose from your hips.

“Fuck me,” he breathes when you’re fully exposed. A flush of red crawls up your body from your toes to your cheeks under that scrutinizing gaze of his. “Look at you.”

The sudden urge to cover yourself flares to life. You’re nervous, even more so when he drops his trousers and his cock bobs, heavy and swollen. Your mouth waters at the sight of him, all rippling muscle and perfect cock, his eyes only for you.

“Garrick,” you whisper, unable to keep the fear from your tone. While his cock is pretty, it looks like it’s big enough to rip you in half. You scramble away from him as he places a knee on the bed, feeling guilty at the confusion on his face. “I��ve never…” you trail off, cheeks burning red.

His uncertainty melts into understanding. “That’s okay, we don’t have to if you don’t—”

“No,” you protest, almost too quickly. Your voice has taken on a desperate volume, and you lower it before continuing. “I want to have sex with you, I really do,” you swallow, eyes dipping to his cock. It’s glistening at the tip. “I just wanted you to know, in case…” you trail off. In case he doesn’t fuck virgins.

The furrow between his brows creeps back. “I want you,” he presses, holding your eyes so that you know exactly how much this moment means to him. “If you want me, I want you. I’ve wanted you for so long.”

You nod, almost dazed. Even though he’s told you this already, the words send a current of excitement zipping down your body where it converges between your thighs.

You want him too.

“Come here, then, Garrick.”

He doesn’t have to be told twice.

Garrick kneels at the foot of the bed. He hooks his fingers around your ankles and carefully drags you closer to him, hazel eyes heady with lust. The effortless way that he tugs you to him has your pussy fluttering with need, a movement that he tracks.

When you near him, he slips from the bed, sliding to his knees. Carefully, Garrick tucks your legs over each of his shoulders, and you can feel each exhale he makes brushing your core. You bite your lip so you don’t release an impatient whine, but for Amari’s sake, you’ve never needed something so badly in your life.

“Is this okay?” he asks, tracing soothing circles into the meat of your thighs with his thumbs. He peppers kisses across the sensitive skin, grinning wildly when your hips buck beneath his mouth.

“Yes,” you moan, circling your hips as if to chase his lips. You want him on you now, licking you and teasing you and making you come on his tongue. “Please, Garrick, I—oh!”

You moan loud and wanton as the tip of his tongue flicks across your clit in an explorative swipe. Garrick locks that sound away in the back of his mind and dips down for another taste, scooping your slick up with his tongue. He’s going to enjoy the fuck out of drawing all these noises from you.

You’re fucking wet. The wettest pussy he’s ever had. You writhe against his tongue, panting and moaning at the different ways he uses his tongue. True to your stubborn nature, it isn’t long before your fingers are locked into his hair, guiding him while you chase your pleasure.

“That’s it, baby,” he says as he switches from tongue fucking you to sucking harshly at your clit. He nips at the joint of your hip when you keen in frustration. You even go so far as to lift your head from the mattress to glare down at him. His eyes fucking glow in response and he holds your needy gaze. “Take what you need.”

There’s a smart retort on the tip of your tongue but it melts into a moan of pleasure when his lips wrap around your clit and he sucks. Garrick adds his tongue into the mix, flicking it across your clit like he’s flipping through a never-ending deck of cards. When he adds a finger, your pleasure grows. When he adds a second, your orgasm crashes down around you in pure bliss. He doesn’t stop his attention on your clit until you’re a whining mess and trying to shove him off for a moment of reprieve.

“You did so good for me,” he murmurs across your skin, lips brushing your navel, your breasts as he climbs onto the bed. Your hands relax, melting down his shoulders, tracing the rebellion relic. “Do you need to stop, or can I put my cock in you?” He asks gently, with a firm kiss to your lips.

“Cock,” you echo, still lost in the throes of your orgasm. You’ll be damned if you miss that chance to have him wholly. “Need your cock.”

“That’s my girl,” Garrick whispers, and you preen.

He guides you into a better position, a pillow beneath your hips. His hand is warm on your calf as he directs you to hook your legs around his taut waist. You peer down at his cock, red and leaking and you’re more than ready for him. You’re a mess for him.

Your breath catches in your chest as he guides his tip in. His words are soothing, gentle as he runs his cock through your slick for easier entry. “That’s it, just like that. It might hurt at first, but I promise I’ll take care of you.” He says, and how the fuck can you not melt for him with those pretty words?

Each inch he presses into you punches the air from your lungs. Your body tightens as you stretch around his girth. His cock is hot, branding your insides.

Garrick senses your discomfort and pauses. The halt makes you whine. “How are you doing?”

“Need you closer,” you admit, screwing your eyes shut. You lift your hands and Garrick carefully lowers himself, trying not to lose his head and fuck all the way into you until his hips meet yours. He’s so gentle, so caring, and your heart swells because of it.

He presses his forehead to yours, thumbing a soft pattern against your cheek. “Relax,” he coaxes softly. Your eyes pop open, meeting those lovely hazel ones. “I can stop anytime you want.”

“I don’t want you to stop,” you answer, slowly unlocking your limbs. You didn’t realize that you were digging your nails into the meat of his shoulders, and you carefully retract your claws. “I want you to keep going.”

It takes agonizing minutes until his pelvis rests against yours. Garrick’s reassuring praises helped keep you calm, even made you wetter for him with that wicked tongue of his. He distracted you with kisses and promises, lingering touches and admissions.

Gods, you feel so full. You didn’t think that you’d be able to take him all the way yet here you are with his cock fully sheathed inside of you. It feels right. He feels like home.

On your own time, you give a tentative roll of your hips. Garrick bites his lip to contain the moan that creeps up his throat, but you do nothing to hide yours. Yes, you get why sex is amazing, and you’re about to find out what sex with Garrick is like.

“If you keep squeezing my cock like that, I’m going to meet Malek sooner than intended,” Garrick pants, but fuck if he doesn’t love the way you’re squirming on his cock, drunk off of the sheer size of him.

“Move,” you gasp, fingers tightening on the back of his biceps. “I need you to move, Garrick.”

He heeds your direction like the good rider he is.

He starts out slow, letting you get used to his size. He kisses the furrow between your brow, rocking in and out until it disappears and you’re whimpering for him to move faster. You’re soaking his cock, which makes it all too easy to maneuver quicker, shifting his hips until you’re crying out and your nails are locked into his skin of his back again, raking down his spine.

He doesn’t even care if you leave red traces down his back. He’d rather be reminded of this moment than the scar that’s forever marred into his skin.

“Yes,” you hiss, arching into him. Garrick sucks a mark into the plush skin of your breast before sucking your nipple into his mouth. “Yes yes yes!” He’s ravaging you in every way, feels like he’s using his air wielding to steal the air from your lungs. You know that your lack of breath is simply just from being in his presence, his dashing good looks have always managed to take your breath away.

Garrick is attentive, tracing every part of your body he can reach. He draws a map in his mind, committing exactly what places and noises correspond. He would stay buried in you for fucking days if he could, but the harder you let him fuck into you has his gut coiling, that familiar heat buzzing down his spine.

He slides a hand between your bodies and finds your clit like he’s been fucking you for way longer than one night. You tug his head down in a desperate kiss, whimpering in pleasure into his mouth as his finger draws tight circles around your sensitive nub, chasing you toward that edge that still feels foreign yet so familiar at the same time.

“Come for me,” Garrick whispers, and you have no choice but to listen to your section leader.

You topple over the edge of oblivion. It’s similar to the feeling you experienced earlier, when you let yourself slip from Uisge’s back. A freefall, yet it’s so much more than that. It’s strong arms crashing down with you, a cock between your legs that’s hitting all the right spots. It’s soft words of encouragement from a man you’d never thought you’d get to see this much of. Hazel eyes that you’re falling into.

Garrick comes shortly after you, when he’s sure that you’ve experienced the best first orgasm of your life with him. There will be no one who will treat you like this, he’s vowed to ruin sex with any other man for you. But he’s ready to stick around if you are, as long as you don’t go jumping from your dragon with a death wish without letting him know first.

“That was…” you trail off in bliss. There’s a satisfied smile on your face, one that makes Garrick preen. Your eyes are shut and the lazy way you stroke his hair makes him fall harder, melt further into your body. “Thank you.”

“No,” he counters gently, brushing your hair from your face. It’s damp for an entirely different reason than the lake now, stuck to your skin with sweat. “Thank you,” he says, and leans down for one more intoxicating kiss.

[minswriting]

Head Empty, No Thoughts - Aaron Hotchner x Reader

About: You can’t focus properly because all you can think about is how much you desperately needed to be railed. Hotch, being the amazing boss that he is, helps his agent with quite enthusiasm.

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, boss/agent dynamics, soft!dom aaron, praise kink, fingering, oral (f), unprotected sex, doggy style, aaron’s an ass man what can i say? porn with no plot. not proof read because that’s lame

Word Count: 3.4k

A/N: Hello my lovelies! Please make sure to reblog to support your content creators!! @nachrosas helped me with making sure this story is good lol. i hope you all enjoy! if you have any thoughts, feel free to send them in my inbox!

To say you’ve been having issues concentrating was an understatement. For the past few weeks, you’ve been going to work, trying your best to focus on cases, and yet, you could hardly concentrate on anything you’re meant to do. You simply follow orders and stay silent for the most part. It’s not that you didn’t want to work. You adored your job, even if it gets really hard sometimes. Your team is like your family, and you usually contribute to profiles and other parts of the case.

The issue was that it’s been months since you’ve had sex and it’s making you very grouchy and unable to think about anything else.

You craved to be touched, to be fucked so hard that you could cry from pleasure. Your last hookup, many months ago, hadn’t even been good. He didn’t make you cum once so you had to resort to using your fingers. And your fingers and toys can only do so much compared to being properly dicked down.

Currently, the team is on a case in Tampa, Florida. After a series of homicidal home invasions, you guys had been called to investigate. You tried your best to remain focused, drinking coffee, listening to Hotch giving orders, and hearing everyone give their ideas on the profile. And yet, you didn’t say anything. You didn’t give your perspective. You simply just listened with a neutral look on your face.

By the end of the night, when everyone had gone to the hotel to get some rest, Aaron had stopped you in the lobby to talk to you before you could go up to your assigned room. He put a hand on your arm, causing you to turn around to look at your boss. His brown eyes looked at you with concern despite his stoic facade. “Are you alright?” He asked softly, furrowing his eyebrows as he spoke.

You nodded your head, giving Aaron a small shrug. “Of course,” You replied. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’ve been very quiet the past few weeks,” Aaron said, looking at you as though he were analyzing your every move, profiling you. “Tense, too.”

“Well, I think we’re all tense all of the time, Hotch,” You joked, trying to change the subject. Of course, Hotch would notice that you weren’t yourself. You work with a bunch of profilers, and while the others always try not to profile the team, Aaron was one who usually profiled the team to ensure mental stability out on the field. It was his job to make sure you were all doing alright. However, you didn’t particularly want to tell your boss that you’ve been so…distant from work simply because you need to get railed. That would be awkward and unprofessional.

Aaron quirked an eyebrow at you, noticing the obvious change in subject. “You’re not usually so quiet during cases. Your insights are valuable on this team, and if something is plaguing you about your position, I need to make sure you’re doing alright, Agent.”

“Hotch, I promise it’s nothing related to the job,” You sighed, tilting your head. “I’ve just been distracted and frustrated, but it’s due to personal matters.”

“Perhaps talking about what’s bothering you could make you feel better?” Aaron pointed out.

You shook your head no, cheeks reddening in embarrassment as you thought about the idea of telling your boss about your personal issue. “I-it’s not something I should talk about,” You cleared your throat. “Especially with you.”

Aaron looked at you with a look of confusion, noticing how your cheeks got red. “Especially with me?” He asked, eyebrows furrowed once more. “What do you mean?”

You groaned internally at yourself with a small grimace on your face due to embarrassment. You realized that Aaron wouldn’t relent. He would interrogate you until the answer came out. So you decided to say “fuck it” figuratively. “I haven’t had sex in months,” you said bluntly. “And it’s been all I can focus on. But I’ll figure it out and I apologize it’s been affecting my work. I’m going to go to my room now.” And with that, you turned around and quickly walked away, not waiting for your boss to respond.

When you had gotten to your room, you quickly opened the door and closed it behind yourself, throwing your bag to the side as you quickly went to bed, burying your face into the pillow and letting out a muffled scream. You took a deep breath before turning onto your back and looking up at the ceiling. To say you were officially embarrassed was an understatement. You were mortified. You had confessed to your attractive boss that you hadn’t had sex in a long while and that it was affecting the way you worked.

With a sigh, you got up from the bed and went to your go-bag, grabbing a lavender purple nightgown before going to the bathroom and taking a shower. And once you had gotten settled into bed, reading a book, there was a sudden knock on your hotel room door. You checked the time, noticing how it was after midnight.

You closed your book, putting it onto the nightstand before getting out of bed. You smoothed out your nightgown before walking over to the door. You opened the door a crack, just to see who was standing there. Aaron stood there, still dressed in his suit but without the jacket. You opened the door all of the way. You immediately blushed as the embarrassment came rushing back. “Hi,” You said quietly, feeling exposed as you were only wearing your nightgown while Aaron was still in his work clothes.

“Can I come in?” He asked, looking at you with a look that you can’t quite place. You didn’t say anything as you stepped to the side, allowing Aaron to walk in. You closed the door behind him, biting your lip in nervousness. You turned to look at Hotch, not saying anything as he looked at you. He not-so-subtly looked you up and down before meeting your eyes. “You’ve been frustrated,” was all he said.

You nodded your head, heart pounding in your chest. “I have,” you said hoarsely.

He paused for a moment, as though he were thinking of what to say next. “You know,” he began. “If there’s an issue with one of the members of my team, it’s my duty to find a solution.”

“What do you mean?” You asked, furrowing your eyebrows in confusion. “This isn’t something for you to find a solution to.”

Aaron let out a sigh, a break in his usual stoic demeanor. Being outright with himself was hard as he usually hid his emotions and thoughts from those around him. “I’m saying that I can help you,” he exclaimed, taking a step towards you.

“What?” You asked, still clearly confused but you had an inkling of what this was about. As Aaron got closer, you stayed put.

And when he reached you, he tentatively put a hand on your cheek, running his thumb across your skin. “I can help you,” he whispered.

Your breath hitched at Aaron’s touch. You felt dazed as you looked into his brown eyes. “Hotch-“ you whispered, not quite knowing what else to say. You couldn’t help but glance down at his lips, fighting the urge to just lean in and kiss him. Your gaze moved back to his eyes.

“What sort of boss would I be if I allowed my best agent to wallow in her frustration?” He asked huskily, leaning in, his breath fanning over your face. All you could smell was Aaron’s cologne and the faint smell of whiskey. And without waiting for your response, Aaron’s lips were on yours, kissing you tentatively as if he were afraid you’d pull away. But when you made a soft noise and kissed Aaron back, he deepened the kiss, moving his other hand to your waist and pulling you closer to him.

You didn’t quite know what to do with yourself other than to kiss Aaron. You couldn’t deny the obvious attraction you felt for your boss. You had kept it a secret, not wanting to ruin the professionalism that had been built between the two of you. But now, as Aaron’s chapped lips moved against your soft ones, you could hardly find yourself to care. Especially when it has been far too long since you’ve done anything.

Aaron’s hand moved from your hip to the bottom of your nightgown, lifting it up a bit. After a few minutes of kissing one another deeply, Aaron pulled back slightly, resting his forehead against yours. “Tell me to stop at any point,” he whispered.

“Please don’t stop.” You whispered back.

And without any hesitation, Aaron kissed you again. His tongue licked your bottom lip and you graciously parted your lips for him, allowing him to explore your mouth with his tongue. His hand went underneath your nightgown, slowly trailing upwards. Your breath hitched when his fingers reached the waistband of your panties. He pulled away from the kiss, moving to kiss your jawline and neck as his fingers slipped underneath the waistband.

His middle finger touched your slit, feeling the wetness that had pooled. You gasped at the feeling, bringing your hands to Aaron’s shoulders. “You’re so wet,” he said against your skin, trailing his finger from your hole to your clit before he began to gently rub circles against the nub.

You moaned softly, eyes fluttering shut. Aaron moved his head so he could look at you. He continued to rub soft circles with his middle finger before dipping it into your hole, gently inserting the digit. The way your body jolted at the intrusion made Aaron chuckle breathily. He began moving his finger in and out of you at a teasingly slow pace, getting you used to the feeling. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured.

You opened your eyes to look at Aaron, who was already looking at you. Your lips were parted as he gently moved his finger. And after a few moments, he added a second one, immediately curling his fingers. You let out a choked moan, maintaining eye contact with Aaron, as you held onto him. You felt drunk on lust, finally getting pleasured by someone other than yourself. “A-Aaron,” you moaned, breathing heavily.

“Beautiful girl,” he said, his thumb tracing your cheekbone. “Does it feel good?” He asked as his fingers moved at a slow pace inside of you, hitting your g-spot with each movement.

You nodded your head.

“Use your words.”

“Yes,” you whimpered.

“Good girl,” He said with a small smirk on his lips as he moved his fingers inside of you faster.

A shiver went down your back at the praise, an action that didn’t go unmissed by Aaron’s eyes. You began moaning louder, feeling that familiar heat building inside of you as Aaron’s digits moved with purpose. “I-I’m so close,” you whined.

Aaron hummed, keeping the pace. “Go ahead, baby, let go for me,” he said breathily.

And with a few more pumps of his fingers, you came, legs shaking as you tried to hold yourself up as you came undone on his fingers. Aaron’s free arm immediately moved to wrap around your waist, holding you upright. You threw your head back, whining with pleasure. When you finished you opened your eyes, looking at Aaron as you breathed heavily.

He withdrew his fingers from your cunt, bringing the digits to his mouth and sucking on them until they were clean. He moaned at the taste, the sounding sending sparks down to your pussy.

You couldn’t help yourself from looking down, seeing the bulge in Aaron’s pants. He looked so painfully hard and you wanted to help him just as he was helping you. You brought your hand to his bulge but before you could touch it, Aaron grabbed your hand. “Not yet,” he said, licking his lips. “Tonight’s about you.” And with that, he gently pushed you over to the mattress, making you sit on the edge.

You watched as Aaron got on his knees in front of you, looking up at you with his chocolate brown eyes. He lifted your nightgown just enough to reveal your panties. He put his fingers on the waistband, pulling them down and off of you. “I need to taste you, baby,” Aaron said, licking his lips as your bare cunt was revealed to him. “Is that alright?”

“Y-yes,” you whispered, looking at him with anticipation.

“Good girl,” he hummed before spreading your legs, burying his head between your thighs as he dived right in. His tongue licked a stripe on your pussy.

You immediately whined, eyes fluttering shut as Aaron’s tongue began to lap around your pussy. He circled your clit before putting his lips on the nub and sucking gently. “O-oh fuck,” you moaned as you entangled a hand in his hair, tugging at his locks. Aaron let out a groan against your cunt, sending vibrations through it. “Feels so good, Aaron,” you whined, throwing your head back in pleasure.

What was at first gentle quickly turned into Aaron eating you out like a starved man as he quickly got addicted to the taste of your pussy. He sucked on your clit, lapped his tongue around your cunt, dipped his tongue into your hole as his nose rubbed against your clit. He was messy with it in the best way possible.

It didn’t take long until you came for a second time that night, clenching your thighs around Aaron’s head as you arched your back and tugged at his hair, moaning his name so loudly that you were sure anyone sleeping in the room next to yours could hear.

And when you came down from your high, you relaxed against the mattress, allowing your back to fall onto the soft fabric. You breathed heavily, your chest moving up and down. Aaron pulled away from your cunt, his face absolutely covered in your juices. “You alright?” he asked, licking his lips.

You nodded your head, looking at Aaron with a small lazy smile. “So good,” you giggled gently.

Aaron chuckled, unbuttoning his shirt. “We aren’t done yet, baby,” he exclaimed, tossing his dress shirt to the side before undoing the belt of his pants. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it properly.”

You bit your lip as you watched Aaron undress. He was so fit and toned. You watched in anticipation as he tossed his belt to the side before unzipping his pants. He pulled them down along with his boxers, his cock slapping against his stomach. He was so hard, his cock red and leaking with precum. You couldn’t help the whimper that left your lips as you looked at it because he was hung, to say the least. “You’re so big,” you whispered in fascination. “Will it fit?” You’ve never had sex with anyone as big and thick as Aaron.

“You flatter me,” Aaron exclaimed, a teasing smile on his lips. He gave himself a few tugs before walking over to you. “We’ll make it fit.” He said simply. “On your hands and knees.” He commanded.

And you obliged without hesitation. You turned yourself so that you were on your hands and knees, your ass in the air. You felt a light smack on your ass, sending tingles down your spine. “God, you’re beautiful,” Aaron said as he massaged the flesh of your ass.

He then grabbed your hips, pulling you closer to him before lining his cock to your pussy. He teased himself and you, spreading your wetness along his tip, causing him to hiss in pleasure and for you to let out a whimper.

He then lined himself to your entrance, slowly easing his cock inside of you. You whimpered again, this time louder as Aaron stretched you. The slight pain you felt was worth it as you were finally being filled for the first time in months. And then Aaron bottomed out, you felt him pressing so deeply inside of you in a way you had never felt before.

“You’re so fucking tight,” Aaron groaned, keeping himself still.

“You’re so fucking big,” you whined in response. Both of you stayed still for a bit, allowing you time to adjust. And when the sting subsided, you let out a breath. “You can move.”

Aaron gently pulled his hips back before slamming into you again. He was slow with it but hard, making you really feel his cock inside of you. You yelped in pleasure, eyes closing. Aaron had one hand on your hip, the other on your right buttcheek as he thrusted into you at a slow pace.

“F-faster.”

“Say please.” Aaron replied, keeping the slow pace.

“Faster, please,” your voice hitched as Aaron pressed himself deep inside of you again.

“Good girl,” He said before moving his hips faster. His cock began hitting your g-spot deadass, causing you to moan much louder than before.

“O-oh my,” you moaned. You stopped holding yourself up with your arms, allowing your head to fall forward onto the sheets as your hands gripped them. Aaron’s pace was brutal as he very much did not hold himself back. This is exactly what you meant by needing to be railed. “So good!” Your voice was muffled from the sheets.

“You feel so good, my pretty girl,” Aaron groaned, watching the way your ass bounced with the harshness of his thrusts. He smacked it again, this time harder than before.

You whined in response, pressing yourself against Aaron as you began meeting his thrusts with your own movements. Your nightgown was ridden up to your chest, the straps falling from your shoulders.

“Fuck,” Aaron groaned, tilting his head back as he fucked you. You were so wet and tight around his cock. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to last long. He swallowed, moving back to look at you. You were absolutely gorgeous in the position you were in.

The whole scene was quite obscene and pornographic. Your ass was up, your back arched as your head was buried in the mattress. The sounds of your moans filled the air along with the loud smacking of skin hitting skin. Not to mention the fact that your pussy was so wet that you could hear the noises of it with every thrust of Aaron’s cock.

You felt that burn building once more as Aaron’s cock moved inside of you. Your eyes were rolled back from the pleasure as he fucked you so good. “I-I’m so close,” you mewled, your walls clenching around Aaron’s length.

“Ah,” Aaron groaned. “Be a good girl and cum for me, yeah?” He said, putting both hands on your hips as he drilled himself into you. “My beautiful girl,” he said with each thrust.

When your orgasm hit, it hit you hard. You came with a choked sobbing moan that you were sure other people on the floor definitely heard. Your legs shook aggressively as you clenched tightly around Aaron’s length, moaning his name repeatedly. Aaron fucked you through your orgasm, keeping up his brutal pace as he chased his own high. With a loud groan and moan of your name, Aaron pressed himself deep inside of you as he came, spilling his seed.

And when he finished, he pulled out and you both collapsed on the mattress, Aaron lying down next to you. Neither of you spoke as you breathed heavily, basking in the post-orgasmic feeling. After a few minutes, when your breathing finally caught, you lifted your head to look at Aaron, who was already looking at you, and you both couldn’t help the small chuckles that left your lips as Aaron pulled you into his arms, holding you close.

The next morning, when everyone had met at the station to continue working on the case, you were much more like yourself. You were more focused, engaged with the team, giving your input on the profile. Everyone just assumed you had slept well. But every time you glanced at Hotch, there was a subtle exchange of thoughts as you both would briefly recall the previous night. A quiet agreement that you both would seek one another out for relief.

Because what kind of agent would you be if you couldn’t ease your boss’s stress?

[maxriss]

⋆˚࿔ UH HUH — LN4

Lando Norris x reader / headcanons / library

Syn. Lando Norris and his extremely attractive habit of saying uh-huh aka maxriss pining over the little things Lando Norris does <3 [F, slight M]

Lando Norris was known for many things — his f1 career, the way he smelled of expensive colognes, the girls he went home with, djing in random clubs — I knew him for something else entirely.

From the way he hummed, the slight nod of his head, the lazy of hum of his response.

“Uh huh”. I’m floored.

The cooped up cafe near the campus was filled to the brim during exam szn, my head propped up on a redbull can as my fingers typed away when I heard it for the first time. The light hum of a boy followed by a laughter “uh huh”.

That one sound had me whipping my head too fast for my liking, making the boy turn to me as well. Lando Norris. Turned my head, only to meet those blue-green eyes, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips as he leaned against the counter, watching me.

It wasn’t fair a pretty boy could make pretty noises.

I thought about it more than I’d like to admit. Ofcourse it was flirty and cocky. Ofcourse it was a narcissistic trait from him. Ofcourse I wanted him to tut at me before kissing me breathless.

Oh my days.

I noticed the way he would say, the ways he would say it and when he would. It was Lando Norris — the campus playboy — I was writing my own heartbreak.

You could always tell Lando’s mood by the way he says uh huh. If it’s drawn out and lazy, he’s tired or teasing you. If it’s quick and clipped, he’s distracted. And if it’s low and deep? Yeah, that one gets to me every time.

The smirk that always accompanied it, his eyes dark and low — oh to be looked at that way.

He oftentimes flexed his jaw before saying it and that one had me licking my lips.

I caught him this one time in the cafeteria talking to his friends — oddly one of them flashing his bunda to him — when Lando laughed facing my side and poked his cheek with his lips before throwing out the sexiest uh-huh I’d ever heard and lord save me for I’ll sin for this man.

I hated that it affected me—how something as simple as two syllables could make me weak.

Then there was time I heard it in the library, late at night, when he walked past my table and smirked at the book in my hand. “That any good?” he asked, and when I hummed in response, he me you that look and murmured, “Uh huh.”

I SWEAR HE DID IT INTENTIONALLY.

The stolen glances. The teasing. The way he’d find me in crowded rooms, gravitate toward me like he couldn’t help it.

And then — then it happened.

A study session in his dorm, both of us sitting on the floor, books long forgotten.

He was too close. His hand brushed mine, and neither of us moved away.

My breath hitched. His eyes flickered to my lips.

He leaned in. I swore the air crackled between us, heat simmering, everything about to change—

But then… a knock at the door.

He pulled away fast, running a hand through his curls, clearing his throat like it hadn’t just happened.

And then he exhaled, shaking his head with a small, knowing smile.

“Uh huh.”

reblog and follow <3 all rights reserved ©maxriss please do not copy, save, or translate my stories. this is no place for hate and violence, kindly maintain love and peace.

[crepezinhos]

The Lion and The Fox

POV: Sunday has always had high expectations of you, his dear secretary, and his lovesick obsession for you has only made his trust on you increase uncontrollably. But now, he felt like his world was crumbling right in front of him when he learned that you were pregnant, and the father was the man he most despised, that he wish he could deport from Penacony, Aventurine.

⚠️ WARNINGS:

— This is a Yandere and Suggestive SFW Oneshot

— Reader is FEMALE and uses SHE/HER pronouns

— Contains: A lot of dirty-talking and racially-motivated talking, accidental pregnancy, bloody fighting, attempted murder, violent language and obsessive/possessive behavior.

— Yandere!Boss!Sunday x Pregnant!Reader x Yandere!Aventurine

— AU is: In-Game

“Ah, Y/N. You’re here.” Sunday turned his gaze away from the windowed wall of his office with a little grin growing in the edges of his lips to look at you, who was entering the room with embarrassment already taking you over.

“Hi… Mr. Oak.” You didn’t even dare ignoring his greet as you pushed the door back to its place from behind, especially considering how much he personally respected you.

But you immediately sighed in defeat as you realized how obviously awkward your tone accidentally came out of your throat, which you knew would alarm his attentive ears in a blink.

“Is everything okay?” And his speed to figure someone’s head out, or at least yours in particular, made you even less confident to keeping making eye contact at those mesmerizing amber eyes of his. “You seem very disturbed, dear.”

“Mr. Oak, I—” At the same you desperately wanted to vomit those words out of your chest, your logical thinking warned you that the conversation you were about to have with him right now would not be easy work, perhaps even heartbreaking.

Sunday begun silently walking away from his spot and going towards you, as if he was trying to avoid any explosive reaction out of you or comfort you. But unfortunately, his elegant apparent d and tall figure completely triggered the opposite out of you.

“I need to take a break.” You threw your head to the left as you confessed your intentions to him without any further context, paralyzing the Halovian. “Like… a few days or a whole week…”

“A whole week?” Sunday’s tone did not change, though, and after a few seconds waiting for a response, he finally figured you were too uncomfortable to speak any more without his leadership. “May I ask why?” He continued walking, a little more faster this time, cornering you against the wall even if his hands remained behind his back as usual.

“I’m not feeling quite well, Mr. Oak—”

“Please, address me as Sunday, dear.” You suddenly felt something wooly reach your left cheek and begin to caress it gently, figuring it was Sunday’s fingers after successfully cornering you against the door. “My apologies… I won’t interrupt you again.”

“I’m just feeling sick. That’s all…” You awkwardly finished yourself while trying to ignore his intimate demonstration of care.

“And you need a whole week to recover from it?” His tone shifted to a more serious one while that hand of his spread itself around your whole jaw and slightly pulled it upwards, forcing you to look at him again, and your silence made it obvious to him that you were either lying or hiding something from him. “Let’s sit down, dear.” His hypnotizing grin almost made you vomit the truth right there out of guilt.

Sunday released you and begun stepping towards where his office desk and fancy chair were, without acknowledging how quickly he had convinced you to speak the truth to him. That distressing nod in your throat was already unbearable on its own, but that you were being forced to tell such disappointing news to such a sweet and caring boss like Sunday, that truly admires you and trusts you deeply, just couldn’t be postponed anymore.

“I’m pregnant!” As soon as the distance between you and him was comfortable to you, when Sunday’s hand was about to reach his chair’s arm support, you let the beast out of its cage. “I am feeling sick indeed, but it’s because I’m pregnant and I have no idea what to do about it yet!” Your voice cracked a few times as you bowed your head down, tears barely glistening your eyes, but you did your best to hold them back and not stress Sunday, who had fully paralyzed in his spot.

…

…

…

“I beg your pardon?” Sunday slowly turned his head to you, the rest of his body immobile in its place.

“You heard me, Mr. O—… Sunday… I’m pregnant.” You crossed your arms and legs, leaning against the wall vulnerably.

And once again, Sunday didn’t say anything again some awkward seconds, causing your heart to beat even faster than it already was.

…

…

“P-Pregnant..?” This was one of the first times you’ve ever heard Sunday’s voice crack and stutter.

“Yes, sir.” You quickly nodded.

…

…

…

“Like… pregnant pregnant?” Sunday repeated himself again, a little more desperate.

“Yes, sir.” And you nodded to him again, a little more desperate too.

“When did you…” He didn’t know what to ask you due to the unprocessed shock. “For how long have you known this?” Sunday sounded a little madder as you expected, but at the same time you could feel some worry and anxiety coming from him as you saw him move a hand to his collar and start fidgeting his own tie.

“I took the test a few days ago, Mr. Oak.” Although you noticed how you referred to him in the wrong manner, Sunday didn’t seem to notice it, or at least preferred to not scold you again.

“How many people know about it yet?” Sunday finally turned his full body to you. After all, that question mattered a lot.

“None of my friends know about it yet, only the father and you, sir.” At this moment, it felt like all of your friendship with Sunday never existed in the first place, considering how incredibly negative his reaction was.

“Ah, yes… the father.” Sunday spat the word like a curse, scoffing at it right afterwards before pausing for a moment. “Who is the lucky man, Y/N?” Sunday decided to speak in a warmer tone, hoping it would help appeasing the suspense between you two, but it wasn’t quite useful to you.

“Sunday, I… I don’t think I should—”

“I have to know who the father is, Y/N.” He immediately shut you off with a shaky, anxious voice before you could fully reject him. “I don’t think it would be beneficial for us if the people of Penacony were to learn that the secretary of the Head of the Family… my secretary… is pregnant of someone of bad influence, especially if I was not aware of it or consenting to it. Don’t you agree?” Sunday’s voice cracked a few more times with his growing anger as his fingers became more aggressive with his tie.

You weakly nodded, feeling more tears rise up to your eyes. You were expecting Sunday to have a negative reaction indeed, but you did not expect him to be this bold. It even made you question your non-professional friendship with him. Was he not as attached to you like you thought? Was his kindness to you just a souvenir for your hard work? Have you two ever developed a friendship in the first place? If not, were you really just a secretary to him? If yes, how intimate are you two?

“This seriously endangers your job, Y/N, so if you don’t wish me to take extreme measures with you, tell me, dear, who is the father..?!” Despite his self-control, you noticed a pattern of how he was simply unable to hold all his anger when he mentioned the ‘father’.

You breathed in and out, preparing yourself for the bomb you were about to drop on him. After all, losing your job to this did not seem to be the smartest choice to be done, although the answer itself could still make you lose your job anyway.

“I believe the father is Aventurine, sir.” You closed your eyes as you told your version of the story, trying to make it more broad by stating as a theory rather than a fact, but you were certain that the baby was Aventurine’s.

…

…

…

Sunday scoffed.

…

…

…

“Aventurine?” Sunday’s tone deepened, almost falling into pure madness. “The Sigonian from the IPC?”

“…Yes, sir.” You weakly nodded again, finally finding some courage to open your eyes and look up to him.

“You’ve been going out with him?” Sunday’s tie wasn’t tucked under his white tuxedo anymore, and he was barely blinking his widened eyes.

“I believe you’re crossing a line of privacy, sir. I won’t be answering that.” You felt blood rush to your cheeks as you remembered your last date with the gambler, specifically when the baby was being made, speaking a little bit more annoyed.

“Why? He didn’t assault you or anything of the sort, did he, dear?” Sunday’s hands crossed around each other.

“No, sir.” Your tone went back to its previous shy one.

Sunday’s eyes finally dropped and stopped violently staring at you, looking around in confusion as he breathed in and out harshly. It did help you and your body to calm down, though.

“You know you can always trust me if there’s any danger going on in your life, right?” Sunday looked at you again with curiosity, which made your body stiffen again.

“Absolutely, sir.” You nodded more confidently. That statement reassured you about your previous thoughts about Sunday.

He really isn’t that bold. He never was. Today was just a minimal and reasonable exception.

“Good.” Sunday’s eyes got distracted again as he thought about all the facts that have been told, and you decided to contribute with your own silence.

…

…

…

…

…

“You know what? I must apologize to you, dear. What kind of man treats a pregnant lady like this? Only some uneducated punk… It was very childish of me, Y/N, I’m truly sorry.” Sunday suddenly relaxed in a blink, his hands going behind his back as usual while a cute grin took over his lips again as if he hadn’t almost gone mad in front of you.

After all, self-control is a really important aspect in this sort of job.

“No, it’s ok… I understand. I would be very worried too if I found out my secretary suddenly got pregnant.” Sunday hummed a giggle at your comment as you shrugged your shoulders.

“Go home, dear.” Sunday walked to you again, his hands landing on both your shoulders. “Go take a good rest. I’ve made you work enough this week.” His thumbs gently brushed your skin like wet porcelain, even raising them a few times to push some strands of your hair behind your ear.

“You’re… you’re not mad?” Deep down, you found his sudden change of behavior weird, and you weren’t exactly comfortable with it.

“Mad? Why would I be mad at you, dear? I trust you to make a smart choice about this.” And now that you were closely staring at his fine face, that smile, no matter how warm it was, it seemed to be betraying whatever was going through his mind. “Make sure to keep your commitment with the Family in mind, ok?” Sunday suddenly leaned his face to the right side of your face, his mouth hanging inches away from your ear as his voice suddenly turned serious.

“Of course, boss.” You nodded to Sunday, who patted your head in appreciation for a few seconds before finally letting you go.

.

SLAM!

All the human bodies in the casino were attracted by the loud bang of the double doors being against the walls as they were brutally pushed open, whispers beginning to accumulate onto each other as they realized it was Sunday Oak who walked in.

“Is that Sunday Oak?”

“I thought he condemned gambling…”

“What is he doing here?”

“Sunday Oak?”

“Should I ask for an autograph?”

“Isn’t he Robin’s older brother?”

Sunday couldn’t care less about any of those comments or the glances landing on him as he walked inside the flashy halls of the casino. He was entirely interested and focused on his hunt, and his hunt only.

After all, it didn’t take him more than 5 seconds to identify what he was searching for.

Aventurine.

The slim, blonde man sitting down lazily on a chair with spread legs and a pack of cards in his hands, accompanied by two other men playing with him, sitting in the opposite corners of the table, all of them shaping the form of a triangle where Aventurine was directly facing Sunday. The table was full of cards and chips thrown around it, even a few real credits too, showing that they weren’t just playing casually, and three cups of alcohol being the only objects standing still.

“Ah, the Head of the Family himself, Sunday Oak! What an honor it is to have you in my casino! What brings you here tonight?” The gambler put his cards facing down in the table to open his arms to Sunday in a warm greeting.

His purple eyes still managed to shine through the dark pair of sunglasses he was wearing and the whole dark ambient around them.

But Sunday’s murderous face didn’t appease a bit with his warm greeting.

“Leave.” He glanced down at the two other gamblers, who simply shared confused looks with each other and Aventurine when they heard his order. “NOW!” Both men immediately flinched upwards hearing his scream, fleeing from their seats as if they were fleeing for their lives.

After all, who would be insane enough to challenge the Head of the Family?

As soon as the steps of the coward men started to become faint murmurs in the ambient, Aventurine finally started taking advantage of their privacy to speak again.

“See… when I say that you’re always welcome in here, Mr. Oak, that doesn’t necessarily mean you have the right to interrupt any of the games—”

“You got Y/N pregnant..?!” Aventurine’s smirk grew as he realized what was Sunday’s objective in his casino and how angry he was due to it, even if he had been interrupted.

“Ah… so you’ve heard the news…” Aventurine proceeded to grab the glass of liquor sitting closest to him and took a sip of it. “It is also an honor to have being the first person to congratulate me…”

“Congratulate you..?” Sunday’s eyes widened in audacity at his words. “Congratulate you?! For what? For making such an absurdly irresponsible decision?!” Sunday finally dragged one of the empty chairs closer to him and sat himself down at on it, both his hands slamming the table while Aventurine simply mired down at the liquor in the glass. “You’re a gambler, and you’re completely addicted to it! What is wrong with you?! What kind of man sustains his family by gambling?!” Aventurine couldn’t help but scoff at his words as his eyes finally looked up to meet his again, starting a war of eye contact.

“Oh, please, we both know that you’re not mad at the fact that I’m a gambler about to become a father.” The gambler finally placed the glass back to the table, his arms crossing as he leaned against the chair.

Sunday refused to answer him although both men had a lot of privacy to discuss such an intimate topic.

“You’re mad that it’s not going to be a beautiful and cute Halovian baby growing inside her with cute little wings on his head and a shiny golden halo that will grow to be the Family’s next prodigy..! And instead, it’s going to be a little Sigonian trash with cursed fortune.” Aventurine used his hands to point at Sunday’s features and his owns, but it didn’t trigger Sunday to answer him, despite his boiling annoyance. “Not that? No? Then it might be that… you’re mad at the fact that it wasn’t you who made the path inside her womb first?” Aventurine uncrossed him arms and set them on table while leaning his body a little closer to his to challenge him, finally causing Sunday to slightly snap.

After all, an obsessed man like him could not handle the imagination of his perfect pure darling being bred by the man who directly competes with him for her, all twirled around his figure and showing him your nudity.

“You little shit…” Sunday fisted his own hands as his eyebrows to frown in the table’s cloth as he tried avoiding those sinful thoughts.

“Me?” Aventurine’s eyes widened with Sunday’s hypocrisy. “Imagine you’re constantly trying to hang out with this marvelous, jaw-dropping and inspiring woman, but she’s always rejecting you because she was either working in a Saturday night, or too exhausted from it on Sunday, hum? You feeling me now?” Aventurine tried waiting for an answer, but Sunday refused to let himself downgrade to the gambler’s level and backed down again. “I think I should actually thank you for making her exhausted and home-alone during her precious weekends. You’ve surely left that woman touch-starved, and I certainly took advantage of that whenever I insisted in visiting her in her home… She’s actually extra tight when she’s stressed.” Aventurine winked at him, intentionally ignoring Sunday’s unblinking, widening eyes. “Just to think about my cock suffocating inside that tiiight pussy of hers while she begs for me to keep ravishing it nonstop makes me so hard…” Aventurine was rubbing his legs together under the table to avoid his slight erection to grow any further under his pants while his cheeks slightly reddened.

“You hell-sent maniac…” That was all Sunday could mumble without exploding. “Do you even listen to yourself? Is this the poor vocabulary that poor kid would learn from their father? You have absolutely no conditions of being a father. I know it, you know it, Y/N knows it. Do you have any idea how worried she was when she was talking to me about this mess? Do you think she’d be that worried about it if I was the father of her child, hum? Do you think she’s happy to be pregnant of you?” Sunday finally decided to take some dominance in the conversation and leaned closer to Aventurine.

“Do you think she’d be any happier to pregnant of you, Mr. Oak? Her manipulative boss that takes advantage of her every free second to keep her revolving around you, yet, refuses to take a single step forward with your relationship with her and keeps edging her pleasure in you?” Aventurine sounded a little angrier as he described Y/N’s work ambient.

“You know nothing about me and Y/N…” Sunday hissed at him. Deep down he knew he had a fair point and that he had to change his relationship with her if he wanted to conquer her heart.

“Well, I certainly know all of this would’ve probably been avoided if you weren’t the coward that you are, and asked her out before I did. Now, even if you did manage to make her fall in love with you and make her your wife, you’d never be able to get rid of the shape of her insides, forever prepared to receive me inside her instead of you because she knows who introduced her the magic of paradisiacal pleasure.” Aventurine twirled his fingers together and set his chin on top of them, his face proudly hanging on it.

“You do realize Y/N is most likely going to abort that cursed baby, right?” Sunday finally found an opportunity to counter Aventurine, smirking in victory after all those sexual comments of you Aventurine has been doing to frustrate him.

“Good for her.” Aventurine shrugged his shoulders, dumbfounding Sunday, who allowed his smirk to die for a moment.

Sunday didn’t understand. Wasn’t he cheerful about her pregnancy? Wasn’t he happy about claiming her womb first and making her a mother before him? Wasn’t he initially arguing with Sunday about being a father?

“You’re just bluffing. I know you’re disappointed.” Sunday brought his grin back before Aventurine could take dominance again, trying to convince him to let that guilt out of his mind.

“I don’t think you’ve understood it yet, Mr. Oak… I don’t intend to be a father. Never intended to be.” Aventurine spoke with a straight face, very relaxed as he confessed his feelings, unlike Sunday.

“I beg your pardon?” Finally, Sunday felt challenged again, so his smirk died again and never rose again.

“Sure, it would be disappointing if she did decide to abort the baby. After all, the idea of repopulating my clan back to this world sounds good to me… but I got her pregnant simply because I want to get her away from you, and that pregnancy is going to force her to take a break from you, and maybe eternally. I already heard you did let her go home today, so it’s already working! Thank you, Mr. Oak!” Sunday was entirely speechless at Aventurine’s confession, not a single full phrase managing to form in his head as the gambler paused again to take another sip of his liquor.

And Sunday knew he had more to add onto that confession, seeing how he swallowed the liquor quickly.

“It surprised me how all it takes to impregnate a woman is a single little puncture in a condom… Make sure to double-check your condoms before sex, Sunday! Protection isn’t a joke!” Sunday couldn’t believe all he had to add to his confession was a joke.

“You..! You did it on purpose?!” Sunday hissed as if he wanted to squeeze the gambler’s head until it crushed into a gory mess.

“Congratulations, Mr. Oak! We can finally have a man-to-man conversation!” Aventurine threw his hands in the air cheerfully as if he was celebrating his birthday.

“Do you have shit in your head instead of a functional brain?! Do you realize you’re putting the life of a child on stake and even her trust on you?! You’re a monster! You had no right to fool Y/N like that!” Sunday was finally finding out how little power of you he had on his hands, his anger finally spilling from its chamber.

“Oh? But you have the right to keep overworking her with the stupidest tasks ever? Making her bring you breakfast and lunch from the cafe with the stupidest exigences ever?! Like ‘No veggies, only keep the onions’, ‘Diet raspberry juice’ and ‘Strawberry cupcakes for desert with no sprinkles or extra frosting’? To make her rearrange your whole calendar for the month because you suddenly have a doctor’s appointment in the middle of month? Knowing she’s not intelligent or bossy enough to tell you’re just taking advantage of her position and her trust on you? That you’re a very busy man and genuinely can’t deal with fucking calendars on your own?” Aventurine also dropped his smirk, speaking in a more angered one as well.

“It’s her job, and I’m her boss. And don’t you worry about it because Y/N gets some good money for all her hard work and she loves me for it.” Sunday defended himself a little proudly. It was a good reason to keep her busy with him.

“And I’m just a great fucking friend! See? We’re both playing dirty here…” Aventurine giggled at his own pun, which made Sunday’s wings to twitch.

“Don’t imagine it… Don’t picture it…” Sunday thought to himself, and Aventurine took advantage of his silence.

“And, think about it, what is the worth in all the money you apparently give her if she can’t find herself some time to spend it because her boss can’t let her enjoy her weekends, hum?” Aventurine crossed his arms, settling them on the table to keep himself still leaning close to Sunday’s face.

“As soon as I get you out of my way, I’ll make sure she’ll have a lot of time to enjoy her life with me as her company.” Sunday threatened him with a mean smirk in his face, finding joy in Aventurine’s struggle.

“I don’t think you’ve realized it yet, Sunday. Y/N is already mine. All, all mine. She’s been mine for a long time now and will always be mine. Your little tricks to imprison her with you are clever, but you know how gambling with me works. I’ll always find my way out of risk and become the winner. And if Y/N is clever enough to remember this little fact, you might face a serious danger of her deciding to keep the baby.” Aventurine’s irises were trembling with excitement and hatred for Sunday as he talked about his possession over you.

“We both know she won’t.” Sunday hissed, still keeping his smirk, although he was doing a great effort to not punch the gambler’s face.

“How do you know, hum? Y/N is the kindest soul in this planet! I don’t think she’d opt to interrupt that growing life inside her so easily like you think. Maybe she’ll start sympathizing with it and decide to accept the duty of raising it with me as the father and provider. And if that happens, what are you going to do, huh? Shove your hand inside her womb and abort the baby yourself? You can’t do anything!” Aventurine cackled at the thought of Sunday trying to get rid of the baby inside you or convincing you to do it and pathetically being defeated.

“Maybe I’ll fire her. I can’t afford to have a secretary who’s going to birth a disgusting Avgin nor can she afford her life without the salary I give her… It’s a fair trade!” Sunday threatened enthusiastically, although in his mind he knew he’d never do that to you.

“Oh, really? And make her hate you forever? What a stupid way to give me the opportunity to finally imprison her with me, Sunday! Maybe she’ll learn how great it is to have me as her sugar daddy…” Aventurine threw himself in the chair and I’m his arms in the arm as if he was receiving a gift from Sunday.

“Or maybe I’ll take the matter to my own hands and marry her with me before you. And trust me, gambler, I’ll make sure you have the lowest share of custody, or maybe even none. I’m the head of the Family Oak. I own this whole planet in the palm of my hand.” Sunday also rose his hands in the air and inflated his chest, trying to demonstrate the size of the power he owns.

“Yet, you can’t stop the woman you love from fucking with other men.” Aventurine hummed some giggles while Sunday had to stop himself again to impede his brain from picturing that scenario. “I would rather die than let a baby of my blood to be raised by you. To be raised like a mere annoyance in the house… forever incapable of making his daddy proud of him because he’s not his real son… destined to be overshadowed by his future siblings… Both Y/N and the baby would be happier to have me taking care of them instead of you.” Aventurine’s tone deepened again, his arms lowering sown to his knees and gripping them to control himself.

“I will not lose Y/N to you, gambler. I don’t care if that baby would not be the happiest one in the world. I refuse to let you have her for another single minute of your life with those dirty hands of yours.” Sunday spat his prejudice for the gambler with no remorse.

“Oh-ho? Are you afraid I’m a better womanizer than you, Mr. Head of the Family? That my ‘dirty hands’ are capable to make Y/N moan my name in a volume you’ll never be able to get out of her?” Aventurine stared at the deepest corners of Sunday’s eyes.

“Quiet.” Sunday hissed barely above a whisper.

“That my fingers will penetrate that wet pussy of hers while I devour her throbbing clit with my dirty Avgin mouth? Oh, yeah, I’ve already done that!” Aventurine brought a hand closer to Sunday, only to thrust the air with his ring-finger and middle-finger a few times, pretending it was your pussy.

“Shut. Your. Mouth.” Sunday made sure to pronounce every syllable of his order slowly, exciting Aventurine to keep teasing him even further.

Sunday’s cheeks were reddening with arousal as he couldn’t hold back the few pictures his brain illustrated for him of Y/N’s naked body being touched by Aventurine, meanwhile the gambler moved his hands to his body and started brushing his own body in a suggestive way.

“Ohh~… Aventurine..! You feel sooo good around me~… Oh, right there..! Fuck me right there, Aven..!” Sunday’s fingers gripped on the table’s cloth as if that was the only thing keeping him from having a boner on his own, trying to force himself to focus on the gambler’s threat rather than his pathetic teasing. “Ah, yes~! Touch me, Aventurine! Touch me!” Aventurine put his own palms on his own breasts and gently fondled them, which made Sunday feel so disgusted he slightly backed away from the pervert in front of him.

“Do you seriously think acting like this is going to annoy me?” Sunday bluffed, betraying his own mindset. “I must thank you for the spoilers, though.” He shrugged his shoulders, pretending there wasn’t a noticeable tent growing in his pants.

“See? Even you recognize you’ll never be her first in anything because I’ve been there first!” Aventurine dropped his act, jumping back to the table, leaning over to challenge Sunday with a creepy expression and a proud smile. “Every Saturday night, when you decided to send her a ‘Goodnight’ message and ask how she was doing, I was already pining her down on her own bed and taming her pussy.” Sunday’s mind was unfortunately too attracted to that scenario, forcing himself to think about it.

Thinking about your insides being stretched by the gambler, your breasts fondled by the gambler, your pretty moans being listened by the gambler, your mouth kissing the gambler, your clothes being taken off by the gambler…

All by that stupid gambler, and not him.

“Focus, Sunday. Focus. Focus on the gambler.” Sunday thought to himself.

“Sometimes I even answered you for her, y’know? Sending you a ‘Goodnight’ with cute a heart sticker, pretending to be your dear woman while the real one was gagging on my cock.” Sunday’s eyes widened as he heard that disgusting confession.

Every time you talked to him at nighttime, Sunday would think about what were you possibly doing while texting him. Maybe you were changing yourself into your pijamas, specifically a beautiful nightgown of his favorite kind. Maybe you were kicking your feet and your cheeks were red because you were talking so intimately with your sweet and handsome boss.

How did you even save his contact as? Most likely ‘Mr. Oak’ or maybe ‘Mr. Sunday’ because of your professional relationship with him, but maybe it is something more friendly like ‘Sunday’ or ‘Sunday ❤️’.

But now all those fantasies that made fall in love with you even harder, were crushed by the gambler’s words, and he was really hoping the man was just bluffing to annoy him.

“You disgusting piece of crap..! You had no right to do that!” He hissed as his mind pictured more and more dirty illustrations.

“Seeing you smirk at me every time I passed her to you, thinking you were in charge of her and that I was losing precious time with her, made me want to laugh. Poor you..! You had absolutely no idea! You could’ve died without knowing!” Aventurine started cackling as he saw Sunday’s destroyed ego.

Sunday couldn’t believe it either. The gambler was right, and he did not plan on ever admitting it. To think that he has been interpreting you so wrongly all along and that that Aventurine was taking advantage of his foolishness was making him ache in need for revenge.

It was embarrassing to see a man of his level of money, power and intelligence to commit such a rookie mistake, of letting your weekends free of his obsessiveness and stalking, and find himself in the edge of losing to someone so weaker than him.

But Aventurine didn’t notice Sunday’s breathing becoming louder and louder.

“That’s why I had to show you the truth. To show you who is truly in the lead.” Aventurine unexpectedly leaned closer to Sunday until he was a few centimeters away from his right ear, invading his personal space. “That’s why I made a little hole in my condom before going to her home and ejaculated a lot of sperm inside that pussy when we were having sex. Thousands of my little spermatozoids… finding a way out of that rubber barrier and swimming their way inside her womb, claiming ‘your’ territory…” Sunday shit his eyes, trying to control his painfully quick heartbeats while Aventurine kept enjoying the mental torture. “And trust me, Sunday, despite her not knowing what I had planned for her, she was the one that kept begging for me to keep fucking her and to cum inside her again. Not a single cell of her body wants you—” Sunday unexpectedly unchained himself from the chair, violently grabbing Aventurine’s collar by his green uniform and fisting his knuckles across his cheek.

Sunday just couldn’t deal with his own imaginations anymore.

It hurt him to imagine you not desiring for him to touch you that way. The same way you’ve allowing the gambler to do. It couldn’t be true. He knew he could make you feel as good as the gambler did. All that he was missing was courage to ask you out. To think of Aventurine having the privilege to watch you during sex, giggling about Sunday’s obnoxiousness. To think of the gambler fucking you right in front of him, conquering your heart, and you enjoying it rather than asking him to stop and to saves by Sunday.

Even if it was just a dark fantasy. A horror one. One that would never come to be true, if it depended on you at least, he smacked Aventurine’s face as if he wanted to avoid that possibility as much as he could. He did not want that scum making someone like you fall in love with it anymore.

Although the punch itself wasn’t hard enough to make Aventurine drop his smirk, it was surely made him roll down from the table and vulnerably land on the floor along with a few cards, chips and one of the wine glasses, that broke as soon as it touched the ground, and Sunday throwing himself on top of him.

“YOU FOUL DISGRACE!” Sunday kept attempting to spank Aventurine, who allowed himself to receive every single punch like a masochist while laughing at how Sunday snapped. “YOU HAD NO RIGHTS TO DO THAT TO Y/N!” Everyone in the casino already had their bodies turned to both men, some had even stood up to have a better view of the scene going on, all the whispers accumulating onto each other again.

“What’s going on?!”

“Are they fighting?!”

“Why are they fighting?!”

“Did Sunday Oak lose a bet?!”

“Who is Y/N?”

“They know each other?!”

“Punching me… won’t undo what has been done, Sunday! She’s pregnant! 100% pregnant!” Finally, Aventurine got bored of Sunday’s amateur boxing and rose his hands from the floor, clutched them around Sunday’s cranial wings, squeezing them hard to almost break its bones, and launched his forehead against Sunday’s.

“Who is pregnant?”

“This Y/N person is pregnant?”

“For God’s sake, who’s Y/N?!”

Sunday moaned loud in pain, accidentally weakening his weight on top of Aventurine, who quickly pushed him away from the top and reverted the positions.

“She’s mine… all mine!” Despite the few blood drops running down his nostrils and red marks in his cheeks, Aventurine kept smirking as if he was having the biggest thrill of his life. “And I’ll make sure to keep impregnating her every time I need to remember you who is in the lead! Over and over again!” Aventurine made sure to whisper his words about you and guarantee that nobody would gossip about their conflict, or at least gossip it with all the context behind it.

Aventurine’s punches were way more painful compared to Sunday’s, which was causing him to become so pained and desperate that he couldn’t even react to it, nor hold the gambler back. He doesn’t really tell people that he’s quite stronger than he looks. Although his slim body and smaller height sell the contrary image, all the years he spent being a slave strengthened his muscles forever, unlike Sunday, who has never quite invested in giving himself a buffer body. And the many rings hanging in his fingers, made of multiple gems, were making it only worse.

Sunday started to panic. So many people were witnessing the worst side of him, the Head of the Family, the representative of their planet, being in a casino and initiating a fight on it, one that he was also pathetically losing. After he’s given so many speeches about the importance of peace and the abolishment of violence, he was the first one to opt for violence when the stakes of a fight got too high? Even if he found a way to avoid the situation to escape everyone’s mouth, it still wouldn’t hide the multiple bruises in his face, and that would immediately denounce that he got involved in a fight, whether being who started it or not. Injuries like hematomas and cuts can take weeks to fully heal depending on their depth. How would he hide that from his public? His dear little sister? Gopher? Or… you?

“Oh, fuck.” Sunday thought.

Had he just made a bad decision? Had he embraced his instincts rather than his critical thinking?

He couldn’t let himself lose his reputation or influence so easily. He’d be willing to beg for Aventurine’s mercy as long as his face remained intact. So, that’s why he did his best to turn his face to the side while his arms and cranial wings crossed on top of it to create a barrier between him and Aventurine.

“What is it, birdie? Are you scared?! Come on, punch me again, I dare you!” Aventurine teased as he started digging his hands under his protection and undo it.

But Sunday was way more focused on the miracle laying in the floor by his side. The cup that had previously fallen in the floor and was ignored by them had broken into many big shards of glass, all beautifully laying down by his side and going unnoticed by the gambler.

How fun would it be to stab the foul gambler?

One of Sunday’s arms slowly reached out to the glass, but it wasn’t long enough to grab it, his fingers slightly touching the pointy tip of the glass. And unfortunately, a single arm on its own wasn’t enough to impede Aventurine from breaking through his barrier and curl his both hands around his neck.

“Bye-bye, Mr. Oak…” Aventurine’s eyes only widened in pure joy the more he suffocated Sunday’s throat.

Sunday grunted and gasped, trying to salvage the remaining oxygen in his body while his single hand kept helplessly trying to fight him back and pull at least one of Aventurine’s arms away of his neck.

Aventurine was so invested in his own sadism, watching Sunday’s face contort and crumble, that he still didn’t realize what was his other arm doing, slowly pulling the glass closer to his palm bit by bit.

And when Sunday’s fingers were finally able to pull that piece of glass close enough to him, with a swift movement, Sunday was finally able to—

“ENOUGH!” Aventurine was suddenly pushed away from Sunday by a security guard, immediately making Sunday’s lungs fill themselves with the oxygen he had lost while the glass stabbed nothing but the air.

And with the assistance of incoming men, Aventurine was quickly struck on the floor with his belly turned down and his hand locked together behind his back.

“Smart move, birdie! But, don’t you see..? You don’t stand a chance against my luck!” Aventurine cackled while he was momentarily being cuffed while Sunday was still recovering from the murder attempt.

“I’M GONNA KILL YOU!” Sunday couldn’t stand seeing that smirky face of his anymore and quickly stood up again, getting up on his feet again just to launch himself on the gambler again, the shard of glass already prepared to stab him.

But Sunday was immediately held back by even more guards that arrived in the scene, every muscle of his arms being held back while his legs desperately kicked the air.

“N-No!” He grunted in agony while one of the guards that cuffed Aventurine begun moving to Sunday and undoing his grip on the shard, pulling it away from him after a few seconds.

Aventurine kept cackling at the scene he watching, loving to see Sunday losing all his power and dignity in front of so many people.

“I PROMISE YOU I’M GONNA KILL YOU WITH MY OWN HANDS ONE DAY, YOU MANIAC!” Sunday spat his violent threat while still trying to launch himself towards Aventurine.

“Lets settle the bet, then! Whoever kills each other first gets to keep Y/N forever! Fair trade, ain’t it?” The gambler rose his head to talk to Sunday more confidently.

“AND I’LL MAKE SURE YOUR DIRTY CLAN WILL BE ERASED FROM HISTORY!” Slowly, both men were dragged afar away from each other, Aventurine being set in a sofa while Sunday was kicked out of the casino, rolling down a few staircases before finally finding himself wormed on the floor.

“Oh, wanna raise the stakes?! If I’m the one who kills you, then… your little sister will be punished too~…” Sunday fumed in anger as he thought of the murder of his little sister.

“DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE PUT ROBIN INTO THIS, YOU LITTLE SHIT!” Aventurine rolled his eyes in boredom with Sunday denying to raise the stakes of their bet.

“Get him out of my sight.” Aventurine looked at the guards and spoke more seriously, a smirk still displayed in his lips.

Sunday gasped when he begun being pulled away from his prey.

“YOU’RE DEAD, GAMBLER! DEAD!” Sunday made sure to state his final words before he was thrown in the streets.

Sunday rolled a few stairs down, ruining the perfect white color of his suit, but unfortunately he couldn’t stop to relax, ease the pain and fix himself because of the people that could be around him. So, he quickly got up from the floor and fled to a narrow corner between two tall buildings, surrounded by dark and trash and isolated him from anyone’s sight.

Meanwhile he fixed his suit, hair and face, while calling a cab to pick him up, Sunday kept insulting the gambler and even himself.

Sunday knew he should’ve asked you out long before all this situation, but he didn’t believe he had to do it since he didn’t think Aventurine’s competition was that dangerous. So, he preferred to wait until he believed you and him had developed a better friendship, and possibly sparked you to like him more than as a friend, a colleague or a boss.

But now, the race for your hand in marriage has started and Sunday is ready to cheat to win.

It doesn’t matter if he suffocates you with work.

It doesn’t matter if he has to kill Aventurine or the baby.

It doesn’t matter if he’ll not raise the baby without a lot of love and care.

It doesn’t even mattter if you don’t want to marry him in the first place.

He’ll win this bet.

Taglist: @komelliko @gaboplaydespacito

Don’t forget to like and comment if you liked it! <3

[tittytania]

What the fuck is this? This is such terminally online dehumanizing bullshit. Like this is WILD. "Replaced every shred of interiority" "never show anything beyond goldfish level thoughts behind those eyes" like HOLY FUCK. This sounds like edgy 4chan gamer nonsense. People who spend their lives doing "bog-standard" things are not less complex and human than you and your cute little starchild whatever it is you're doing. And it's not like I don't respect or have childish interests, because I definitely do. I hold on to lots of stuff that I loved in my childhood. I watch cartoons all the time. I love stuffed animals. I read books aimed towards younger audiences. And it's not just me keeping onto my old interests, I'm open to new childish interests too. So don't talk to me about how I'm too "coked-up on adulthood" to see your point. It's genuinely frightening the amount of disdain and dehumanization that this post has for the average, normal, human being. What even are these normative, popular, stupid, inferior idle pleasures that you think you're so much better than? Crosswords? Drinking beer and watching sports? Sitting on a porch and looking at stuff outside? Perfectly fine things that so many people genuinely enjoy? Sure, plenty of people are scared to love the things that they loved as kids, and they hide that part of themselves. And plenty of people feel superior and think kids' media can't have the depth and complexity like any other media. Which is sad and we as a culture need to improve. But plenty of people also just change as they grow older and they want different things and that's perfectly fine. Having boring interests does not indicate the "death of a human being" good LORD. They are not dead inside because they like extremely normal, standard stuff. I PROMISE you. And how does that have anything to do with replacing your personality with the "regurgitation of normative power structures" like wtf does that even mean? Do you think liking boring stuff represents fascism or something? Please tell me I am WILDLY misunderstanding something here because what the hell.

you ever see someone so coked-up on adulthood that they've replaced every shred of interiority with a regurgitation of normative power structures

[luvst4rc0r3]

LITTLE DARK BUT jinx x reader following the pregnancy but reader miscarries (maybe the zaun conditions or just overall stress idk) but yeah

OMG, I actually love this request. It was interesting to make.

"I don't want to be here anymore"

Jinx x Pregnant!Reader

WARNINGS: MISCARRIAGE!!!!!! If you do not like that then please leave.

WC: 2106

NOTE: set in Arcane Season 2, Episode 3. This is kinda a follow up from my post "Two pink lines"

PT.2

Jinx had never been good at sitting still.

She was always moving, always fidgeting—hands twitching, foot tapping, mind racing. The quiet got too loud otherwise, and she didn’t like what it had to say.

But now?

Now, she wished the world would stop moving.

She wished you would stop moving.

Your hands rested on your belly, rubbing circles into the stretched fabric of your shirt, as if you were already comforting the tiny life inside you. Jinx’s fingers twitched, her chest tightening as she sat on the edge of the bed, watching.

It still didn’t feel real.

Not the baby. Not you.

Not the way you looked at her like she wasn’t broken, like she wasn’t dangerous.

Like she was something worth loving.

You turned to her then, smiling so soft, so easy, like you weren’t carrying something that could change everything. “Jinx, baby, you’re staring again.”

Jinx blinked, realizing she had been, and forced a smirk. “Can ya blame me?” She flopped onto her side, propping her chin on her hand. “You’re all glow-y and shit. Kinda hot, not gonna lie.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Yeah, well, you’re gonna have to get used to it.” You gestured to your belly. “It’s only gonna get bigger.”

Jinx’s stomach did something weird then—something she couldn’t name, something that made her fingers tingle and her heart race.

She reached out, hesitating for half a second before laying her hand over yours.

“I like ya like this,” she murmured, voice quieter than she meant it to be. “Like… ours.”

You covered her hand with both of yours, holding tight. “We are.”

Jinx swallowed hard, something like panic rising in her throat. She covered it with a laugh, sharp and teasing. “‘Course, now I gotta make sure you don’t go gettin’ yourself in trouble. Wouldn’t want ya droppin’ my kid in some sketchy alleyway, yeah?”

“Oh, so now it’s your kid?”

Jinx grinned. “Yeah, and it’s already cooler than any kid.”

You snorted. “Jinx—”

“No, listen, it’s got me as a mom. That’s an automatic win.”

Your laughter was the best sound in the world, and Jinx clung to it like a lifeline. She didn’t tell you how scared she was.

How the idea of loving something this much terrified her.

How she wasn’t sure she could survive losing it.

ׄ   𓂂    ઇ⠀⠀⠀ ׅ  ⠀⠀⠀ ♡ ⠀⠀⠀ ׅ  ⠀⠀⠀ઉ⠀⠀𓂂   ׄ  

Jinx knew something was wrong the second the air shifted.

Her grip on your hand tightened, sharp eyes flicking up toward the vents lining the alley. She didn’t like being out here—too many people, too many ways for things to go sideways—but you had begged. Just a quick trip, you had said.

And Jinx?

She couldn’t say no to you.

She never could.

But now—

Now the air was wrong.

Then you coughed.

Jinx’s head snapped to you, eyes wide as you hunched over, gripping your stomach.

And then—

Then you collapsed.

“No—no, no, no, NO!”

Jinx was on her knees before she even realized she had moved, hands grabbing at you, gripping, shaking—too limp, too pale, too quiet—

The air smelled wrong. Thick. Chemical.

Jinx’s blood ran cold.

She knew this smell.

Shimmer.

No—no, not Shimmer. Something worse.

Something new.

Her heart pounded as she looked up, and she saw it.

Green gas, curling from the vents, creeping along the streets. People were dropping like flies, bodies hitting the pavement, gasping, choking, some not moving at all.

Jinx barely heard the orders being shouted.

The Enforcers.

She saw the uniforms. The guns. The masks.

And in front of them—

A familiar figure.

Vi.

Jinx’s stomach dropped.

Vi did this?

Something sharp and white-hot exploded in her chest, mixing with panic, with fury, with something so deeply broken she couldn’t name it.

Vi—her sister—the one who had promised to keep her safe many years ago, the one who had left—

She had done this.

Jinx barely had time to process it.

Because you?

You weren’t moving.

She snapped back to you, hands shaking as she grabbed your face, tilting it toward her. “Baby—hey, hey, stay with me, okay? Look at me, c’mon, please—”

Your eyelids fluttered. Your mouth opened, but no words came.

Then your body seized.

Jinx’s breath caught.

Her world cracked.

“No—”

She scooped you up, legs already running, ignoring the Enforcers, ignoring the gunfire—she didn’t have time for this, she didn’t have time—

She had to get you out.

Had to get you safe.

She didn’t care that she was bleeding. Didn’t care that she could hear Vi shouting something behind her.

Didn’t care that the green smoke was still in her lungs.

She ran.

ׄ   𓂂    ઇ⠀⠀⠀ ׅ  ⠀⠀⠀ ♡ ⠀⠀⠀ ׅ  ⠀⠀⠀ઉ⠀⠀𓂂   ׄ  

Jinx had never known silence could be so loud.

The room was spinning, her chest heaving, her fingers numb.

You lay in the bed beside her, so still, so pale, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

She had done everything she could—cleaned you up, wiped the sweat from your forehead, whispered frantic reassurances into your skin.

But nothing changed the fact that when you finally spoke, your voice was broken.

“Jinx…”

She was on you in an instant, hands gripping yours, her face so open, so raw with desperation. “I’m here—I’m right here, baby—”

Your fingers curled weakly around hers.

The world outside didn’t matter. The pain, the fear, the horror of what had happened—it all blurred into nothing as she kept you pressed against her, her fingers tangled in your hair, her lips whispering shaky reassurances against your skin.

She didn’t know how to fix this.

Didn’t know how to take away the fear in your eyes, the tremble in your hands, the way you kept pressing against your belly like you were waiting for something—anything—to tell you everything was okay.

But then—

You inhaled sharply.

Jinx’s grip on you tightened. “Baby?”

Your eyes widened. Your fingers twitched.

And then—

A kick.

Barely there. Faint. Soft.

But real.

Your breath caught in your throat. Tears welled in your eyes, but this time.

This time, they weren’t from fear.

Jinx sucked in a shaky breath, her hands flying to your belly, pressing down gently, waiting, praying—

And then it happened again.

A flutter.

A sign of life.

Jinx let out a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob, her forehead pressing against yours, her entire body shaking.

You let out a choked little giggle, covering your mouth, tears slipping down your cheeks. “They’re okay,” you whispered. “Oh my God, Jinx, they’re okay.”

Jinx could barely breathe past the lump in her throat.

She didn’t know how.

Didn’t know how to process the sheer relief, the overwhelming love, the way she had never felt more terrified and more alive all at once.

So she just kissed you.

Hard. Desperate. Like she was still trying to convince herself you were real.

When she pulled away, her voice was hoarse, her eyes burning.

“You scared the shit outta me.”

You sniffled, laughing weakly. “I scared myself.”

Jinx let out a breathy chuckle, her forehead knocking against yours. “Yeah, well… don’t do it again.”

You wrapped your arms around her, burying yourself into her warmth, into her safety.

And for the first time since the gas—

Since the panic, the pain, the unknown

It felt like maybe, just maybe—

Everything would be okay

ׄ   𓂂    ઇ⠀⠀⠀ ׅ  ⠀⠀⠀ ♡ ⠀⠀⠀ ׅ  ⠀⠀⠀ઉ⠀⠀𓂂   ׄ  

Jinx had never been good at feeling safe.

Not really.

But when you were around—when your fingers brushed through her hair, when your lips pressed against her forehead, when your hands cradled the small swell of your stomach—it felt close enough.

She could almost pretend that nothing bad would happen.

That you’d both get to be happy.

That your baby—her baby—would get to have the life neither of you had.

She let herself believe it.

Let herself dream of it.

Let herself think—just for a second—that she wasn’t cursed.

That she wasn’t meant to lose everything she loved.

ׄ   𓂂    ઇ⠀⠀⠀ ׅ  ⠀⠀⠀ ♡ ⠀⠀⠀ ׅ  ⠀⠀⠀ઉ⠀⠀𓂂   ׄ  

Jinx woke up to silence.

Not the kind that meant safety. Not the kind that came after a long day, curled up beside you, tracing patterns on your skin.

The kind that made her stomach twist.

The kind that meant something was wrong.

She reached for you—only to find the bed cold.

Her breath caught.

Then she heard it.

A sound so quiet, so broken, that it made her heart stop.

A gasp.

A choked sob.

Coming from the bathroom.

Jinx was on her feet before she even realized she was moving.

The door was locked.

“Baby?” Her voice was tight, shaking, already knowing—already knowing.

No response.

Another sob.

Jinx’s chest squeezed.

“Hey, c’mon—open up,” she tried again, knocking harder. “You’re scarin’ me.”

Still, nothing.

Just more crying.

Then—

A whimper.

So soft, so weak.

Jinx’s stomach dropped.

She kicked the door open.

And what she saw—

The world stopped.

You were on the floor, crumpled, half-clothed, knees pulled to your chest.

Your hands—covered in blood.

The floor—covered in blood.

So much of it.

So much.

Jinx’s breath hitched, her heart slamming against her ribs, her whole body locking up—

Then you looked at her.

And it broke her.

Your lips trembled. Your chin wobbled.

And then, barely above a whisper, voice cracking—

“Why is there so much blood?”

Jinx couldn’t move.

Couldn’t breathe.

You were shaking, staring down at yourself, hands smeared with red, fingers twitching like you were trying to understand—like you were still waiting to feel something move inside you.

Jinx fell to her knees.

“Baby—”

Your breath hitched.

Your body jerked forward, arms wrapping around yourself, fingers digging into your skin like you could hold yourself together if you just tried hard enough.

Then, the realization hit.

Jinx saw it happen.

The exact second your entire world broke.

Your whole body tensed.

Your lips parted.

Your eyes filled with tears.

Then—

A sob.

Loud. Choking.

You gasped, hands shaking violently as you reached down, pressing against your stomach—searching, begging, desperate to feel something.

But there was nothing.

Nothing.

And that was when you screamed.

Jinx felt something in her shatter.

You clawed at your belly, fingers curling into the blood-stained fabric of your shirt, pulling, gripping, gasping—like if you just held tight enough, you could keep what was already gone.

“No—no, no, no, no—”

Jinx grabbed you.

Held you.

Tried to make herself real.

Tried to keep you from slipping away.

But you thrashed against her, sobbing so violently that you couldn’t breathe.

“It’s gone,” you choked.

Jinx squeezed her eyes shut. “Baby, please—”

“It’s gone,” you sobbed harder, chest heaving, fists pounding against her.

She took it.

Took every hit, every cry, every shattered plea, because she deserved it.

Because it was her fault.

Because she should have stopped you from going out.

Because she should have noticed something was wrong.

Because she should have protected you.

Because she should have saved them.

Because the baby—your baby, her baby— was now gone

Your body collapsed against hers, trembling, arms wrapping around her so tight, like you were trying to crawl inside her, disappear inside her, be anywhere but here.

Jinx rocked you, held you, kissed your temple, muttering, pleading, whispering how sorry she was.

But sorry wasn’t enough.

Sorry wouldn’t bring them back.

Sorry wouldn’t stop the way you sobbed into her shirt, fingers gripping her so hard it hurt.

Sorry wouldn’t stop the way your voice broke when you whimpered,

"I don't want to be here anymore"

Jinx froze.

Her grip on you tightened, breath shuddering, heart slamming against her ribs.

“No,” she whispered, voice barely holding together.

You buried your face in her chest, crying so softly now, so defeated, like something inside you had finally given up.

Jinx pressed her lips to your forehead, eyes burning.

“No, baby,” she choked, voice cracking. “Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that.”

But you just curled deeper into her arms, breath ragged, body wrecked with grief.

Jinx held you like she could keep you here.

Like she could stop you from slipping away.

Like she could pretend that when you finally stopped crying, when you finally fell into an exhausted, hollow sleep, that everything would go back to the way it was.

But it wouldn’t.

It never would.

Jinx knew that now.

Because the worst part?

The part she couldn’t say out loud?

She didn’t know if she had lost just the baby.

Or if she was losing you too.

not my usual content

I want food

[cressidagrey]

The Queen of Romantasy and the Race Car Prince - Chapter 2

Pairing: Lando Norris x Elizabeth "Lizzie" Treshton (Original Character)

Summary:

Elizabeth Treshton—bestselling romantasy author, queen of fae heartbreak, and sworn devotee of a carefully structured routine—never expected her service dog to abandon protocol and diagnose a Formula 1 driver with something. But that’s exactly what happens when Mara the wonder-dog ditches Lizzie’s side to aggressively alert to none other than Lando Norris in the middle of a coffee shop.

Warnings and Notes: 

Mention of epilepsy, seizures and service animals. I don't myself suffer from epilepsy, so I asked my IRL friend, who thankfully was nice enough to let me ask her all the questions I could come up with. The rest I asked Reddit. So everything that's wrong...that's totally my fault and not on purpose.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

By the time Lizzie heard the knock on her door, she was almost regretting inviting Lando over.

Not because she didn’t want to see him—she did. But because she was still exhausted, her limbs felt like lead, and she hadn’t had the energy to change into anything more presentable than this.

Which was how she found herself standing in front of her door, dressed in sweatpants and a vintage Ferrari hoodie that was older than both of them, trying to summon the will to care.

She pulled the door open, and there he was—Lando Norris, grinning at her like she hadn’t texted him less than 6 hours ago to say, Hey, I had a seizure, so can we not do the fancy restaurant thing?

“Hey,” he said, then his eyes dropped to her hoodie. His expression morphed into pure betrayal. “You—Lizzie.” He pointed. “Is that—is that a Ferrari hoodie?”

She crossed her arms, ignoring the amusement bubbling in her chest. “It was my dad’s.”

“That doesn’t make it better,” Lando said, still staring at it like it personally offended him. “It makes it worse. It’s, like, vintage blasphemy.”

Lizzie rolled her eyes and stepped aside to let him in. “You’re in my apartment. You don’t get to insult my clothes.”

“I absolutely do.”

“You really don’t.”

"You literally live in Woking," Lando said darkly as he stepped into her apartment. "A stone throw away from the MTC!"

Lizzie rolled her eyes once more, closing the door behind him. "And I'm still a Ferrari girl at heart."

Lando groaned, shaking his head. "You're breaking my heart here, you know that?"

"Is now the time to mention that Mara is also named after Ferrari?" she asked with a grin, as he followed her into the kitchen and sat down a grocery bag on the counter.

Lando blinked. "How is Mara named after Ferrari?" he asked her.

"Well, Mara is short for Maranello," Lizzie said brightly.

Lando's mouth fell open. "You have got to be kidding me," he said, staring at her. "Your dog is named after Ferrari headquarters?"

Lizzie just smiled, not even trying to hold back her amusement. "Yep," she said, popping the p on the word.

"First the hoodie, then the dog... what's next, a Vettel tattoo?" Lando asked her with a sigh.

"I mean, I was considering it," Lizzie said, completely deadpan.

For a moment, Lando actually looked worried. "You're joking, right? Please tell me you're joking."

Lizzie cackled, a deep, full-belly laugh. "Relax, Lando. I'm kidding."

His shoulders sagged. "You're an evil woman. An actual evil woman."

"What is even in there?" she asked with a nod to the grocery bags.

Lando smirked. “Backup nuggets.”

Lizzie frowned. “Backup nuggets?”

“In case yours suck.”

Lizzie snorted. “Wow. True trust issues.”

Lando grinned, but there was something softer behind it. She felt it when he looked at her for just a second too long.

She shoved the nuggets into the oven before he could say anything annoying about it.

"I also brought ice cream. I didn't know what you like..."

"Vanilla," she said immediately.

"Vanilla it is," he agreed. "Where's Mara by the way?"

Lizzie's eyes darted down the hallway. "She's probably passed out in the living room, honestly," she said. "Dad said she barely left my side last night, poor thing. Probably wore herself out."

Lando winced. "I can imagine. Must've been pretty freaked out, huh?"

Lizzie nodded. "She kept licking my face. Apparently they do that to wake you up when you have a seizure."

For a moment, his gaze softened, and he looked at her thoughtfully. "You don't get hurt, right? When you have a seizure, I mean."

"Generally, no," Lizzie said, "I might accidentally bite my tongue, and I'm usually sore and tired after, but I don't get hurt."

Lando nodded, but she could see the concern still lingering on his face. "But you're okay now?" he asked quietly.

Lizzie managed to bite back her smile. "I'm fine, Lando. I promise. This really is normal for me."

His head dipped. "You're sure?"

She softened, touched by the worry in his voice. "I'm sure," she said gently. "No need to look so serious, pretty boy."

“Excuse me, I’m not pretty.” He objected with a disgusted expression.

Lizzie snorted. “Yeah, you aren’t if you pull a face like that.” She shot back immediately.

“Excuse me, that’s not very nice!”

“Mate, make up your mind,” Lizzie said with a snort. “I say you are pretty, you disagree. I say you aren’t, you also disagree. What are you then?”

“I am ruggedly handsome,” he told her seriously.

She could only stare at him.

“If you somehow manage to grow a beard, then, maybe. But with that clean-shaven look you have going on right now? Not in a million years. You’re pretty, and that’s that.”

Lando's eyes widened, taken aback. "Did you just—" he spluttered. "Did you just insult my ability to grow facial hair and then go and call me pretty in the same breath?"

"I absolutely did," Lizzie said, barely able to hold back her grin. "What are you gonna do about it, pretty boy?"

What she hadn't expected was for him to advance and corner her against her kitchen counter.

She froze, eyes wide, her heart suddenly thumping in her chest. Lando planted one hand on either side of the counter, caging her in.

He leaned in, his face inches from hers, expression still tinged with faux offense.

And his eyes...she could spent a whole book describing their colour and Lizzie was quite sure that it was going to fall short. Even in the dim light of her kitchen, they shifted from blue to green and back.

The intensity of his gaze was almost unbearable. Lizzie's mind went completely blank, and she found herself staring at him, a flutter of nervous energy coursing through her like electricity.

Lando was so close now that she could feel the warmth of his breath against her skin. She was suddenly hyper-aware of every nerve in her body, like this new, intimate proximity had set her senses on fire.

Lizzie wasn't even sure who moved first.

All she knew was that suddenly, his lips were on hers. The kiss started gently, almost tentatively. But something shifted in an instant.

It became hungrier, more desperate, like a dam had burst. Lizzie couldn't help herself; her arms wrapped around Lando's shoulders and pulled him closer, every part of her body pressed against his.

One of his hands threaded into her hair, angling her head to get better access, and she made a small, needy sound in the back of her throat. Her fingers curled into the soft cotton of his shirt, clutching at it as she kissed him back, dizzy with the feel of him.

Oh. 

Oh. 

Lando groaned, the sound reverberating through her. His free hand slid beneath her hoodie, seeking out the bare skin of her waist.

Her own hands moved over his back, desperate and urgent. The kiss turned hotter, less controlled as her world narrowed to this, to him, to the intoxicating feeling of his body against hers.

And then the sound of the oven timer beeped. Loudly. She jerked in his grasp, managing to make one of her cookbooks clatter down onto the floor.

A second later, Mara was barelling into the room, clearly thinking that she had had a seizure and destroyed her house.

Lizzie and Lando sprung apart, both of them flushed and more than a little breathless.

Lizzie couldn’t help it; she burst into a fit of giggles, watching Mara skid across the linoleum.

"I'm fine, Mara," she said through her laughter. Her dog whined, clearly not convinced.

Lando was looking like a deer in headlights, his cheeks flushed and his hair messed up from her fingers. He stared at her as if he'd never seen her before, and she bit her lip to keep herself from grinning like an idiot.

"We should rescue the dino nuggets," Lizzie suggested.

Lando still looked stunned. "Right - yeah - nuggets-" he said, blinking.

Lizzie chuckled and knelt down to pat Mara to reassure her. The dog was practically whining with worry, licking her face and nudging her. Lizzie gently pushed her back in an attempt to give herself some space.

"I think you traumatized my dog," she said, looking up at him with a smirk.

He scratched the back of his head, still endearingly awkward. "Sorry," he said sheepishly. "I wasn't exactly...thinking when..."

She just shook her head, grinning. "Maybe we should focus on rescuing those dino nuggets, don't you think, pretty boy?"

He swallowed, glancing at her briefly before nodding. "Yeah. Nuggets."

Lizzie pushed herself off the floor, giving Mara's head a final pat before she headed over to the oven. Lando joined her in the kitchen, his gaze flickering to her every other second. Lizzie took the plate from the oven, setting it down on the stove top.

"They look fine," she said, inspecting the slightly-singed edges of the nuggets. "All things considered."

Lando leaned against the counter beside her. "Great," he said, but his voice was still a little unsteady.

She shot him a sideways glance, amused by the way his gaze kept dropping to her mouth.

"Was that..." he trailed off and she watched to see a slight blush cover his cheeks.

"What?" she asked, hiding a smile. He was even more adorable when he was embarrassed.

He cleared his throat, looking vaguely flustered. "That was okay, right?"

And just like that, her own cheeks grew warm. They'd just made out in her kitchen, and now he was asking her if... if it was okay?

She studied him, taking in the pink hue on his face. There was something so vulnerable about the way he was looking at her. It was like he couldn't believe it had happened, and now he was scared he had overstepped.

"It was..." she began, only stopping to consider her words."...pretty incredible."

Relief flickered across Lando's face. "Yeah?" he said, a hint of the cocky demeanor returning. "You liked it, then?"

In response, Lizzie just rolled her eyes, pushing the plate of dino nuggets towards him to end the conversation before he could say anything else.

"Try a damn nugget."

Lando raised an eyebrow, but his smile grew even wider as he picked up a nugget from the plate. "Bossy."

She just rolled her eyes again, biting back a laugh. "Eat your nugget before I regret telling you that I liked it."

He chuckled and popped the nugget into his mouth. "Not bad," he said, still grinning.

Lizzie found herself returning the smile. He was impossible.

But then again, she thought as she looked at him, she supposed she wouldn't want him any other way.

"Let's take this to the living room," she suggested.

"So is there even more Ferrari merch there?" Lando asked her. She just rolled her eyes.

"Not Ferrari merch, no," she said drily. “I keep that in the bedroom.” Lando gave a squawk in response. She just laughed. 

Did her living room kinda look like the set of a fantasy movie had thrown up all over it? Yes. 

She had a near life size portrait of Astrid and Ciaran, the main characters of her book series hung over her fireplace, which an amazingly talented fan artist had painted and she had purchased.

Lando was staring at the portrait with something close to amusement. He turned to her, eyebrow raised. "Okay, so who is that guy, and why does he have bat wings?"

Lizzie sighed, taking a seat on the large couch that dominated the room. "That would be Ciaran. Bat wings and all."

Lando took a seat beside her, still eyeing the portrait suspiciously. "And who exactly is Ciaran supposed to be?"

"He is the Dark Prince...The Heir to the throne of the land of Kasharia," she said with a wave of her hand. "He's the love interest in the Seasons of Fate Series."

Lando's eyebrows shot up, turning back to the portrait, studying it with more interest this time. "And the Wings are his thing, I'm guessing? Makes him the 'Dark Prince'?"

Lizzie bit her lip to keep a laugh from escaping. "Basically."

"Right, right." He was nodding now. "What about the woman, then? Blondie with the dagger?"

Lizzie found herself smiling, remembering the story behind that particular piece of art. "That would be Astrid," she said.

Lando looked like he was starting to put pieces together. He leaned back on the couch, eyes on the portrait once more. "And Astrid is, what? The princess or something?"

"She's a handmaiden of the Princess of another kingdom he's supposed to marry," she explained with a wave of her hand. "She ends up married to Ciaran instead."

Lando was nodding along as Lizzie described it, a look of fascination on his face. "Oh, so it's like one of those forbidden romance deals, huh?" he asked, sounding surprisingly invested.

"In a sense, yeah," she agreed, finding herself amused by his interest. "You seem surprisingly interested in this, considering you thought the wings were over the top a minute ago."

Lando shot her a look, his eyes twinkling. "Hey, I can appreciate a good love story, can't I? Besides, million of people adore your books. There must be something pretty special about them."

Lizzie felt a surge of warmth in her chest at his words. It still surprised her, at times, how much her books meant to people.

Lizzie felt a surge of warmth in her chest at his words. It still surprised her, at times, how much her books meant to people.

"I don't know about that, but people seem to enjoy them," she said lightly. "Still thinking you are going to pick one up?" she teased him with a grin.

"It’s probably gonna take me two months to get through the first book, between my schedule and my dyslexia, but the bat wings have totally sold it," Lando told her seriously.

She couldn't help but laugh at that, the sound bubbling up uncontrollably. The idea of Lando, who was about as far from a fantasy fan as you could get, actually trying to read one of her books was too absurd. "You are absolutely not going to read one of my books," she said, grinning.

"Hey, I could!" he objected with mock offense. "Don't underestimate me."

Lizzie shook her head, still laughing. "I'm not underestimating you. But let's be honest, you've got better things to do with your time than read about bat winged princes and handmaiden."

"Don't you have better things to do than too watch 20 men in their cars drive around in wobbly circles?" he shot right back. "You created these books. You poured your time and energy into them. I don't think there are many things that are more important than that." 

Lizzie fell silent, taken off guard by his words. He had a point, she thought.

"I suppose you have a point there," she admitted quietly.

Lando seemed pleased with himself, his cocky demeanor falling back into place. "See? I do have some smarts in there."

She rolled her eyes but couldn't keep the smile off her face. "You are insufferable, you know that? Besides, what's with your job," she teased him. "Isn't Miami coming up?"

Lando just snorted. "Yeah, we are all looking forward to hear the Dutch national anthem. Again."

Lizzie chuckled, picturing the familiar sight of the podium at a Grand Prix - the winning driver and the Dutch and Austrian anthems playing. "You are so dramatic. Maybe you'll win in Miami."

He gave her a look, his expression clearly communicating that he thought her words were ridiculous. "Uh-huh. You obviously don't know my luck. Second place is basically my second name."

Lizzie laughed, finding his complaining endearing despite herself. "You sound like Mara when I have a treat, but don't give it to her. Stop whining. Second place is still impressive as all hell, you know that right?"

Mara perked up at the mention of her name and took that moment to jump up on the couch, and once again, not caring at all about personal space, just drape herself all over Lando.

Lando looked startled, his gaze flying down to where Mara was settling onto his lap. "Uh..." he said, his voice full of confusion.

Lizzie tried not to crack a smile at the way he looked like he'd never encountered a dog before. Mara, meanwhile, looked incredibly pleased with herself.

Lando looked up at Lizzie, his expression a comical mix of disbelief and alarm. "What...what is she doing?" he asked, clearly bewildered.

Lizzie couldn't help herself; she burst out laughing. "She likes you," she managed to say through her mirth. "Clearly a woman of excellent taste."

Lando gave her a dubious look, clearly not sure if he was being insulted or not. Then Mara shifted in his lap and let out a happy sigh, and he looked back down at her. Lizzie could see the exact moment he melted. No man was immune to dogs.

"I'll go against my core beliefs and root for the ugly orange car with your number on it if you promise me that you'll believe that you have a chance of winning."

Lando shot her a look, a little surprised at her request. Then his familiar cocky smirk spread across his face.

"You'll root for papaya? Over Ferrari?"

Lizzie just nodded. "As long as that big ego of yours lets you believe you can win," she said dryly.

[dem0batz]

Just Pretend

Caleb x MC // Love and Deepspace

Author's Note: I don't normally update this frequently so please don't expect me to continue to pump out chapters for this au at the pace that I have been. I'm just following the brain worms. Summary: Based on the main story track when MC is staying in Skyhaven with Caleb. You develop a minor cold and accidentally fall asleep the night you were supposed to rescue Kevi, unbeknownst to you that it was very intentional on Caleb's part. 🔞Content Warnings: Dead Dove; Do Not Eat, afab!mc, she/her!mc, yandere!Caleb, pseudocest, drugging MC, stalking (filed under “surveillance”), angst, brief mention of pregnancy and pregnancy loss, noncon, somnophilia, oral (f. rec), masturbation, breeding kink, cream pie Word Count: ~3000 words | read on AO3 | Chapter List

“Maybe you should take tonight to rest instead of meeting up with your friends, pip-squeak. You’ve been coughing all day.”

Caleb phrased it like a suggestion but you took it for what is was. Some things never change and his bossy tendencies was one of them. You had no intention of staying in tonight, cold or not— you promised Kevi you would help him and Zayne was waiting for you to bring the boy to him so he could be smuggled out of Skyhaven before the fleet found him.

As much as you wanted to trust your brother, there was something nagging at you that he was a different Caleb than the one you grew up with. You weren’t sure whose side he would take— yours or theirs should it be found out that you are secretly suspicious of the Farspace Fleet and investigating them.

“You’re probably right,” you say, exaggerating a cough.

“I’m always right,” he teases. “Besides, Skyhaven is under lockdown tonight while the fleet conducts a clean up.”

He disappears further into the apartment and returns a few moments later with two white pills in the center of his palm. You eye the pills warily.

“Cough suppressants,” he reassures.

A weight leaves your chest. You must be feeling especially paranoid with the whole Mia and Kevi situation. You don’t trust the Fleet but Caleb would never put you in danger, despite what his orders were.

You truly believed that. He was just trying to look out for your well-being. Taking the cough suppressants would probably help with the worst of your symptoms tonight anyway.

“Thanks,” you accept the medication. Caleb watches you chase down the pills with a glass of water, a satisfied smile on his face. “Why the need for the lockdown?”

“I see you haven’t gotten any less nosy over the years,” he accuses playfully.

“And you haven’t gotten any less avoidant over the years,” you counter. Still, you continue to probe. “Is it classified?”

Huffing a laugh and shaking his head, Caleb cages you against the counter. His eyes dance playfully across your face, left hand coming up to cup your jaw. You find it a little odd, considering that he was right-handed but you quickly push it from your mind, heart racing at the feeling of his proximity. His thumb strokes your cheek, subtly checking your skin for a rise in heat to ensure you haven’t caught a fever. At least that’s what he tells himself, and it’s partially true, but really he just wanted an excuse to touch you again after nearly a year of missing the feeling.

“No, it’s not classified,” he eventually gives. It wouldn’t hurt to allow you this small bit of information. “A weird fluctuation in the tunnel is riling up the Wanderers. So teams are being sent out tonight to handle it. But it’s nothing you need to worry about because you’ll be resting. Right?”

Thankful for your years of training at the academy, you school your face though guilt wracks through you for the lie you were about to tell. Yes, you believed Caleb would always put your safety first, but you still didn’t know how involved he was in this situation with the kids. You couldn’t risk letting them down. If it turned out you were wrong and the Fleet really had their best interests in mind, then you would tell Caleb the truth once Kevi was out of Skyhaven.

“First of all, I’m a Hunter and eliminating Wanderers is my job. So of course it’s something for me to worry about,” you narrow your eyes defiantly.

The lop-sided smirk on his face only grows in amusement. He always got his entertainment out of picking fights with you and then making it up to you afterward. But things were different now. You were different now. You had to learn to survive without the safety net Caleb provided. He needed to take your job seriously and recognize that you were more than capable.

“Unfortunately though, you happen to be right about me needing to rest and get over this cough. I need to return to work next week and I would hate for a mild cold to keep me from my job.”

At the mention of returning to work, his face drops, lips pursing disapprovingly. Caleb never did like the idea of you going into such a hands-on, dangerous profession but Gran always kept him from interfering with your career too much. Now that she was gone, there wasn’t anyone to bat away the insane thoughts of keeping you locked up at bay. Truth be told, his reaction was less to do with your job now and everything to do with you leaving Skyhaven. Thankfully, those thoughts didn’t win out today as he nods, backing away and changing the subject.

The distance between you was back to feeling cold and empty.

“I need to get ready for my shift. I’ll make sure to say goodnight before I head out. Get some rest, pip-squeak.”

The way he went from hot to cold gave you the worst kind of whiplash. One minute he was playful and fun, and the next he was closed off and felt far away and unreachable, even more so than when he was “dead”.

You swallow down the painful lump in your throat as you watch the back of his white sweater disappear down the hallway to the guest room he had been staying in during your visit since you have been staying in his.

After going through your usual bed time routine so as to not make Caleb suspicious, you crawl into the large soft bed. Rolling over on your side, you cozy up to watch raindrops hit the floor-to-ceiling window as yet another storm dumps on Skyhaven. You had every intention of feigning sleep until Caleb left but somewhere along the way, your eyes grew so heavy that it was impossible to keep them open. You hadn’t even realized that you fell asleep and when you did, it was like being submerged in a warm, soothing bath that you couldn’t seem to come out of, falling into such a deep sleep that not even dreams or nightmares could touch you.

Many hours later, an exhausted Caleb returns home. He doesn’t even bother shedding his damp uniform, leaving the OTTO unit to clean up the trail of water left behind from his soaked boots. He only has one destination in mind after a long night cleaning up the streets of his city. 

Caleb pushed open his bedroom door a crack. Peering from beneath the bill of his uniform cap, his eyes dart over your sleeping form. He takes a moment to admire the sight of you curled up in his bed, waiting for him to return home from work. It was something he spent his entire adult life dreaming of and now it was a reality, even if wasn’t of your own doing. Very little was when it was left up to him.

He was trained to sus out lies in interrogation rooms and could read you better than a book. After all these years, you still had the same tells though you had gotten better at concealing them. To anyone else, you likely would have been the perfect little liar but he knew your face and your body language better than anyone, despite what your new little boyfriends thought.

Yeah, he knew about them.

It was his job to know things and above everything else, you were always his first priority of business. He had continued to keep a close eye on you after his recovery post-explosion. Even if the professor hadn’t assigned you to his charge as a secret mission, Caleb would have done it regardless. His Colonel rank only gave him more resources to keep tabs on you, even if that meant occasionally having to destroy certain types of evidence to keep you safe. There were some places you went where he wasn’t able to keep watch— the N109 Zone, specifically. But it didn’t take long for the Onychinus leader to show his face in Linkon City.

Sylus may have been wealthy and full of resources competing with his own that kept his identity unknown to most other government and military entities, but he was difficult to ignore when he started showing up everywhere you went in Linkon. Wasn’t exactly subtle in the way he was pursuing you, touching you like you belonged to him.

But he would be dealt with later.

Out of all of your admirers, there was one in particular that set Caleb’s teeth on edge and that was his former best friend.

It was no secret that Gran always pushed you and Zayne together which is why Caleb invited him into your bedroom in the first place. He wanted to make sure that Zayne understood the only way he would ever get to have you was because Caleb allowed it. For years, it would seem that he received that unspoken message, never making a move on you beyond the permission Caleb directed in those intimate moments. It didn’t take long for the doctor to take advantage of your loneliness though, to swoop in and be your shoulder to cry on in his absence.

If any of your boyfriends deserved the Farspace Colonel’s wrath, it was Zayne.

This was personal.

Now that you knew the truth of Caleb’s life, there was no reason to continue to sit back and watch those four continue to take what was his. You didn’t need anyone else when you had him.

Caleb pushed the thoughts of those other men out of his mind, not wanting to spoil this rare moment he had to watch you in person again, comfortable and pliable in his sheets.

Just like when you were younger, the blanket was tossed to the side with one leg in and one leg out like your body couldn’t decide whether it was hot or cold. This gave Caleb a view of your body, his familiar oversized aviation tee that you had stolen years ago covering you. He can’t believe you still had it, and wore it regularly by the look of the thinning material. It rode up your torso, teasing a view of your stomach. The temptation to keep his hands to himself is impossible as a leather gloved finger traces the hem of your sleep shorts.

Caught in his thoughts, he’s thrown back to your sophomore year of college. He was in his last year of pilot training but made the trip from Skyhaven to Linkon as often as he could to see you. One particular weekend, he surprised you with with a visit and you surprised him with a positive pregnancy test. He was over the moon, thinking of the best way to break the news to Gran and trying to convince you to finally let him put a ring on your finger. Not that he needed your permission because he wouldn’t accept no for an answer, but hearing you say yes of your own accord would be ideal.

Yes, you were both young but he’s loved you for as long as he could remember and spending your lives together was always the plan. Not to mention, he’s been looking for a way to convince you to stay out of the Hunter’s Academy for years— a baby was the perfect reason to keep you off of such a dangerous career path. You didn’t need to risk your life when he would always be there to take care of you. Both of you.

That all came crashing down when you miscarried just a few days later.

He was devastated.

You were relieved.

Your relief broke his heart and made him angry, feeling like he was grieving the loss of your baby alone but he would never expect you to carry the burden of his pain so he kept it to himself. Regardless, he hadn’t let go of his plan for your life together; the timeline would merely be pushed back a little. He’d been patient for years at this point. A couple more wouldn’t hurt.

That was, until the explosion that left him dead to the world and confined to a bed during his recovery. For a while, he let go of that silly dream, content to watch you live your life from afar while he kept you safe from the clouds above. But now that you knew the truth and were back in his life, he felt a flicker of hope return.

Pushing the t-shirt further up your body, he hunches over to press a trail of soft wet kisses across the skin, imaging what you’ll look like swollen and heavy with his baby.

“I’m going to put another one inside you one day,” he continues peppering his lips over your stomach then resting his forehead there as his cap rolls off his head to land on the mattress. “This is my vow. As soon as I deal with the professor and we’re both safe, we will finally have the life we were always meant to, pip.”

You begin to stir under his touch, the feeling of his soft damp tendrils brushing your skin, tickling you even so deep in your sleep. The soft gasp of his name on your sleepy lips is enough to make him harden uncomfortably in his uniform pants, the starchy material leaving very little growing room. He can’t help but to bury his face in between your legs, inhaling the familiar scent of you with a shudder. It’s enough to leave the rational part of his mind behind, the last shred of his self-control slipping since your arrival as he pulls your sleep shorts down and tosses them to the side along with his jacket and gloves.

Caleb palms himself through the now unbearably tight pants before unzipping them for some relief. Kneeling back onto the bed, he carefully shoulders his way between your thighs, admiring the sight of your beautiful pussy and inhaling you again, feeling a sense of home for the first time in nearly a year. The temptation was too much to resist.

Just one taste.

That was all he needed to get by until he could convince you that this is where you belonged.

With him.

Knowing you wouldn’t wake up with the pills he fed you earlier, he flicks out his tongue to lightly spread your folds, teasing himself with the hint of your comforting flavor. He hadn’t completely lied about the nature of the pills— they would certainly heal up that cough of yours but would knock you out for a solid 12 hours before you came out of it. They basically put the consumer into a temporary coma to encourage a quickly healing process. The medication was not available for public consumption, reserved only for fleet members who needed a quick recovery but his rank gave him access that most others did not have.

Earlier, he had felt guilty for deceiving you but reminded himself that you were lying about staying in to rest and likely intended to sneak out once he was gone. He couldn’t have you wandering around Skyhaven alone at night without his protection. Not to mention, he never would have been able to do this if he hadn’t pushed you to take the medicine.

Your flavor explodes on the tip of his tongue, causing his hips to jerk into the mattress as he throws your legs over his shoulders to deepen his kiss to your center. Licking through the seam, he seeks out your clit, teasing and sucking it between his lips until you’re swollen and slick, gushing around his mouth with sleepy sighs and moans as you came on his tongue. Even if you wouldn’t remember it, he needed to make you orgasm, missing the feeling of you falling apart beneath him as if a piece of himself had been missing for ten long months.

This was the most alive he’s felt since he died.

Rising to his knees, chest rising and falling in heavy pants with your essence coating his chin, Caleb pulls his hard cock free. His head falls back in ecstasy as his hand cradles his girth. With you lying there and the lack of feeling in his right hand, he could almost pretend you were the one tugging on it, bringing him to the brink.

“Fuck, pretty girl. Missed you so damn much,” he pants, left hand climbing up your soft thigh to thumb your slick clit again. He had always been addicted to touching you, but now it was like going on a bender after getting sober and he couldn’t get enough.

Surprising himself with the quickness of his orgasm, he spurts all over you with a pained groan. Ropes of white coat the inside of your thighs and stomach, and he can’t tear his eyes away. When there’s nothing left to give, he slumps down, admiring the sight of his claim. Heart pounding in his chest, another intrusive thought invades his mind, bouncing off of the walls of his skull until he gives into the compulsion. Scooping the spend up with his fingers, he carefully stuffs you full of it, your pussy sucking them in like it was welcoming him home.

Slicking back his damp hair, Caleb feels like the storm clouds of his mind have been temporarily settled, allowing him to think clearly again. Guilt once again floods him as he thinks about what he’s done, always at war with himself when it came to you. He busies himself with cleaning you up and redressing you, ensuring to leave no tangible evidence of what he had done behind. Only the knowledge that he had left a piece of him behind for you to take back home with you. 

OpaLADS Taglist: @i-messed-up-big-time @sorryimakira

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[i-just-dont-give-a-fuck-about-it]

Ok so what if someone finds out about the infidelity, let me tell you how I imagine this:

Danny's been flirting with Tim for almost a month, and Tim's heart cannot take any of this anymore, that sarcastic dark haired man who could pass for another Wayne had him on the edge of his nerves.

So when he's left alone with the man of his dreams at the office he has to take a step in this situation.

Tim: Danny.

Danny: Yes, gorgeous?

Tim in a strained voice: Danny please stop doing this to me I can't take it.

Danny now confused: What do you mean?

Tim: Danny I like you, I like you a lot, seriously, and I can see it's mutual, but you're married, and it's wrong, please stop all this I don't want to be a second option, nor a dirty secret. Please stop this.

Danny felt so guilty to put the cute guy in front of him in such difficulties, he grabbed him by the cheeks making him look in the eyes. Oh, he was so hurt, Danny had to make sure to make this up for him.

Danny: Tim, I can't stop. I- (about to explain everything)

Tim already seduced and changing his plan from "stop all this" to "make him divorce": Or if you really want this just leave him, leave him and I will make you happy, for the rest of your days you won't have to worry about anything I'll give you all, home, shelter, fun, joy, adventure, peace, money, loyalty, love. I'll vow my life to protect you, just leave him and be with me. Please.

Tim didn't know what spirit possessed him, how is it that he fell so hard and fast for Danny was beyond logic or comprehension, but something in his chest told him that Danny was an all or nothing, he HAD to have Danny for himself, and if break a marriage was what it took, then let him burn in hell.

Meanwhile Danny felt like a victorian damsel cause he'll be damned to reject this man.

But

New hire who just wanted Tim to sign something: Boss?

Tucker who had just come back from bathroom: Danny?

Tucker "Danny's commit to the bit is contagious I swear" Foley: You! How dare you try to steal another's man's man.

Danny "Commit to the bit till death" Fenton: Tuckey, please calm down.

*More people coming*

Tucker: Don't you dare call me Tuckey, after all those years?! ALL OUR LIVES?! YOU DARE TO CHEAT ON ME WITH MY BOSS?!

Danny: I didn't cheat!

Tucker: Yet! I bet if I'd have come later you'll be at each others tongues with that motherfuckef!

Danny: Don't you dare call him like that!

Tucker: So you're on his side now?!

Danny: Yes and I tell you what?!

Tucker: What?!

Danny: I want the divorce!

Tucker: Fine!

Danny: Fine!

Tucker: *closes the door with a slam*

Tim:

Danny: So... Wanna have a date?

Tucker: We're married.

Danny: What?

Tucker: If anyone asks you and I are married. We've been married for two years. Not platonic roommates. Understand?

Danny: I'm always down for marriage fraud, but can I ask why?

Tucker: *Sigh* We had a big company meeting today with every level employee at the event center the Wayne rent out. Tammy from accounts was assigned to my table-

Danny: Your mortal enemy.

Tucker: Exactly. So she started giving me grief in the middle of our team exercise project. The other four random employees are looking at me all wide eye and I'm getting tired so I say "Is it because I'm gay Tammy?" To shut her up. But at that time, Timothy Drake Wayne was walking behind me and heard me say it. He jumped in to ask what was going on, and I hate Tammy for being so annoying, but I am not about to accuse her of discrimination for no reason. So I said "Oh it was just a joke. Like on the internet." And then when Mr.Drake-Wayne face didn't relax, I blurted out."My husband thinks my jokes are dumb too"

Danny: Tucker....that's not good

Tucker: I know! I started panicking!

Danny: You ramble when you panic.

Tucker: I do, and I did. Before I realized it, I told Mr. Drake-Wayne, this whole made up childhood friends to lover romance between you and I. It was so good he told me to invite you to the office. So we're married. Please go along with it. If I can get Mr. Drake-Wayne's support I can rise in the company so fast.

Danny: Promotions are 50% networking. Alright, sure, what's the worst that can happen?

Five months later

Steph: What's the big emergency?

Tim sobbing:. I'm in love with the husband of one of my employees.

Steph: Tim....that's not good

[kiemiu]

' 𝓕𝐨𝐫 𝓜𝐞 , (re-upload)

pairing se-mi (player 380) x fem!reader | wc: 1.5k

synopsis se-mi starts to notice a change of your eating habits and gets worried.

genre pure fluff | requested by anon. | masterlist

The cafeteria was bustling as usual, filled with chatter, clinking trays, and the occasional burst of laughter. Se-mi sat across from you, watching as you absentmindedly pushed a piece of rice around your plate with your chopsticks. You hadn’t taken a single bite since sitting down.

Her brows furrowed, and she leaned forward slightly, resting her chin on her hand. “You’re not eating,” she said softly, her voice barely audible over the noise around you.

You looked up briefly, then shrugged, offering a faint smile. “I’m just not that hungry.”

She didn’t respond immediately, her sharp eyes scanning your face like she was searching for a clue. “You’ve been saying that a lot lately,” she finally said, her tone gentle but insistent. “You barely touched your food yesterday too. Is… something going on?”

Her concern made your chest tighten, but you shook your head quickly. “I’m fine, Se-mi. Don’t worry about it.”

Her frown deepened. “But I do worry about it,” she said, her voice a little firmer now. “You need to eat. Skipping meals like this isn’t healthy.”

You sighed, glancing around the cafeteria as if looking for an escape. “I said I’m fine, okay?” you muttered, setting your chopsticks down. “I just don’t feel like eating.”

Se-mi didn’t look convinced. She crossed her arms and tilted her head, her expression a mix of worry and frustration. “You don’t ‘feel like it’? That’s not a good enough reason,” she said, her voice softening again. “You need to take care of yourself.”

Her words hung in the air between you, and you could feel her gaze on you, unwavering and full of concern. It was almost unbearable. “Se-mi, I don’t want to talk about this,” you mumbled, looking away.

She sighed, clearly reluctant to let it go but respecting your boundaries—for now. Instead, she picked up her tray and moved to sit beside you, nudging your arm gently as she settled in. “Okay, fine. Then just sit here with me while I eat,” she said, trying to sound casual. “No pressure.”

You shot her a skeptical glance, but she just smiled, grabbing her spoon and digging into her bowl of stew. She didn’t say anything else, but the way she angled her body toward you and occasionally glanced at your untouched tray made it clear she wasn’t ignoring the issue.

After a few minutes of silence, she suddenly held out a spoonful of her food toward you. “Here,” she said, her tone light but her eyes serious. “Just one bite. For me?”

You shook your head, leaning away slightly. “I don’t want it, Se-mi.”

Her expression faltered, the playful smile replaced by something more vulnerable. “Please,” she said quietly, lowering the spoon. “I’m worried about you. You don’t have to tell me what’s wrong, but… seeing you like this—barely eating—it makes me feel like something’s not okay.”

Her words hit you harder than you expected, and for a moment, you couldn’t meet her eyes. “It’s nothing,” you whispered, but your voice lacked conviction. “I’m fine.”

Se-mi shook her head. “You keep saying that, but I don’t believe you,” she said softly. She hesitated, then added, “You don’t have to do this alone, you know. Whatever it is… I’m here.”

The sincerity in her voice made your throat tighten, and you swallowed hard, trying to keep the emotion at bay. After a long pause, you finally picked up your chopsticks and took a small bite from your tray. “There,” you mumbled. “Happy?”

Se-mi’s face lit up, though her worry didn’t completely fade. “It’s a start,” she said, her tone lighter now. “But I’m not letting you off the hook that easily.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Later that week, she dragged you to a cozy café after your shift. You protested the whole way there, saying you weren’t in the mood, but she ignored you, her hand wrapped firmly around yours. The warm smell of coffee and pastries greeted you as you stepped inside, and Se-mi immediately made her way to the counter, ordering two servings of your favorite dessert.

When the plates arrived, she slid one in front of you with a grin. “No excuses this time,” she said. “You love this, and I’m not letting you leave until you’ve eaten at least half.”

You frowned, crossing your arms. “Se-mi, this is ridiculous. You’re not my mom.”

“No, I’m not,” she said, her tone light but her eyes serious. “But I care about you. And I’m not going to sit back and watch you do this to yourself.”

Her words made your chest ache, and for a moment, you didn’t know what to say. She started eating her own dessert, making exaggerated noises of delight. “Mmm, so good,” she said, trying to coax a smile out of you. “Come on, don’t make me eat both of these by myself. You know I will.”

You rolled your eyes, but a small smile tugged at your lips. “You’re impossible,” you muttered, picking up your fork.

“And you love me for it,” she shot back, her grin widening as you took a tentative bite.

As the sweetness melted on your tongue, you couldn’t help but glance at her. She was watching you with a mix of pride and relief, like she’d just accomplished something monumental. And maybe she had—because for the first time in days, you felt a little lighter.

As you took another small bite, Se-mi’s grin grew even wider. She nudged your shoulder lightly with hers and said, “See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

You rolled your eyes, swallowing the bite. “You’re really not going to let this go, are you?” you muttered, but your tone was softer now, lacking its earlier sharpness.

“Nope,” she replied without missing a beat, popping a piece of her own dessert into her mouth. “Not when it’s about you. You’re stuck with me, so you might as well get used to it.”

Before you could reply, she scooted her chair closer, the legs scraping softly against the floor as she moved to sit beside you. The space between you disappeared in an instant, and you felt the warmth of her arm brushing against yours. She leaned slightly over the table, glancing at your plate like she was plotting something.

“Alright,” she said, her voice playful again. “Here’s the plan. We’ll take turns. I eat, then you eat. Deal?”

You blinked at her, confused. “What are we, five years old?”

“Do you want me to start making airplane noises too?” she teased, lifting her fork dramatically like it was a toy plane. “I will if it gets you to eat.”

You couldn’t help but let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet, I’m still your favorite person,” she quipped, giving you a smug grin before taking another bite of her dessert. She gestured to your plate with her fork. “Your turn.”

You hesitated, glancing at her out of the corner of your eye. Her expression was light and playful, but you could still see the faint trace of worry in her eyes, hidden behind her smile. She wasn’t just joking around—she really cared. And despite your resistance, her persistence was beginning to chip away at the wall you’d put up.

“Fine,” you said softly, picking up your fork again. You took another bite, this one a little bigger than the last. Se-mi let out a quiet cheer, clapping her hands together like you’d just won a gold medal.

“Look at you! You’re practically a professional at this now,” she teased, but there was genuine pride in her voice.

You gave her a look, but the corners of your mouth twitched upward despite yourself. “You’re so dramatic.”

“And you love me for it,” she shot back, echoing her earlier words with a playful wink.

The two of you fell into an easy rhythm after that. She’d take a bite of her dessert, and then she’d gesture for you to do the same. Occasionally, she’d make a joke or a silly comment, keeping the mood light and the conversation flowing. Bit by bit, you found yourself relaxing, the weight in your chest easing just enough to let you enjoy the moment.

As you both neared the end of your desserts, Se-mi leaned back in her chair, stretching her arms above her head. “See? We make a good team,” she said, her voice smug but her eyes warm. “You eat, I pester you—it’s a perfect balance.”

You gave her a half-hearted glare, but there was no heat behind it. “You’re exhausting, you know that?”

She grinned, leaning closer until your shoulders touched again. “But you don’t mind, do you?” she murmured, her tone softening. Her gaze lingered on you, and for a moment, the playful edge in her voice gave way to something deeper. “I just want to make sure you’re okay. That’s all.”

Your heart tightened at the sincerity in her words, and you found yourself looking down at the empty plate in front of you. “I know,” you whispered. “Thank you.”

She smiled, her expression tender. “Anytime.”

For the rest of the afternoon, she stayed close to your side, her presence a comforting anchor. And while the ache in your chest didn’t completely disappear, it felt a little easier to bear—because Se-mi was there, steady and unwavering, reminding you that you didn’t have to carry it alone.

[writing-mlm]

hi !! saw you write for criminal minds and would love to see something with spencer reid !! there aren’t enough male reader fics for him out there. personally i’m a sucker for reader being used as bait for an unsub with spencer getting jealous and taking care of reader afterwards if they get hurt. but no worries if you don’t want to write that specific scenario, i would just love to see any spencer content at all lol. i love your writing and hope you’re having a great day !!!

The stress of a married man

Summary: Spencer doesn’t like the fact that his husband is out there; his husband doesn’t like the fact that Spencer’s worrying. Pairing: Post-prison!Spencer Reid x Male!Reader wc: 2.4k Tags/warnings: reader used as bait, blood, attempted drugging, kidnapping a/n: while what im referring to won’t be a part 2, just now I wrote 2 separate fics for this request. i’ll try and push it out before next week and it’ll be around 20k words… and a marvel crossover…

Spencer didn’t want this. It’s stupid. It’s beyond stupid, it’s dangerous. He doesn’t care that there’s logic behind it— why should he? Not when you’re putting yourself in danger just to speed up a case, not when there are other solutions. 

He twists the cap of the marker as he strains, trying to think of said solutions. None are coming to his head; none that are useful anyway. He gnaws at the inside of his cheek when his eyes dart over to you; sitting in a chair getting your appearance tweaked to fit the victim pool more. A fake mole under your eye, changing your eyebrows a little bit. You’re wearing clothes they’d found in a nearby Ross, stuff that he knows you’re itchy in because they haven’t been washed yet. 

Your feet are pushed into shoes a size too small, he can tell because you’re sitting without putting pressure on them and they’re laced too loose. If you run with them they’ll go flying. Maybe that’s for the better, he quickly decides. 

He doesn’t see the irony in his worry. The same Spencer who walked into a train and took off his bulletproof vest when the UnSub had a loaded gun? The same Spencer who made Hotch kick the snot out of him? Caught himself on fire and in the middle of an explosion? Stab himself and frame the other guy in prison— that Spencer Reid? Yes. Because he’s him and you’re you. 

First name Spencer, middle name Risk himself for everyone else, last name Reid didn’t want you to hurt. He didn’t want you tossed in the back of some guy's van and hauled to wherever. He didn’t want you to experience the torture the other victims are going through firsthand. He just didn’t. 

But you’re smiling with Tara, agreeing to let Luke slip a tracker into the thrifted bracelet you planned on keeping because it looked nice. You’re listening to Emily’s specific instructions carefully, you’re understanding the dangers that you’re about to face. 

And dammit you’re still agreeing to go through with it. 

“Be careful,” He’s almost pleading— no, he is pleading. He absolutely cannot keep himself composed like the others are. He can’t. 

“I’ll be alive,” You tell him, messing with the clunky jacket that fits the same way a child wearing their dad's jacket fits. Lightly, you punch his shoulder. “Don’t go worrying about me; this is my specialty, Walter.” He nods, tucking his hair behind his ear because yes, it is. You had transferred from the Hostage Rescue Team after getting your degree. 

He doesn’t even care that you’re using his middle name. He doesn’t catch it, in fact. He just caught that you said you’d be alive when he asked you to be careful. 

“Just…” He closes his eyes, opening them when he pictures the worst. You’re staring at him from behind a paper cup of water, eyebrows raised because you’ve never seen him so worked up. So nervous before; it’s stressing you out. 

“I’ll come back, man. Don’t sweat it, please. You’re making me nervous,” Shit, he blinks an apology and wrings his hands. He doesn’t want to throw you off your game any more than he already has and backs off. 

You watch as he walks away, heading back to his drawing board. He messes with the marker cap again, this time chewing on it. It’s a set he’d gotten that day, only used by him, so he’s not worried about germs or anything of the sort. Meanwhile, you move over to JJ to go over the plan seeing as she’s going to be the bartender. 

The plan is simple. You’re going to hang out at a local bar, the one flying the highest American flag and that has some stupidly adorable couple trivia night going on but you aren’t going to play. You’re going to sit at the bar, rolling your eyes when someone gets an answer wrong because it was so obvious even a moron could get it right. You’re going to nurse a stein of sparkling apple juice dyed to look like beer. And you’re going to get the attention of the man killing people. 

Currently, you’re still on the eye-rolling part. The questions are hard, you have no idea what the fuck they’re talking about but you can hear Spencer through your earpiece saying the answers without catching himself. 

A guy approaches you as you’re taking another sip of your drink. A white man, probably in his fifties to sixties, dressed as if he was a professor, and on the shorter side. So far, this is the guy. You smile as he takes the newly vacant seat next to you, his eyes immediately traveling to the jacket around your chair. 

“Can you believe they don’t know the fifty-six element?” He huffs after no one has gotten the answer right and the announcer presses the loud buzzer. 

“Barium,” Spencer immediately tells you. 

“I know,” You scoff. “Who doesn’t know what barium is?” The man looks delighted by your answer and orders a beer. He doesn’t care what brand, just says beer and drums his fingers on the wood until JJ brings him one. He thanks her without any condensation, no sweetheart, or even a lingering look. He says a simple thank you, miss. And hands JJ a crisp ten-dollar bill. 

“The youth these days,” He shakes his head as half of the trivia goers don’t get the answer to who made the laws of motion right. “They’re spending too much time learning nonessential things like provocative dancing and texting abbreviations.”

“You’re so right, sir,” You sigh. “I’m glad my grandparents raised me better.”

“Oh, please,” He laughs, holding his chest. “Call me Vince. I’m sorry for forgetting my manners.” 

“It’s quite fine,” You smile. “I’m Kyle.”

“Well, Kyle,” He smiles back. This is the part where he’ll have you look away and he’ll slip something into your drink. You’ll look back and he’ll cheer for something. It’ll be strong based on the videos, you’ll be stumbling within three minutes. But even before that, he’ll talk you into leaving the bar so no one can notice. “Whaddya say about a game of pool?” He points to the pool table behind you. 

You look, spotting Luke and Emily pretending to pay attention to a group of frat guys playing a game. Spencer tells you that he’s slipped the pill inside and you turn back to Vince. 

“It seems crowded,” You shake your head. 

“Well, cheers to two smart guys left in a modern age of idiots?” He holds up his beer and you laugh, nodding with your bottle. The drinks and you pretend to drink it. You feel it on your upper lip, it’s fizzy and you swallow your spit to make it seem real. He watches until you set it down and runs his fingers over your ear. 

“How about some fresh air?” Pretending to be bashful, you get up and follow him out. He’s not aware that Luke and Emily follow, too. 

Spencer watches from the van's cameras as you walk out of the bar. Vince has his hand on your waist and he’s talking about things so well it’s almost convincing. But he’s saying surface-level facts as if he’s only read the summary but not the full text. He doesn’t like how Vince speaks into your neck and how his eyes seem to gleam when you start to pretend to stumble. 

You prepare yourself as you hear the red car. Because once you do, he charges you into the side and it’s enough to send someone who’d been drugged to the ground. So, you lay next to the car, pretending to fall in and out as he opens the trunk. You hear the duck tape being pulled and he steps back into your view. 

“All you youth are still driven by lust,” He says, holding your face and then applies enough to cover your mouth. He puts you on your stomach and your arms strain as he ties your hands behind you. Honestly, you’re glad he’s counting you as a youth. You know the youth surely doesn’t because boy, you’ve stopped getting carded at bars years ago. Your ankles are the next things he tapes before you’re tossed into the trunk. 

Your head hits a pipe and you groan as he slams the door closed. Rolling onto your side, you feel the car start and work on finding the knife in your pocket. The blade flicks up— it had been pinned to your pants just for this— and you work on cutting your way out. He hadn’t done a lot of layers, just three so you’re out of it quick enough. 

His car stops, at a red light, because the car is still buzzing and he’s still listening to music that hasn’t been on the radio since there was a transatlantic accent. You take the time to rub your forehead before the car lurches forward. Working on the ankle tape, you hear the line between you and the others cut. You’ve officially entered the dead zone. They’ll track you using the bracelet from here on out. 

—

It’s nearly an hour before the car stops. It’s been twenty since Spencer joined Luke in the SUV. Being trailed by local PD and two ambulances with their lights off, he messes with the FBI windbreaker jacket folded on his lap. It’s yours, it’s tailored to your arms and the collar is worn from where you continued to flip it up and down. You’ll probably want it, it’s chilly out and only getting colder. 

He hopes you’re only cold because of the weather. 

“It’s up ahead,” Luke warns before he parks the car. They can’t risk the UnSub hearing the cars so they’ll have to walk the rest of the way. He nods, fixing his gun as they climb out. The others are close behind and separate. JJ and Rossi go left, Emily and Tara go right, while he and Luke go straight. 

The driveway, if you could call it that, to the barn, is nothing more than grass that’s been driven over so many times it doesn’t grow straight anymore. They’re sickly shades of green compared to the bright green elsewhere. He looks up, seeing the car you’d gotten tossed into, and adjusts his grip on his gun. His heart hammers, pleading that you’re okay. 

A barn comes into view, the lights are on and Spencer shudders. There’s the smell of pigs nearby that makes his stomach twist before he changes his focus. The doors are ajar— some blood is on the handle. He doesn’t touch it, but it’s wet. He sees the light reflecting on it. Luke gives him a look, holds up three fingers and Spencer nods. 

He gets to two before the door gets thrown open. 

They jump back but it’s only you. You’re standing tall, one hand on the doorframe and the other gripping your pocket knife. His shoulders sag at the sight of you alive and able to stand before he looks at your face.

“You’re bleeding,” Spencer immediately has you in his grip, wiping the blood from your nose and lip with his shirt. It’s a lot, but considering it’s a nosebleed that’s to be expected. 

“Got dropped on my face,” You explain through a wince. “The others are in the barn— they need medical. I patched their wounds as best I could with whatever was lying around,” Luke nods and radios for the ambulance to make their way up. 

“And Vince?” Luke looks inside the barn and whistles. “Shouldn’t have been worried, then.” He knocks your shoulder with his fist and you wink.

“Yeah, he really wasn’t strong. He dropped me twice, once on my face and then on my back. I think my head hit a rock—“ Again, Spencer’s hands are on you as he checks the back of your head. Luke chuckles and you roll your eyes, messing with your wedding band tattoo. “I kicked the shit out of his face and then hogtied him.” You wait for a beat before looking over at Spencer. “No hogtie facts?”

“You have a shallow cut on your head, it’ll leave a small scar.” He says instead and opens up the jacket. “You should sit, we can deal with the others.” He drapes it over you and you smile, rubbing his matching tattoo. 

“Okay,” He smiles and watches as you walk to sit on a log before heading inside with Luke. He looks at the man still tied up and then looks at the knife in his hand before walking closer. The man is wriggling and trying to speak, both of which he makes a point to ignore. 

He saws at the tape before it lets go and quickly handcuffs Vince, ripping the tape off his mouth as hard and fast as he could manage with his shaking hands. Vince starts speaking but Spencer simply lugs him up from the ground in one fluid motion.

“Shut up.” He walks Vince out and tosses him over to the local PD before he finds you again. You’re helping the lady of the victims into the ambulance, setting the thick wool blanket over his shoulders. 

“I told you to sit down,” He sighs and you spin around, hands up to show you weren’t doing anything. “Baby, you’re injured, please.” He grabs your hands and kisses your neck, hoping it’ll sway you.

“EMT said it's surface level and just a little bleed, nothing to fuss about.” He ignores the first part as he steals a kit from the ambulance, checking the inside to make sure he has what he needs.

“I’m fussing,” He beckons you over with two fingers and you huff, following him to the SUV where he sets you in the passenger seat. You watch, head on the seat as he carefully puts the items on the dashboard and cleans his hand with wipes. 

“It’s cute that you’re worried,” You smile, eyes flickering between him putting on a pair of gloves and his face. “Maybe now you’ll stop being so reckless during cases.” Leaning over, you kiss his cheek but he moves back in for a kiss on the lips.

“I don’t know about that,” He smiles and gently holds your chin. “Let me know if it hurts too much, okay?” You roll your eyes but he doesn’t move so you sigh. 

“Yes, doctor,”

[lokidjarin-7567]

Can you write a fanfic (only if you're comfortable of course) pairing kang dae-ho x f!reader, during the lights out. Basically they've developed a really strong connection since the beggining, and she's sleeping next to him while he's looking out for others (ok he's just basically watching you sleep). But you shift your position while sleeping and he sees sh scars on your wrist, and folds your sleeves and he sees multiple cuts and scars. You wake up from the motions and you see him with teary eyes and then you start to cry a lot, like having a panic attack and he comforts you and it's just a lot of fluff basically. (the reason from your cuts can be because you're deeply depressed and you're coping that way since you're 15 but at 21 you still do it)

But, if you don't feel comfortable writing about sh can you please write one also during the light out when dae-ho is on the look out and the reader is trying to sleep, but she's so scared of what's going to happen that she starts crying, he notices it, she has a panic attack and he pulls her to his lap comforting her (again really fluffy).

I'm almost one year clean so I was craving this kind of comfort, thank you <3

Your wish is my command 🫡 (sorry so cheesy)

Creature Comforts

Kang Dae-ho x reader

CW: mentions of self harm, please please do not read if you’re not comfortable with this!!, fluff and comfort

So happy to get this request - my first one!! Please send any in if you have them, I love writing them <3 And please message me if you’re having thoughts about SH or struggling with it at all, my DMs are always open 🩷

Masterlist | AO3

She looked so peaceful when she slept. She was curled up on the mattress beside where he was keeping guard, her chest rising and falling with each breath. It was mesmerising. Her hair was fanned out across the pillow, some straying into her face, strands lying delicately on her cheek. The lower half of her body was covered with a thin blanket, her top half cuddled into her jumper.

He had never seen her this calm. They had gotten close quickly in these games - the fear and horror acting as a catalyst for friendship - and he found himself getting protective over her fast. They’d first met after the first game, when Thanos and his lackey had approached her to join their little group, and he’d felt the inexplicable urge to tell him she was already spoken for. Surprisingly, she agreed with him quickly, saying she had already made her allies and hurried quickly away from that purple-haired joke. She thanked him wholeheartedly when they were out of earshot, confirming that there was something about him that made her uncomfortable so she appreciated being saved (her words, not his.) They had been inseparable since - sharing meals, sticking together in games, voting together, even bunking next to each other. When Gi-hun said that two people should always be keeping watch tonight, they didn’t even have to say they would take their shift together - it was just assumed.

But when the time came, he couldn’t bring himself to wake her up. She looked ethereal in the dim light of the room, her hair like a halo, the sound of her breathing a symphony to his ears. Soothing. He could watch her for hours, totally enthralled and at peace. His hand moved to brush a piece of hair from her face, feeling the softness of the lock between his fingers, fingertips lingering just a moment too long on the soft skin of her cheek. So he just sat beside her. He wasn’t tired yet; he could take her shift. Anything to protect her really. A few extra hours can be the difference between life and death here.

The rise and fall of her body suddenly changed rhythm, a deep sigh escaping her lips. She rolled over in her sleep to face him, and he held his breath, scared that the smallest shift might wake her. She settled back in quickly though, and he watched with a soft smile as her arms fell beside her body, head snuggling into the pillow.

He wanted to wake up like this every morning, hearing her gentle sighs and soft snores, to see the peace on her face before she woke. He had only known her a few days, but it felt like a lifetime when they spent every minute fearing for their life. He felt so unbelievably protective of her so fast. He didn’t think she was incapable of handling herself - she’d proven the opposite through this ordeal. But he didn’t want her to have to worry about that ever again. As soon as they were out of there, he would do anything to make sure she wasn’t scared ever again.

Her hair had fallen across her face again, and in the dim light, he worked carefully to move it, tucking it gently behind her ear. Then he noticed her blankets falling down a little, pooling around her waist, so he pulled it up to her shoulders. Then the cuff of her jacket was slipping, so he gently grabbed the fabric, moving to fix her sleeve, when he noticed something. There were a few scars there, barely noticeable in the dim light of the room, so he allowed his curiosity and protective nature get the better of him. Ever so cautiously, he slipped her sleeve down just a little, just enough to see the scars that littered her forearms. Some were newer than others, others long since healed, but they were unmistakable.

His heart hurt for her. Life in these games was hard enough, but he could only imagine what awaited her outside to have to…

He wasn’t sure what to do. If he addressed it, he might lose her trust. She might get embarrassed that he knew and withdraw. If he didn’t, and she somehow worked out that he knew, she would think he didn’t care.

It wasn’t something he understood completely - a few of his friends from the military struggled with self-harm, but he didn’t tend to ask them too many questions. They had PTSD, so maybe she had that too? Or something else that was making her hurt badly enough to… all he really knew was that she didn’t have any healthy avenues to alleviate her stress and emotion. He wanted to help, to hold her and tell her everything would always be okay around him, that she shouldn’t ever hurt herself again… but he knew that was condescending and naive. What he really needed to do was let her talk to him if he wanted, listen, and if there was anyway she wanted him to help, he would…

His plans were foiled though, as she woke slowly, eyes blinking open. He was lost in thought, fingers still hooked around her cuff, and he was frozen as her eyes widened, locking on her arms and where his skin was against her. She started to back away, shuffling quickly as she adjusted, fear taking over her features.

“What’re you…” she muttered quietly, pulling her sleeves back to her hands as tears started to form in her eyes.

“I’m sorry…” he blurted out quickly, face turning red. “You turned over and I saw something so I was curious, I didn’t mean to wake you I… I’m so sorry.” She had pulled her knees to her chest, shaking slightly. “Hey, listen to me, it’s ok, it’s all ok, I…” he slowed down when he realised she was crying, her whole body heaving with deep, pained breaths, her hands fisting the blankets around her. He muttered her name quietly, but she didn’t respond, her legs falling down as her breathing got more and more erratic.

Oh God, he’d ruined everything.

***

It had happened so quickly. One minute you were asleep, the next, you opened your eyes to see Dae-ho beside you. At first, you were happy just to see him, his face and demeanour and everything about him a comfort to you throughout this game. Then you noticed the way he was looking at you. A mixture of pain and confusion and worry was contorted across his face, and then you saw where he was looking.

Your sleeve must had rolled in your sleep, and he was looking at your now bare wrist, his fingers softly brushing against it. You snatched her arm away quickly, fear clouding your mind as you shuffled back.

He had seen.

Oh God, I’ve ruined everything.

There was no questioning that fact. He knew. One of your deepest secrets, one of the things you were most ashamed of. And now, the person you trusted most in here knew. What would he think? Would he view you differently? As weak? As insane? As someone who didn’t deserve to be here around people who wanted to live more than you?

All you had ever wanted was to be seen as normal. And however awful this place was, you finally had that. You had found someone who viewed you as an equal, an ally even. You weren’t the unstable girl who cut herself, or the friend no one could rely on due to unpredictable bouts of depression or anxiety, or the shitty daughter who kept to herself. You were helpful, normal even. But now?

You hadn’t noticed your breathing start to shallow until it was too late. Your vision started to go fuzzy, mind screaming that you’d let someone too close, that they would never see you the same and it was all your fault. Again.

You heard him call your name, but it felt far away, like you were trapped in a bubble and everything outside was muffled. You were paralysed with an inexplicable terror, tears streaming down your face.

Unsurprisingly, given where you were, it wasn’t the first time you’d had a panic attack in front of him. They’d been pretty consistent, after every game, during some, but now, somehow this was the worst. For some reason, someone truly knowing you was scarier than the prospect of looming death.

It took a while for your vision to come back into focus, and when it did, all you could see was his face.

“Hey, look at me, breathe, ok? Here…” he carefully placed his hand on yours, and when you didn’t pull away, picked it up and held it to his chest. “Follow my breaths, ok? In….” You did your best to follow along, stuttering slightly, but he smiled ever so softly even if you weren’t doing it perfectly. “Good, and out..” He repeated the motion a few times, and you followed until your breathing was steady enough to talk. “There we go.” He muttered gently, a hand straying to your face to wipe away the tears that had fallen.

“I’m so sorry, Dae-ho…” it was all you could choke out, already close to tears again, but he shushed you quickly.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. It’s none of my business, but I need you to know that I would never judge you… not for anything. Especially not for something that isn’t your fault.”

“Of course it is, I…”

“It’s not. Do you hear me? It’s not your fault. You’re doing your best and I’m here for you. As long as you know that, that’s all that matters.” You were crying again, his words a comfort you had never heard before. Not a moment after the first tear fell his arms were around you, pulling you tight to him and pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. You couldn’t even speak to thank him, so you squeezed his arm instead, feeling him smile into the top of your head. You had never felt so much kindness before, so much understanding… and maybe it said something about the people around you, but you couldn’t think about that. Right now, all you could think about was the way he was holding you close, the way his breaths aligned with yours, and the way he made you feel like everything was actually going to be ok.

[howaboutalittleeffort]

To The Rescue

Mommy: Help is on the way!

Alizabeth had sent that text message nearly thirty minutes ago, thirty minutes that seemed eternal for Jamie, who anxiously waited in a locked public bathroom. Thirty minutes of waiting in his current soaked state. Thirty minutes of trying not to remember Alizabeth’s concern that morning about him not being ready for the responsibility of training pants while out on his own. Thirty minutes of the ever-increasing noise from what he could only hope was a small line of others waiting for his exit.

“Excuse me, may I squeeze by?” His stomach dropped when the voice he heard was not that of Alizabeth but of Becca. Who, since the surprised unveiling of his big baby status a few weeks back, had gone from his lifelong best friend to a glorified babysitter, a role she all too often seemed overly eager to fulfill.

“You in there, Jamie? It’s Auntie Becca; mind opening the door?” Becca, not known for her ability to use an inside voice, kept true to her raucous nature even now, alerting the small shop to who she and Jamie both were.

Jamie, wanting to avoid further embarrassment and the disclosure of her personal information, unlocked and opened the door while doing his best to hide behind it.

“Why are you here? Where is Alizabeth?”

“Who?” Becca had taken on a rather annoying habit of not understanding him whenever he failed to use the appropriate honorifics for Alizabeth and herself.

“Mommy, where is she?”

“Honey Bear, she is at work and wouldn’t be able to make it in a reasonable amount of time. You should count your lucky stars that I was home and was able to get here quickly.”

“Quickly, it took you thirty minutes to get here!” Jamie had been much louder than he had meant, but the urge to match Becca’s loud nature was something he had always almost naturally tried to match.

“No sir, you will not raise your voice at me. I had to stop by your Mommy’s house and grab your diaper bag. Of course, if this is going to become a regular thing, maybe I need to keep a fully stocked bag at my place too.” At her current volume, Jamie was sure anyone near the door now realized the large pastel bag she had carried in with her was not some clunky purse but a fully stocked mobile changing station.

“Can you please keep it down? The entire shop is going to know what is happening in here?” His best hope at keeping some dignity for when he did eventually leave this restroom was to get her to quiet down.

“Is that how you ask someone to do something?”

“No, please lower your voice, Auntie Becca?”

“Better! Now let’s get you cleaned up and out of here.” With that, she began pulling out the needed supplies, beginning with his changing mat.

“Wait, what are you doing?”

“Honey Bear, you’re too big for the changing station, and I’m not going to have you lie directly on the floor.”

“No, I mean, we don’t need any of that; just give me another pair of training pants.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, but your Mommy was pretty clear that you were to be in diapers for the remainder of the day.”

“Please!” Maybe if he at least asked nicely, she would allow it. Alizabeth would surely be more understanding if Becca went along with it.

“I don’t know; I would hate for you to get in trouble with your Mommy.”

“I could change into a diaper before she gets home. She wouldn’t know. Please, Auntie Becca." At this point he was willing to beg for her mercy, even if that mercy was just a slightly less embarrassing undergarment than a full-fledged diaper.

“Did I just hear that you want me to lie for you?

“It’s not a lie; we just wouldn’t tell her everything. At worst it is a small fib.

“Enough, on your back now, eyes on the ceiling!” Realizing he had overstepped in his suggested deception, he lay down, hoping that if he was well-behaved from here on out, Becca would at least not tell Alizabeth about it.

As he lay there, staring at the roof, he realized that a more terrifying aspect of Becca was now present, silence. Throughout their long friendship, Jamie had come to learn that when silence overtook her, it was best to do everything possible to get her mind off what had caused it.

“Umm, what were you up to today?” She remained silent as she slid his pants off and tore off the sides of his trainers.

“I could have just slid those off for you.” Maybe an attempt at assistance would break the silence.

“Mommy lets me put them on myself.” Nothing; Becca’s silence remained undeterred.

“Becca, I’m sorry, I…” Jamie had looked from the ceiling to Becca to make his apology, but he had not expected to be looking straight down her low-hanging collar, getting more than a peek at her floral-design bra.

“Really, first you ask me to lie, and now you’re perving on my chest!”

“No, I was trying to apologize; I didn’t know you were wearing such a revealing shirt.” Jamie, at least, could be relieved she had finally spoken, though her volume seemed to have reached new heights.

“First off, I told you to keep your eyes on the ceiling, and second, only a big baby prone to premature accidents would think this shirt is revealing.”

“I wouldn’t call them premature.”

“Says the big baby whose little thingy is really trying to show off for me now.” Jamie wanted to argue but knew a more prolonged look down her shirt would have proved her words true, so he turned his eyes back to the ceiling.

“Damn it!”

“What? I haven’t done anything else!”

“Do you want the bad news or the really bad news first?” Exasperated, Jamie could only imagine what he could have done now. He just wanted to be done with this interaction.

“Do you want the bad news or the really bad news first?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Well, the bag only has your nighttime diapers in it…”

“Great, I can waddle all the way home.”

“… and a onesie for a change of clothes.” A new wave of panic rushed over Jamie.

“What do you mean? I can’t go out there in just a onesie and literally the thickest diapers I have!”

“You may have to, I’m sorry, Honey Bear.”

“Maybe you can rush home or to a nearby store and grab something to wear; I can wait a bit longer here.” As if some unknown force had heard his willingness to wait and determined that he had held up the world long enough, a knock on the door and a polite voice asking if everything was okay ruined any such plan of further waiting.

“Doesn’t sound like that is going to work. Look, you only have to make it to the parking deck.” Becca had quickened her pace, giving little care to the sounds coming from her fluffing the diaper.

“The parking deck is like half a mile from here.”

“Lift up for me. I’m really sorry, but I don’t think there is anything else that can be done.” Becca had the diaper fastened on quicker than he thought possible and was pulling Jamie to a sitting position.

“Maybe you could go grab your car and come back. I’ll stay here.” Becca was already pulling the onesie over his head.

“I really don’t think anyone in the store is going to be okay with you taking even more time up in their bathroom. Can you stand for me so I can get to the snaps?” As Becca began work on the snaps, he glanced at himself in the mirror, taking in the full glory of the beige-colored onesie and the giant teddy bear on the chest area and the clearly oversized diaper peeking out through the leg holes.

He wondered if there was any silver lining to be pulled from this experience. There only seemed to be one, and with that he looked down at Becca on her knees, fidgeting with the snaps, and peered back down at her gaping shirt collar.

“Almost done, just let me see what I can do about it being so obvious.” As Becca did her best to help, Jamie knew that it was all for show; he knew there was no making his situation less obvious. This entire situation was ridiculous. Any other man with a woman on her knees in front of him would be getting serviced in a completely different way; there would be no need to sneak peeks, and no need to imagine her adjusting his diaper and onesie was something for more adult and pleasurable. He barely registered that his thumb had made its way to his mouth; he was so close, the entire situation fading from him, only a growing warmth, a warmth that was surely a prelude to an exploding pleasure, was felt in that moment; he only needed to keep imagining Becca’s prodding as something more seductive.

“Phew, glad we got you in that diaper.” Becca’s declaration pulled him from his daydream.

“Huh?” As the fog cleared from his brain, he realized that the growing warmth had been nothing more than him using his diaper for its intended purpose, and even now that he was aware, he was failing to stop himself from adding to it.

“Idwidntmeanto.”

“Aw, don’t worry about that, but maybe you would prefer your paci?” Jamie, realizing that his thumb was still securely in his mouth, pulled it out and tried to regain his composure, but before he could better explain himself, Becca had shoved a pacifier in his mouth.

“Let’s get out of here.” With that Becca took hold of Jamie’s hand and began leading him out the door, but just as they were stepping through the threshold into the knowing eyes of those who had patiently waited, Becca said without looking at him “Your Mommy is going to give you one sore tushie when she hears about your willingness to fib… and for peeking down my shirt twice.”

[not-neverland06]

𝙴𝚙𝚒𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚞𝚎 - 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚁𝚘𝚊𝚍 𝙻𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚃𝚛𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚍

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

A/N: Ah, we've finally arrived. The last stop on this journey. I honestly thought I would feel more relieved saying goodbye to these two but it's a little bittersweet. Arthur is such an important character to me and one I've always held close to my heart. Being able to write this series for him is definitely one of my prouder moments as a fanfiction author. Thank you all for staying along for the ride and all of the love and support you've given me 🫶

Hell Hath No Fury Series (complete)

Summary: The past is behind you, all you have to do now is choose which path you'll follow.

The door before you is covered in a fresh coat of paint. An attempt at erasing the past that almost makes you laugh. There’s no amount of polish that can scrub away the memories and lives embedded in its frame. This estate, once pristine, holds no warmth for you, only the echoes of a childhood so distant you struggle to remember it. 

Still, you know there were moments, brief fleeting moments of happiness before you knew better. Before you understood that love only had a place when it was currency, when it was useful, before you learned that you were just another debt to be collected. 

The door creaks open, and a pair of green eyes scrutinizes you from within. “Mrs. Rowe?” The maid’s timid voice asks hesitantly. 

You don’t know her name, after a while, they all blurred together. Each of them became the same spineless, faceless shadows that bent to your mother’s every whim. You consider correcting her, telling her to call you by your maiden name, but the thought goes sour in your mouth. That name was your father’s, and he had owned you just as much as your husband. 

“Please,” you lift your chin, eyes narrowing at her, “I’m not Mrs. Rowe any longer,” you tell her curtly. 

The maid frowns and the door opens a tad wider. Her nose wrinkles in distaste, but she says nothing, not bold enough to speak out against you. Instead, she bows her head and steps aside, holding the door open to you. 

The scent of overpriced cigars and aged whiskey is thick in the air. Breathing in is like being thrown right back to days of racing through these halls, avoiding your mother’s scoldings and your father’s plotting. You almost feel the twitch of a smile as you peer up the banister of the stairs, where you know your old room is. 

The house remains unchanged, the same ornate rugs swallow your footsteps as you follow the maid down the hall. Chandeliers drip with excess in a way that you always thought was gaudy but your mother claimed show class. 

The maid stops in front of a familiar oak door, bowing her head once more before rushing off like a frightened mouse. Behind it, he’s waiting for you. 

You push the knob down and step inside, your father sits at his desk, posture relaxed as if he were expecting you. A half-empty glass of bourbon rests in his hand, swirling it lazily as he watches you approach. You notice grays in his hair that you’d never seen before, signs of age, and the truth that even money can’t stop the relentless passage of time. 

The lines around his face are deeper than you remember, but his eyes, still sharp and calculating, assessing you for your worth, haven’t changed at all. 

“When I received word from my daughter after nearly a year of believing her to be dead, I certainly hadn’t thought you would have become an outlaw.” You don’t take a seat and don’t say a word. Standing a few feet back from his desk, you keep your face carefully blank. “Van der Linde gang, wasn’t it?”

You don’t bite and ask how he knows, demand for him to tell you how he’s keeping track of you. It’s better to know less about your father’s reach and influence. Besides, little tricks like this haven’t scared you since you were a child. 

He waits for you to speak, huffing out a forced laugh when you don’t. “Finally returned back to me. I can only assume you want something.” He sets his glass down on his desk and leans back in his ornate leather chair. “I presume it has something to do with that outlaw lover of yours?”

Hands clenching reflexively around your purse and the revolver inside, your jaw clenches, the first tell you’ve given him. His lips curl, something cruel dancing behind his eyes. “If you hadn’t already been tainted by that useless husband of yours, I might just keep you here. Sell you to the next highest bidder.”

You don’t flinch and give him the satisfaction of a reaction. But you know he means every word. If you actually still held value or standing in society, he wouldn’t hesitate to put you back under lock and key, using any means necessary to cage you. 

“You can try,” you say smoothly, tilting your head ever so slightly. “But that worthless husband you picked out for me has left me as quite the undesirable.”

Something flickers across his face, amusement, maybe even appreciation for the bite in your tone. That’s the game he plays. He has no tolerance for disobedience and no respect for someone who doesn’t fight back. Perpetually dissatisfied. 

He leans back in his chair, eyes flicking over you. “What do you want, little bird?”

You take your time answering, stepping closer to the desk, glancing over the neatly stacked ledgers and letters. An old pen rests beside his arm, but he doesn’t seem to notice the black ink staining his shirt sleeve. 

“I want Arthur Morgan and the others who escaped with him left alone,” you say, voice even. “The Pinkertons, Cornwall. Every last hunter that’s sniffing after them. I want them called off.”

He raises a brow, lips curling slightly at the corners. “What makes you think I have that sort of influence?”

Your lashes flutter innocently and a demure smile flits across your face. “I know about the deal you made last spring,” you tell him, watching as his face tightens with recognition. “The one that ended with all of those men floating face down in the bayou. You’re the one who taught me to be seen and not heard, father. I just learned to listen.” You let the weight of your words sink in, watching as something like a warning crosses his face. You lean against the edge of the desk, voice dropping to a whisper, “You’ll find the power, and you’ll get me what I want.”

A slow smirk tugs at his lips and you draw back. “I always knew you were observant, listening in when I should have stopped you. Call it fatherly indulgence, but I didn’t think it would turn you into someone so conniving. I could almost say I’m proud if you weren’t such a disgrace to the family.”

Fists clenching by your side, you bite your lip and keep yourself quiet. It’s a waiting game, drawing the prey in to get what you want. 

He drums his fingers against the wood, considering. Then, finally, he sighs, reaching for his bourbon. “Fine. The Pinkertons and Cornwall will lose interest in what's left of your little gang.” He takes a sip, watching you over the rim of his glass. “But Dutch Van der Linde? The ones who followed him? I’m not lifting a finger for them.”

“Good, I wasn’t asking you to.”

That earns you a short, sharp laugh. “Cutthroat, I suppose becoming an outlaw finally gave you a spine. If only you discovered it sooner, it would have been much more entertaining to break you as a child.” 

You swallow hard, taking another step back from him before you feel the urge to put a bullet between his eyes. “What else?” He presses, setting his drink down. “I assume you didn’t come all this way just for that.”

“I need a few high-profile bounty hunting jobs- on paper.”

He arches a brow, “For Morgan?”

You shrug, not willing to give away more than you have to. “For a friend.”

Understanding dawns over his face, followed quickly by an all too familiar smirk. “The sheriffs won’t let a woman collect their bounties, is that it?” You don’t dignify him with a response and he hums, tapping his fingers against the desk as he thinks. “Done.”

Relief unfurls in your chest but you don’t give it away. Nodding, you turn away, but his voice stops you at the door. “You’re a fool for choosing this life,” he tells you, tone light but laced with something darker. “You could have had everything.”

You look over your shoulder, barely meeting his eye. “We have different definitions of what that means,” you tell him simply, “I’d rather be free than a miserable miser like you.” His jaw snaps shut, eyes going cold, and you walk out the door, leaving him behind. 

Arthur leaves Diablo to roam in the valley beside the cabin. When he’d gotten up this morning you were already gone, Lady nowhere to be found. He tried not to worry, he knows by now you’re smart enough to handle yourself. But there’s a lot of people who want to hurt you both right now. Not just the bounty hunters and the Pinkertons, but this land is infested with the Murfree brood. 

Coming back from his hunt now, he can already see Lady trotting up to Diablo, and there on the porch, you sit. Your back is to him as he approaches, fingers tight around a letter in your hand. He vaguely recognizes the handwriting, but not enough to identify the author. 

“Hey,” he mutters, taking a seat on the stoop beside you. You glance up at him, folding the letter away and smiling. “What’s that?” He asks, nodding toward the papers now tucked away. 

Your smile shifts into something a little sadder and you glance out toward the water. “Charles finally wrote me back,” there’s a tone to your voice he can’t recognize, it’s bittersweet. “I think it might be the last letter I receive from him. He has plans to move to Canada. To start,” you hesitate before smiling fondly, “he’s going to start a family.”

Sucking in a deep breath you shrug and look toward him. “How was your ride?”

“Fine,” he dismisses quickly. “Where’d you go this mornin’?”

Your face morphs into something careful, guarded. “I had some business in the city,” he knows you don’t want him to press you further. It’s clear that whatever you were dealing with was something personal. As much as he worries about you, he won’t press, even if the curiosity is gnawing at him.

“You know it’s risky to go out on your own right now.”

You smile, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek, “Trust me, I won’t be taking any more risks.” 

The room is quiet, save for the rhythmic sound of your breathing beside him. Arthur lays on his back, eyes glued to the ceiling as his fingers drum a restless beat against his stomach. Moonlight spills through the window, illuminating the cabin with a soft silver glow. 

Sleep has been harder and harder to find. It’s never come easy before, but he’d hoped it might be different now. He’s spent too many years with one eye open, waiting for a knife in the dark or gunfire to crack through the night. Even now, with no enemies nearby, no barking orders, and no campfire flickering just out of reach, his body refuses to believe he’s safe. 

He supposes he isn’t. The Pinkertons will still be after him, he figures he’s probably got a hefty bounty on his head. Large enough for the more reckless hunters to go after him. Sometimes he thinks Dutch might even be out there, seething over Arthur’s betrayal, waiting to find him again. 

Arthur sits up in bed, scrubbing a hand down his tired face. He reaches for the sketchbook resting on the nightstand beside him and flips it open. A piece of charcoal is already wedged between the worn pages and falls into his open palm as he settles against the headboard. Idly, he lets his hand start drawing a far too familiar form. 

The curve of your jaw, the way your hair spills across your pillow, he barely has to look at you to draw it now. Still, he finds his eyes drawn toward your sleeping form, taking in the peaceful rise and fall of your chest. You shift, mumbling something incoherent, and sling your arm over his waist. 

Arthur huffs out a quiet laugh, the warmth of your touch grounding in a way. He runs his hand along your arm, lacing your fingers together as you shift even closer to him. There’s not long to savor the moment before a loud whooping laugh shatters the silence outside. 

His hand stills its idle sketching, body going rigid like a hunting dog who’s found his mark. He sits up straighter, ears straining to hear the night outside the cabin walls. The grating laughter moves closer, faster, and louder than he’s comfortable with. 

He hears the distant sound of a bottle shattering and a sharp crack echoing through the night. Arthur swings his legs over the side of the bed, muscles tense, and catches the flickering glow of fire through the window. It almost sounds as if the horses are screaming in their pen. 

He’s on his feet in an instant, rushing to the door and grabbing the rifle resting along the wall. You shoot up in bed, blinking the sleep out of your eyes, and watch him throw the door open. “Arthur?” You call out, voice thick with sleep but growing more alert. 

“Stay low,” he warns you briefly, already moving through the door. 

Heat licks at his skin as he steps outside. Wildflowers near the fence are ablaze, the flames stretching dangerously close to the horses’ pen. Lady and Diablo run around wildly, bucking at nothing as the fire stretches closer. 

A group of men holler in the distance, growing closer as they circle around the property like wolves. Arthur sucks in a sharp breath, aiming the rifle at the closest one. Murfree boys, he should have known. 

“Should’ve never come on our land!” One of them shouts, lifting another fire bottle, his match dangerously close to the fabric inside. Arthur doesn’t hesitate as he pulls the trigger, the boy and the bottle falling harmlessly to the ground as he slides off his saddle. 

You rush past him, paying no heed to the men with their guns pointed at you. He tries to snatch your arm, but you’ve got a bucket of water in your hands and you’re trying to put the fire out. He sees the way you glance worriedly toward Lady as the flames consume more of the dry grass around you. 

There’s a moment of stillness, the men stop moving and simply stare at Arthur. “He killed Mitch!” One of them shouts, the rest shouting something incomprehensible in rage. Gunfire erupts and Arthur curses, grabbing you and ducking behind the wall of the cabin. Arthur peers around the side and takes another shot before he ducks back into cover, reloading the rifle. 

There aren’t many of them, and they aren’t good shots. But he’s worried about the fire, not the fools shooting at him. The fight doesn’t last long, a few more well-placed bullets and the last of the Murfree boys fall. The only sounds left are the frantic whinnies of the horses and the sound of water sizzling against flames. 

He grabs another bucket and dips it into the lake, stomping out dying embers and putting to rest the remaining fire. When it’s finally out, you slump against him, chest heaving. His heart is still pounding in his ears, adrenaline thrumming in his veins. 

“They’ll come back,” you mutter against his chest, voice quiet but sure. 

Arthur swallows, watching the darkened tree line. They’re not known for letting go of grudges or forgiving the killing of one of their own. “I know,” he tells you, arm wrapping around you and pulling you close. His mind is already made up, he’s taking you somewhere else. And soon. 

The wagon rocks slightly to the side as Arthur directs the horses over a small rock and you reach eagerly for the reigns. “Let me drive,” you demand, the same way he’s been listening to you do the whole ride. 

Arthur snorts, shaking his head and tightening his grip. “Not a chance.”

You lean back on the bench, crossing your arms with a slightly amused tilt to your lips. “Oh, come on,” you admonish, “you act like I’m a bad driver.”

He gives you a flat look, thinking back to the cougar that nearly had you running the wagon off the side of a mountain. “You are a bad driver.”

“Yeah?” You taunt, something challenging in the way you narrow your eyes at him. “Who was it that broke the wheel clean off the last wagon?”

Arthur refuses to make eye contact with you, steering the horses around a rut in the dirt path. He shrugs, “That was different.”

You scoff incredulously, shoving at his shoulder. “How?”  

Arthur shrugs, “That was Dutch’s wagon.”

You bark out a laugh, shaking your head and leaning against his shoulder. “So? That makes it a bad wagon?”

“I ain’t sayin’ it makes it bad, I’m just sayin’ it don’t count.” You roll your eyes but he sees the fondness in your expression as you sit back. He knows you’re letting him win, you could argue with him for hours, running circles around him. Even though you are a bad driver. 

The thick line of trees lining the road slowly thins and opens up. A field of purple wildflowers stretching toward the horizon lay before you. A small stream glimmers under the light of the late afternoon sun and winds its way through. In the distance, at the end of the small trail, he can see John, Abigail, and Jack waiting for the both of you. 

Arthur makes his way up the rest of the off-road trail, nose already wrinkling in distaste at the spot John has chosen for him. He pulls the wagon to a stop and rounds the side, offering you his hand. You roll your eyes at the gesture, smiling playfully and letting him help you down even though you both know it’s unnecessary. 

Arthur adjusts his hat, leveling John with a skeptical look. “You sure this is gonna work?”

John exhales sharply, leveling Arthur with a flat look. He steps forward, holding out Arthur’s cut from what he stole from Dutch. “Why’re you always doubtin’ me?”

Arthur takes the money and crosses his arms, shrugging, “‘Cause most of the time, you’re doin’ somethin’ worth doubtin’.” Abigail makes a noise of agreement, cutting John a sharp glare. You shift uncomfortably beside him and he lets out a sigh. 

He’s never more grateful for you than when he watches John and Abigail interact. That woman wouldn’t be happy with him if he did do everything she asked him to, although he most definitely does not. She’s never going to trust that he can fully integrate into a normal life or make something of himself. Having someone behind you, always doubting you, always judging you, it would drive Arthur insane. 

As much as you’ve gotten angry with him over the stupid choices he makes, you’ve always trusted him. He’s given you plenty of reason to doubt him, and still, you stand beside him. Even when he told you he had some half-baked plan to start a ranch on some cheap land Marston found for him, you followed him. And you trusted him when he told you he could take care of you. There’s no constant scrutinization of the man he used to be. 

He lets Abigail and John bicker, looping his arm over your shoulder and leading you around them so you can get a good look at the land you’re about to be living on. You squeeze his hand, smiling up at him, and Arthur feels some of the weight on his shoulders ease. 

The fire crackles softly outside the tent, casting a flickering light against the canvas walls. This tent is bigger than the one he’d had in camp, more spacious, and with wooden poles to hold it up. It has to be better until the actual house can be built, it’s what you’ll be living in for a long while. 

You sit beside him on the cot, sewing up a hole in one of your pants while he looks through the plans for the house. The scent of lavender and honeysuckle drifts through the open flap along with the sound of the creatures in the forest beyond. 

“I went to St. Denis,” you tell him, and somehow, he knows you mean the morning you disappeared. 

Arthur’s expression pinches, he looks up from the paper, taking in the way your face is illuminated by the dim light. “Why?” He demands, frustration creeping around the edges of his tone. It’s one thing to have gone out on your own, it’s even worse that you went to a place swarming with Pinkertons and cops. 

 “I went to see my father,” you tell him, voice calm despite his tension. You place your sewing to the side and shift closer to him. “The Pinkertons, the bounty hunters,” you pause, eyes roaming over his face to gauge his reaction. “They’ll be leaving us alone now, all of them.”

Arthur rubs a hand down his face, biting back the urge to say something smart. It’s not as simple as that. Whatever you’ve done, whatever favor you’ve called on, men like your father don’t just let things go. He feels like he should be angry. Hell, a part of him is mad that you put yourself at risk. 

But he sees the quiet determination on your face. You reached into your past, took the pieces that could be used against you, and turned it into something that could finally give you both a true clean slate. Arthur exhales, shaking his head. 

A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips and he reaches forward, tugging you closer to him. “A whole new life, huh?”

You smile at him, leaning in until your lips are nearly brushing against his. “Yeah,” you whisper, “A whole new life.” Arthur leans forward, lips catching yours as he tugs you onto his lap. Maybe you acted a bit like a fool, but he can’t blame you. He would have done the same thing if it meant another chance with you. 

A few years later

The morning air is crisp, as always it carries with it the distant scent of the animals around the ranch, and poppies and lilies. Boots creak softly against the wooden planks of the porch as you step outside, pausing for a moment to take in the sight before you. 

Arthur sits in his rocking chair, the slow, steady rhythm of its movements in time with his easy breaths. His gaze remains fixed on the pasture, watching as the horses move lazily through the field, the cattle grazing beyond them. The sun is already high in the sky, warming the porch under your feet. Its golden light spills across the land, lighting up the stream beyond. Every morning, he watches it rise. 

You move toward your chair beside him, settling into the familiar seat. He doesn’t look away from the horizon, but his hand finds yours, calloused fingers warm against your skin. His thumb drags slow circles over the back of your hand, a quiet steady reassurance. 

Neither of you speak as there’s nothing to be said. No threats hang over your heads. No weight presses against your shoulders. 

There is only this. The soft rustle of the grass in the breeze, the warmth of the sun on your skin, the gentle creaking of the rocking chair. And the two of you, the outlaw and the lady. 

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

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