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wh0reforcoriolanussnow · 11 months ago

Note

Hi sweet angel, I have to admit that I'm new to your profile, but my obsession with your writing is almost as great as my obsession with snow, I have a request that changes the story a little bit.

Coryo is completely obsessed with the reader, but she thinks he is just an affectionate friend, both become mentors and instead of snow falling in love with lucy, it is the reader who falls in love with her tribute, and begins to move away from Snow, he can not accept this and manipulates the games, Not for lucy to win, but rather, to get rid of the reader's tribute. (Sorry for any mistake, English is not my mother tongue, so I use Google translator)

Slipping Through My Fingers || Young!Coriolanus Snow x reader

GIF by i forgot sorry :( divided by @firefly-graphics

A/n: this took me forever to finish idk why 😭 also this has to be the longest fic i've written so far.

Warnings: mention of blood, possessive coryo, mentions of death

Wc: 2,975

Coriolanus Snow Masterlist

"Can I see you tomorrow morning?" Coriolanus looks down at you with hope in his eyes, you open your mouth but close it before sighing. "I can't, sorry. My parents want me to be home when my grandparents are there," You lie through your teeth as he hums, nodding.

"That's fine, tomorrow afternoon then?" His hand touches your waist as you smile up at the boy. "Of course Coryo, I'll see you then?" You touch his hand that was at your waist as he nods. You give him one final smile before disappearing around the corner.

You felt bad for lying to him but you didn't know how he would take it if he found out that you were actually going to meet your tribute first thing when his train from the districts arrived in Panem. Your tribute, Dean, from district 8 intrigued you. You couldn't keep your eyes of the screen when he appeared. He caught your eye immediately.

Coryo couldn’t stop complaining all day about his tribute from district 12, Lucy Gray. Saying that she would not last a second in the game. Unlike him, you had faith in your tribute.

So here you were, standing on the platform waiting for the train to come to a halt as you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. A smile on your face, dimples on display as the doors open revealing Dean. He was taller than you imagined, but nonetheless, he looked surreal. There was no denying that Dean was good looking, incredibly good looking which you would imagine would play a role in the amount of donations he would have.

"Dean. Y/n Y/l/n. I'll be your mentor." You extend your hand out in front of him as he looks you up and down before shaking your hand. His shake was firm, his fingers calloused. An indication that he was a hard worker.

"Are you supposed to be here? I don't see other people like you around here," He says as he looks around the train station. You notice Coriolanus' tribute, Lucy Gray walking by and staring at the two of you questioningly. You make eye contact with her before clearing your throat and looking back at Dean who hadn't kept his eyes off of you.

"No. I'm not supposed to be here." You confess, your hands fidgeting with the ends of your skirt as Dean raises an eyebrow at you. "Then.... what are you doing here?" You pause. What were you doing here? You could have waited like the others for tomorrow to meet him.

"I uh- I wanted to welcome you to the Capitol." You offer him a smile. Silence. "Can I be blunt with you Dean?" Your head slightly tilts, a habit of yours when you ask questions. "Sure," He shrugs. "I see potential in you," You hold his hands in between yours as he glances down at your intertwined hands with an expression you couldn't quite figure out.

"You can win this hunger games. And I will do everything in my power to make sure that you do. Such potential like you for a bright future shouldn't be wasted," You solemnly smile at him. Dean stays quiet for awhile, his hand still in yours before a peacekeeper roughly pulls him away from you.

"Hey!" You shout as you follow the two. "It's time for them to go Miss." The peacekeeper says as he throws Dean into the back of a van. Just as he walks away from your view to close the door, you jump into the van along with the rest of the tributes. "What are you doing!" Dean whispers yells at you as you stay hidden behind him.

You let out a sigh of relief once the doors close. "What's this? Is this your mentor, Dean?" A girl you recognised to be Carol asks with a sinister smile. You push past Dean and extend your hand out for her to shake. She looks at your face then your hand and lets out a laugh.

"Why would I shake hands with someone like you." She spat as a few others laugh alongside her. You notice Lucy Gray once more, sitting there silently. "Why do you get special treatment Dean, huh?" Carol pushes you backwards catching you off balance as Dean catches you.

"I could kill her right now," Carol chuckles like a maniac. Dean moves you behind him, "Leave her alone," He voices out, his tone screaming authority. Before Carol could respond, the van shook violently as you all lose your balance. You let out a groan as you felt your body slam against the van door before it flies open, causing you all to roll out onto hard rocks.

You let out a groan as you slowly lift up your head, squinting your eyes at your surrounding before you hear Dean's voice. "Y/n! Are you alright?" He asks worriedly as his grips your bicep, aiding you to stand up as you realise where you were. You were at the zoo cage.

You place a hand on your head as you let out a low groan. "Excuse me! Hello! Over there! Can they not hear me in there?" You hear a familiar voice belonging to Lucretius Flickerman. Dean takes a hold of your forearm, helping you keep balance as he whispers to you, "Own it." You look up at him with a small smile. He offers his arm to you as you link arms and walk towards the iron bars.

"Y/n Y/l/n, one of the mentors for the 10th hunger games." Lucretius says to the camera as he then directs his gaze towards you. "The game makers did tell you to jump into the cage with them," His tone was skeptical. Dean looks down at you as you glance at him before looking at Lucky.

"They didn't tell me not to. They just said it was a mentor's job to introduce our tributes to the citizens of Panem, and I thought well if Dean is brave enough to be here, then why shouldn't I be too?" You say with confidence, "For the record, I didn't have a choice," Dean butts in.

"What is Y/n doing there?" Arachne gasps as she ctaches the attention of Snow and the others as they look to the screen. There you were, linked arms with a tribute, looking awfully comfortable with him to add. Snow furrows his eyebrows at disbelief that you were there.

You told him that you were to be at home, but clearly not. Coriolanus watches with intent as you look at Dean when he spoke. His fists bawl up as Clemensia makes a comment. "You alright Coryo? You look.... bothered," Her hands rest on Snow's upper arm as he pries her touch off of him.

"I'm fine," He snaps as he leans forward on his seat. He was bothered. Very bothered seeing you so close with a tribute. "He's obviously not fine, he's bothered seeing Y/n so touchy with her tribute, isn't that right Snow?" Arachne teases as he slams his hand on the table causing her to shut up. "Shut it, Crane." Coriolanus says through gritted teeth as Arachne puts her hands up in surrender.

"They look really close. Can't blame Y/n honestly, she got a good looking one," He hears Clemensia quietly say before he had enough and stood up, storming off.

"Coryo," You call out as you catch up to him, adjusting your bag on your shoulder as you offer him a smile. He says nothing, his face stern as he continues to walk, not bothering to look at you. "Hey listen, I'm sorry I stood you yesterday, I just got super busy-" "Yeah I saw, busy with your tribute right?" He gives you a sarcastic smile as you scrunch your eyebrows.

You were all making your way to the enclosed cage to talk to your tributes. "What?" Snow rolls his eyes at you, finally stopping. "I saw your interview with Flickerman. Looked awfully close to your tribute," You let out small chuckle as his face shows no sign of amusement.

"Coryo, I was just introducing myself to him and getting to know him that's all. I have faith in him that he will win and I wanted him to know that. Wouldn't you do the same with your tribute if you had faith in her?" You touch his arm as he looks at your hand.

"Right?" You try and get a response from him as he sighs, "I guess," Is all he says before intertwining his hands with yours. You look down at your hands, a sweet gesture from him. When you both get closer to the tributes, you unclasp your hands with Snow and walk towards Dean who has already seen you and was making his way closer to you.

"Hey," You greet Dean as you look through your bag and find the half of your sandwich and cookie which you put away for him. You hand it to him as he thanks you, immediately taking bites as you watch him. He could feel your stares as you look away. Your eyes land on Coriolanus and Lucy.

He was talking to her about something as Lucy looks towards you and Dean. Snow finally looks at you, his expression cold as you gulp and look at Dean who was already looking at you. "He your boyfriend or something?" He asks as he takes another bite of the cookie. Your eyes widen. "Who? Coryo? No." You laugh as Dean stares at you.

"He's just a close friend of mine." You say as he nods, unbothered. "Do you? Do you- uh- have a-" "No." He deadpans as you slowly nod. From afar, Snow was watching the two of you interact the entire time. "Do you want to win Lucy Gray?" He turns his attention from you to his tribute.

"Do you think I can win?" She asks him as he thinks. "Honestly? no." He admits as Lucy scoffs. "But if you listen to what I say and do what I tell you to do, you will." His tone was stern as Lucy nods, her eyes following his eyeline which led to you and Dean. "That your girlfriend? That girl who was with us yesterday in the van."

"Her and Dean seem to be close, don't you think?" Lucy watches Coriolanus' face, his jaw clenching at the mention of the two. "They're not close, she just knows how to play the game," Coriolanus snaps before standing up and backing away from Lucy Gray.

You hadn't spoken much to Coriolanus the past couple of days. You were with Dean quite a lot, making up strategies and scenarios for when the games started. "I care about you, Dean. A lot." You take his hands in yours, the sound of his iron shackles making you cringe as you look him the eyes. Dean looks around the room before caressing your hand.

You and Dean have gotten very close over the past days. You both had faith in each other, trusted one another. Coriolanus narrows his eyes at the two of you, 2 desks away from him before his gaze settles on your touching hands.

He lets out a quiet scoff as Lucy Gray looks over to you and Dean. "Do you know him?" Snow asks her as he cocks his head towards Dean. Lucy shakes her head. "You want to win, don't you?" He leans in close to her.

Lucy hesitantly nods her head, "Yes. Yes you do Lucy." He answered for her, his gaze hard on her as she squirmed under his stare. "You need to kill Dean first. You need to before he kills you. He's a strong competitor, I can tell, that's why you need him out first. Then, it will be a piece of cake." He smirks as he leans back on his chair. "What do I need to do?"

“Y/n,” Coriolanus calls out as you turn your head to his direction, a small smile on his face as you beam at him. You run to him, throwing your arms around him as you hug him tightly. Coryo was caught off guard but eventually hugs you back.

“Good luck,” You say, although it was slightly muffled against his shirt. “You too,” He says back, his hand rubbing your back as you pull back, giving him your pearly white grin that only a few were able to see. Coriolanus felt a pull at his heart for he knew what was going to happen would break you.

Your other classmates arrive as you get settled for the 10th hunger games to start. Your eyes were trained on the screen as you watch Dean kill 2 people. You bite your fingernails as you continue to watch it play out infront of your eyes. Coriolanus offers his hand as you take it, squeezing it as you watch Dean.

A couple hours pass by and everyone sits up when they watch Coryo's tribute, Lucy Gray being corned by a few of the others, Dean included. In the corner of your eye, you watch Coryo come up to his screen and rapidly click.

Your eyes flicker back to the screen as drones of water come flying at the tributes, knocking them out as the room erupts in gasps. "These drones are not very good," Flickerman comments. "Hey! What are you doing?" Vipsania shouts as she stands up.

"You can't attack the tributes Coryo!" You snap at him. "I'm just sending water," He coolly says as you shake your head and scoff. Dean managed to dodge them luckily. You watch as Lucy Gray runs, Dean chasing after her as your leg bounces.

She manages to hide in one of the vent holes as you notice Snow let out a sigh of relief. Dean punches the vent in anger as he eventually leaves her. A few more hours pass by as you fell asleep, the sound of banging wakes you up. Coryo was nowhere to be found.

Your eyes focus on the screen as Dean and Coral stand underneath a vent pipe. Coral's pitchfork was reportingly stabbing at the vents above. Dean follows the noises, his gaze on the vent. "Coral. Coral she's right here," He whispers to her as she continues stabbing at the vent. Coriolanus then runs in, "Lucy Gray, is she okay?" He says out of breath.

"She wont be for long," Festus comments as everyone's eyes are trained on the screen. All of a sudden, Dean touches his nose as he looks confused. You immediately stand up on your feet, "Wait, what's wrong with Dean?" You move closer as he falls on his knee making your heart race.

"Did Coral do something to Dean?" You panic as Dean starts spazzing out on the floor. Coryo glances at you. Lucy Gray did what he told her to do. He had snuck her rat poison to use, if a small amount was to be inhaled, it would be deadly.

You cover your mouth as your eyes widen. Dean was laying on the ground, not moving at all. You flinch at the sound of a buzzer going off, indicating that he was in fact dead. Dean was dead. And you didn't even know how it happened. You storm out but before you could, Coryo grips your arm, "I'm sorry," He says as you furrow your eyebrows at what he meant before snatching your arm from his grip. "Dean is down. Good afternoon Miss Y/l/n," Flickerman calls out.

You storm out with rage. Dean was supposed to win. He was supposed to make it out alive. You even promised him he would come out alive and go back to his family. One moment he was perfectly fine, and then the next, he's on the floor spazzing out and then dead. Your mind drifts back to Coriolanus' words, I'm sorry. What did that even mean? You assumed he was just apologising that your tribute was dead.

Lucy Gray had managed to win. You were happy for Coryo of course. But Dean’s recent death still plagued your mind. “Y/n,” Coryo breathed out the moment you opened your door to him; he reached out for you, pulling you against his chest.

It caught you by slight surprise before you hugged him back. The pent up emotions finally releasing the moment he rubs your back affectionately. “Shh” He softly shushed you as waterfalls fall down your cheeks. Everything was chasing up to you.

“I-I don’t even know what happened to him,” You sob in his embrace as he traces shapes on your arm. You continued to rant to him as he brought you to your living room.

You rested your head against his chest as he listened, sometimes he would bite his tongue at the things you were saying about Dean. "He was just a tribute y/n-" "He was not just a tribute." You snapped, lifting your head up as you stared at his blue irises.

Coriolanus rolls his eyes the minute you turn your head back around. "He's human, just like you and I. He had dreams, he had a family to go back to Coryo, do not just sit there and tell me he was just a tribute. He's more than a tribute," Coriolanus listened to every single word that came out of your mouth.

He did not agree with most of the things you said but for the sake of it, he said nothing. When you spoke about Dean, it grew on Coriolanus that you infact liked him, alot. Perhaps even more than like. And that was why he felt the need to kill him. You were his, only his. And after all, he couldn't have some lowly district boy taking over your body and soul.

#fanfiction #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus fanfiction #coriolanus x you #coriolanus x lucy gray #the hunger games #the hunger games ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas #tbosas imagine #young coriolanus snow #young president snow #president snow #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus smut

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xzaddyzanakinx · 8 months ago

Text

Not That Kind of Guy

Part Five: Stalker!Anakin Skywalker × femme reader series

Warnings: stalking, weirdo behavior, psychotic/delusional behavior, possessive/protective, sexism/misogyny, one-sided relationship, arm/hand kink, sexual content/fantasizing, pervy behavior, suicide/death metaphor[Be sure to pay attention to future warnings in the series]

Info: Anakin is and always will be the most romantic man to exist, that is all. Psycho!Stalker!Ani loves counting idk he just does & I know it.[diary entries from Ani] [texts from Luke] extremely not proofread. MDNI 18+

Diary Entry: July 8th

You’d better be glad I’m patient, or else you’d have another dead neighbor.

When I heard the *wwoop* of your phone sending out a text on my computer I didn’t check it immediately. Until I heard four *pings* in quick succession.

‘Lukey, call me.’

‘Why?’

‘I’m in class.’

‘10 mins’

‘Or emergency?’

Remember how I said I like Luke? I like him a little bit less. Who texts like that… just write a sentence like a normal person. One sentence.

‘emergency!!’

Emergency? The panic that flooded my veins was icy-hot as I frantically pulled up a the live feed of your home and blasted the volume.

Nothing.

You were just sitting on the couch snacking on those Extra Toasty Cheezits that you love so much. (Cheezits was a marketing genius for that though, profiting off burnt ones because little weirdos like you lived for that one random burnt piece at the bottom of the bag. Goofy girl.)

That doesn’t seem very ‘emergency!!’ to me. Unless you’ve run out of Cheezits, but you haven’t. I would know.

I chewed my nails, paced the floor, and wrung out my hands. I couldn’t just walk over there and say ‘Hey! Just wanted to make sure you’re okay cause I cloned your phone and saw a concerning text! How can I help?’.

You seemed fine, you weren’t crying, you didn’t look upset. You just started scrolling through Instagram reels and rapid-fire sending them to your sister as if she’d actually watch them all. We all know she won’t, but if you ask she’ll say she did.

‘step out. emergency!!’

‘no, give me 4. it can wait.’

Jesus Luke, are you trying to make me dislike you? I can’t believe you’d make her wait like that. The girl said it’s an emergency. That means pick up the fucking phone, dial her fucking number and say ‘I’m on my way, what’s going on?’

Drop everything and fucking run. I’d jump from a moving train if I got that text from you. Train station who? I have two legs and I can run pretty fast as long as I have the right motivation.

Pass a kid on a bike? ‘Scuse me I’m commandeering this vehicle.’ I’d be the fucking flash with pink tassels and purple glow wheels.

‘Now!!’

The suspense was literally killing me. I was withering away with worry.

‘if it’s the guy again I swear to god.’

Guy? What guy? What had I missed? There was a guy in your life that wasn’t me?

‘just fucking call me.’

Yeah, you heard the girl. Fucking call her already.

“No he did not.” Luke scoffed, as if what you’d told him was the most ridiculous thing he’d heard in ages.

“I swear. I swear he did!” You giggled folding over on the couch.

“There’s no way a straight man did that for you and didn’t try to fuck.” Luke laughed. “I don’t believe you. You’re delusional.”

“I am not!” You defended, not actually hurt by his comment but wanting to prove him wrong anyway.

“I literally don’t believe you.” He let out a snort and whispered something to Han on the other end of the line. “Han said he’s still set on Ben for you.”

“I told you I am not interested. There’s a reason I never texted him!” You retorted.

“Yeah because you lost his number you pea-brain.” He teased.

“No.” You said with a slightly haughty tone. “I happen to believe it was just the universe telling me it wasn’t meant to be.”

“That’s a really good justification for loosing his number.” Han’s voice came through the speaker slightly muffled from his distance.

“Shut up both of you. You’re horrible.” You laughed. “I’m sticking to it. The universe said no and I’m no match for the powers that be, m’kay?”

“Sure babes.” Luke said, you could almost hear his stupid little smirk.

“Anyway. Yes, look I’ll send you a picture of the book okay?” You hopped up quickly and snapped a picture to send to Luke’s phone. “Cause I can’t exactly send you a picture of him helping me with my groceries.”

“Mmhmm I know because it didn’t happen.” Luke said flatly. “Hard to get a picture of a hallucination.”

You rolled your eyes and huffed, Luke was just being protective. It’s not like he was wrong, most men wouldn’t do something like that out of the kindness of their heart.

“This would be so much easier if you had an iPhone. You might be hideous but I still miss your face.” You teased, hearing Han’s booming laugh in the background.

“Whatever.” Luke grumbled, “okay, so what am I looking at here?”

“See it’s this collection of paper that has typed out wo-“

“Smartass. I mean: what’s so… cool? about it?” He interrupted.

“It’s a special edition. $50. He just gave me a special edition book without a second thought.” You said excitedly. “Remember I lost my copy not too long ago?”

“Mmm yeah I think I remember.” He said noncommittally. “You should really keep up with your shit.”

“Hey I’m doing better!” You retorted. “My life is so put together right now. You’d be amazed.”

“Delusional Han I’m telling you.” He snickered quietly.

“Oh my god! Have you no faith in me at all?” You scoffed. “I haven’t forgotten to charge my phone or take my medicine. I’ve kept everything tidy. All my important stuff stays in my bag.”

“You’ve been possessed.” Luke gasped.

“Fuck. If I have then I’ve got the sweetest demon the 7th circle could provide.” You joked. “I’ve even been sleeping better, I think maybe even boogie is happier too. She’s started sitting at the living room window to watch the pigeons again.”

“Aw, my niece.” He crooned. “My *favorite* niece.”

“What about leia’s new-“

“I said what I said.” Luke interrupted.

Diary Entry: July 8th

The way you gushed about me on the phone was everything I could’ve asked for and more. I’ve never been so fucking proud of myself. I feel like I could… I don’t know lift a fucking car or something. I feel good. This is a good feeling, to be appreciated like this.

I want you to know how happy you’ve made me today.

To hear your voice, see your face, watch your body language as you spoke about how we met and our little chat today. I could live off purely that for days. Your giggle is nourishment for my soul, your voice is honey to drink with my tea, your beauty is the sugar in the much-to-big spoon I’d use to stir it with.

That’s what life with you would be like. Tea time. It’s soft, I always think of tea time as being soft; a big blanket of comfort and security. I just feel like it’s the perfect metaphor.

You are the ingredients. The tea leaves, honey, sugar, and water.

I am the the cup and life, fate, whatever it may be, is the spoon.

Can you use all of those things separately? Sure. But would it make much sense to pour hot water on a pile of dry leaves, drizzle some honey and sprinkle sugar into a goopy puddle right on the kitchen counter?

Would it be enjoyable to drink air from a small cup and leave the spoon lonely and unused?

No.

You need me to hold you; you are so many things. All of them are perfect and all of them are uniquely you. But when joined together in a secure little cup you’ll have the opportunity to mesh those things into something new.

A cup is just a cup if there’s nothing in it. Cold and empty ceramic. Sturdy and reliable although delicate when handled irresponsibly.

Fill me with you. All of you.

You’ve already started that you know? Each tea leaf is a tidbit of you.

Your likes and dislikes. Your happiest memories and even your sad ones, your angry moments, your bad days. I love and cherish even the deepest caverns and widest chasms in your beautiful mind. Without them, you wouldn’t be you.

Please believe me when I say that even if the leaves are crumpled or incomplete… it doesn’t mean that they won’t make tea.

Honey, my favorite. Your personality. God you’re so fucking sweet it hurts. Your voice, those lovely lips that speak such well written poetry.

My love, everything you say is a hymn.

I wasn’t a religious man before you. My Goddess, I fall to my knees at the altar for you. Speak to me and you’ll sing to my very soul. Tell me truth, tell me lies, tell me those things that float through the nether. I’ll take it all as gospel.

Ask of me anything and I will spill blood, even if it is my own, to provide you with whatever you wish.

I never understood why honey was akin to the nectar of the gods until I met you.

Now I understand. To taste you is to taste life. To smell you is to breathe freely. To feel you is to be soothed.

Sugar. Do you know how many grains of sugar are in the average tablespoon? Around 60,000. The human eye processes visuals at the average rate of 13 milliseconds per image. Even faster if presented with an image that invokes emotion. Though for the purposes of math, we will go with 13 milliseconds.

13 milliseconds is about 75 frames per second. 60 seconds in one minute. 4,500 frames.

If the average tablespoon holds 60,000 grains of sugar that’s 270,000,000 frames per second.

4,500,000 minutes. 75,000 hours. 3,125 days. About 102 months. Alittle over 8 years.

I use 3 tablespoons of sugar per cup of tea.

That means by our 25 anniversary I will have been graced with every grain of your beauty.

By then I’ll probably need a few more spoonfuls if I plan to survive raising children with you. If they’re as hyperactive as you get sometimes I’ll fucking need it.

Oh well. Just more time for me to bask in your beauty.

All these things have filled me, your cup. All that I need now is water. Your love.

The kind of love that burns so hot that it bubbles up beneath your skin and makes you itch if you’re apart for too long.

That’s what happens when water boils, the atoms separate and bounce around until they come back together as the water cools.

Just like us.

I’m the flame that’s heating your water, the closer I get the hotter it’ll grow until it’s rattling the kettle, screaming to be let out and bring all the pieces together.

Adding that boiling water, your love. It will bring life to me. You’ll warm the cold ceramic shell that I’ve been for so long. Fragile and lonely and horribly handled. I might have a few chips but the foundation is strong and worthy.

A cup is just a cup if there’s nothing in it.

You give me purpose. You make me useful.

I will let our love steep. Let it steep, because you can’t make tea without all the ingredients and a water-worthy cup.

We will stir it and stir it and stir it until the the hand of fate declares us ready, I will be there for you at the *clink* of the spoon against my rim.

I will be there after to hold you until the very last sip.

I will be there until I am broken beyond repair.

If the last sip happens before my ceramic cracks… I will be quick to join you after slipping through the hands of fate.

It’s a long winded way to say that I love you, but if you wanted, I would memorize it and recite it for you every night before drift to sleep.

Diary Entry: July 12th

You’re so cute.

I don’t know how you haven’t noticed that your laundry detergent should’ve run out ages ago. I giggle like a school girl everytime I see you at the laundromat holding it up to measure it out.

I’ve started washing my stuff in the same as you, I love the way your laundry smells.

But I love the way you smell even more.

You just bought some new sheets recently and I took the liberty of ordering the same ones. What luck that we both use a queen size bed huh? The cutesy little strawberry print isn’t exactly my style but I don’t give a shit. The giddy way you opened up your package was nothing short of adorable.

You know what else is super handy about using the same detergent?

You won’t notice when I switch them out.

You’re washing them for the first time today since you just received them in the mail yesterday. I know you’re so excited to put them on and make your pretty pink bed up, I’m amazed you had the patience to wait until today to go to the laundromat. It’s open 24/7, proud of you baby. Prioritizing that good deep sleep you’ve been getting.

You’re welcome, and thank you.

Watching you sleep from the end of the bed is one of my favorite things. It just… I don’t know it makes me feel comforted to be there. It’s the closest thing to sleeping next to you that I can get right now. Then I’ll be getting some good deep sleep.

It’s hard for me to rest if I can’t reach out and make sure you’re safe.

The audio from your room is wonderful ASMR though. Your snores and snuffles and the rustling of blankets while you sprawl out and occupy as much space as your body can manage; it’s soothing to me.

Partially because I know you’re okay, partially because I was able to give you that deep rest.

You wash your sheets once a week because you love the feeling of fresh warm linens. It’s the simple pleasures of life that bring you the most joy. That’s something I adore about you.

So here’s the plan. I’m a man of my word and I promised you a reward for all your hard work didn’t I? I’m also a man who enjoys the killing of two birds with one stone.

Life goes so much more smoothly if you take the time to line up the shot.

That’s why I immediately ordered my own set as soon as I checked your Amazon account. Mine arrived today too and I’ll be stopping by the laundromat just as you’re leaving. I’ve left them in the box and put it at the bottom of my basket though, I don’t want to ruin the surprise you know?

I’m so glad I was able to hear your little chat with your friends. Not only was it a wonderful reassurance, it also allowed me to plan our encounters more closely together. I’ve made myself known to you, I’ve spaced out our previous meetings well enough to leave you wishing you’d catch me out in the hallway even for a quick hello.

Trust me I have been dying to indulge you. But if this whole relationship has taught me anything it’s: trust the process.

See you soon princess, my timer just went off. I’ll be there just in time to watch you nuzzle your face into the last warm item of clothing from the dryer before tossing it in the basket.

Date:

July 12th

You were tossing the last of your clean laundry into the basket when the bell above the door jingled. Purely out of habit you glanced over, instead of the usual stranger or semi-familiar face, it was Anakin.

He seemed not to notice you straight away, keeping his head down and walking to the washer/dryer set closest to the front window.

It was shameful the way you took this opportunity to stare and soak him up. His whole physique just screamed at the primal parts of your brain. The parts that want you to sprint across the laundromat and l seduce him into ravaging you right up against the glass he stood near. Who cares who sees? You’d be beyond proud to be spotted in the throes of passion as long as it was him who was behind you.

The way his arms moved should be illegal. How is it possible for someone to be so… lean? The veins that and corded tendons that roll beneath his skin become even more visible as his wrist gives way to his hands.

Wide palms that would be perfect for grabbing a handful of your ass. Gripping your hips to guide you down onto what you can only assume is an equally impressive cock.

Long fingers as the most elegantly carved necklace. Fingertips that could trace swirling patterns across the vast expanse of your skin. Those same fingertips caressing the slick and swollen folds that just so happened to be in desperate need of his attention.

How could you not be a puddle of a person when he locks eyes with you like that? Like he’s reading the transcript of your soul, his eyes never stayed in one place too long. He needed to take in as much of you as possible each and everytime he was in your company.

How could you not forget how to speak when he walks over to you with such confidence? His towering frame would be intimidating if he didn’t radiate comfort. He seemed like he knew he had that affect on you, or maybe he was just one of those clueless types. That special kind of man who doesn’t realize what a catch they are.

“What’s up sweet girl?” He asked with that same gritty tone that had you feigning for him in ways he’d find unholy.

“Hey Anakin.” You managed to tone down the smile that instantly spread across your face. “I was just about to leave…”

“Well isn’t that a shame.” He chuckled, his eyes darting from your lips to your eyes and back again before he looked up and away. Stretching his arm up behind his head to rub his neck.

“Hmm yeah it is.” You murmured, too distracted by the tiny sliver of skin and dark hair the peaked out from beneath the hem of his shirt.

“Eyes up baby.” He teased, his finger tapping the underside of your chin before you could even register his hand was coming toward you.

‘Jesus Christ.’

If he can make your knees this weak from a few words… it’s almost concerning to think of the state you’d be in after he rearranges your guts.

The blush on your cheeks could’ve been mistaken for a sunburn, never had you felt so fucking embarrassed and flustered at the same time. You couldn’t even be mad.

“Let me help, yeah?” He said, choosing to glaze over your blatant staring and not push it farther with the teasing comments.

Truly a gentleman.

“Oh! Yeah, yeah.” You nodded. “Thanks.”

You managed a soft smile as your brain attempted to rewire itself into working condition again. He closed the dryer and placed your detergent and fabric softener beads into your basket and carried them over to his washer/dryer combo, expecting you to follow.

He sat it down near one of the many metal folding chairs lining the wall and turned to you again, his expression one of concern? Worry? Apprehension?

“You okay sweetheart?” He asked gently. “Did I make you uncomfortable?”

“What?” You asked, eyebrows furrowing. “Uncomfortable? No, no.” You shook your head in realization that he must’ve assumed he’d struck a nerve with his flirtatious comment.

“You sure?” He asked.

Somehow his hands, those strong hands that you just knew would feel like heaven on your skin, had made their way to your biceps. Slowly traveling the length of your forearm to hold both of your hands in his, your fingers curved over his while his thumb rubbed your knuckles.

“Yeah, I’m sure.” You nodded, shooting him a bashful smile.

His eyes searched your face like he was scanning for even the most minuscule change in expression, any twitch of your lip or shift in your line of sight that might say otherwise. When he was sure you were being truthful he spoke again.

“Alright princess,” he conceded with a warm tone. “you sticking around or headed out?”

“I’d stay to chat for a bit if I could, but I’ve gotta clock-in, in about… 45mins.” You said, thankful for the change in subject.

Anakin never failed to both confuse and amaze you. Every fucking time you spoke to him. You were tired of telling yourself he was just too damn good to be true, fuck it, he is that good.

In all your years, you’d never had a man check-in with you like that and in such a caring and considerate way… you couldn’t have dreamed up a man like this. It was a small detail of his character, but it made a world of a difference.

If you would’ve said ‘yes, that made me uncomfortable.’ you had no doubt in your mind that he would apologize and mean it. He’d mean it, apologize with his whole chest and make sure that it never ever happened again.

That was the kind of comfort and security that only a fictional love could provide.

But here he is.

In the flesh.

Maybe hearing about this, Luke might change his mind. Luke was only doing his job as your best friend and protector, shielding you from the dangers of the average Brad that you’d dated in the past. But…

Anakin’s not that kinda guy.

“You know, I don’t think you’ve ever told me where you work.” Anakin pointed out.

“Huh, I guess I haven’t.” You realized. “Bluebird Diner. It’s a good place to eat, yummy pie.”

“Oh yeah I’ve been there before!” Anakin said happily, “that butterscotch pie is so good, oh my god.”

“Right?” You agreed excitedly. “That’s my favorite. I’ll have to tell Rosa that she’s getting compliments on it. She’ll be thrilled.”

“Maybe I’ll grab a slice later.” Anakin suggested. “Before I have to go clock-in.”

“Where do you work?” You asked, finding it a bit comical that you were drooling over him but didn’t even know this basic detail of his life.

“The Cerulean.” Anakin nodded toward the window. “Just a couple blocks from here.”

“The Cerulean? What do you do, bartend?” You asked, curious as alittle itch in the back of your mind needed to be scratched.

“Mhm, I do.” He smiled.

“I think… oh my god. I think I’ve seen you there before!” You laughed. “It was a while back but I was there with some friends… you made my drink!”

“Really?” Anakin laughed. “Shit don’t make me feel bad baby, I don’t remember that.”

“I didn’t expect you too.” You giggled. “The place was packed. I can’t imagine how many people you serve a night.”

“You’ve got no idea.” He blew out a puff of air, with a chuckle.

“Well I’m due for a night out soon,” you said with a grin. “You come grab some pie later and I’ll come get a drink from you tomorrow night.”

“Sounds like a deal princess.” He beamed.

Part Six

Tag-List:

@wickedtactics @tsugumiholic @kingdomhate @burnthecheshirewitch @exquisitcorpse @arzua10 @bby-imasociopath @depressed-kay @aliciaasky @naty-1001 @mrsmikaelsxn @bunnylovesani @ausskywalker @angelsadmired @slut4starwarssmut @chocolatepalacecloudhoagie @starkiller419 @hearts4mitski4 @lethargic @allhailbuckybarnes-blog @shadowhuntyi @mortalheartache @fallinlovewithevil @sythethecarrot @chaoticantihero @vadersslut @luvvfromme @anakinsbaee @doblasftcisco @sweetcheesecakesblog @luvskywxlker @angelsadmired @kaminokatie @anakin-pilled @graveyard-stray @chiaraanatra @jediavengers @zapernz @lunalitva @salted-snailz @queenofchaos99 @ellie-luvsfics @dazednstars141 @rorysbrainrot @hopesworlld @lonaah @t8lzw @guiltycherries @syralix @doblasftcisco

THE TAGS LIST IS FULL! But if you want to be tagged I will comment ur username for you. Love you all so many.

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 months ago

Text

Someone New 5

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include angst, pining, romcom tropes, and some darker elements later in the series. Some triggers may not be specifically tagged. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This fic will contain explicit content. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You’ve had a crush on your best friend for years, but you’re slapped in the face with reality when he takes things to the next level with his girlfriend.

Characters: Steve Rogers, Thor

Note: Tuesday! Ugh.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

It’s nearly midnight in Norway by the time you’re free of the airport. The train station isn’t far; it’s part of the airport. You wait on a bench between the rails as your boarding is two hours away. You sit with your luggage and mope. This new land only adds to the gloom clinging to you.

You shiver as a draft flows down the tunnel. Not only is grey and grim, but it’s cold. It’s almost June but the weather is more akin to the cusp of winter and spring back home.

Your weeks of research couldn’t prepare you for the real things. All that anticipation could never compare to that moment of desolation; alone in this far land, away from everything you knew. Everything around you is new and foreign and unwelcoming.

When the train pulls up, you wait in queue with the other passengers. Some are native, speaking in lilted English or indecipherable Norwegian. Duolingo hasn’t done much for you as you catch only scraps of pronouns and verbs. Others are new arrivals like yourself but they seem much more certain of themselves. You feel utterly lost.

You show your ticket and board. You tuck your bag away with the larger pieces kept at the front of the carriage and hug your carry-on in your lap. You stare out the window as the train begins to roll on the tracks, screeching as it pulls out into the black night of this strange land.

The subtle rumble of the locomotive lulls you into a half-sleep. Your head is wrought with the ache of your building hangover and twisted visions of the life left behind. You hear Steve’s final goodbye, you feel the hug that was snugger on your end than his, and you feel the razor of Peggy’s spiteful eye. Even in a stupour, you can’t forget it. You hope Sam is right and that it will fade with time, yet you fear it might all be gone for good.

You wake as the automated voice announces your stop as the next one. You sit up and rub the sleep from your eyes. You’re trying to be optimistic. Just focus on work. That’s what this is all about. Everyone keeps saying it and you haven’t heard any of them. This is a great opportunity. What you’ve been hoping for all these years. How did you forget that?

You disembark and drag your bag behind your heavy feet. You’re exhausted but you still have a trek to go. Everything looks so different than back home. Small differences but enough to reinforce your displacement.

You find the rental car kiosk at the other end of the station and show your reservation. Work is paying for that too. Apparently, you’ll need it to get to the site. Another harbinger of desolation.

You hook up your phone to the built-in bluetooth and tap the address already saved in your maps. The app takes a moment to recenter and finally, you’re off. You wonder if you should even be driving. You’re definitely not drunk anymore but you’re barely awake.

It’s only an hours ride across the city, just along the ridges that look off onto the coast. It’s beautiful. You can see that even through your melancholy.

The morning rises as you get your key to the blue paneled townhouse. You should try to stay up to reset your clock but you’re jet lagged to the bone. The moment the door is locked, you let your bags fall to the floor and stumble through to the first piece of furniture you see. You collapse face first onto the couch, unable to feel the impact as you plummet into a deep sleep.

Time, space, and all your pain disappears. There is only the endless void of fatigue. Your mind is too tired to summon nightmares or nonsensical visions. Your body is so drained that even your brain is empty.

You wake on your arm, fingers tingling painfully as your shoulder muscles burn. You hiss and sit up. The bend of your fingers and a shaky attempt to move your elbow make you whine. Ugh. You rub feeling back into the limb as you lean against the back of the couch.

You look around, finally able to take it all in. The house is neat and sleek. White plaster and pale wood finishes. The couch you sit on is a sectional and there’s a match ottoman across from you. The TV mounted on the wall reflects the shadow of the archway behind you and the tall lamp in the corner and the stone and marble ornaments.

You rise, wobbling on your legs, and put your arms out to get your bearings. You meander through the townhouse. You can hardly admire the furnished interior as it underlines your loneliness. All this space for just you.

There’s a kitchen at the rear of the house, a large wooden island standing center to a fridge with a glass door and polished counters carved in granite. The tiles are pristinely placed diamonds in hexagons and a large window looks out into the rain-soaked yard. It’s night again, or maybe that’s what the daylight looks like here.

Upstairs, there’s a bedroom and a bathroom. A full tub and separate shower, two sinks set into a sparkling counter, and a wall of mirrors above them. It truly is a dream but why doesn’t it feel like it?

You amble down stairs and fish out your phone. The battery is at eight percent. You have several texts. All from Sam. You only remember then why you don’t see any from Steve. No, you won’t check.

You quickly type that you’ve landed safely and set the cell down. You’ll let it die before you plug back in. You need time. You need to get yourself straight. You need to accept that this is all real. You made this choice.

You’re starting over. It’s a new life and there’s no room for your heart here.

💟

You have the night to unpack, more than just your luggage. Still, there are things you can’t let out. Not yet. As much as the blade twists in your chest, taking it out will mean a deluge you can’t quell. For now, you just won’t think about it.

You sleep a few more hours and wake just before six. You have your bag ready to go for the day. You tie on your boots and pull on a lined jacket before braving the Norwegian summer. You lock the door behind you and yawn into the brisk air.

Before you head for the site, you stop at a cafe you see along the way. You get an egg biscuit and a coffee with extra espresso. You’re sure to add on a snack to eat between your work.

You drive towards the greater mountains and turn onto the road that angles up the side. You follow the curved ledge as the GPS guides you through the car speakers. The drive is two hours up, maybe a bit quicker on the way down. Suddenly, a ping sounds from the system and you glance at the screen; ‘signal lost’. Shoot. It’s okay. You think you’re almost there.

You pull over, not that there’s much space to do so. You have the physical maps you’ll use for the work itself. You find yourself amid the lines and symbols and memorise the path forward. You continue on cautiously, reassured as you’re met with a sign that delineates the site. The plot has already been closed off with a fence.

‘Grant land. No trespassing.’

You park just outside the fencing and grab your bag and your breakfast. You sit on the hood and eat as you look over the muddy site. You read the grant report. It’s here they think there was a settlement. Not a very big one but an important one.

The rock wall hugs the site in an almost perfect basin as the slick land is barren of almost any growth. You’ll start with gridding it all out, both with string and on paper. You clap your hands off and get up to begin. The process will keep your distracted.

You put your earbud in and set to task. You pause to sip coffee and mark the paper between planting the stakes and the string the twine to divvy it all up in squares. You watch where you put each step, the mud sucking at your treads. A wet site is never an easy one.

It takes the first day just to prep for digging and you don’t even think you’re done. You’re tired and achy and ready to go home. It’ll take you nearly three hours back by your guess. The night will be a short one as you figure you’ll need to head out earlier, especially if you hope to take advantage of the fleeting sunlight.

As you get back to the townhouse, it’s night again. You walk down to a fish restaurant just a block away. The faces are friendly and the food is good, but it all seems so bland. You eat and go back to your accommodation. Not home, just a place to lay your head.

You check your phone. Back amid the world of the living, you have a dozen messages; Sam, Bucky, your mom, Arturo. You respond to each of them in turn, assuring them that all is well. You don’t have the energy for much more.

Yet it isn’t up to you. Your phone chimes at you as you near the bed, sitting on the edge as you answer. You know with Sam that ignoring him will only make him worse.

“Hey,” you answer with an unrestrained yawn.

“Yo, how ya feeling?” he asks.

“Erm, tired,” you lean forward, crossing and arm over your knees. “How are things there?”

“Eh, usual. So, uh, did that paradise punch knock you on your ass too or am I getting old?” He chuckles.

“Heh, yeah, no I’m feeling it still,” you mutter.

“Mm, it’s late there...” he says, “sorry, if I’m keeping you up.”

“No, it’s fine. Just... a lot of driving.”

“Oh? You worked today?”

“Wanted to get a head start,” you shrug as you play with the fold of your pajamas across your knee.

“How is it? Is it bleak? Cold? Are the men gruff?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess. Grey. Bit chilly but it’s not bad around noon,” you say dully, “haven’t seen much of the locals. With how long it takes me to get up the mountain...”

“Oh, a mountain,” he echoes enthusiastically, “that’s exciting.”

“I guess. Eats away the day.”

“I’m sure,” he agrees glumly, “hey, don’t forget to treat yourself. Take a weekend off and hit that spa.”

“I will. I just got here.”

“Well, we all miss you,” he says. “Bucky especially. We got in a huge blow out the other day over the string in his hoodie.”

“Of course you did,” you can’t help but laugh.

“Really, I didn’t do anything. I was trying to fix it and it just... slipped inside, I don’t know. I don’t think it was about the string,” he snickers. “Probably having to deal with Steve and his--” Sam stops himself, “sorry.”

“What? No, it’s fine. Really. I came out here to get away but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t exist.”

“I know but you’re tryna forget him. Like you should,” Sam insists. “And he’ll realise soon enough what he missed out on all these years. And you need to do the same. Go out, explore, enjoy it. You’ll need to have some good stories to bring back to us here, we’re dying of boredom without you.”

“Yeah, uh, I’ll try,” you grumble, “anyway, I gotta head out early for the dig so I should let you go.”

“Right, of course,” he agrees, “don’t be a stranger.”

“I won’t. Promise.”

“Night,” he says.

You return a ‘good night’ and hang up. You toss your phone onto the pillow and heave as you clutch your head. You hate this. Why did you come all this way just to suffer? You should have just stuck it out. Sat on the sidelines like you always did and just swallow it all down. This is worse. Being so alone.

There’s no going back. Not now. So you just need to get through this and after... after you’ll just have to face Mr. and Mrs. Rogers with a fake smile and broken heart.

💟

The next week goes by much like your first days there. You wake up, drive up the mountain, plot, dig, clean up, and drive back. You sleep almost as soon as you sit down. You don’t have time to mull over what you left behind, not as you catalogue every bone and bead you come across.

You check in with Arturo when you can, just to confirm that everything is going according to plan. Often, you’re asleep when anyone else calls. You wake up to notifications from your mom and Sam and even Bucky. You should call them back but you just can’t. You can’t put on a fake voice for them. Not yet.

You take a day off. Only after Arturo insists. You know you should. You may as well have a proper grocery shop. You can’t keep living off the cafe and fish shop.

The shop feels more like a market. You pick through produce and meats, and get what’s easy. You’ll cook it all and package it up so you can just heat it up later. Some muffins to eat on your way up the mountain and maybe a few protein bars.

As you trawl the grocery store aisles, you pull out your phone. You have a pile of unread notifications from Insta. You don’t often check it anyway but your curious and a little homesick.

You see your mom’s post about her trip to the vineyard with her book club pals and Sam’s story with a very agitated looking Bucky. That makes you laugh. You scroll by some crafting videos and the pages you follow of castle curators living your aspirational goals.

Then you stop. You pull the cart still and go rigid as you stare at the screen. The image of Steve and Peggy burns into your retinas like a blinding light. It’s there engagement announcement. He has her in his arms, kissing her, as she holds out her hand to the camera to show off the diamond.

You can’t breathe. Your chest is on fire and your ears are ringing. It’s like salt in the wound and you don’t doubt it's intentional, at least on Peggy’s part.

Your hands shake as you grip the phone tightly and tap on Steve’s username. You ignore the rest of his profile and the pictures you know will only add to the turmoil brewing in your stomach. You hit the button in the corner and tap again and again. ‘You are about to block ‘starsnstripes18, are you sure’. Yes and yes!

You lock the screen and drop the phone into your purse, nestled into the basket of the cart. You grasp the bar and push the cart forward, steadying your steps with it. You look between the shelves and exhale.

You need to go cold turkey. No more Steve, no more Peggy, no more New York. You stood still so long, it feels good to run away from it all.

#steve rogers #thor #steve rogers x reader #thor x reader #someone new #fic #grayish fic #angst fic #mcu #marvel #captain america #avengers #au

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musings-ofthe-unamused · 11 days ago

Text

Rotting Sunflowers (Genshin Impact)

Pairing: Capitano x F!Reader

Wordcount: 2.1k

Warnings: Angst, mentions of rotting, suggestive

A/N: He's here!! This is the SFW version <3 If you'd like the NSFW one (f!reader, m!reader, and nb!reader versions available), head on over to my AO3

Request Status: Open

Capitano had been by your side since you became emperor. He was a gift from your parents' for your coronation before they retired to the countryside manor. One of the strongest knights in the nation, he used to be stationed up north before moving to the capital. He was now the Head Knight and your personal bodyguard.

You didn't know what you would do without him. He was strong, resilient, kind, and a welcome ally amongst traitors that had weaseled their way into your court. There wasn't a day that went by where you didn't seek out his wisdom. He had become your rock. But as a rock, he never cracked around you. He never showed his face and never talked about his past. He was focused solely on the present and the future.

"Master, you have been lounging an awful lot these days." Capitano said, leaning over you. "Are you alright?"

You hummed and opened your eyes. "Am I not allowed to rest?"

"I suppose not. But you must not neglect your duties, Master."

"Do I have to go to the meeting?"

"You skipped the last three."

You were currently laying down on the couch in the reading room. You had been spending time here often, wanting to get away from the sudden onslaught of meetings and revisions of petty laws. Capitano was at your side, like usual. He peered down at you. You couldn't see through his dark mask, making you frown.

"Capitano…"

"Yes?"

"I want to see your face."

He let out a sigh. "My Empress, I cannot. I told you, it is not suitable for royalty to see."

You pouted and crossed your arms. "You follow every command except that one… Typical."

"Please, just accept my reasoning."

"Fine."

You huffed and sat up. You had been dallying for too long. You knew that you needed to get up and actually do some work. The council said there would be a ball tomorrow. They had been working on it for over three months. You had decided to take a step back. You were never one for balls and all the socializing that came with it. Everyone was always trying to get in your good graces to stab your back later. You would never allow that to happen.

Capitano stayed close to your side. He was tall, intimidating, and was one of the reasons people rarely tried anything physical against you. You wanted nothing more than to reach out and take his hand. He may have been your knight, but you yearned for more. Not only would he make an amazing emperor, but a great husband as well. You wanted him and only him.

"The Empress has arrived." Capitano announced as he opened the door to the meeting room.

You walked in with your head held high. "Good afternoon, everyone."

Less than enthusiastic greetings graced your ears as you sat at the head of the table. You sat down and leaned back in your seat. Your eyes scanned over each member of your court. It wasn't really your court. Your parents may have crowned you as the ruler of this country, but they still pulled the strings through the court. It wasn't ideal, but there wasn't much you could do about it either. It would take ages to replace all of them.

"Good afternoon, your majesty." The man to your left, Ivan, cleared his throat. "We have updates to give you."

"Good." You hummed. Capitano stood closely behind you. You sighed softly at his comforting presence. "Update me on the working trade agreements first."

Ivan shuffled the papers in his hands. "Most of the regions have agreed to the new terms."

"Most?" You reached your hand out for the papers.

He handed them to you. You started to shuffle through. The worst thing about being the new ruler of this nation is that no one expected you to rule. Despite all the classes, the training, studying anything and everything you could, no one believed in you. The first thing you did after your coronation was go over every single policy and agreement with other regions. You never thought your parents fully took advantage of the region's resources. And you wanted to fix that.

You raised an eyebrow as you saw which region hadn't agreed yet. "Natlan? I thought we had good rapport with them."

"We do." Ivan said. His tone was almost… nervous. "They will agree after tomorrow."

You looked over at him. "Do they want to talk about the agreement at the ball?"

He didn't answer. You frowned. Something was wrong. You looked over to the rest of the court. They were all avoiding eye contact. Capitano must have sensed something as well. He moved from behind your chair to next to you. You crossed your arms.

"What are you hiding?"

"Tomorrow isn't a ball. It's a wedding."

"What?"

"Your wedding."

Your eyes widened in surprise. Your wedding? You had absolutely no interest in getting married unless it was to one person and one person only. Your heart thudded in your chest. No one else spoke up. This ball they were planning for three months was actually a wedding. You tensed up and slammed the papers down on the table. Everyone flinched.

"You planned my wedding behind my back?!"

Ivan quickly raised his hands in a placating manner. "We had to, Empress! You would have never agreed otherwise!"

"Of course I wouldn't have!" You hissed. "Who even is it?!"

"Prince Ororon of Natlan. He won't ascend the throne, so we thought it best if he married you."

You could feel your face turn red in anger. "You thought best and didn't even ask me!?"

Another court member spoke up. "Your majesty, it's stated within the laws that the ruler of our great nation must be wed. It's been two years since your coronation. We cannot wait any longer."

You silently cursed to yourself. That damned law was one of the many traditions you couldn't change. You thought you could distract them, but your time had run out. If you were to deny this, you'd either be cast out or beheaded. Neither of which seemed like a good alternative.

You felt Capitano's hand on your shoulder. That just made everything even worse. How could you marry someone when the man you loved was right there? You gritted your teeth and squeezed your fists together. You wanted nothing more than to tell everyone to shove this marriage up their asses.

"Your Majesty…" Ivan cleared his throat. "You must marry."

A glare appeared on your face. "I know I must! It doesn't mean I'll be happy with it."

"Please stay calm." Capitano murmured softly.

You scoffed and rolled your eyes. "Someone just tell me the details of tomorrow."

The rest of the afternoon was spent going over wedding details. You felt like your head would explode. And yet, through it all, Capitano stayed by your side. You couldn't help but feel a sense of pure heartbreak. You wanted to run away with him. But you couldn't abandon your people. Not after all the hard work you had done.

You paced in your room anxiously. Capitano watched you as he stood by the wall. The wedding was planned down to the very minute detail. You wouldn't even meet Prince Ororon until you were walking down the aisle. A frustrated groan left your lips as you continued pacing.

"Master, please do not be angry."

You shot a glare at Capitano. "I have every right to be."

"You cannot let them do this to you. You are not being married off. Someone is marrying you. You will still have just as much power."

"That power means nothing if I am forced to marry someone I do not love."

Capitano shook his head softly. "We must all do things we do not want to do."

You rolled your eyes and stopped in front of him. "Not helping."

"I will still be here, Master."

That's right. Capitano has to watch you marry a complete stranger when he was the one you should be marrying. You realized all your time had run out. You turned to him fully and walked up to him. He straightened his broad shoulders. He gazed down at you through his mask. That stupid mask…

"Take it off." You said. Your voice was soft yet firm.

"I told you, Master. You do not want to see my face."

“Please…” You murmured, you reached out and placed your hand on his chest. “I want to do this. Before it’s too late.”

Capitano sighed but it broke him down. How could he not when you were to be wed tomorrow? You were already devastated by the marriage. This would change nothing. So he leaned back against the wall and slowly took off his helmet. His face was scarred with what looked a black rot. Blue lightning shaped streaks shot diagonally down his face.

You reached out and gently cupped his cheek. “So handsome.”

“Master, you flatter me. But I know how I truly look.”

“Handsome.” You repeated sternly.

"This is a face marred by a curse that I must bear."

"What happened?"

His eyebrows furrowed as if painful memories flooded his mind. "There was a war. Long… long ago. I live with the consequences of that war. And now I'm the decayed and disfigured man you see before me. I am but a husk of who I was before."

Your heart broke at his words. You couldn't accept that he thought of himself like that. You didn't say anything and only gazed up at him. He shook his head and raised his hand to cover yours. You couldn’t help yourself. You have waited long enough. You didn’t want to stop at seeing his face, no matter what he said. With a soft sigh of longing, you leaned in and pressed your lips against his.

Capitano didn’t know what to do. He lifted his hands up and away from your body. You kept kissing him, savoring the feel of his lips. His hands were frozen in midair as if he didn’t want to touch you. After a long moment, you pulled back and stared into his deep blue eyes. He stared back.

“I love you, Capitano.”

His eyes widened. “You can’t say that, Master!”

"I can." You whispered. You leaned in and kissed his scarred neck. "I need to. Please… Please say it back."

Capitano didn't answer for a moment. A wave of anxiety washed over you. What if he didn't feel the same? What if this whole time you pined over him, he never developed feelings for you? Just the thought of that squeezed at your heart. But it didn't last long. Capitano cupped the back of your head and pulled you closer. He leaned down and kissed you passionately.

Nothing else mattered at that moment. You pushed the wedding out of your mind. You focused only on Capitano. Your head tilted to the side as you deepened this kiss. His lips were rough yet loving at the same time. Your arms wrapped around him as he pushed back against you. Heat slowly filled your body. You wanted him. You need him.

Capitano pulled back, making you whine at the sensation. He stared down at you. "I love you."

Those were the only words you ever needed to hear. Your eyes welled with tears as you pulled him down again. Tonight, you would only focus on him. He would take over your world. You would live out your dreams of being his and only his. Just one more moment of happiness before your life was ripped away from you.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

You looked at yourself in the mirror. The white dress sparkled in the morning light. It fit like a glove. It was absolutely perfect. And yet, you couldn't bring yourself to smile. Your hand shakily smoothed out the fabric of your dress. Memories of last night wouldn't leave your mind. It was all you could think of.

"Master. It's time."

You turned around. Capitano was in his ceremonial wear. His face was once again hidden by his mask. And yet, you could still see his face. You nodded slowly. You wanted to pretend that you were marrying him. Not a stranger. But real life wasn't as kind. Your shoulder straightened and you walked to the double doors. Behind those doors was the start of the rest of your life.

"Are you ready?" Capitano asked softly.

"I have to be."

"Master…"

You couldn't bear hearing anything else from him. "Please, open the doors."

He hesitated but did as you said. The doors opened, revealing the decorated room filled with people to witness a new age. Your eyes focused down the aisle. There stood Prince Ororon. He was tall, pale, with dark blue hair. His eyes met yours. You steeled yourself. This was it. With one final breath, you walked away from Capitano and towards your new husband.

#x reader #fanfic #genshin imagines #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact #royalty au #il capitano x reader #capitano x reader #capitano #genshin capitano #genshin capitano x reader #genshin impact capitano #il capitano #fatui x reader #fatui harbingers

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javier-pena · 10 months ago

Text

embers

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x f!reader

Word Count: 9.5k

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You're engaged to be married to a man you've never met. Arthur Morgan is supposed to escort you across the country to meet him. You should keep your distance, but the dangers of the road bring you closer and closer together with each passing mile.

Notes: So there's this post ... and It has been on my mind for months so I had to write this exact scenario with Arthur, naturally. Again, this is way longer than it was supposed to be, but working on this fic allowed me to daydream a lot, so I can't complain. As always, I wouldn't have been able to do it without Dani @alexturner, who pushed me in the right direction and came up with the ending (because I'm not good at writing those)!!

***

You’re not pretty. At least that’s what everyone told you from the moment you could understand those words. Your mother, the maid she hired to look after you, the boys working for your father, the marm, the people in town. Since you were little, you’ve been hearing it over and over again. “It’s such a shame she ain’t pretty, what’s she gonna do with brains?”

The thing is, you also don’t feel very smart. If you were, you’d have found a way to leave your godforsaken town for one of the big cities in the east as soon as you could read the timetable down by the train station. You would’ve found a way to get out of this marriage your father arranged for you. Ambrose Longabaugh was his name. Ambrose Longabaugh. From what you have heard, he shares your lot: anything but handsome, but at least he has money.

No one was sad to see you go, save for your little brother, who held you tight and made you promise to come back if you didn’t like your betrothed. You had promised, knowing you were lying. It didn’t matter if you liked him or not, he was the man you were going to marry. You weren’t getting out of this. Your father had made sure of that.

Mr. Morgan is riding ahead of you, sitting in the saddle with his shoulders slumped, a cigarette dangling between his lips. You can smell the smoke on the crisp fall air, even though you’re trying to keep your distance. It’s not that he scares you – not as much as other men do, not as much as your future husband does – but you don’t like him very much. Your father is paying him to take you out west where Ambrose Longabaugh will one day take over his father’s cattle business. And Mr. Morgan is doing it without complaint, hardly acknowledging your presence. He talks more to his horse than he talks to you.

You let your eyes wander across the mountains around you and sigh. The first time you had seen them, your mouth had hung open in awe. Now you feel trapped by them. You can’t go back, and there’s only one way forward. You sigh again. No, you’re neither pretty nor smart.

“Break?” Mr. Morgan asks from up front. It’s only the fifth word he has said to you today; the others were good morning and let’s go.

“Yes,” you agree, not because you need it but because it gives you something else to do.

You stop near a small river with a shallow bank where Mr. Morgan can refill your waterskins. While he’s busy, you stretch your legs and pick up a few rocks from the riverbed to toss them into the water. The rushing of the water fills your ears, drowning out both thoughts and sounds. You take a deep, calming breath and close your eyes.

When you open them again, Mr. Morgan has taken off his lambskin coat and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. He’s washing his face and neck in the cold water of the river, a wet stain forming on his collar, drops running down his lean, muscular forearms that are still tan from working outdoors all summer. Your face heats up with an emotion you don’t quite understand, and you turn away from him, pretending to be interested in some moss-covered rocks. You’re not supposed to look.

He startles you when he touches your arm lightly, making you turn around. You hadn’t heard him coming over the sounds of the river. His coat is back on, but you can see his neck glistening in a few places still.

“You shouldn’t wander, ma’am,” he says. That’s four more words for today.

You look around. “Indians, right?” you ask with a small laugh.

His face remains serious. “No. White men. Gangs. They like to hide out here.”

You watch his Adam’s apple move as he swallows and your throat immediately mimics his. “Then why are we taking this road if it’s so dangerous?”

He shrugs. You realize he hasn’t let go of your arm yet. “It’s fast.”

“My father –”

“Your father planned this route.”

You swallow again. “I’ll be careful, sir. Thank you.” He lets go of your arm then, and you walk back to your horse, your face now heating up with an emotion you definitely recognize: embarrassment.

You make camp later that day where the trees are standing close together. While he builds a fire, you pick at a pine cone you found on the ground. Somewhere in the distance you hear a howl, but you’ve learned that if it’s not loud enough to make Mr. Morgan look up from his task, then it’s nothing to be worried about. And he stokes the fire, eyes fixed to the flames.

After dinner, he hands you a small bottle and when the sharp taste of whiskey makes you cough, he smirks. So you take another sip, holding his gaze. He looks away first, pulls a torn-up pack of cigarettes from his coat, and offers you one. You accept, surprised.

“Don’t let my father find out you’re corrupting me,” you tease.

He only makes, “Hm,” in response.

The smoke from the cigarette burns your throat, just like the whiskey, but this time you manage to suppress the cough. “Do you have family, Mr. Morgan?” you ask, watching how he uses a branch to stoke the fire.

“No,” is his simple reply.

Now it’s your turn to make, “Hm,” before you add, “No one you’re sweet on?”

You don’t really care about the answer, why would you? But when he gives you another, “No,” a careful one, it makes your heart pound faster. Until he turns the tables.

“What about you?”

“Oh,” you say, “I don’t know, I haven’t met my fiancé yet.” And you don’t want to be thinking about him right now.

Mr. Morgan looks at you, his head cocked to one side. “Come now,” he pushes, as if you’re being evasive on purpose. “That ain’t what I’m askin’.”

You sigh. “It’s not? I’m spoken for. I have no business thinking about other men.” You don’t mean to be so frank, but the words are out of your mouth before you can stop them. And you can tell from the look on Mr. Morgan’s face that he still thinks you’re not honest with him.

“Hm,” he makes, and you dread what might be coming next.

“I’m going to bed,” you tell him, putting an end to your conversation. He opens his mouth to add something, but you don’t give him a change. You lie down and pull your thin blanket over your body, face hot with embarrassment. The last thing you see before falling asleep is Mr. Morgan staring at the flames, a quiet smile on his lips.

Later that night, you wake up to shouts. What pulls you from your sleep entirely is a gunshot that reverberates through the forest. “Mr. Morgan?” you shout, because he isn’t sitting next to the fire anymore and you can’t see him anywhere. Then you hear a sound that makes your blood run cold, a snarl, a growl, but animalistic, wild, unlike anything you’ve ever heard. You jump up from your bedroll, ready to run, but then you remember Mr. Morgan’s warning. It’s better to stay here, in the light of the dwindling fire, than to take your chances out there. “Mr. Morgan?” you try again, this time a hiss, as you frantically search the darkness beyond your camp. It gets so dark out here at night.

A shout is your answer, a deep, “Hey!” Short and fast. The horses whinny, and you’re only now realizing they’re stomping the ground, tearing up the soil with their hooves, the whites in their eyes visible, ears pressed tightly back. You try to swallow your panic, but it gets harder with every passing second.

Then something moves between the trees and Mr. Morgan stumbles back into the camp, a gun in one hand, a torch in the other. He has a wild look in his eyes too, just like the horses, but when they land on you, he relaxes, his face assuming its usual, stoic mask. “Mountain lion,” he says. “It’s gone.”

“What does that mean?” you ask, your voice trembling.

“Chased it off,” he explains. “It ain’t coming back here.”

“The horses …,” you start.

But he walks toward the fire, toward you. “You did good,” he says, dropping to his knees next to you, so close, too close. You can smell the gunpower on him, and the sweat; you’ve never been so close to a man before, not even your own father. “Here.” He hands you the whiskey again. “It’s gone, I promise.”

You wish your hands wouldn’t shake so much. He grabs yours with one to steady, his warm skin like fire against yours, unscrews the stopper with the other, not with impatience but oh so gently. You manage to take a sip on your own, but he watches you intently for any signs of distress.

“You’ll have to get used to it,” he says, stowing away the bottle. “This land out here … it’s wild.”

You nod. Now that the initial burst of panic is dulled, you feel tears sting your eyes.

“But you’ll manage.” His voice is so calming. “You’re a brave girl.”

*******

The hooves of your horse pound out a slow, steady beat against the hard ground. You’re tired, every muscle in your body is sore, but you push on without complaint, following Mr. Morgan up a winding mountain and back down on the other side. The days are so similar they’re bleeding into one – the mountain lion … did it attack three nights ago? Five? You don’t remember. All you know is that your heart picks up speed when he looks at you, that every evening your conversation around the fire becomes a little bit longer, that you wish you could go on like this forever, never to arrive at your destination.

Sometimes at night, when you can’t sleep but you pretend to, you can hear him sing, sometimes to himself, sometimes to the horses. Your heart almost flies out of your chest when he does it. He hasn’t touched you anymore since the night of the mountain lion attack, but you wish he would. Even though everything else about him confuses you, you wish you could feel his skin against yours again; such longing, it almost consumes you.

Is this what it’s supposed to feel like? Did your cousin feel like this when she ran off with that cowboy? Did your mother and father feel like this; is that why they got married? Are you supposed to feel like this when you meet your fiancé? Or is this something else entirely? Is there something wrong with you?

“Break?” he asks once the ground is beginning to even out.

“You know, you keep asking for breaks so much I’m starting to think you don’t want us to reach our destination,” you tease.

He just shrugs and stops his horse. You halt too and climb off, your legs steady when they hit the ground. It wasn’t like that in the beginning; the first few days he had to help you off your horse and you could barely stand. It’s astonishing what a difference a few weeks can make.

You stretch, then begin to walk up and down the path. It’s cold, sitting so still up on that horse, and you flex your fingers, trying to get some feeling back into them. Mr. Morgan, meanwhile, sits down on a tree stump to write in a leather-bound notebook. You’ve seen him use it before but you don’t quite know what it’s for. He’s probably tracking your progress or taking notes on the weather.

Careful to keep him in sight, you veer off into the underbrush, looking at the trees and the different kinds of plants growing on the ground. You pretend you can read the language of the forest, looking for tracks of animals or some mushrooms you might be able to eat. Just like you’ve seen Mr. Morgan do countless of times. When you do find something, you’re not sure what to make of it.

“Mr. Morgan?” Your voice is raised as you try to keep it steady.

You hear his footsteps immediately but you don’t dare to turn around, your eyes fixed on the sight before you. He stops next to you, and you can hear his steady breathing. The knot in your chest immediately dissolves.

“Hm,” he makes.

“What happened here?” you ask. Now the tremor in your voice is all too audible.

He hesitates just for a second, weighing his options, but then he says, “Some people were camping here, a family by the looks of it.”

“Where are they?” you ask, finally turning toward him. The cold, calculating look on his face sends a shiver down your spine.

“Ma’am …,” he says slowly.

“You can tell me. I can handle the truth.”

You look back at the burned-out wagon, the torn clothes hanging from tree branches, all that blood on a log next to a cold fire pit. You don’t need him to tell you. You just want him not to confirm your suspicions.

“They’re dead,” he answers. “Killed. For money.”

“All of them?” you ask.

He winces. “If there were women …”

“Can’t we help them?” You know you can’t, but you wish there was something you could do.

“Stay on the path next time,” he growls. “No more wanderin’ ‘round … ma’am.”

“Mr. Morgan …,” you try, but he’s already trudging back toward the horses.

You spend the rest of the day in silence, riding next to each other but avoiding each other’s gazes. You shouldn’t have called out to him; it was obvious what had happened in that camp. They were a group, and you’re just two people … your father couldn’t have known about the dangers of this journey, or he wouldn’t have made you go. He would’ve found another way. At least that’s what you’re telling yourself. Because you don’t want to even consider the other option and what it would mean. When the sun slowly disappears behind the mountains around you, dread settles onto your heart, the heavy kind you haven’t felt since you were a little girl, afraid of the dark.

Finally, Mr. Morgan stops his horse. “We camp here tonight. No fire.”

“It’s so dark,” you whisper.

“The darkness ain’t what’ll kill you,” he growls.

You can’t sleep; of course not. So you watch him all night, sitting up straight next to you, not so close that you could touch him, but close enough so you’ll always see he’s there. He doesn’t sleep either but he sits very still, keeping his eyes on the path, making sure nothing evil comes out of the dark. And you wish all you had to worry about were mountain lions.

*******

Two days later, Mr. Morgan’s face is pale and you’re frozen through. You haven’t had a warm meal since you found that destroyed camp, and Mr. Morgan has barely slept. You haven’t talked at all, apart from the necessities. And still you haven’t left those mountains and woods behind you. At least the daylight makes you feel less afraid.

“Is it far still?” you ask when the silence becomes unbearable.

“A week,” he answers, looking up at the sky, “if it doesn’t snow.”

The weather is the least of your worries. “And how long before we’re past the mountains?” You hate them now as much as they awed you at first.

“Three days maybe.”

Three more days without warm food. You straighten your back. “Have you come this way before?”

“Yes.”

“Has anything ever happened to you?” You don’t know if you’d prefer confirmation or denial.

“You’re safe with me, so don’t you worry about that.” There’s something in the way he says it that makes your grip tighten on the reins.

“I’m not worried,” you lie. “Just curious.”

“Hm,” he makes before going back to observing the surroundings with caution. “Bad people are everywhere. Not just here.”

“That’s a grim way to look at the world.” You try for a teasing tone, but it sounds like you’re reprimanding him instead.

“You ain’t seen much of it then,” he replies.

“More than you know.”

He looks at you curiously, just for a moment. “You –” he starts, but a shout ahead on the path interrupts him.

“Hey!”

You almost jump out of your skin and stop your horse reflexively. That’s your first mistake. The second one is to shout, “Arthur!” Because it costs him valuable seconds, that distraction. He turns around to look at you, and then suddenly two men are on him, pulling him out of the saddle. Two more appear next to you, a young, handsome one with a dark mustache and darker eyes, and a man your father’s age, but scrawny, with a mouth full of yellow teeth that he exposes to you in an ugly grin. You pull on the reins and your horse dances nervously, ears pressed tightly against its head. And then you hear a shot.

A fifth man stands in the middle of the path, a smoking gun held high over his head. His thick, gray beard quivers as he shouts, “Everybody stay calm and no one is gonna get hurt!”

You look at Mr. Morgan for guidance and see him struggle against the two men who are restraining him by holding his arms tightly pressed against his back. His pants are dirty from where he hit the ground when they pulled him off his horse.

“Get her down from there,” the man with the gray beard barks, and before you can do anything, thin but strong fingers have closed around your arm and you tumble out of the saddle with a shout.

The man who is holding you stinks of rotting things and nicotine. He twists one of your arms until it is pressed flush against your back and uses his other hand to hold your chin, so you’re forced to look straight ahead at the man with the mustache.

“Pretty little thing, ain’t she?” he snarls, and the other man licks his lips.

“We just want your valuables,” Graybeard says to Mr. Morgan.

“We ain’t got any,” he growls.

“I’m sure you don’t,” is the calm answer as Graybeard starts going through the saddlebags of Mr. Morgan’s horse.

You roll your shoulders but the man with the rotting teeth only tightens his hold on you. His companion takes a few careful steps toward you. A lump is forming in your throat as you begin to realize just how dangerous this situation is. You try to kick back, like a horse, but you miss your captor. It only earns you a cruel laugh and a pinch to your cheek.

Somewhere to your right, you hear a dull thud and a pained groan coming from Mr. Morgan. You try to look at him, but you can’t move, not because you’re being restrained but because fear has taken over your body and you can’t do anything but relinquish control.

“Check her horse,” Graybeard orders, but the man with the mustache doesn’t move. He’s only a few steps away from you now, his eyes hungrily roaming over your body. “Now!” Graybeard barks.

“There isn’t -,” you start, but the man who is restraining you clamps a hand over your mouth. You could vomit when you taste his skin.

“There’s this,” the man with the mustache says, holding up a cheap necklace your mother gave you as a parting gift.

“Take it,” Graybeard orders.

“What about her?” the rotting man asks and shakes you.

“Her too,” Graybeard answers with a nod. “Shoot the man.”

“No!” you shout, even though it makes the disgusting man get more of his fingers in between your lips.

The man with the mustache stuffs your mother’s necklace into the pocket of his jacket, then walks over to you. You can hear the blood rushing in your ears as he grips your skirt and begins to pull it upward so your boots and then your drawers are slowly exposed. A hot tear rolls down your cheek but it only makes him smile.

“I bet you’re lovely.” His voice is deep, almost as deep as Mr. Morgan’s, but hearing him speak only fills you with revulsion. “I bet you’re all tight …” He lightly strokes your cheek, then uses his free hand to unbutton his trousers.

“No!” you shout again, but it’s muffled, and your feeble attempts to free yourself are met with an evil snicker.

Then you hear a shot and all the life goes out of your body. It’s done. You’re alone now. And if you’re lucky, you’ll soon be dead too. Two more shots ring through the forest, each one as painful as if you’ve been hit by the bullets yourself. The man with the mustache doesn’t even flinch. His trousers hang open now, and you can see dark hairs peek out from between the fabric, before he cups one of your breasts hard and licks a broad stripe up your neck.

The other man moans, low, wetly, and it’s the most disgusting sound you’ve ever heard. He lets go of you, but it’s too late; you can’t run anymore. A wet, dull sound is followed by another moan, and you know exactly what he’s doing. You’ve heard people talk about it, even though you don’t quite know what it means when a man touches himself. All you know is that you feel bile rise at the thought of it.

The man with the mustache freezes and looks behind you, his eyes wide with shock. Maybe they have a different bargain, maybe he wants to keep you for himself and feels threatened. But then, so fast he’s only a blur, Mr. Morgan rushes past you, grabs the man by his collar, and pulls him off you, landing a punch against his jaw. You blink a few times as both men go down, not sure if what you’re seeing is real or if it’s a vision your panicked brain conjured up to calm you. The man with the mustache lands a kick between Mr. Morgan’s legs, gaining the upper hand. He pulls a knife from his boot while he straddles your companion to pin him down, but Mr. Morgan doesn’t hesitate. He grabs the man’s arm and bites down until he lets go of the knife. You catch a glimpse of Mr. Morgan’s eyes and where you expected him to be all feral rage, he’s cold and calculating. It sends a shiver down your spine and you stumble back a few paces until you step into something soft that squelches on impact. You don’t have to look down to know what it is.

Despite the loss of his knife, the man with the mustache is putting up a good fight. He lands a blow in Mr. Morgan’s face, then scrambles off him, grabs the knife, and pushes himself upward. Mr. Morgan moves faster than you’ve ever seen him move, jumping up while dodging the glinting blade of the knife.

“Stay down, big boy,” the man sneers.

Mr. Morgan shoves into him with such force the knife ends up in the dirt again, right next to the two men. But this time, Mr. Morgan has the upper hand, landing blow after blow in the face of the other, grunting with grim satisfaction when he draws blood, continuing even when the man retches up blood and spits it in Mr. Morgan’s face. He doesn’t stop until the man doesn’t move anymore and his face is nothing more than a bloody pulp, entirely unrecognizable. Only then does he grunt in pain and rolls off his opponent, lying on the forest floor, breathing labored and hard.

*******

You make camp that night as far away from that spot as you could travel before the light faded. Mr. Morgan gets a fire going while you sit on a log, trying to hide your trembling hands in your lap. You haven’t cried yet but you know it’s coming. He hasn’t said anything yet, and you’re not sure he will.

In the flickering light of the fire, you can see the cuts and bruises in his face, the sleeve of his shirt drenched in blood. And when you close your eyes, you can see the five dead men, their broken bodies left in the dirt for scavengers to feed on. He did that, all on his own.

You force yourself to stand up and walk over to him. He’s not the man who calmed you down after a mountain lion attack anymore; you’ve seen him beat a man to death today with his bare hands. No, he’s someone new now, someone you have to get to know first. And when you crouch down next to him, he looks at you with dark eyes like he’s never looked at you before and you feel all the air being pressed out of you.

“Let me take a look at your arm,” you say, pulling it toward you by his hand. The dried blood on his knuckles is rough against your skin.

He doesn’t protest, just watches as you carefully roll up his sleeve to expose a deep cut, undoubtedly left by the knife. It must have happened so fast you missed it. Even though it’s not bleeding as much as it used to, each pump of Mr. Morgan’ heart pushes some more blood out through the cut.

“You need stitches,” you tell him.

Before you can second-guess what you’re doing or change your mind, you’re next to your saddlebag, looking for the sewing kit your bother gave you. Only you’ve never used it for something like this before. You don’t even know if it’ll work, only ever having read about it in books, but it’s better than doing nothing. You also grab the bottle of whiskey from Mr. Morgan’s bag.

“Drink this,” you order, handing it to him once you’re next to him again.

He takes one big swallow, then another one, his throat working to get the liquid down. You pretend not to notice. Then he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand while you stare at the cut with much more focus than necessary. Taking back the bottle, you pour some of its content on the cut, drawing a low groan from Mr. Morgan that heats up your cheeks.

Your hands are shaking as you try to thread the needle. “Have you ever done this before?” Mr. Morgan asks, his face stoic as if he’s ready to accept his fate no matter the answer you give him.

“Technically, no,” you answer, finally pushing the thread through the eye.

“Huh,” he grunts.

“But I’m very good at mending stockings.” You offer him a feeble smile and he nods. “This might hurt a little bit,” you warn before pushing the needle through his skin. Holding his arm in place with your other hand, you can feel his muscles flex at the intrusion, and a short burst of breath tickles the top of your head. He doesn’t complain.

“Have you ever been stitched up before?” you ask him to distract him.

“No,” he replies through gritted teeth.

“Oh, good. Then you have to believe me when I tell you I’m doing a very good job.” What’s wrong with you?

He grunts again, but maybe, possibly that sound could be hiding a laugh.

“Still, when we arrive at our destination, you should have a doctor look at this,” you instruct.

“Eager to hear from a professional how good of a job you did?”

Your cheeks ignite and you drop the needle. “Shit.” He is laughing now, a low chuckle, as you try to locate a glint in the flickering light from the campfire. Luckily, you don’t have to look far – the needle fell straight down and is lying between Mr. Morgan’s boots. You wipe strands of hair from your face, then wipe the needle clean on your dress before getting back to work.

“No,” you answer his question, forcing your voice to sound steady. “Because I have no idea how to prevent an infection. Or if I’m even doing this correctly.”

Mr. Morgan leans down, his big hand closing around the bottle you discarded earlier, and he unscrews the cap with his thumb and forefinger. “Looks to me like you’re doin’ fine.” A big swig, then another one.

You glance up at him just to see his face looking unusually pale. “Does it hurt a lot?” you ask carefully.

“I’ve had worse,” he answers, but flinches when one of your stitches comes too close to the wound.

You blink fast a couple of times, trying to shake the image of him on top of that man, punching and punching until no trace of life was left. The memory of the sheer brutality makes your hands feel clammy. No, this wasn’t his first time getting hurt, just like it wasn’t his first time killing someone. And now the same hands rest peacefully in his lap, cut and bruised, yes, but a far cry from the deadly weapons you saw today.

“Thank you for what you did today,” finishing up with two final stitches, then quickly add, “There,” and pet his arm before he can acknowledge your words of gratitude.

He lifts his hand from his leg and flexes his fingers. “Thanks for this,” he replies, examining the stitches.

Your gaze lands on his knuckles that are covered in blood, his own and that of the men he killed. “Do you want me to take a look at your hands?” you ask, your throat tight all of a sudden.

“I’m used to that.” He stretches out one of his legs so it rests next to you, close enough that you feel the ghost of a presence next to your hip.

“I’ve never met a man who was used to so much violence.” Your eyes are still on his hands, bruised darkly.

“It was either them or us.” He shrugs.

Us. “I was sure they had killed you when I heard that first gunshot,” you tell him, lowering your gaze to your own hands that have some dirt on them, some streaks of Mr. Morgan’s blood, but that look so clean compared to his.

“And break the contract with your father?”

You laugh. “A father who selected this route knowing full well about the dangers we would face?” The silence that follows your question is filled only by the crackle of the campfire and by the sounds of creatures moving through the woods. “I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to repay you,” you finally say.

“This ain’t the first time I had to save someone,” he says with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“And how did those other people repay you?” you ask, eager for his answer. Being indebted to him puts you on edge.

“Money,” is his short reply.

“I don’t have any,” you say, feeling a tug at your heartstrings. But maybe that doesn’t matter; maybe when you arrive, you could talk to your fiancé. He’ll want to reward the man who defended your honor and saved you from a horrible fate. Still, you wish there was something you could be doing for him right now. “There’s also other ways,” you say, very slowly.

“Hm,” he makes, a sound that has started to fill you with a certain warmth for reasons you can’t quite explain. Then he shifts, moves his legs a little further apart. And you’re there right between them, looking up into his face that betrays nothing except for the smallest glint in his eyes.

You’ve never even kissed a man, but you’re not stupid. You know what certain gestures and movements mean. You’ve watched your father’s hands when a woman walked past them, you’ve attended dances where everyone around you was getting drunk … growing up on a farm, you’ve seen things. But you also know that those things are wrong and they should only be happening between husband and wife behind closed doors, no matter what everyone else is doing.

It's getting harder to breathe, and you feel a tug low in your stomach, almost like an ache. You’ve never felt anything like this before and you can’t quite place it, but the way he looks at you, mouth slightly opened, his eyes deep and dark, only fuels that sensation. And when you think back to this afternoon, it becomes so strong it makes you shift on your knees.

“You’re a pretty little thing.”

It’s the second time today someone has said that about you. Whereas the first time made your skin crawl, the second time makes your cheeks heat up and your breath get stuck in your throat. You notice that Mr. Morgan unbuckles his belt, eyes locked to yours, and you make sure your gaze stays on his face. It’s only when he groans and his eyelids flutter shut that you look down and see he has his hand wrapped around himself, moving it up and down his length with sure strokes. Something in you is released at that sight.

“Here, let me,” you offer, shuffling closer on your knees until you’re trapped between his legs.

Before you can think better of it, you wrap your fingers around the base of his cock. It’s warmer than you expected, feels heavier than you thought when you move your hand up in the same move you saw him use. He groans again, louder this time, and removes his hand, resting it on your arm. You tremble.

Back home, you were taught that what a wife does in the bedroom is fulfilling the duty to her husband. It sounded neither pleasant nor enjoyable, and so far, you’ve managed to push the thoughts of what is awaiting you at your destination from your mind. But your mother couldn’t have meant this, because this doesn’t feel like duty at all. You stroke the tip of his cock with your thumb, he tightens the grip on your arm in return, and you feel a surge of pride well up. No, your mother couldn’t have been talking about this.

Eager to try more, you twist your wrist on the downstroke, then lower your head and kiss the tip of his cock. He growls this time, and his hand lands on the back of your head, pushing you down. You have no choice but to open your mouth further and take him in. The weight of him presses down against your tongue, the tip of him brushing the back of your throat makes you gag as tears shoot to your eyes. He grips your hair, pulls you off, then pushes you back down again, and you got it. It’s not so different from the hand.

Steadying him at the base with a tight grip, you pull off him again, but let your tongue run along the underside, the sharp taste of him filling every corner of your mouth. It will take some getting used to, but you’re determined to get this right, and from the way his hand trembles at the back of your head, you have a feeling you might be.

You close your eyes, focusing on taking him as deeply inside as possible because he seems to enjoy that. Sometimes, when you think there isn’t any room left, he pushes you onto his cock that little bit further and then groans contently, a sound that tightens parts of your body you didn’t know could tighten. You run your tongue over the tip of him, hum around him when your mouth is full of him, just to find out what kind of sounds you can draw from him. If this is what it’s like, you can’t imagine why anyone would call this a duty.

Mr. Morgan stiffens and pushes his hips upward so you take even more of him into your mouth. This time you can’t help the gagging sound pushing past him. But instead of forcing you to take more, he grips a handful of your hair and pulls you off. Your mouth feels strangely empty for a moment, even though his taste lingers, and you blink in confusion. Was that it?

You lick your lips and look up at him expectantly, waiting for him to say something. But he’s quiet, only placing his forefinger under your chin to tilt your head back a little more. For some reason, that gesture leaves you breathless. And you know why a second later when his lips lock onto yours and your breaths mingle, and you suddenly understand why people would kill for this. Why he killed for you.

You can’t help the moan that comes out of your mouth, don’t even realize at first that the sound is coming from you. His hand glides to the back of your head to grip you and hold you in place, and you push yourself toward him, one hand on his arm, the other on his thigh. He licks into your mouth and you try to mirror him, feeling a strange sense of pride when he opens up for you.

He pulls away, holding you in place by the hair at the nape of your neck. “Did you like havin’ me in your mouth?” he asks and his voice is so low you barely recognize it.

“Yes, Mr. Morgan,” you answer, and you also almost don’t recognize your own.

“Oh, you’re somethin’,” he says with a wicked smile, then stands and pulls you with him.

Your legs are trembling and your knees threaten to give way when he kisses you again, pressing his entire body to yours. Just when you think you could spend eternity like this, he closes his arms around your backside and lifts you up, so you don’t have any chance but to sling your legs around his middle. You squeal against his lips, but he just carries you past the campfire toward your bedroll. Beneath your palms, you can feel the muscles in his shoulders and arms flex and tighten with each step. Something in your stomach flutters as you remember he's strong enough to beat a man to death.

Before you know what you’re doing, you’re kissing his jaw and neck, biting down on a tendon that’s jutting out with the effort of keeping you in his arms. When he rumbles deep in his chest, you flick out your tongue to lick across the spot in apology, but he drops you to your feet. You both stand there for a second, looking at each other with heaving chests. His hands come up to grip the neckline of your dress, and he pulls, a tearing sound echoing through the trees. Your torn dress crumbles to the ground around you, exposing your undergarments, and even though your first instinct is to cover up you don’t because he pulls his shirt over his head to expose his naked chest beneath, and that sight is enough to distract you from any embarrassment you might be feeling.

His pants are next, and then he stands before you stark naked. You try to touch his stomach with a trembling hand, but he grabs your wrist and pushes you down to the ground. With precise movements, he pulls off your drawers, taking your shoes with them, then tears open your corset to expose your breasts. Your breath hitches when he cups one in his calloused hand and squeezes, making pleasure spike through your body.

You kiss him again, lean into his touch, and then you discover you can make him tighten his hold on you by licking over his bottom lip. You can make him press his hard length against you by moaning in pleasure. It feels so, so good to have this effect on him, to be able to do that to him without words. Never, in a million years, would you have expected that giving yourself to a man would feel like this, would make heat blossom at the base of your spine, would make you ache between your legs. You shove your fingers into his hair, deepening the kiss, and he sighs against your lips, a sound that makes your knees weak. How can all of this make you feel so good yet fill you with a hunger you don’t know how to satiate?

You run your nails over his scalp, testing to see what other sounds you can elicit from him, when he suddenly shifts both your bodies, pushing you to the ground while caging you in with his body. Your heart hammers in your chest so hard it’s almost painful, but even when your back is uncomfortably pressed against your thin bedroll, you still crane your neck to keep kissing him. God, why can’t you get enough of him?

With a sharp slap against your knee that sends another spike of pleasure through your body, he pushes your legs apart, then draws back to look at you. His lips are red and swollen, and both shadow and light are dancing across his face in quick succession. You reach up to touch his cheek, but he catches your wrist and pins it down next to your head with so much strength it steals the breath from your lungs.

“You’re the prettiest little lady I’ve ever seen,” he mumbles.

You feel your face heat up, but he doesn’t notice how flustered you are. With his free hand, he grabs himself, then lines himself up between your legs. You watch, eyes wide, breathing so fast your head is starting to swim. What comes next is a pressure that is not painful but not quite pleasurable either. And the more it pushes, the more it hurts.

“Stop,” you say, your voice not more than a whisper.

Either he doesn’t hear you or he’s ignoring you, but he continues to push up into you, and now it’s so painful you’ve lost all sense of pleasure entirely.

“Stop,” you try again, bracing your hands against his shoulders, trying to push him off you. He’s too strong for you. “Arthur, stop!” you bellow.

And he hears you. He immediately withdraws, and you scramble to sit up, pulling away from him as best as possible on the small bedroll.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks, and the concern in his voice makes you look at him.

“Yes,” you answer, hugging your knees to your chest. You wish you weren’t so naked.

“Have you ever …?” He doesn’t need to finish the question for you to know what he means.

You shake your head.

A deep, red flush creeps up his chest and neck. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “I didn’t know. I wouldn’t –”

“It’s alright,” you interrupt him, his apology embarrassing rather than harming you. “You didn’t know.”

“The way you were kissin’ me …” He trails off again.

Your ears prick up at the compliment. “It all felt … good,” you stutter. “More than good. It’s just …”

“I can … we can slow down,” he offers. “If you still want …”

You look at him, kneeling before you, his skin glowing orange in the light from the fire. His dick is slowly softening between his legs, goosebumps are covering his arms, but he is showing you all of himself without shame. That bold display of his body makes your blood heat up again, but you hesitate. Touching his naked skin is one thing, giving yourself to him entirely is something you’ve been warned of your entire life. And yet … now that you’ve pushed through the initial shock, you slowly realize your body is demanding to feel him again.

You nod. “Yes. I still … I want you.”

Your cheeks are fever-hot, but the way his eyes light up is worth the embarrassment you feel. Arthur moves toward you, loosening the hold you have on yourself, and you relax, dropping your knees, letting him come even closer. He smirks, his eyes darting to your lips and then back up again before he leans in for a searing kiss, and it feels like the last few minutes didn’t happen at all. Without breaking the kiss, he reaches for your wrist, then slowly guides your hand between your own legs, while you tremble in anticipation. He doesn’t touch you, but when he presses your own fingers against all that heat and wetness, you moan deeply.

Arthur breaks the kiss first. “I want you to play with yourself,” he whispers, his breath hot against your ear.

“I don’t …,” you start, suddenly unsure.

“Yeah, I know.” He kisses your neck. “You’re gonna figure it out though.”

You take a deep breath and nod, and when he captures your lips for another kiss, you move your fingers over yourself in a motion that makes pleasure shoot through your entire body. A shaky pant escapes you and lands on his mouth, turning his lips into a smirk even while he’s kissing you.

“There you go,” he whispers.

You find a rhythm and pace that makes you feel like you’re about to explode but that doesn’t light the final fuse, and he continues to kiss you for a while before drawing back to watch the hand between your thighs. Any shame you could have felt is replaced by pure lust when you see the arousal in his eyes; you shift to open your legs further, and he raises his eyes in surprise. You shift under his searing gaze and moan when you notice his hand closing around the base of his cock.

You’ve never felt like you’re feeling right now, completely in control but also like you’re surrendering yourself to him. It’s so addictive it makes you wonder how people don’t want to feel like this all the time. “It feels so good,” you groan, struggling to get the words out because your teeth are clenched.

“You’re so pretty,” is Arthur’s answer as he moves his hand up and down his length.

You can’t help but believe him. “I love you strong you are,” you return the compliment, and before you can think better of it, you raise your free hand and cup your breast, squeezing your nipple.

His eyes lock onto your chest. “Fuck.” Pleasure shoots through you from the tip of your toes to the top of your head. “You’re such a good girl,” he adds, and it makes your heart flutter so painfully you feel like it’s about to fly out of your chest.

“Say that again,” you demand, not recognizing yourself at all.

Arthur shifts closer until he’s right between your legs, fisting himself eagerly. You can smell the sweat and arousal on him, a scent so overpowering you wish you could bury your nose in his skin and inhale it forever. “My pretty, brave girl,” he says, and when you lower your gaze, too overwhelmed by what his words make you feel, he grips your chin and lifts your head. “Oh no, you’re gonna look at me.” You blink once but don’t lower your head again. “Yeah, that’s it.” He smirks. “Look at you … so eager to please me. You should see yourself right now … goddamn prettiest woman I’ve ever seen.”

You do lower your gaze then because it feels like too much. Your eyes land on his cock, on the tip that’s glistening wetly, and you lick your lips, remembering the feeling of him in your mouth.

“You want me inside of you, don’t you?” Arthur asks, and you nod. His rough, calloused hand closes around your throat and you can’t help it – you move your own hand faster, a crescendo building in the pit of your stomach. “Use your words, pretty girl. I know you can.”

You swallow hard, knowing he can feel your throat move against his grip. “Yes, I want you inside of me.” Your face doesn’t heat up this time as you realize you’re not only saying that to please him. It’s exactly what you want.

He rewards you with a deep kiss, then mumbles against your lips. “Are you ready?”

You hesitate. “I’m not …”

But Arthur doesn’t let you finish. “Let’s find out together.” He leans back. “Finger yourself.” The way his eyes darken when he says it isn’t lost on you.

You shift and move your hand lower, his eyes fixed to your movements. He has stopped moving, his hand grabbing his cock, holding it between his legs. You feel yourself flutter against your fingers in anticipation at the same time as he licks his lips. And then you push the tip of your finger inside of you, past the initial resistance, deeper and deeper until you can’t go any further.

“Breathe,” he instructs and you exhale sharply. “Did that hurt?”

You shake your head before remembering he likes to hear your voice. “No.”

“How does it feel?” he wants to know.

Carefully, you pull your finger out until only the tip remains inside of you, then you push it back in. “Good,” you manage. “Really good.”

“You’re sweet when you can barely talk,” he says with a smirk and the muscles inside you clamp down on your finger. You moan and close your eyes, unable to keep them open. “You like that, don’t you?” You hear him shift closer. “You like hearing my voice. Bet you’d like me to talk you through it, too.”

Your chest rises and falls rapidly as you feel something building inside you. It’s like a wave that will drown everything out. You lean back further and further until your back connects to the ground, until you can raise your hips to meet your finger, trying to get it as deep inside you as possible.

Then his hand is covering yours and he pushes you to the ground, stilling you. When you open your eyes, you’re met with his, dark with lust, and you’re rewarded with the sight of his chest, flushed so deeply red it looks almost purple. His cock is leaking onto his fingers. “Not yet, sweet girl,” he says in a voice that sounds familiar to the one he uses to calm down his horse. “You’re doing so well, but wait until …”

Arthur removes his hand from yours, but then you feel the tip of his finger right where yours is disappearing inside yourself. You steel yourself for the pain you’re about to feel, but when his finger joins yours, stretching you open, all you feel is pleasure so intense it makes it hard for you to stay conscious.

“Fuck,” you groan, a short outburst, almost like a bark.

“You can say that again.” Arthur’s voice is so husky it’s almost impossible to understand. He cups your hand with his, and then moves the both of you in tandem, pulling back out and pushing back in. You tentatively meet his thrusts by rolling your hips and he growls. “Look at you, spread open just for me.”

You don’t know why his words make you feel like they do, but the muscles between your legs are working hard to keep both your fingers buried as deeply as possible. That earns you a smirk from him and you smile back in return.

“I think you’re ready.” He grips your hand tightly and pulls the both of you out, making you sob. To calm you, he cups your cheek and presses a soft kiss to your lips. “Don’t worry, I’m gonna fill you right back up again.” All you can do is nod.

He positions himself above you, stroking himself a few times, then lining himself up. It’s easier for you to relax this time because you know what to expect, but when he breaches that resisting wall of muscles, you still feel a burn and hiss.

“Shhhh,” he makes and kisses your forehead. “You’re doing so good.”

And then he’s inside of you, stretching you open as much as you can take. His eyes flutter shut and he groans, shifting to adjust himself. “You feel perfect.”

“You’re … you’re big,” you manage, drawing a chuckle from him.

He shifts again, then pulls back out before slamming back into you, making you see stars. “Fuck, I’m sorry,” he apologizes immediately.

“No,” you press out through gritted teeth. “Do that again.”

He does, and you grip his arm, burying your nails in his muscle, slinging your other arm around his back. There’s a strange taste in your mouth and you only slowly realize it’s blood from biting down on your bottom lip. He kisses you, licks over the wound, pulls a sharp moan from you. And then he slams into you so hard you scream, clawing at his skin, leaving bloody streaks down his arm and back. The pain only seems to spur him on and when you pant, “Harder,” he doesn’t hesitate.

You clench around his cock in return and he whispers, “I like you like this.” You feel yourself clench again and he groans. “You’re perfect,” he repeats. You kiss his neck, then bite it, until he pushes you back down. “I bet you’ve never had an orgasm before, have you?” You shake your head and he mimics that motion, tapping your bottom lip with his thumb. “Use your words, sweetheart.”

“No,” you manage to say, your voice hoarse.

He rocks into you, not as hard and fast as before, but it makes you pant helplessly nonetheless. “Yeah, I thought so,” he mumbles more to himself than to you.

“Please,” you whisper.

He smirks down at you, then shifts his knees ever so slightly to change the angle. Suddenly, he’s brushing against something deep inside of you that makes a sob erupt from deep in your chest.

“Do you even know what you’re asking for?” he teases, but there is a strain in his voice now, as if he’s struggling to hold onto something.

“Please,” you repeat louder, unable to fully grasp the meaning of his question.

Arthur’s thumb is back on your lip and then he pushes it inside your mouth. You swirl your tongue around the tip eagerly, then suck on it, grazing your teeth over his skin. His breathing turns ragged, and the warmth of pride erupts in your chest. With a wet sound, he pulls his thumb out from between your lips and pushes his hand between your bodies until it comes to rest on that small spot you were toying with earlier. You howl and twitch and your whole body erupts. You spill over, you lose sense of where and who you are, you’re shaken by forces beyond your control. All the while, Arthur pounds into you, strokes you inside and out, and you think you hear him say, “That’s it, just let go. You’re so fucking beautiful – just let go.”

As soon as you feel like you can breathe again, he pulls out of you, leaving you aching and empty and cold. Through hooded eyes, you watch as he moves his hand up and down his cock fast until he spills all over his hand and the edge of your bedroll, gaze not directed downwards, but staring at you with insatiable hunger in his eyes. And you return that gaze just as hungrily, wondering what it would feel like to taste his release on your tongue.

Arthur stands unsteadily and retrieves his coat from the other side of the campfire. You feel the cold of the night now and hug your knees to your chest, still trying to make sense of the world. “Now, no more of that,” he says when he gets back, draping his coat over you, the weight of it making your limbs grow soft. He lies down next to you, pressing his front to your back, one arm possessively slung over your chest, the other shoved under your head for you to use as a pillow.

*******

The morning sun is warm on your face as you ride through a slowly thinning forest. The plains and your destination cannot be far from here. Your thoughts are though; they’re still somewhere behind you, stuck at a campfire, busy chasing the feeling of the man next to you between your legs.

When you reach a fork in the path, you stop your horse and look off to your right, back into the forest and the mountains. “What’s back there?” you ask.

Arthur stops his horse next to yours and looks down the path. “Never been over that way,” he answers.

“Do you want to find out?” Your voice is firm, but you don’t look at Arthur.

He’s quiet at first. “Your father –”

“– already paid you,” you finish the sentence.

Arthur nods. “Alright,” he says, then looks back at the path you just put behind you, then off to your right again. “Let’s find out what’s over there.”

***

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption 2 fanfiction #embers

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waffledforbreakfast · 3 months ago

Text

First Date- [MUTI! BLLK X F!READER]

(SEPARATE) pt1

Staring: Rin, Shidou, Sae,

pt2: Niko, Kaiser, Ness,

pt3: Otoya, Karasu, Reo

[ BLLK Scenario Masterlist ]

TW: heavy ooc, bad grammar, bad spelling, bad formatting, cringe, scuff, etc.

>Rin

[Horror Movie in theaters]

Rin doesn’t see himself as someone who freaks out or panics a lot, he likes to think he’s pretty chill

And yet here he was, preparing for a date ,8 hours before the arranged time.

He pulled out a first outfit and stared at it, “I shouldn’t pick anything too fancy, it’s just a movie anyway…” he muttered to himself while pulling out more clothes

He finally had everything prepared, his fanny pack with all necessities, and his fit simple and practical

Now all he had to do was wait for the time… which was two hours from now

Rin ended up getting there 30 minutes before the arranged time…

“Hey Rin! Sorry if I’m a bit late…” you laughed awkwardly. You were not late, in fact, you were 5 minutes early. “Were you waiting for a long time?”

“No, not at all” he put his ear buds away and gave you his full attention “You ready to go?”

The two of you slowly made your way over to the theater, chit chatting about all kinds of things

“You wanna sneak some food in?” you grinned at him while pointing at a convenience store to your left

“That’s not legal is it….”

“...”

“Sure.”

You were in charge of grabbing snacks, and Rin grabbed drinks. He browsed the shelfs for a bit before grabbing four different kinds, including your favourite that you had mentioned on the walk

“Four?” you questioned the boy holding the bottles

“Yea. I got your favourite and some others.” he held them up to show you, as if it was perfectly normal

“Won’t that cost a lot…?” she stared at him, slightly concerned as he placed the items on the register, the total was going much above what you’d thought

“I’ll pay.” he insisted. And pay he did, you didn’t even had time to respond before he tapped his card on the reader

“The only problem” he started, gathering the items “Is sneaking them in…”

“Oh, I can do that” you offered with a smile, sifting through the objects “I’ve got experience”

Rin nodded before pulling out his phone to check the time. Once he had put his phone away, all foods and drinks were out of sight

You just smiled at him as he just stared at you with wide eyes, as if he’d just seen a magic trick “Where did…” he looked you up and down, trying to figure it out

“Experience.” you gave a smug nod

The two of you made your way over to the cinema, successfully passed through security, and sat down into your seats [for the sake of the plot, it’s a pair of chairs that aren’t separated, so there’s nothing between you two😏 ]

You pulled out the snacks from who knows where and handed some to him

“So, what are we watching?”

“The Shining” he answered shortly, opening a bag of popcorn, silently wondering where you hid that much food

As the movie started, the two of you shared the snack and watched carefully, few words exchanged at first

If you disliked the horror parts, he put an arm around you and hid your face into his neck. If it got really bad, he’d put his hands over your ears and smile at you to try and comfort you.

Or he’d just whisper to you over the movie “It’s alright, I’m here.”, “Don’t worry, it’ll be over soon”, etc. Wouldn’t make fun of you if you cried (the first time LOL), he’d just hug you tighter 🥹

If you were fine with gore, or even as far as being interested in it (how do yall do it-), he just stared at you in awe.

It’s not like he’s bad with it, he’s just shocked that someone else enjoys it too, silently running through a list of movies you two could watch together in the future.

Not too many words were exchanged during it, but you two had lots of fun nonetheless.

“Thank you for bringing me today!” you smiled at him, making your way outside

“No problem, thank you for joining me.” Rin nodded while disposing of the snack wrappers and bottles

“Let me walk you back to the train station, it’s dark out.” he grabbed your hand and intertwined your fingers with his before leading you through the night

“Thank you” you gave a bow as you reached the station “I had fun tonight”

“Yea, me too…” he said, slowly realizing how beautiful you looked in the moonlight. He hoped the darkness of the night hid his blush

You leaned in and gave him a quick kiss while slipping a button from you shirt into his hands, a common way of expressing love in Japan

He covered his red face with a hand, while looking at the floor in embarrassment

He took off his jacket just as you were about to leave and shoved it into your hands, “Don’t want you getting cold…” he barely mumbled, before preparing to leave

You gave him one last thanks before putting the jacket on as he left

As he walked home, he wasn’t actually that cold. Maybe it was because of the extra sweater he had underneath, maybe it was because he was hoping you’d ask for it and prepared earlier that day, maybe it was because his face was so hot from the interaction, who knows :x

He was smiling the whole walk home, and even took a wrong turn because he was so distracted, didn’t even put his earbuds back in because he was so focused on the memories of that day

Once he got home he texted you to make sure you did too

The two of you will 100% be going on another date, and this time, you’ll get to choose where ;) (just please don’t make him watch like, mlp… or do, that’d be pretty funny- )

>Shidou

[Arcade/just around the block]

How Shidou managed to convince you to go out with him? I have no clue.

This man was running around the house grabbing his things 5 minutes before you were supposed to meet up. It’d take 10 minutes to get there.

You were just scrolling as you waited for him, already 2 minutes late. You weren’t all that surprised, he was that typa guy after all. But you were surprised when he crashed into you, panting as he tried to catch his breath

“I’m- *wheeze* sorry that I’m- *wheeze* late-” he was hunched over with sweat dripping down his face

How fast did he run??? You thought to yourself while silently facepalming.

“Here” you said, pulling out a plastic water bottle and handing it to him “Take a second to catch your breath”

“Thank you- my goddess” he said, before chugging the whole bottle. Shidou finally gained his composure “You know, that was technically an indirect kiss” he teased while giving you back the bottle.

You threw it out.

He pouted for a second before following you down the street, “Sooo, where do ya wanna go first?”

“You don’t have anything planned?” you questioned him

“Nooo…. Was I supposed to-??” he didn’t realize he actually had to do anything-

“Well- you were the one who asked me out…” you mumbled more to yourself than him, “Nevermind, there’s a big arcade around here, wanna play a few rounds?”

“Hell yea!” he said excitedly

Once you two had arrived, he bought you both a bunch of tokens (as an apology for being late/wanted to show off) and I mean a bunch.

You watched him play a few games, and you were pretty shocked with how good he was with some of them, I mean, how much practice could someone really have with Flappy Bird?? The chance-based games though- don’t even get me started LOL he’d either get really lucky, or really unlucky.

Eventually, you guys found the strength/reflex based games. The ones with hammers, buttons, etc.

He tried the one with the hammer first. It was a simple one, all he had to do was hit it as hard as he could, the harder the better. Shidou picked up the tool, and slammed it down on the sensor. You could’ve swore he broke it.

He turned at you and smiled brightly “Jackpot!”

“Damn, you’re good” you stated, gathering the tickets as you ignored the scared children in the background. “Let’s try Whack-a-Mole next!” He dragged you over to the minigame.

He won again.

As you gathered the tickets again, you thought you should show off a bit too…

You grinned before grabbing his hand and leading him over to a certain stall you saw on your way in. It was one you played many times and you could constantly score well on.

You placed your belongings on the floor before starting up the game and stretching your fingers while Shidou just stared at his hand like he’d been touched by an angel

As the game started, you mashed buttons with your eyes focused on the screen at an alarming rate. Shidou’s eyes couldn’t even keep up, his jaw on the floor

Finally the game ended, with you beating the top score on the machine. You collected your mass amount of tickets and smiled at the boy “Jackpot!”

Shidou pouted “When were you going to tell me you were so good with your fingers~?”

You sighed as you continued to look around, “Hey Shidou look, if we beat these bots in a shooter game we get free pizza” you pointed at an advertisement stuck to the wall

He glanced at the poster quickly before giving you a devilish grin “You down?”

“Hell yeah.”

You picked up the prop gun in the booth and pressed the “Ready” button, waiting for the simulation to start. You closed an eye and pulled the fake trigger, shooting the zombies coming at you and Shidou.

You could hear his trigger-happy laughs from beside you as he one-shotted the enemies. Needless to say, you two won. Shidou stepped out the booth with a smug smile as you redeemed your free pizza, “You’re not bad~” he teased

You laughed “You’re pretty good too, Shidou”

You two sat down to eat as you chatted, “Thank you for coming today! I was really worried you were gonna ditch LOL” Shidou said nonchalantly as he scarfed down a slice

“Is that why you were late….?” you asked, picking up your own slice

“Nah, I just forgot!” he smiled

After lunch, you played a few more games, amassing a very large sum of tickets. You and Shidou now stared at the prizes, thinking about what you wanted. “Hmmmm” he thought out-loud, “You can have all the tickets.” he looked at you with a smile

“Really?” you asked skeptically “You sure? That’s a lot-”

“Yea, 100%. I don’t mind” he handed you his tickets “Just one thing in return…” he smirked at you mischievously

You hesitated but took the tickets anyway, “What is it…”

He pointed at his cheek, “Gimme a kiss”

“...”

“...Please?”

You gave him a very quick one before going back to looking at the prizes, Shidou smiled and buried his face into his hands, looking up at you with hearts in his eyes

You placed a huge plushie of your favourite animal on the table for the worker to scan, and you brought out the tickets to pay. Shidou came up to you from behind and clung onto your waist as he buried his face into your neck

The worker laughed as she handed you your plush, “Your boyfriend?” she questioned,

“Not quite-” you started, before getting cut off by Shidou,

“Soon.” he still latched onto you

After that, he walked you home and wished you a good day, he also asked for another kiss, it depends on you if you actually give it to him or not tho ;)

He’d plop himself on his bed and just think about everything that happened, and now he’s sure he wants to go out with you again, it’s not much of a choice ;)

>Sae

[Fancy Restaurant/late night car drive]

This may be the fanciest date you’ve ever been on- never had you dressed up so formally.

You took a few breaths while waiting at the door for Sae to pick you, checking your phone every 2 seconds. And finally you got a next, “I’m waiting for you outside”

Sae walked out and opened the car door for you, holding your hand while escorting you in. As he closed the doors and started up the engine, he pulled out a small bouquet of flowers, “This is for you”

You took the flowers in your hands and blushed, you had only mentioned your favourite type briefly, and yet he still remembered. “Thank you, Sae.” you gave a short reply while looking at him brightly

He couldn’t help but smile a bit at your reaction, silently freaking out about how good you looked

At the restaurant, you two were seated almost immediately, thanks to the reservation. He was a gentleman and everything, pulling out your chair for you, and kissing your hand lightly.

“Hello! What can I get started for you?” a waiter came by with a notepad, ready to take your order, even though you’ve only had the menu for like 40 seconds. You’d need much more time than that to decide, but you didn’t want to bother them, so you flipped through the menu quickly trying to pick

“We’re still deciding.” Sae stated directly, putting his hand over yours which was tapping lightly on the table, a habit you developed when anxious.

You gave him a thankful nod and smile, to which he blushed lightly

“Pick whatever you want” He said, “I’ll pay.”

You would’ve insisted on paying for yourself, but looking at the menu, there was no way you could afford it, so you thanked him and continued browsing

After a bit, you decided what you wanted. You looked up at Sae and he was… looking at the kids menu-

I mean, who were you to judge? We love the kids menu, you just didn’t expect Sae Itoshi of everyone to look thought it

He eventually noticed you staring at him, and flipped to another section “Sorry..” he mumbled, slightly embarrassed. You had to hold in a laugh at the scene, and Sae only frowned playfully at you. “My little brother used to always get something from there.” he stated, “Anyway, have you decided what you want?”

He called the waiter over and you both imputed your orders.

While the two of you waited for your food, you started a conversation, which soon led to another, and another. You were teasing him about not knowing anything other than soccer, and you even managed to get a few jokes and affectionate eyerolls out of him, and finally your food arrived.

As the waiter put the plates down, your jaw dropped as your mouth watered, it was the best food you have ever seen. Your entire face lit up as you grabbed a utensil and started going at it, not thinking about anything other than the delicious taste.

“You look like you’ve been starved” Sae laughed as he picked up his own fork and knife, and started cutting his stake like a proper person, especially compared to you who had sauce by your lips

He grabbed a napkin and wiped it off, smiling at your flustered reaction

The two of you ate, occasionally exchanging words, but you were much too busy appreciating the food, and he was much too busy appreciating your beauty

You let out a content sigh as you put your fork down and smiled “That was good food.” you said, expression like you’ve just been blessed by the heavens

Sae silently laughed, he used to come here pretty often with his family, so things like these weren’t anything special to him, but you made it memorable.

He paid the bill and led you out the building, a small smile on his face.

“Where to now?” you asked as you got in the car “You said you wanted to show me something?”

“Mhm.” Sae nodded as he drove out the parking lot “It’s a bit far, but we can get there quickly” he had the tiniest grin on his face, his eyes hiding a bit of mischief

You looked at him hesitantly, wondering what he was about to do. But you didn’t even have a second to adjust before he suddenly accelerated, much higher than you could’ve anticipated.

“AIDUSGFLAUEGF-” you let out a string of swears as you were pushed into the seat by the speed you were going while he laughed

If there were cars around, he would’ve crashed into one by now, or got pulled over. Luckily, it was pretty late at night and no one was around, so he could go however fast he wanted.

“Are you sure this is safe??” you yelled as Sae rolled down the windows

“Trust me.” he replied, before drifting 90° to turn

“See?” he said with a smile “Perfectly safe”

The car was now going at a slightly more normal pace as he held one hand on the steering wheel and intertwined the other one with yours as you tried to comprehend what happened. “We’re almost there” he smiled

As you arrived, Sae helped you out as you looked around. I was just a huge empty parking lot, with seemingly nothing around, “What did you want to show me?” you asked

“Look up” he nodded at the sky

As you turned to face it, big fireworks of every colour shot up, lighting up the night sky.

You smiled, you always loved fireworks after all “They’re so pretty..”

Sae pulled you in with a smile, “Not as pretty as you”. Sae leaned in and pressed his lips against yours, a sweet feeling engulfing you both.

As you finally pulled away, you buried your red face in his chest, still flustered. Sae smiled, as he put a hand on your hand, and another around your waist “Let’s get you home, my love”

A/N: jsut hit me that i have to put "SEPARATE" in the title or it sounds like a harem

#bllk #bllk x reader #blue lock #blue lock x reader #blue lock x you #bllk x you #headcannons #bllk headcanons #bllk scenarios #rin itoshi #rin x reader #shidou ryusei #shidou x reader #itoshi sae #sae x reader

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au-wannabe-the-very-best · 1 year ago

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AU where instead of just Ingo, the entire Super Singles Line Train got transported to Hisui at once, which means Ingo and all of the depot agents who were on the train get thrown into Hisui. This is before they started accepting trainers, they're not scheduled to pick anyone up for another 20 minutes, when they are meant to pull into Gear Station. Except they're not even halfway to their destination before shit goes wrong.

Meanwhile the residents of Hisui are just watching a space-time distortion when suddenly a giant fucking metal MONSTER speeds out of it and crashes into a bunch of trees before finally stopping and tipping over. Ingo is at the front of the train and gets hit with the most damage, so he hits his head pretty bad and gets quite a few broken bones. The other train cars were a bit banged up but everyone got off with relatively light injuries in comparison to Ingo. Ingo loses his memory, but the other depot agents don't.

Since they're all wearing a uniform, and calling Ingo "sir," the residents of Hisui are like... did an entire CLAN get displaced by the space-time distortions?!

And the depot agents roll with this because. They don't think it's a good idea to tell these people that they're from the future. Also they're a bit distracted by their VERY injured boss and the whole situation they found themselves placed in.

#No idea what I should name this AU #Submas #Ingo #Subway Boss Ingo #PLA Ingo #Pokemon #Pokémon #PLA #Legends Arceus #Misplaced Super Train

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isuckatwritingsobenice · 1 year ago

Note

hello! I would like a Dazai Osamu bsd headcanons, where he considers the reader his reason for living… if it's not too much trouble! ♡

A/N: Of course!! Thank you so much for this request, it’s so cute! I'm definately going to expand on this in the future.

Warnings: Dazai being Dazai, mentions of panic attacks, mentions of PTSD, implied smut but no detail, stalking tendencies

Navigation!! // Masterlist

Dazai really never thought he would meet anyone that would make him want to live

he felt like his life was almost meaningless

like the world was too messed up for him to want to live in, to him there was no point

But then he meets you, it's at the train station and you're buying flowers for your mother

she's sick and you're seeing her while you can

you two make small talk and Dazai mentions where he works, it piques your interest

He doesn't talk much after that, and mainly because the train is close to leaving so Dazai needs to take his seat

But that doesn't stop him from thinking of you, and after days, almost a month, of not seeing you but not forgetting you, he caves and begins to search

He finds your name, address, place of work, where you were born, everything

He starts showing up at places you would be near, and he catches glimpses of you

it seems like you're genuinely a good person, like you radiate this warmth off you

he enjoys it, he craves it

fast forward a few months after Dazai's weird stalking, he unloads onto you while he's drunk

You're walking him back to his apartment

He starts breaking down in an alley way, his bandages coming undone and he's frantic, you've never seen him like this before

he's about to rip his hair out, he's struggling to breathe, he's panicking, PTSD has him in a choke hold as of right now

Some people also panic when things like this happen, other people just wait it out

You were a mix between the two; internally panicking but also waiting it out

You were unsure if you should touch him, so you settled for talking to him instead, with a slight hold on his arms

He had sat against a wall, quietly talking to himself with his head in his hands, his eyes were still frantic, so you tried your best to be careful

"Dazai?" You called, and he heard you, his shaking calmed after that

"relax, just breathe. Everything's okay."

He couldn't have done more. He wanted to talk, he really did, but there was a lot going through his mind.

The two of you sat in silence for a while, just with each other

Finally, he spoke up

"Y/n?"

"Yes Dazai?"

" I wanna go home."

The walk to his apartment was quieter, and a bit slower too, but when he opened the front door, you didn't expect for him to pull you inside too, let alone into a hug

"Thank you." He whispered, you almost didn't hear him

"Please don't. It was nothing Dazai, really." You whisper back, you can feel the anxiousness coming off of him

"Can you stay the night?" He asks, pulling back a bit to look you in the eyes. He's pleading with you, almost desperate, but also hopeful.

"Sure." You say back, a small smile on your face. You want him to know you're okay too.

He doesn't scare you. He realizes this now.

His lips find yours quickly, in a kiss that he didn't intend of leading to more, but he can't get enough of you and you don't want him to leave

That night, he goes to bed with a new reason, a reason to live

a reason to love you

#dazai fluff #yandere dazai #dazai imagines #dazai headcanons #dazai smut #bungou stray dogs dazai #dazai osamu #bsd dazai #dazai x reader #bungou stray dogs #osamu dazai #osamu dazai x reader

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hollyhomburg · 7 months ago

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Before I Leave You (Pt.69)

(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: The pack meet with moonbyul to discuss terms.

Tags: Violence, Angst with the happy ending on the horizon, fluff if you squint, Yoongi gets really really angry and kinda triggers the m/c, allusions to past abuse, Blood, manipulative behavior, murderous tendencies, trans! tae, Transphobia, Trans! moonbyul,

W/c: 11.5k

A/n: wow something went heavily wrong with the formatting while i was editing this! if you notice any extra lines or weird breaks (especially on mobile) i tried my best! not sure what went wrong but i might just have to physically re-type this chapter again.

Previous part - Masterlist - First part

I’ll let you in on a little secret:

In every other version of this story, Hobi doesn’t get to the door in time.

In every other version, the doors would close and Hoseok would hit them with his fists and yell. Screaming himself bloody and hoarse in the futility of it all. Watching as his future with you melts away at his fingertips like ocean foam, slipping away into the sea like a piece of clear sea glass, disappearing into the deep. They’d miss you at the next station and the one after that too.

In every other version of reality, in every parallel universe, he's too late to save you.

But in this one, he gets his pinky finger between the doors just before they slam shut.

The safety feature that keeps the train from closing on any late passengers shoots open with a hiss of compressed air. It's only open for a split second but Hoseok shoves himself through the 8-inch gap and into the warm interior of the train. Jungkook is left on the other side, banging on the door, running to keep up with the car as it thuds and lurches and starts to speed up.

"Next station" Jungkook’s mouth forms the words but Hoseok doesn't hear him say it over the roar of the train. There’s only a few seconds of them staring at each other. Jungkook’s messy hair flops as he runs. The wetness on his cheeks from frustrated tears glistening in the yellow sunlight before Jungkook runs out of the platform and is left standing there at the edge. Hoseok hurdles on.

Hoseok’s blood is roaring in his ears. He puts his hands on his knees and pants. The thudding momentum of the train makes Hoseok fall over, either that or it's from lack of oxygen. One second he's looking at JK and then next he's sprawled on the dirty linoleum floor before he pulls himself upright.

His throat feels like it’s still swelling a little. He puts his hands there, trying to steady himself. Black spots dance in his vision and he catches himself for a second time on the metal rail as the train rolls and jostles.

When he coughs, there’s dark blood in the palm of his hands. Hoseok wipes it on his pajama pants and starts looking.

He knows he must look like something horrific because an old woman in the first priority row looks at him with a crinkle of concern twisting her face. “Are you alright son?” She asks, voice squeaky.

“Yeah, just a rough morning” he grabs the back of her seat as he sways, steading himself for just a second before he uses the headrest of the seat to pull himself back down the train.

Hobi combs through the train cars slowly, betting that you'll be close to the end. He takes the longer route first, better to go down to the end and work his way back up in case you're in the first three cars, just in case you decide to get off at the next station.

He searches and searches until the fear starts to take hold in his stomach, nausea or maybe it’s just motion sickness.

He draws a bit of attention as he moves. Mostly from adults, the little unpresented pups that jump back and forth between the seats without a care in the world don’t find the bruises on his neck anything out of the ordinary. But an omega pulls his pups into his lap at Hoseok's approach. Hoseok is too sick with worry to pay them any mind.

But Hoseok doesn't need to worry, because he finds you on the fifth train car.

The blue sticky vinyl seats are full of all sorts of people; A stuffy alpha in a suit and a pair of bright yellow headphones. A small elderly omega woman with a big bushel of frizzy hair and about 10 tote bags to her name muddles through her morning commute. Two freshly presented teenagers with patched-up jackets, punky and honest in their aesthetic.

But there- at the end of the car where the booth seats facing each other turn into single rows all facing the same direction. Folded into the window a figure in dark clothes hunched over trying to look as small as possible. Trying to disappear.

Trying to hide.

Anyone would be able to scent the clear and clary smell of distress and loneliness on the air. It’s the same scent that soaks Namjoon’s hospital- noxious and pungent. It hits Hoseok with such a visceral wave that he almost falls over again.

You’re wearing his sweatshirt and Yoongi’s jacket. The hood drawn up over your head to hide your sob blotchy face from the strangers. Sniffling as you look out the window. He sees you wipe your eyes. You don't look up at all. You don't even notice Hobi approaching until he's slipping into the seat next to you and sliding his hand to lace through yours. His knuckle, your knuckle, then his.

You startle. Predictably- your fear response has always been a little bit over the top. You flinch, whirling, starting when you see it’s him. Jerking your hand out of his on instinct and nearly backing yourself into the window. Getting yourself as far away from him on the narrow seat as possible.

He wants to yell at you, he wants to shout at how stupid you are for leaving something good. (Don’t you know how rare good is for people like us? Don’t you want to hold onto it?) All of the shit with his ex- with Moonbyul seems impossible- but you sacrificing yourself for others is not hard for Hobi to believe. That part of this is so painfully logical and so painfully you that if Hobi were less scared right now he might start crying.

You've always thought you were less valuable, less necessary, less loved by the pack. The last one in is the first one out. Hoseok knows you think this because he used to think that way too.

He wants to yell at you but instead his voice comes out soft, the way that the others used to talk to you back when you didn’t speak. Like he's comforting a startled animal. You are a startled animal.

"You used the train ticket" He swallows. It stings. Hurts like a bitch really. Every time he speaks it hurts. "I never thought you'd use it."

Hoseok puts his hand on the seat in front of you blocking you as you try and get up and out of your seat. Moving automatically to get away- to get safe. That might be all that you know how to do- keep yourself safe.

You stand there for a second, in stalemate. Blood drains from your face, and you stare each other down as Hoseok goes from devastated to angry and then sad again. Struggling not to cry. Hoseok doesn’t like to cry- it’s too much like begging. His body asking for what he can’t.

It’s quiet, you have to be quiet here. There aren’t too many people but a few rows in front of you is a pair of alpha's in suits with briefcases. Unseemly eyes could be hidden everywhere so you need to be quiet. Hoseok's voice is quiet anyway. He still can’t speak much above a whisper.

No quicker have you startled than you start to push at him, at his shoulders. Literally trying to push him out of the chair. Shaking your head. "You can't be here Hobi you have to go, they'll kill you-" You start to pull him up to his feet but he makes himself a lead weight.

“No- no I’m not going to let you go.” Hoseok cups your cheek, long fingers rubbing your tears away. The pads of his fingers cradling your cheek. Soft skin, your cheeks have always been so soft. Hobi’s brain gets caught on the sensation.

"This is how this is going to work; we're going to get off at the train station- and then with any luck- Yoongi and Jimin and Jungkook will already be there and we're going to go home, okay?" He tilts his face, trying to get a better look under your hood, lower lip wobbling, voice breaking, “You have to come home with me, okay?”

You’re trembling so hard that Hobi can feel it as he holds your face, shaking your head stubbornly.

"Hobi, if I don't go. Jimin’s going to die, you're going to die, Jin’s going to die. I can't not do something. Don't pretend one life outweighs three."

"I can't let you go."

You lean into his hand. Has Hoseok ever cupped your cheek before or is the first time he's touched you this way? He can't remember. There are so many firsts that he can't remember. So many firsts that haven't happened yet. Slipping through his fingers like water.

"And I can't let you die."

Hoseok holds your cheeks, thumbs skimming up and down your cheekbones, a little more hollow than usual. These last few days have stretched all of you thin and honest. The truth does not feed you, like subsiding off of air. This truth is not one that he wants to share but-

Yoongi had looked a little shocked when he’d told him, that kind of shock that sort of feels vindicating- like you matter. Hoseok doesn't understand why Moonbyul being his ex matters. But Yoongi's reaction makes him think it is.

The light fills the train car honey golden slipping away to the clean brightness of a winter day. The light flashing through the trees like some sort of strobe light, flickering across both of you here- at the back of the train where there is no one to overhear.

Hoseok pulls himself closer to you, his lips brushing your ear. "I never told you- the name of my old pack omega but I think you know her.”

The train hisses and shrieks and your hand settles over Hoseok’s bruised wrist.

“I think you know her very very well because Yoongi said you do."

Hoseok pulls you flush against him, across the seat, your foot hitting his ankle, and whispers it into your ear.

"Her name was Moon Byul-yi."

You freeze in his hold, trembling, and he pulls away to watch the visceral realization dawn on your face. You're smart. The Moonbyul he knew would have never thought to anticipate that either of you was smart. Haughty and superior to the last inch. She’d have assumed that she had the upper hand like all narcissists do. Why would prey know anything about the hunt?

You panic, your conviction is slipping away, Hoseok can see you’re struggling to hold onto it. “Hoseok- you don’t understand, I have to do this, I need to.”

He takes your hand in his. “Okay- if you want to go then I’m coming with you.”

“Hoseok.”

He shakes his head and brings the back of your hand up to his mouth to run his lips along your knuckles. Gripping it tight. Your bones and his bones all aligned, the sunburn on the back of his hands that’s always sort of there from driving and the faint scars that line your hands from cooking. Both self-inflicted and accidental.

(Love is that way too, either something that you seek out or something that happens to you. You are the best thing that’s ever happened to Hoseok, you could never be the worst).

There is one scar at the bottom of your hand and the bottom of his; a line across his right palm and a line across your left one- both gotten the night that you tried to take the train. You didn’t take the train then but you’ve taken it now.

You’ve made your choice and Hoseok makes his. “Either together or not at all.”

Hoseok rationalizes it by thinking- If you were going back to Geumjae and if he was still alive, you’d never let him walk into his clutches. You would never let Geumjae lay a hand on him, so he won’t let you go to her. Will do everything in his power to get you off of this fucking train.

“I’m sorry, Hobi- I’m-”

He pulls himself closer to you. Lips touching your temple just like the sunlight. Your warm thigh pressed to his warm thigh.

“You have nothing to apologize for. Nothing to make up for. If we want to survive this then we need to do it together.” Hoseok presses a kiss to your hairline and lets it linger there. “I won't haunt you if you won't haunt me."

“You don’t understand-“

“Why? Why do you have to be the one? If you can answer me that honestly and in a way that makes sense, then I’ll let you go.” Hoseok says the words as he drags his nose across your hairline in a small scent mark. A growl rolling in his throat. His hand itching towards the back of your neck- if he were able to scruff you- he could drag you off this train with or without your say-so.

Hoseok won't do that to you unless it's absolutely necessary. He won't scruff you maliciously but honestly, he'd damn the consequences at this point. You know the risks, and yet you let his hand settle on the back of your neck. He doesn't scruff you yet.

You are on the train now, but you could get off of it. Hoseok managed to convince you once he can convince you again. You do not respond to him, but he doesn’t need you to. He continues on word vomiting out his feelings. Drenched half in panic and half in fear that if he stops talking you’ll tell him something heartbreaking. Hoseok can’t handle any more heartbreak today.

"I know you’ve been in a lot of pain. I’ve known it since the first day I met you. But this self-sabotage- sacrificing yourself because you think your life isn't worth risking the rest of ours- this isn’t the way to do it. This isn’t the way that you get out.”

This is the question that you’ve been asking the whole time he’s known you. All of this is just trying to get out of the holes that you dig for yourself. The graves that you haunt. Graves of things that might have been and the things that should or shouldn’t have happened to you.

Your voice is so small and quiet, your palm in his tightens just a little bit. “How do I? How do I get out?”

"You can start by just getting off this fucking train."

You eye him like you think it’s impossible like it can’t possibly be that easy.

The announcer overhead is telling you you’re almost to the next stop. To mind the gap and such. The same way people mind children and precious objects. Mind the gap. Such a strange turn of phrase. How do you treasure the space between one motion ending and the other beginning? The end of one place and time and the beginning of another.

“How do I do it? How do I-”

Hoseok laces his hand with yours again and pulls you up onto your feet. The train is slowing. “I’ll show you just- follow me. I’ve got you.”

I’ve got you.

You do follow Hobi, you follow Hobi off the train as he coxes you softly onto the platform and onto the frosty tracks. It’s mid morning by now and the sun is streaming in that bright yellow way when he tugs you up the stairs slow. Slow because he still has to. His body aches from yesterday. Both of you are bruised and tired but together. Clinging to each other- his hand and your hand and not a breath of space between.

In the parking lot, there is a red car double parked across the lines closest to the stairs. Jimin and Yoongi and Jungkook are already standing outside, the doors blown open. Jimin falls into a squat the second he sees you. Head in his hands. Running through his hair and tugging. A cigarette discarded on the concrete bouncing before it rolls to a stop and burns.

“Oh thank fucking god, Tae would have fucking killed me-”

Jungkook groans and rests his head on the hood of the car, hitting it with an open-palmed slap. It echoes in the empty parking lot.

"That sentence is substantially less funny today than it would have been yesterday.”

Yoongi is just staring at you fists and shoulders tight. You watch him swell the closer that you walk. Every step made in trepidation. He's breathing heavy, eyes wild with panic and anger and his hair stands on end. His eyes are bloodshot and his scent is almost acidly salty. The kind of salt that guides metal to rust and break. The salt that melts cities. That crunches under your feet next to dark puddles from snowmelt.

When you're 3 paces away he seems to break, stalking up to you and jabbing a finger in your face. “If you ever pull a stunt like that again I swear I’ll-” Yoongi breaks himself off. Shaking so viscerally that it's hard for you to keep your hands by your side. but you stand your ground as Hoseok swats yoongi's jabbed finger away. his other hand tightly laced with yours.

“Yoongi, let’s just get into the car and go home- please. Let's not talk about this here.” The parking lot is mostly empty, but the danger still lingers. There’s too much to talk about. Moonbyul's name rings in Hoseok's ears like the subtle hum of hearing loss, like a high-pitched shriek. There are things more important than Yoongi's anger.

But Yoongi’s not done with you- oh- he’s boiling with rage. Shaking with it as he opens the door for you, every action, every little moment restrained. His anger is palpable. You get into the back of the Lamborghini and Hobi follows.

You can tell he wants to slam the door but doesn't. He shuts it extra extra soft but you flinch anyway. He gets into the driver's seat every moment controlled but tense, like he'll explode if he moves with any more energy than necessary, a firework with a fuse burned all the way down just begging for heat.

Yoongi waits for everyone to buckle their seat belt but you don’t, frozen watching him in the window and then the rearview mirror when he gets into the front seat. Yoongi doesn’t even get around to starting the car. Sliding the key home but the beep goes once, twice, and then a third time because you don't have your seatbelt buckled. The others wait in silence.

“Yoongi-“

“Fuck!” He kicks open his door again with a stream of spat explicatives. Slamming it shut this time. The others don't say anything, completely silent in the face of his anger.

Yoongi doesn't get angry. You've never seen him like this before. He wrenches your door open and for a horrible moment, you think he's going to yank you out of the car and tell you to get lost.

Yoongi's murmuring things to himself, so low that you almost can't make out what he's saying as he pushes himself into the backseat. The backseat of the Lambo isn’t that large. Hardly big enough to fit two people let alone four.

Jungkook lets out a belated “Hey!” at being squished up against the door but Hoseok just reaches around him and unlocks it for him to get out. Jimin is already out of the passenger seat and heading in the direction of the driver's side as Yoongi scrambles with your seat belt, jerking it over your shoulder and slamming it home.

"-Fucking asshole- of all the stupid omegas in the world I had to be mated to the fucking- dumbest- little- fucking-" The belt digs into your shoulder extra tight and Jimin starts the car wordlessly.

You're closed in on both sides by him and Hobi on the other. They switch and shuffle. Jimin pulls away from the train station, gentler this time but still faster and with more finesse than you'd do it. Yoongi is still looking at you, glaring, tears in his eyes with wet cheeks, his voice low and uncompromising.

“Give me your phone.”

“My what?”

“Your. Phone. You used it to call her didn’t you?” You nod after a second, slowly pulling it from your sweatshirt pocket and handing it over.

Yoongi takes your phone and breaks it over his thigh.

It’s a bit impressive really- the show of strength. He brings it down once and the screen breaks, winking out like a shooting star. Another and it bends just a little, a third time- and it's practically at a right angle. It breaks so easily in the face of adrenaline and anger and fear.

You make a small noise, not a whimper but a descending sound. Yoongi raises his eyebrows at you, wild. Like he’ll break even further if you complain. Hoseok’s not sure he’s ever seen Yoongi this broken.

"Just- There were pictures of Noodle and Tae on there.”

Fear and anger are an intoxicating mix to anyone- let alone someone who almost lost their person. He goes at your phone until its jagged edge bites into his hand drawing blood. Then he tosses both pieces of your phone onto the floor of the car like they're paperweights.

One of the pieces hits your shoe with a small metal clink, and even Hobi looks down in surprise at the sound.

Yoongi laughs and then bends over. Yanking the gun out of your boot. Small, shoved there. Hoseok didn’t notice. He's not sure why it surprises him- that you'd be armed. You're not an idiot, you know the risks, and you were armed the last time that you tried to run away.

He holds it out to you, long fingers wrapped around the barrel pointed at his chest. The handle facing you, the barrel of the gun level with his heart.

“You want to do the honors sweetheart?"

Jungkook’s worrying away at his lower lip, turning around, nervous. “Yoongi-" but Yoongi just holds a finger out, cutting him off. He's watching you, waiting to see what you'll do.

Jimin very gently reaches back and takes the gun from Yoongi. The beta lets him. Jimin flicks the safety off with a twitch of his thumb. And takes out the magazine one-handed that he hands to Jungkook before he puts the body of the gun barrel down in the cup holder where it rattles freely.

“Don’t fucking do that. we do not point guns at ourselves or each other in this pack.”

Yoongi hardly looks mad, he hardly reacts to Jimin at all. Jungkook's eyes flicker nervously from Jimin to Yoongi, then to Jimin's shoulder.

Jimin's flush sits on the top of his cheekbones, "Jin-hyung gets a pass obviously."

You quirk an eyebrow at your mate, not impressed in the slightest, not even intimidated truly. Hoseok doesn’t think you’ve fought since you tried to leave the first time.

“You didn’t really expect me to go unarmed, did you? Thought I could at least take one of them out- at least Moonbyul before they-” Jimin breathes hard through his teeth and Hoseok actually laughs, although he sounds a little unhinged. Yoongi runs his hands through his hair, pulling a little.

“I didn’t expect you to fucking leave me either but here we fucking are.” Yoongi has never raised his voice with you- he never raises his voice period. But anger and terror have made his words sloppy where usually they strike exact.

In the mirror, you see Jungkook’s jaw clench as Jimin accelerates home a little faster. Yoongi crowds you against Hoseok. Resting his forehead against yours, you can hear the grit in his teeth as he grinds them together nearly spitting, but it’s quiet.

“If you try something like that again, you will see a side of me that I do not want to show you. Do you understand?”

That makes you unnerved, and makes your lower lip start to tremble. Your “Yes.” Comes out so quiet that Hoseok is sure Jimin and Jungkook can't hear it in the front seat over the Lambo's purr.

You’re unable to meet his eyes, Yoongi has never been rough with you, but he’s shaking with the effort to hold himself back from screaming, yelling, crying. There are no words for you, no words that he could ever say that might hold you. He is so angry he can’t even fucking speak.

For a terrible moment, you think that he's going to hit the seat in front of you. But then he tucks your hair behind your ear out of your face so that he can look at you properly.

This is Yoongi's karma for leaving the pack all those months ago. He's come to know their pain so keenly, this was only a few hours of what they endured but still- this is exactly like that.

“You know- I’ve never wondered if you need me, but sometimes I wonder if you love me at all.”

His hand slides down your cheek, gentle in the way that he goes, and it hurts so much more than a slap or punch ever would. It stings. Everywhere Yoongi touches you stings.

“I know you don’t love me the way that I love you- I’m not that dumb, but-"

Your face screws into a whimper, and you can't whisper out that you're sorry quick enough. Yoongi guides your forehead back to rest against his. Still angry, still spitting the words like they take something from him. You should deny what he says and you want to, but you’re mute in the face of your mate's anger. "How many hours do you think will exist between your death and mine?” You’re silent as Jimin drives, but his eyes meet yours in the rearview mirror. You don’t see any pity in his eyes maybe because Yoongi, like you, had nearly left them broken. Had actually left and stayed gone. Yoongi will never quite deserve pity for words like those. Yoongi directs your face away from Jimin and back to his.

“How many god damn it!” He grips your cheeks, gentle, fingers that touch so softly, that cradle you, shaking all the while.

“Five? Ten? Sweetheart- I'd last 5 minutes without you and you won't even look at me long enough to apologize and you don't make it easy- I don't-

"Yoongi. That is enough."

Jimin is steely. Cutting him off before Yoongi can say something that he regrets and that he doesn't mean. But Yoongi won’t continue anyway. He's crying so hard he can’t see your face, can’t even see the way that you crumple.

He rests his forehead on your shoulder for the remainder of the drive. Pushing away your hands every time you try and wrap them around him until you’re crying with how frustrated you are. Keeping that one point of contact only, his crumpled face pressed against your mating mark.

He doesn’t want your touch- the touch of someone who hurt him. This is the first time that Yoongi has denied you something so simple, something so habitual as your arms around his shoulders.

Your pleas fall on deaf ears, your words come too late. "I'm sorry, i'm so sorry Yoongi I didn't mean- please believe me- I didn't- Please i'm so sorry-"

It’s a pity isn’t it; someone always has to love the other more. This is the oldest story, and there is no other story. Karma comes just in time or not at all. But right now? Right now it does not feel nice being Yoongi’s karma for leaving the pack all those months ago.

The car ride is mostly silent for the rest of the drive. The car has barely stopped when Yoongi scrambles to get out. The car door flings open with the momentum of Jimin stopping. The hood is hot when he skims his fingers across it steadying himself to round it and dash inside.

Your hands shake too hard to unbuckle yourself as Yoongi hurries, he almost runs. Hoseok gets out of the car, shouting "Yoongi!" but your mate doesn't turn around, doesn't do anything but barrel past the others. Pushing away their worried questions and hands to get inside the house.

The bindings on your hands are already bleeding a little bit, your hands chubby and swollen, and unable to see the seat buckle as you claw at it.

A warm chest hits the side of your face as strong arms reach around you. Jungkook unbuckles you, close and filling the backseat in Yoongi's absence. He holds you for a second, giving you a squeeze and a sideways hug. "Just give him a second it’s gonna be alright."

You stare at Jungkook for a second. Wiping your tears away with a curled fist. He looks tired. “I mean you’re literally his mate so- it's not like he can really...” Jungkook trails off, and the keys jingle in Jimin's hands as he waits. mute and unreadable, staring at the steps where tae stands with Jin and Namjoon.

"Aren't you guys going to yell at me too?" Jungkook snorts, and when you pull back to look at his face, he doesn't look angry, he doesn't even look tired.

"That wouldn't solve anything." Your face crumples further, but Jungkook just starts to pull you to the edge of the leather seat to hug you better under the guise of firmly setting you on your feet.

"What I am gonna do is make you go work out with me. I'm gonna make you do like- so many burpees in punishment for making me run that early in the morning."

You laugh wetly and Jungkook giggles, nuzzling the top of your head. Gripping around your waist to pick you up just a little.

Jin looks just as puffed up as Yoongi but so much less angry, wrapped in your big blue blanket like a cape, a corner pulled over his head and ears like a hood, his fluffy bunny slippers poking out below.

The wooden planks of the deck have dried in the winter sunlight and Tae is barefoot where she stands, silk robe too thin for the winter chill. looking at you with that same hollow look she’s had for the last day.

Jin doesn’t try to grab Yoongi as he stalks past. Namjoon sends a conflicted glance at him and then at you. His shoulders are pinned up by his ears, the scraggly five o'clock shadow he wears looks tear tacky. He looks at you for a single second but then heads into the house after your mate. You blanch, but you're not surprised that Namjoon needs a second before he talks to you too.

The pervasive sound of wrenching can be heard echoing out into the porch, and a look inside says that Namjoon’s got a hand on Yoongi's back where he's bent over the sink. Throwing up nothing because your mate had hardly eaten last night- worried about you and Hobi. You've never felt more undeserving of him, the guilt hits you harder than any words ever could.

You swallow at the bottom of the steps. Hoseok and Jungkook and Jimin behind you, hand on the small of your back urging you forward gently. Willing to let you stray more than a few steps away after chasing you down.

Jin is extra tall and on the upper step, looking down at you with an unreadable expression on his face, he places a hand over the back of your neck scruffing you smoothly and evenly until you almost fall, knees already shaky. Jungkook steps up and grabs you before you hit the floor. But Jin just stoops. Lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“When this is over, when everyone is safe, we’re going to have a long long talk about this. About why pups don’t make decisions on their own. Give me your phone.”

You can hear Jimin’s grimace in his voice, “Yoongi already broke it.”

“Are you angry with me?” You ask lower lip wobbling, tears drifting down your nose, “Please don’t be angry with me- please-” Jin squeezes the nape of your neck again, harder. You see sparkles in your vision- your body compensating for Jin's touch even though you're so tired you feel like you might pass out. You easily submit to the scruff, you'll do anything Jin asks right now just to temper his disappointment.

Hoseok grabs under your elbows to keep you standing. Between him and Jin and Jungkook- you’re a soggy little bundle of omegas. You don’t see it, but from the railing, Tae cups Jimin’s cheek.

Jin croons. “Hush pup. Come inside where it's warm. We've got a lot to talk about- mostly what we can do besides make rash decisions like that."

Hoseok's hand is on Jin's wrist before he has a chance to continue. Eyes bright with something that looks an awful lot like hope.

"About that..." Hoseok gulps, “We think we figured out how to get out of this Jinnie. I have to talk to Yoongi about it again but-” Jin tugs Hoseok onto his other shoulder.

“I think we’ve figured a way out of this.”

You sniffle where you're tucked against Jin's chest, but you’re right next to his scent gland when it swells with pride, sweet and milky. Jin runs the back of his hand softly over Hoseok's warm cheeks, and croons.

“Good puppy.”

~-~

The next time you call Moonbyul, you’re all sitting around the dining room table. The blinds are drawn and Noodle has been fed. Jimin’s collection of guns lay on the table in several neat little rows, the barrels of them pointed in the same direction like the legs of some long-dead arachnid.

A list of demands and a dialogue are written out in front of you but they're not for you. Jin and Yoongi will be doing most of the talking. You've done nothing for the last hour it took to hatch the plan other than sit obediently at the reach of your alphas. Willing to trade little 'I'm sorries' and the barest attempt at teasing after you'd gotten up to get a glass of water and they'd all flinched. Jimin had even gotten up and out of his chair before shaking his head and sitting back down. instincts reacting to your movement before his brain caught up.

"Would it make you feel better if you put me in handcuffs?"

"Only if they're the fuzzy ones."

"Jk- now is not the time.”

All in all, Jungkook and Hobi seem to be the ones who are the least angry at you for trying to pull that stunt. Jimin's just a little more tactile with you than usual pulling you to sit close to him at the table. rubbing over your knee. Fiddling with your hands and gently avoiding the wounds there.

Namjoon still can't look at you, eyes flickering away every time you speak. Not angry- but maybe still upset- still working through his feelings.

There are more important things to work through; the plan, the facts of what you know, a list with numbers sit next to your dialogue. The facts of everything connected with arrows and different handwriting and a good bit of doodles- courtesy of Jungkook and Tae (and you- when she'd prodded).

Your list goes like this:

Moonbyul is not an alpha (verified by Hobi) (ew it's so gross to think of you with another omega hyung)

Only an alpha can rule the family. (That's a little sexist) (I didn't write the rules Tae)

LEVERAGE.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ (JK- stop doodling on official FBI documents.)

Yoongi hasn't spoken a word to you since he came inside the house and you don't expect him to right now. That’s hardly the most important matter at hand. Baby steps.

Baby steps.

You call her with Jimin’s work burner. The one he keeps in his car and uses exclusively for instructions about which murder and which target needs to be taken out. Moonbyul answers on the first ring and guesses it’s you before you even have a chance to speak. The others had unanimously decided that you wouldn't be speaking for this conversation. You don't mind sitting back for this.

Whatever makes them happy, whatever makes them feel better.

Her voice strikes a chill down your spine, now that you know that she's the one who hurt Hobi. It's her he sees behind his eyes on his worst days and it's her voice he hears when his internal monologue becomes vicious and self-shaming. You hear it differently than you did before; a cross between a snake's hiss and the purr of some dark-furred jungle cat.

“Any much longer and you’re going to be late pup, you know how impatient I can be.”

It's surprisingly difficult to not give her a piece of your mind. Your hands tighten into fists, your bones and skin all tight where you'd hurt your hands. But before your knuckles can even go white a big hand covers yours, prying your fingers apart so that your fingernails don't dig into the gauze, still bloody. You look up at Namjoon. He shakes his head, just a little, and you relax your hands.

Yoongi leans over the table so that his voice comes across clearer over the speakerphone.

“I think you’ll want to be patient for this alpha- or should I say omega.”

Hoseok holds the edge of the table hard, leaning in too. He's sure the hitch of his breath must be audible over the phone. But Moonbyul doesn't remark on it. Jin’s hand remains settled on the nape of his neck and you wish you were sitting next to him too.

Yoongi scoots himself closer to the edge of the table. On the side opposite from you. “The claws of an alpha don’t suit you, cousin.”

Moonbyul laughs and none of you smile. The tone of her voice shifts, a bit more serious. “They fit me better than they'd fit you. Let me see how deep your bite is or should I ask Hoseok? Is that pup there? How about Minnie and mommy?”

Tae folds her hands over her chest, affronted, but doesn't speak either. Your hand goes hard on Namjoon's wrist and he grips yours back just as hard. Holding out his hand for Hobi's across the table.

You open your mouth to retaliate- for the comment on Tae alone (you're not sure how Moonbyul found out about your nickname for her) but Jimin mouths across the table, “Don’t” You're all silent, waiting for her next move.

Jin's FBI training kicks in. Negotiation and kidnappings had been a course he'd been required to take during his orientation to the fbi. and his voice is measured and polite.

"I think we're past the point of petty jabs and assassin's, aren't we? Let's talk, pack omega to pack omega."

“You want to parley then? Make a deal?”

Jin drums his hands across the table. Nervous but his voice doesn't shake, not even a little bit.

“This has gone on for long enough. Let’s meet.”

~-~ Moonbyul comes in with the quiet.

The hours drag on in the space before she arrives at the house. The pack perks up in the direction of every errant sound or neighbor in your cul-de-sac. The sound of the little kids across the street leaving for Saturday morning sports, of the dull scape of someone shoveling out their driveway, the rumbling of distant cars on the highway.

It’s a Sunday, isn’t it? Strange, that this kind of thing should happen on a Sunday. Jimin stares out at the driveway, leaning against the railing, and thinks it must be some sort of punishment both wretched and divine. He smokes his cigarette, spitting the smoke out like he's burning, and shakes off the shivers of a god he doesn't believe in.

He finishes his cigarette, then he and the others and ready the house for Moonbyul’s arrival.

Hobi feels every tick of the clock like the beat of his heart knowing that she’s on her way. She’d started driving after Jimin had shown her a video of his guns being thrown into the river. A meeting without any weapons will be as safe as anyone can get.

But still- the pack isn't stupid. Hobi watches from the kitchen as Jin tapes the pack’s sharpest and largest kitchen knife under the kitchen table in front of his seat as well as Jimin’s and Yoongi’s just in case.

Allowing her inside the den goes against every instinct. To have their softest most safe place violated by the presence of someone who has hurt them like this. It's almost too much. But to have the upper hand and have this meeting on their turf is more than they’ve hoped for. So Namjoon restrains his growls, hand still held in yours at the table. After a tangle of so many hours and days of all this violence, the pack takes their chances for a way out.

You'd discussed the meeting happening at the house before you'd even called and agreed. Talked it out between the eight of you the idea location for any meet up. Only Namjoon was against it- but he's been overruled by Jin and Yoongi.

You’d remained mostly silent and agreed with Yoongi when it came to a vote. Warm big eyes on him, waiting for a hint of approval that never came. Jimin thinks that wound is going to take more than simple obedience to heal.

Yoongi doesn’t know what to think, or what to do. Jin and Jimin take over most of the planning as far as what’s going to be said and how. Everything needs to be carefully orchestrated for this to not go poorly. Everyone needs to be on their best behavior.

But there is hope here, on the edge of their scheming is a plan that might work- this might really work. You all might get out of this unscathed. Even Yoongi who’s never taken a simple breath outside of this life of murder and secrets. Who has had this violence built into his blood from the moment he was born. Yoongi was born a liar. Yoongi always thought that he'd live and die belonging to his family- at the will of their beck and call.

Now he's not so sure.

He feels like he’s hyper-aware of you, in your orbit the way an addict is always aware of how little or lot is left of a drug. Every twitch and movement of your body sets him on edge. But when you’re not watching- Yoongi watches you. Tensing with every step you take in the direction of the door, heaving a thankful sigh whenever you pass by it.

He tries not to touch you but it’s hard. He’d taken your shoes and locked them in the closet upstairs, it's silly but it's necessary.

His pulse is still beating so fast that it scares him a little. The mating mark at his hip aches with every step, he wonders if yours aches with every word or breath. Pressed there against your throat where he'd kissed countless times, where he'd nuzzled sleeplessly just last night. Breathing in your scent because it soothed him.

It still soothes him, even if he doesn't want it to.

Yoongi spends every few minutes bent over the kitchen sink or the toilet, the revulsion curling up in his gut like a snake dragging its teeth down the sides of his heart. You’d left him again, actually left him again. Yoongi wants to scream and cry but-

But there are moments of you saying you’re sorry- to Tae, to Jimin, and Jungkook- who stubbornly wraps his arms around your back like a living blanket and makes you stoop forward with his weight. Or Jimin who rubs his chin across the top of your head and jostles you with the aggressiveness of his scent mark, catching your wrists in both of his hands roughly in a way that almost- almost has Yoongi intervening. He's just clumsy and tired.

All of you are.

There are other moments of Jin lingering close, speaking to you in the soft stern way that has you deflating that makes Yoongi’s body hum in that mate way- that way that lets him know you need him.

Namjoon hasn't changed the bandages on your hands yet, even though there's a tiny bit of blood on your right one. Yoongi wants to ask him to change it out but can't make his mouth form the words.

Hobi watches you from wear he rests against the couch, pointedly not sitting on the spot that Jin cleaned of blood. Holding a bit of ice to his throat and sipping on water. Able to talk now- for real. Voice strengthening with every minute.

Yoongi pauses by his side and asks, loud enough for you to overhear "aren't you angry?" Hoseok doesn't miss the way your shoulders tense. You’re looking over things and talking with Jin and Jimin, clarifying something- some rules about the family that only you and Yoongi know of. There are documents on the table with the title FBI property- do not reproduce or take off premises.

He tips his head back against the back of the couch, Hoseok’s legs sprawled out, aching from running so hard and so fast and being so out of practice with it. Fuck- Hoseok is so tired. So anxious and so keyed up by the knowledge that Moonbyul will be here within the next hour. He yawns in Yoongi’s face without covering his mouth. His stretched lips full of teeth teeth teeth.

Yoongi feels his anger quiet even before Hoseok shrugs. "i don't know if my anger would make it better. i care more about making sure we all get to wake up tomorrow without feeling like shit"

Jungkook echoes the same sentiment on his way past. “Same like- I cannot wait to nest” And Jimin nods, blonde hair fluffing. Even namjoon's subtle agreement as he does the dishes makes yoongi feel...Not better...but maybe a little less angry.

Namjoon does the dishes, but you're his close shadow. They could wait- but Namjoon needs something to do with his hands besides holding onto yours. You still haven’t talked at all, and haven't apologized verbally to him for that phone call. He wants a wide birth and you give it to him.

Survival first- and apologies and forgiveness later.

"I think motive counts for something too," Hoseok says, looking at you across the room helping Namjoon stack dishes without being asked. "You didn't mean to hurt us when you left, but you felt like you had to." Yoongi swallows hard and feels like he's the one who's been choked in the last 48 hours.

If there’s one thing Yoongi hates, it’s how love makes you forgive. (Yoongi wouldn’t be standing in this house right now with the pack if love wasn’t this way). You could hurt me and I’d ask for it, beg for it really, as long as I’m still yours. As long as you stay.

At the beginning, the fact that Yoongi loved you more always hurt the pack, Jin especially. But watching Yoongi’s eyes follow your movements as you're asked to do some small remedial task to appease the pack, watching you do it with so much sweet eagerness. the pack find that they're thankful for it.

You say you’re sorry to anyone who will listen. And Jungkook's endless replies of "it's okay" make Yoongi's ears itch in the interim.

The moments and minutes stretch out long.

But about an hour before Moonbyul is due to arrive, in the quiet panic of making sure things are ready and just waiting, Jin tries to convince you to go upstairs for the entirety of your meeting. But as much as the pack doesn't want to admit it you might be the best at getting what you want from Moonbyul. They're prepared for you to be a little bratty about it, to push back a little regardless of the circumstances.

What they're not prepared for is Hoseok standing up in the center of the room, setting his icepack on the couch with a small crunch, before he says “I want to see her again.”

It's met with an immediate rejection, and a barrage of questions from the other alpha's, Jimin and Namjoon especially have their hackles raised. Yoongi actually checks his ears to see if they're bleeding. Jin quite literally grabs Hobi and shakes him a little. But he’s convinced that he needs too. He’s got questions for her that no one else can answer.

You had been the one person who had agreed with him. Some questions can only be answered by the person who hurt you.

Moonbyul isn’t stupid- she won’t walk into your den without a few face cards in her hands. You won’t let her come here without a card up your sleeve either. But aces are aces- a royal flush will beat 4 aces every time, and it’s up to you who wears the crown.

You watch the pack put on the air of royalty. Watch Namjoon recline at the head of the table the picture of Pack alpha ease. Scent blockers are applied to all of you liberally out of necessity. You rub it into Hobi’s scent gland yourself (You won’t let Moonbyul get a wif of him).

You watch your mate settle into his shoulders; neck held high. Putting on the same Placid but brutal he'd worn the first time you'd met him. That untouchable coldness that all members of the family wear out of necessity.

But Yoongi had never been good enough at keeping the warmth out of his eyes. Even back then.

Moonbyul comes in a black car, non-descript. She's driving herself today. No extra ears or extra packmates attached to her hip. Even Hyejin is absent and it’s strange, strange to not see her get out of the car with her.

It sets you off kilter when you peer out the window. Lingering until Yoongi comes close. Your breath hitches as his hands touch your shoulders. Urging you upstairs without a word, an unspoken heaviness in his eyes.

Regardless of what you'd agreed, now that she's here. yoongi doesn't think he can do this if you're not upstairs safe.

“But Yoongi- Hobi-“ Hobi stands by the door. If he's going to talk to her you want to be by his side. But Yoongi's scared, you can see it in his face and feel it in the mating mark.

You think you'll have a few more moments to sort this out, but Moonbyul does not knock on your door, she just lets herself in.

“Cousin!” she starts, splaying her hands like she’s about to go in for a hug but Yoongi does not smile, Yoongi does nothing but glare at her until her smile and her hands both drop.

Seeing Moonbyul again after so long does not feel like just seeing her photograph. For a second Hoseok feels cold, so so cold looking at her face. Her fair skin, her silver hair. Tunnel vision and the most dizzying mix of fear and anger and alpha posturing that he’s ever felt. His instincts yell at him, screaming in his ear that he needs to run, needs to get away.

She smells different, metallic and medicinal, different than her sweet omega peppermint smell that he remembers. It's stronger now- more musky. the scent of an alpha and not an omega. Hoseok wouldn't be able to pinpoint that it was an artificial change if he hadn't smelled the same sort of hormone shift on Tae.

He’s distantly aware that there are people in between him and her, you, Yoongi, Jimin, Namjoon, and even Jungkook who fluffs up, looking determined and like he’s about to unleash all 5 years of experience he has teaching kickboxing on her. (Tae stays at the back of the room- the soft and delicate fairy star child that she is- but even she subtly stands straighter, eyeing Moonbyul’s stiff black coat with the same air that Anna Wintour might wear while viewing a subpar fashion show).

6 feet away and every bit of his instincts is yelling at him to move, to run. His heart thunders in his ears like a battalion of racehorses. How stupid of him to think he was ready- that seeing her face after all these years wouldn’t hurt- that the fear wouldn’t be there- his breath hitches and-

She grins at him and Hoseok flinches.

In his peripheries, he sees Namjoon and Jimin start to say or do something. Hoseok had put himself- almost perfunctorily in front of you. But after a second with your hand on his wrist tightening, you put yourself between him and her. Stepping around him and Yoongi in one clean movement and blocking his face from view. Moonbyul just raises her eyebrows at you. Before anything more can happen- before any jabs or warnings can be exchanged, a grey mass skitters across the floor. As quick as a bullet and twice as violent. Out for blood and the bringer of death.

Puffed up and looking large and menacing. Noodle yowls loud, a war cry, before driving his needle-like teeth into Moonbyul's ankle and right through the leather of her Louis Vuitton boots, ripping them with a vicious toss of his neck.

“What the fuck-“

Moonbyul startles, knocking into the wall in her surprise at your cat's viciousness. She hardly wastes a breath before she kicks Noodle clear across the floor.

You gasp and Tae makes a noise. But Noodle is totally fine, He goes hissing and spluttering, and claws his way right back for more not deterred in the slightest. He leaves gash marks on the shiny floor as he aims himself, back to bite her again.

You have no doubt that he’d be headed for bloodshed and her other ankle if Yoongi didn’t scoop him up from the floor and hold him to his chest. Honestly- Noodle looks more surprised at Yoongi holding him than he does about getting kicked.

“If you touch my fucking cat again, I’ll fucking kill you." Yoongi's deadly serious. No part of him joking as he says it.

It's barely 60 seconds in and this meeting is already going to shit.

Namjoon steps up and steps around Yoongi’s shoulder shoving the beta behind him as Noodle starts to squirm in Yoongi's hold. “Please, lets just get this over with.” He tips his head and gestures to the dining room table for her to sit.

Tae takes Noodle from Yoongi’s arms. Checking his stomach. Glaring at Moonbyul who does not grin, does not smile, only tucks an errant hair behind her ear.

The sound of chair legs scraping the floor is the only sound as the 9 of you sit in silence. Noodle stays in Tae’s lap, big tail swishing as his beady yellow eyes track Moonbyul across the room. Everyone’s silent, settling. Yoongi and Jimin are the ones seated closest to Moonbyul. You and Hobi are the farthest by Namjoon on the other side.

“Well- you’re the one who wanted to talk.” But Moonbyul is not looking at Jin and Namjoon and Yoongi- she’s looking at Hoseok- who can do little but look at her through his bangs. Skin burning when she looks at it. A feeling like Hoseok wants to hide and maybe shower until his skin falls off almost overcoming him and making him run.

“I didn’t want to talk, I wanted to get you fucking flayed out on this kitchen table and-”

“Jimin.” Tae cuts him off with a snap of her teeth around his name. Her hand is on Hobi’s thigh, holding him still keeping his thigh from jumping up and down under the table.

“The time for violence is over,” Jin says sternly.

Moonbyul grins, “is it?” she drags a sharp nail over a groove in the table. A spot where a bullet or maybe a knife grazed it, probably from the last few days. You wouldn’t know where it came from even if you thought hard about it.

“Some would consider the very act of possessing something that’s mine violence and you have two things that belong to me.”

Hoseok shivers, and you narrowly avoid snapping a smart retort at her. Jimin’s fingers hover around the knife under the table. Ready to wip it out and drive it clean through her hand splayed on the table. Ready to kill her in the next second if the pack wish it. He’s half convinced he should do it before she opens her mouth because Hoseok looks like he’s going to be sick all over the table and Tae is shaking faintly.

But then Jimin looks up, meets your eyes, and takes his eyes off of his target for a second. You shake your head a little imperceptibly.

“Some would also consider lying violence as well- how well do you think that the rest of your family and organization would handle the fact that they’ve been lied too?”

Yoongi settles, tilting his head. Jin and Yoongi are a dangerous pair when they talk through things like this. “We both know that all I’d have to do is pick up a phone and you’d be dead. You and your pack. If you kill me- someone will tell and you'll die. If you touch my pack again- I'll tell and you'll die. And if even think about taking my mate from me again- if i start to sense that you've tried to manipulate her away from me in the slightest- I'll kill you my fucking self."

She turns to you, mirth toying at her lips, "I got away with killing the beta once, what makes you think I can't do it again?"

Jin smiles at her, it's an honest and genuine smile. "The truth is- you gave us too much time to think. Too much time to figure it out and plan. There's a trigger clause out there. On a computer you couldn't possibly find. If I don't log in every 36 hours, an email will be sent with pictures of her recipe book to the director of the FBI, and you'll go down for it." Moonbyul turns to you, narrowing her eyes, "You'd risk going to prison or being killed? Rather than be with me?"

You shrug. "You- prison- tomato tamato. And besides- I know enough- you made sure I knew enough to be useful to them. I'd probably land a sweet gig in witness protection."

Tae pets over noodles head, smiling at you, "We could call Noodle meatball."

Yoongi straightens, getting you back on track. "We'd also send pictures and evidence to the heads of house too; you'd have to take your pick who you'd want to deal with- them or the Feds." Moonbyul goes quiet and for the first time but you know you have her backed into a corner with this. This secret- this secret is truly her undoing. She fidgets, settling herself firmly into the uncomfortable chair.

And then it comes, her concession, “What do you want?”

Yoongi nearly lunges forward with how eager he is to outline your terms. “Release Jimin from his contract. Let Y/n go and relinquish the bullshit claim you have on her. Don’t punish Jin for working for the FBI and never contact me again for my responsibilities as a beta. Leave us alone- never touch us again and you can have your empire. We won’t say a word to anyone about your true sub-gender.” He lays his hands flat on the table. "But lay a finger on any one of my packmates and I'll tell everyone what you really are."

Moonbyul is a manipulator first and foremost, and a good one at that, you don’t know if it’s honesty or a simple tactic when she turns to Tae and appeals to her.

“You’d let them do this for what? One female alpha to the other?” Moonbyul’s eyes are too empty for her to be totally honest. Jungkook can’t stop his flinch. She knows what she’s doing. How to find the weak spots in your conviction and press at them.

“One trans person to another? You'd let them forcefully out me? don't you know how wrong that is?”

You physically can’t look at her, you have to look away- and Jimin looks like he wants to punch her, jaw rolling- preparing to spit before Tae splays her hands on the table, chipped nail polish catching the light.

Tae struggles to find the right words. “I don’t know if your reasons are the same as mine.”

Moonbyul scoffs, crossing her arms. The mask slips at the same second. “Sure they are. You chose to become a woman rather than stay a man because you liked the set of qualities your life could have as a woman better. That's no different from me choosing to be an alpha over an omega because it gave my pack and me the most security.”

You know, you know in your heart that security isn't what Moonbyul's after, it's always been power, but Tae's scent starts to leak around the scent blockers, going sour.

Tae sits back in her chair. “That’s the thing- it wasn’t a choice.”

Moonbyul’s fingernails are digging into her arms in an effort to keep her hands busy. “Was it? You were comfortable being a man once until the risks outweighed the benefits of not being honest with the people you love. That seems like a choice to me- if it wasn’t a choice- you’d never have had to tell anyone- they’d just have known.”

Moonbyul has always had a terrible knack for finding people's soft spots, Hoseok knows this, and yet he can't say anything. Can't come to Tae's defense. Can't scream at her to shut up- to not touch Tae. To not find the weakest link or perhaps a link she can exploit.

Tae’s hands tighten into a fist and she swallows, before standing up from the table. Noodle falls to the floor with a jingle of his bell collar and an offended meow. Tae leaves the room heading up the stairs and leaves you behind. Done with Moonbyul and the conversation, A choice in itself. You follow her, heading upstairs after Tae with not even a glance in Moonbyul’s direction.

Moonbyul laughs and laughs and laughs, it’s a little unhinged. The pack stays silent. They just watch her. Yoongi settles into his shoulders and when she leans back in the chair and tucks her hair behind her ear, she’s still smiling.

“Alright cousin, let’s draw up terms.”

The family does things in old ways, a smear of Yoongi’s blood and Moonbyul’s blood on the bottom of a slip of paper and their names ink signed. A red seal printed with both of their initials. Paper that Jin will burn up later because what’s written on it could condemn them all. She also writes up a release of Jimin’s contract too- this one does not get burned. While Jin types up his resignation too.

“I’d still laser off your fingerprints if I were you.” Jimin is already planning on it. He’s not too worried about the loss of income or the family possibly rolling on him and using his long history of murder to put him in jail. He still has his other job after all.

In the end, Moonbyul leaves not with a bang, but with the click of the closing door, soft as all can be. Violent with the gentleness of her actions when she gets up from the table and says goodbye to Yoongi and only Yoongi. But when she makes to leave, she has to pass by the stairs where you wait.

You do not speak from up on top of the stairs, where you’d gone after Tae and left after she told you she was fine, that she wanted to be alone for a moment. Now Moonbyul smiles from the bottom step. Her teeth catch the light like the pearls at the bottom of the ocean.

“I guess it was never going to be us, was it?” Her eyes flick to the mark on your neck and all at once you’re reminded of the feeling of it;

Geumjae’s teeth sink into your throat, the pulse of your veins around his teeth, the feeling of his tongue hitting your skin and the pain and shock of it. Her smiling feels like that. Her smiling up at you makes it feel like she’s taking something from you.

“There is something in you that’s hungry pup- hungry for more than they can give you. And when they realize that- when they realize that you’re more like me than like Tae- Don’t worry, I’ll be waiting for when you decide that this is not enough.”

Your finger trails down the railing of the stairs. You don’t meet her eyes. “That’s the thing isn’t it, I do get to decide, don’t I? It's my choice.”

But Hoseok is there, between you and her, and there’s no one between the two of them. Not Noodle or the others although Yoongi gets up quick and comes over to his side. Both of you hem Hobi in.

“Wait- I just have one question for you- before you go.”

Moonbyul hovers, hand on the door. Almost out of your lives for good. You keep a hand on Hobi’s back, holding him, letting him know you’re there. You can feel the tremble in his shoulders.

“Why did you do it, why did you hurt me like that when you could have just left? I’ve thought through it for years but I’ve never been able to figure it out. Did you know that you were hurting me when you did it?”

“Yes,” there isn’t a bit of remorse in her face, none at all.

Maybe Hoseok is expecting something like this- something like this: “I thought if we broke you down, we might be able to remake you into something great”

“I didn’t need to be changed I just needed you to love me.”

But there is none of that. It’s infuriating and it will bother him for years later but what Hoseok gets is this:

“There wasn’t a reason, we were just bored and waiting for my father to give me the chance to transition.” transition into power or transition into an alpha? She doesn't clarify. She’s remorseless, nothing in her inflection indicates that she regrets what she did.

“You weren’t the first.”

Hoseok feels nauseous like he's going to be sick on the entryway floor. Hobi doesn’t respond and she leaves without a second glance behind her. Out of your lives for good. Leaving Hoseok standing there in the precipice of the door, watching her pull away from the house and staring at the empty driveway after she’s gone. He'll never see her again after today.

Namjoon gets up and opens up a window, clearing the house of her smell of peppermint.

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until you dab your sleeve at his cheek. Yoongi at his front and you holding him from behind, keeping him together as he cries and cries and cries. Jimin puts himself between you two and the door, a knife that he'd tapped under the table in his hands.

Jungkook huffs. "Should have stabbed her when you had the chance Minnie."

Closure escapes him, just out of his fingers. Hoseok wants to run after her and demand an apology. But he doesn’t know what’s better, an apology that’s hollow or none at all. No one talks for a moment while they watch her car pull out of the driveway and leave. No one says a word.

And then Jin gets up from the table and walks over to the kitchen. Namjoon follows him. Tae’s at the top of the steps, she’s changed her clothes from her PJs and washed off the scent blockers. Her hair hangs shaggy and messy over her glossy face, her bangs in a curly pink roller, and her skin pearly from her skincare.

She doesn’t��smell distressed or upset. She doesn’t smell like anything at all but she’s wearing her favorite pink sweater. She comes close, runs her hands through Hobi's hair.

"I'll be fine, just give me a second I just need-"

"You cry for as long as you need to ho-baby."

"Yeah- cry as much as you want, use me as a napkin for all I care." your shirt is wet at the collar where Hobi burrows in.

Jin opens up the pack's liquor cabinet. Small and just to the side of the fridge. None of them really drink- but occasionally patients give Namjoon expensive bottles of whiskey for saving their lives. Jin pours himself a full glass of the most expensive bottle of it. No ice. He pours a second glass for Yoongi without asking. It’s barely noon, but when he asks “who wants a drink?” Seven hands shoot up.

~-~

Please Like, Comment, and Reblog! Every bit of encouragement helps me write the next chapter!

Come tell me what you liked about this chapter!

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~-~

Notes:

the very fist part of this chapter where hoseok and her are on the train was a part that i liked until final edits and then it felt??? idk??? clunky??? maybe a bit repetitive???? idk what it is and it's way too late to fix it T-T

this chapter is really an ode to what i originally thought of for bily, in the og version of this story yoongi was supposed to hate the m/c at the beginning for taking him away from the pack. i think his anger at the end is entirely justified- it's also like- his karma for leaving at the beginning you know? he might take it a bit too far in his reaction but tbh- i think we can cut him some slack for everything he's ever given to the m/c- all of the unconditional love.

i think that the train is like- a metaphor for getting better, or not getting better and keeping going on the reductive patterns that make you sick, because the things that make you feel better- like picking at a sticky scab- will only make you scar deeper. this is the last moment for the m/c, the moment she starts to heal for good.

the moment where hobi and the m/c are walking up to the car and yoongi is there i litterally see him puffing up like a studio ghibli charecter you know? or maybe like noodle whenever yoongi comes close.

honestly- the line where yoongi says that she doesn't love him like he loves her made me fucking sick when i wrote it like???? not me lowkey not giving them a happy ending. but i think that the part of bily thats always been fun to experiment with is how people sometimes people hurting you doesn't change how you feel about them.

did you catch the reasons wreched and divine refrence????

the line that yoongi says “Five? Ten? Sweetheart- I'd last ////5 minutes without you and you won't even look at me long enough too apologize and-" is very much a refrence to what hoseok says to yoongi at the begining of the series "You won’t even tell me now when I'm fucking dying over you, suffocating under the weight of things you just won’t say- and you don’t even care!” and i think thats pretty.

i think the yoongi parts will either make you guys feel vindicated or upset. i think it's up to you if he goes too far when he's angry- but i do think it's very human of him to get so angry like...the m/c is his whole fucking world...he will get over it! don't worry! he's just momentarily angry!

the part between when the pack call her and she arrifes felt really clunky while i was editing it, i decided not to take it down too much because i wanted you guys to feel some of their anticipation- but maybe it's too much. it's this kind of part that might get seriously paired down once i go back through bily and clean it up

"fuck this bitch"- noodle probably

noodle is like my favorite charecter i swear to god i love him so so much. i had the idea that he would be the only one to get some bloodletting in since the very begining of the series before he was ever written into the story. this is also the begining of them sorta being friends like- after this noodle is alot more tolerant of yoongi.

Moonbyul discloses that she has some pretty uncomfy views of being trans in this! i think it's pretty obvious that it's not meant to be like 'this is how all trans people are' and more of an effort to contrast tae- we are also talking like fake secondary genders here as well so- do with that what you will!

i also wanted to make the point with hobi and moonbyul's part at the end that sometimes the people who hurt you have no remorse, you don't get clousrure from them because they'll never admit that they shouldn't have done something. and the biggest closure that you can get is from giving yourself the strenght to let go. in a way- this directly contrasts the parts on the train in the begining. in order to heal a wound you have to stop touching it.

this chapter may feel like an ending in a sense because it is an end of all the mafia parts. truly- after this chapter we won't see any more violence or blood or anything close to the last 6. it's all happy endings from here <3 Thank you for sticking with it!

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theprenderelliepalace · 2 months ago

Text

Not Her

☆•Five x Reader•☆

TAU S4 AU

Summary: Imagine you're the version of Dolores that kept Five sane when he got stuck in the future for 45 years, but you died before Five could save you. So what will he do when your face is the first he sees on the infamous train of time?

Warnings: Grammatical errors, s4 spoilers(!), mentions of character death, no use of y/n, cannon divergence (thank gosh), mentions of self-h*rm, enemies to you know what, angsty central, fighting, swearing etc.

Words: 2.1k (enjoyed writing this a little too much)

•☆•

You could barely remember why you landed up in this neverending subway station anymore. Time after time, arriving at the same moment, it became numbing. The rattling of the train on the tracks an aching lull that pulled you into the darkest corners of your mind. Your dreams were fitful and strange, swirling shapes howled around you, calling you, shaming you.

You woke with a start. The train was at a standstill again, you could make out the debris of another apocalyptic timeline beyond the hazy glass of the cabin. The doors opened, you sighed, your head falling against your knees. You considered the end then. The blissful hum of death beckoned you more than you'd ever known before. The same moment over and over, you couldn't go on like that... It only took a moment, you thought, for it to be done.

Suddenly you heard a noise. A voice. You looked up, startled. It was a man's voice, calling out into the station. Your first instinct is to reach for the knife strapped to your boot. Your hand quivers over the handle, you duck under the benches, inching towards the door. You hide beside the door, waiting for intruder to take his first steps into the cabin. You'll surprise him, it'll be quick and painless.

You itch for the conflict, it's something new, something different from the mundane station to station. It's almost exciting. Being trapped down here for so long, you've forgotten the horror you used to feel for the art of killing. You almost laugh, but steal yourself. Your favorite person in the world used to say that. Like it was a sport. You used to hate him for that, the very notion disgusted you.

Except now, you weren't any different from the Five Hargreeves you'd come to love and hate in the tumbling pattern of a toxic relationship you'd run away from.

The doors slid open. You readied yourself, shifting on your haunches. He stepped fully onto the train, the doors sliding closed behind him, sealing his fate. You artfully stepped out from your hiding place. Your breath hitched, your footsteps dead-silent. You lunged.

Your opponent was too slow. His surprise would be your advantage. You slammed him against the opposite bench. Pressing your knife to his throat. You used your weight to leverage him, ensuring he was ensnared I'm your trap. You made to swipe your wrist, ending his life, but you faltered.

"Fi-Five?" You croak. Your eyes widened, your breath shook. He pushed you off him, sending you hurtling into the doors of the train. You slammed into them with a force that took your breath. You crumpled to the floor. The shock of the blow rendering you dumbstruck.

"Who the hell are you?!" He yelled. His eyes were the eyes you dreamed of so many nights, those loving eyes, those terrifying eyes. They looked at you with so much contempt now. "Talk. Now. Or you die." You hadn't registered him pulling out a small caliber 45 from the holster at his waist. He pointed it straight at your head, unwavering.

"Five..." You sounded desperate, you hated yourself for it, but the need to have him close to you, to be your Five, it was all consuming.

His eyes flickered. His hands shook. "Why do you look like her?" He whispered. You were sure the question wasn't meant for you, but in that moment all yours were answered.

You carefully raised your hands over your head, getting shakily to your feet. "I'm not your version of her." You lowered your head, the false hope that this man had been your Five was shattered, your heart became heavier than before, almost like you lost him all over again. "And you're not him..." You whispered.

"Dolores?" He sounded so confused, so hurt.

You glanced up at him. "I don't go by that anymore. It- it was too painful." You shouldn't be telling this Five anything about yourself, but you can't help it, he's that sick son of a bitch any way you look at him and he's also the man you'd die for twice on Sundays. You can't help the way your heart pulses uncomfortably in your chest as his gaze bores into your soul.

Your new name roles off his tongue like bile. He spits at you like he's angry you made him say it. His gun is quivering in his hands. You can tell his resolve is crumbling. His eyes are wild but still searching yours, willing you to be telling the truth.

You take a daring step towards him, suddenly feeling slightly braver. You shouldn't get involved, you should kill him and forget this ever happened. You should make him hold you again. You're so conflicted it's making your head spin. You reach his outstretched hands, he's watching you so closely it's making you squirm, but he's motionless save for his hands.

You place a gentle palm over the gun, lowering it. He watches you with overflowing sadness. You suddenly think that he must wish you were the right version of you just as badly. He must long for your touch in the same way, dream of your absence the same way you do. He's breathing heavily as your bodies touch, only for a moment but moments feel like lifetimes to you now.

"What is this place?" He chokes, eyes still boring into yours.

"It's a kind of waypoint. The same moment in time across an infinity of timelines." You pause, your hand still gently resting over his. "You need to get off the train Five." You say it like you don't really register the words leaving your mouth and then suddenly it clicks. You grip his hands hard, he pulls back. "You need to get off this train. NOW."

You grab his forearm and begin to pull him towards the doors, they open as you get closer when suddenly he pulls away from you again. You turn to watch him shake his head, his dark hair falling into his eyes. "What about you?"

"I don't matter! Five, if you don't blink out of here now... you'll... you'll be stuck here forever." He's standing there as stubbornly as stone, brows furrowed. "Please Five. Please do this for me!" You gasp as you realize tears are streaming down your cheeks.

"But you-"

"I'm not her! Don't make that mistake. Please, if you ever cared about your version of me, you'll go back to honor her." You interrupt.

"What's honor without a little daring?" He smiles, like he's letting you in on a joke you don't understand.

The train begins to rattle beneath your feet. The strange echos of the voice over the loud speaker begins to boom overhead. You look at him pleadingly, begging him to listen to you. "Dammit Five!" And before you can tell him off, he's pulling you out of the train. You scream as you tumble to the ground but you can barely blink before a mass of energy sucks you into it. You're pulled and prodded and stretched and suddenly you're in the Umbrella mansion, panting.

"I'm gonna be sick." You keel over, Five catches you, pulling you into him.

"Shh. Shh." You almost laugh, to the untrained eye, Five seems to be helping you through your queasy spell, you however, know that he's telling you to shut your mouth.

"Five?" Someone calls from the upper levels of the house. Now that you're looking at it, it's a complete hazard. Floor boards are sticking out of the floor, dust coats the little art work that's still left, the windows are cracked and glazed over. No one's lived in this house for a very long time.

"We have to hide you." He panicks, shoving you out the front door and into the street. He leads you around the house and into a nearby alley.

You groan, your stomach giving a painful lurch. You stop in your tracks, leaning against the closest thing you can find, which happens to be a dumpster. "Two things. First, never, EVER, blink me again. Ever."

"I-"

"SECONDLY, why the hell do I have to hide if you're the one that brought me back to your timeline?!" You'd be angrier, but your queasy stomach and aching brain aren't making it happen.

He sighs, like you've just given him news that he can't wear his favorite suit. "Look, I saved your ass. A thanks Five would be great."

Arrogant little prick. "No thank you. I was fine where I was." You lie. "And you're changing the subject!" He averts his eyes from yours.

"I couldn't leave you, but we have history and well, my family can be rough around the edges when it comes to history." You feel your anger slowly ebb. You remember your Fives family, suddenly hiding behind a dumpster doesn't seem so bad.

"'Kay fine. Fine. Im here now and for what? Because you couldnt let go! God, all you Fives are the same!" He recoils as though you slapped him, you might as well have but what right does he have to bring you here against your will, to control you and pester you like he always does, to save you from suicide. You sigh, deflating. "I'm sorry. That was tactless. I'm angry."

"Thanks, I figured that out. Look, if you want to get back on that train be my guest, but I think I need your help. So, help me?" His voice cracks and you can't help the tug it has on your heart. "If your Five was anything like me, you know it's not easy for us to ask for anything." He gives you a look. "Come on, don't make me say it again..."

You stand up straight, giggling. "Okay Five. I'll help you. But then you help me. Deal?" You square each other up, measuring, testing, it's almost familiar to you.

"Deal."

•☆•

The next few days were, in your humble opinion, absolutely insane. You tried to do things off the books with Five, you really did, to hunt down this Jennifer girl, to help Five get on top of his reawakened powers and then it all went to shit, in other words his family found out.

Now you're driving in a busted up van full of people who hate you for reasons you dont understand all the way to some mystery town to find some guys missing daughter. It's uncomfortable to say the least.

Now that you've been puked on, you've about had enough. "Hey, uh, Diego, can we stop for a second..."

"Don't talk to my brother." Alison barks. You glance at her.

"Should I write him a letter instead?" You seethe. Klaus laughs from beside you which causes the others the groan bitterly.

Diego pulls the van off to the side of the road, allowing for a mass exodus of the Hargreeves family onto the snowy highway. There's bickering and moaning, but you're not really listening to them because Five is staring at you, burning holes into your head.

You sigh. "Something on my face?"

"Yeah. The bitch that almost got us all killed in the last apocalypse we stopped." Viktor answers, glaring, as if trying to make his words stab into you. If anything, he's just making you tired.

"Why you people can't listen, I don't know." You huffed exasperatedly. "I. Am. A. Different. Person. I don't know you people, I don't have your beef, I'm just helping because Five saved my life. End of discussion."

"Like hell you are! That's exactly what a Dolores would say." Alison shouts. Obviously their version of you pissed her off the most. You groan.

"I mean, Five hasn't exactly told us why he brought you here. And the name change? That's pretty suspicious..." Luther adds.

"Guys please. Hating each other is not going to save our behinds. This little lady here, new persona and all is probably going to keep us alive in the long run. If I know a her at all." Klaus chimes in, almost frantic. He reaches to pat your shoulder with a gloved hand, but stops himself midway, with an embarrassed little smile.

The siblings look about as confused as you but before any of them can chip in again, Five clears his throat matter of factly. "The reason she is here is because I trust her. Her powers are how we found this stupid girl in the first place."

"You heard Five. Stop whinging." Lila smiles, coming up behind you and wrapping and arm around your shoulder. "Water under the bridge sweetheart." She smiles sort of creepily at you, but you suppose she's trying to be genuine.

"Okay people. Pack it up, back in the van, if we want to make it on time we've gotta move it." Diego orders. Everyone files back to their seats, but you stare apprehensively at the puke infested floor.

Ben smiles evily at you as he passes, groaning as he flops into his seat. "Want to sit shotgun?" Five asks, smirking his stupid smirk.

"Desperately. But I don't take handouts." With that you climb over Ben and Klaus and plop down into your seat. Wishing you were anywhere else.

You watch Five shrug and clamber into his spot. Diego starts the engine and veers back onto the highway. You're not even on the road for 10 seconds before Ben shouts beside you. You turn suddenly to watch a car ram into the side your truck.

The screaming is unbearable, all you can think of are the flashes of your terrible life. Death and loss and heartbreak. You can remember calling out to Five as the van rolls, slamming into something hard. Your head throbs, your breath catches in your throat. Someone reaches out and grabs your hand and everything goes black...

•☆•

A/n Sorry not sorry for the cliffhanger!

Here's my masterlist if you like my stuffs

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ell0ra-br3kk3r-writes · 7 months ago

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Who's Afraid of Little Old Me?

pairing: (future) james potter x black sister!reader

genre: angst with like maybe a little fluff?

el's thoughts: this is part one! hope yall enjoy! i'm thinking this is a two part fic... we'll see haha

main masterlist | regulus masterlist

The summer before their sixth year would be one to be put in the books.

The whole off-season was spent traveling back and forth between 12 Grimmauld and Malfoy Manor. At first, Y/N didn’t mind since she got to see her beloved older cousin, Narssica. Evenings, after dinner, were spent gossiping with Bella and Cissa. It reminded her of when they were young and it brought her a new sense of comfort until even that was gone once again. Like everything good in her life, it slipped away like a bottle of wine and shattered on the floor. Evening gossip sessions turned to meetings at the large dining table with people she had only heard of before. She clung to Regulus for as long as she could before he too was dragged into the meetings and not long after she followed him. Both of them were initiated into the Deatheaters much against their will but no one would know that.

Platform 9 ¾ was crowded and suffocating and the Black siblings made their way to the train. Their parents decided against escorting them to the station this year in favor of attending an important meeting. Regulus and Y/N truly didn’t mind if it meant not having to hear another lecture before the school year. The only other difference this year was the matching tattoos they had hidden under their black sleeves.

The familiar mop of raven-black curls caught her attention and made her freeze in her steps and her trunk slam into her heels. She saw James Potter jump onto Sirius’ back, both of them shouting in celebration of making it to their seventh year. Remus Lupin stood beside them laughing at their antics with Mr. and Mrs. Potter. Lupin met her eyes and gave her a smile out of sympathy only causing her to roll her eyes and quickly catch up with Regulus.

“The prince of Slytherin and Little Black herself grace us with their presence!”

The sound of the familiar voice pulled a small smile out of Y/N as she made it to their compartment. “Evan.” She nodded politely and sat down next to her designated seat by the window. “Shut up.”

Regulus smirked and sat across the compartment from her, next to Pandora. Barty and Evan sat to the right of Y/N, trying not to bother her since they sensed her sour mood.

The loud commotion of shuffling feet and shoving shoulders could be heard through the glass sliding door of their compartment. No one needed to be told who was making all the noise since the train had taken off already and the Marauders were making their way down the hall to their own compartment. Regulus completely ignored them as they walked by but Y/N felt her heart clench when Sirius came into view, but only for a few fleeting seconds. Pandora gave her a small smile to which she smiled back.

The Great Hall was buzzing with new year excitement and fresh energy from the first-year students. Y/N sat on the left side of the Slytherin table with Regulus by her side and Pandora on her other. While Dumbledore gave his typical speech, Y/N rested her head in the palm of her hand with her elbow on the table. She felt a pair of eyes on her and tried her hardest to ignore them but when she noticed them not leaving her she finally turned her head to look and met eyes that mirror her brother’s next to her. Sirius was whispering into James’ ear while staring at Y/N. She rolled her eyes and flipped him off before directing her attention back to Dumbledore.

“Let the feast begin!”

“About damn time, I’d say,” Barty muttered from across the table causing Y/N to laugh, bringing a smile to her friends’ faces at the sound.

The group ate their meal with a light conversation floating around. All of them avoided the events that occurred over the last few months. Once they all finished they decided to call it an early night and all started heading back to their common room.

In the corridor outside the Great Hall, the marauders stood in a huddle with some of the Gryffindor girls Y/N recognized from some of her classes.

“Reggie!” Sirius’ voice echoed down the hall causing both younger Black siblings to cringe. “How was your summer with Mummy and Daddy?”

“Yes, a pleasure to see you as well, Sirius.”

The older Black seemed to ignore Y/N until Regulus tried to usher her down the hall in the direction of their common room. “Y/N/N, how was your summer coddling up to Mummy Dearest?”

“Sod off, Sirius.”

“Oooh, looks like you found your voice,

“Black…” Evan spoke up from behind in a warning tone. “I’ll give you a fair warning. Stay in your lane.”

Sirius smirked in response, loving the rise he was getting out of the group of younger Slytherins. All the kids he grew up with and was told he should be friends with. “Stay out of it, Rosier.”

“Y/N/N, let’s go.” Regulus placed his hands on her shoulders from behind and guided her away from their brother and his friends.

Sirius scoffed and turned around, “Cowards.”

Y/N’s head snapped up and her fists clenched at her sides as she stepped out of Regulus’ hold. Two years of Sirius living at the Potters. Two years of Y/N hurting from the loss of her older brother. Two years of being looked down upon*. “You would know all about cowardice wouldn’t you, Sirius? Takes one to know one, I’d say.”

Sirius clenched his fist and opened his mouth to speak but Y/N didn’t give him the chance.

“Running away from home? From the consequences of your birthright and last name. Left your younger siblings to deal with the aftermath of it all, didn’t you?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. I had to leave.”

“Maybe you did, but if that’s true then don’t you think we needed to leave as well?”

Sirius stared at her with wide eyes as hurt coursed through his heart at her words.

“That’s what I thought.”

Y/N spun on her heel and walked back to the common room with the others behind her.

Y/N and Regulus Black. The pride and jewels of the Black family. They were nearly school royalty and most would be jealous of the pair. They had everything they could ever wish for coming from one of the most prestigious pureblood families. No one would dare say a word to their faces. But behind their backs? That was a different story.

James had heard so many different stories about the pair from other students and his best mate. Gossip about the Black family constantly flew through the halls and corridors of Hogwarts. He knew Sirius came from a stuck-up pureblood family, his parents told him that when he was young. He knew of all the Sacred Twenty-Eight families. He was also aware that his family could’ve been a part of it had his father chosen so.

He always viewed the Black family as picture-perfect but had learned it was far from the truth. When Sirius shared what his family was like at home, his heart ached for all three Black children. It wasn’t fair for any of them, and they didn’t deserve that life. James knew that. But who was he to overstep the lines of his brotherhood with Sirius and tell him his siblings needed the same help he did? He tried to once and only got into an argument with him. From that moment on, James promised himself he wouldn’t cross that line again. But James had too kind of a heart to follow through with that promise.

Sniffles were heard through the otherwise silent corridor as James froze at the entrance. “Hello?”

A small hiccup sounded followed by muttered cursing.

“Hello? Are you okay?” James treaded slowly down the stone hallway, looking in each of the large alcoves as he passed them.

“I’m fine, go away.”

James’ head tilted at the sound of the slightly familiar voice. “Y/N?”

It wasn’t often that she could be found alone, but then again, it wasn’t often James was alone either.

“I’m fine. Piss off.” Y/N cursed right before James came to the window she was seated at.

James looked her over and noticed her bloodshot eyes and the tear streaks that stained her cheeks. Her right hand tugged at her left sleeve almost begging it to stretch longer over her hand. “What… What happened?”

Y/N laughed humorlessly as she tried to quickly blink away her tears. “You can’t take a hint can you, Potter?”

“I just asked a simple question, Black. No need to be snippy with me.”

Y/N stared at him for a moment too long before forcing her gaze to the window beside her. “I said I’m fine.” Her voice sounded weak and she cursed herself for it.

James lowered himself to the seat across from her. “Is it… is everything at home alright?”

Her eyes snapped back to his, cold and glaring. “Bugger off, won’t you? Don’t ask questions about things you know nothing about and have no right to know about.”

He held his hands up in defense. “Alright, alright. Sorry.”

Y/N’s eyes flooded with confusion at his words. “Wh-why are you sorry?”

“I overstepped a line. Didn’t mean to pry.” He explained gently.

She huffed but didn’t respond for a moment. She avoided eye contact and wrung her fingers together. “I’m fine really.”

“So you said.”

She sniffled quietly, clearing her throat. “So why are you still here?”

“Why are you still here?” James shot back with a quirk of his lips, not at all put off by her nearly bashful behavior.

“I-” Y/N scoffed in frustration. “I was here first, minding my business before you came along to bother me.”

“What if I was just going for a stroll before I decided to take a seat? Not everything is about you, Black.”

“What if it is?” She shot back, her lips settling into a small teasing smile of her own. It’s been so long since she had carried on a normal, light-hearted conversation with someone who hardly knew anything about her. Sure James knew more about her than most, but he was just as much a stranger to her as the next Gryffindor.

‘Beautiful.’ James smiled at the girl across from him as she relaxed and allowed herself a moment to breathe. He can’t remember ever hearing Y/N jest with her friends or seeing her truly smile at anyone other than Pandora or Regulus. He scolded himself for his train of thought. He can’t be thinking of his best friend’s sister as beautiful.

After a beat of silence, Y/N smiled shyly at James. “Thanks.”

“For what?” He smirked.

She rolled her eyes and glared at him playfully causing him to chuckle.

“You’re welcome.”

The pair went their separate ways, not bringing up the encounter to any of their friends. Keeping the moment for themselves, both deciding it was too precious to share.

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x you #james potter x y/n #james potter imagines #harry potter #harry potter x reader #harry potter imagines #regulus black x sister!reader #sirius black x sister!reader #regulus black x reader #sirius black x reader #ellora.writes

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kinascum · 2 months ago

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ECHOES OF HIS TOUCH ⋆ ˚｡⋆

gale cleven x innocent!reader

wc: 1.7k | summary: gale's return home after years of war ignites a deeply emotional reunion, where love, longing, and healing intertwine in a moment of intense intimacy. | nav - taglist

18+ MDNI. emotional intensity. explicit content. themes of war. piv. virginity loss. fluff.

A/N! repost from my old account, which is now my personal account! feel free to peek @kinaslie

You stand in the crowded train station, the sound of distant trains and murmuring travelers a stark contrast to the quiet anticipation in your chest. It's been years since you've seen him, and the thought of his return sends a thrill of excitement coursing through your veins. The digital clock above the ticket counter ticks away the seconds, each one feeling like an eternity as you wait for the moment Gale Cleven steps off that train.

As the metallic beast pulls into the station, the doors slide open with a hiss and a groan. A flood of soldiers, weary from battle, begin to spill out onto the platform. Each one carries the weight of untold stories etched into their faces. You scan the sea of uniforms, your heart pounding in your chest like a drum. And then you spot him, his eyes locking onto yours through the throng. Gale's smile is like a beacon in the fog of war-weary faces, lighting up the gloomy station.

He strides towards you, the familiar lilt in his step that's somehow remained untouched by the horrors of war. His arms open wide, and without a word, you rush into his embrace. The fabric of his military jacket is coarse against your skin, but the warmth of his body envelops you like a comforting blanket. His scent, a mix of musk and distant lands, fills your nose. You breathe it in greedily, feeling like you've come home.

Tears stream down your face as you cling to him, your mind racing with the years that have passed and the fear that he might not have come back at all. Gale's grip tightens around you, his breath warm on your neck as he whispers reassurances. "I'm here," he says, his voice a gentle rumble. "I'm home." His words are like a balm to your soul, soothing the raw edges of your fears and worries.

The world around you fades away, leaving only the two of you standing in the noisy station. You pull back to look at him, your eyes searching his for any signs of the pain he must have endured. They're the same piercing blue you remember, but there's a depth to them now, a maturity that wasn't there before. He wipes a tear from your cheek, his thumb lingering for a moment before he takes your hand and leads you out of the station, into the blinding sunlight and the promise of a future you've both been fighting for.

You walk through the town, the familiar cobblestone streets feeling like a dream under your feet. His hand in yours is the only anchor you need. Each step feels like a silent dance, a ballet of two souls reunited after a long and perilous journey. The air is electric with the anticipation of what's to come, a slow burn that's been simmering between you for years. You've written letters, shared stories, and dreamed of this moment, but nothing could have prepared you for the reality of having him back.

You reach your small cottage on the outskirts of town, the ivy that climbs the walls a testament to the time that's passed. Gale looks around, his eyes taking in every detail, as if he's trying to memorize the sight of it. His gaze lingers on the porch swing where you used to sit together, sharing secrets and whispered promises. With a gentle tug, he leads you inside, the door creaking open to reveal a space that's remained unchanged, frozen in time. The sun filters through the lace curtains, casting a warm glow over the simple furnishings, highlighting the dust motes that dance in the air.

He sets his duffel bag down with a thud, and you watch as he moves through the rooms, his eyes lingering on photographs and knick-knacks that you've collected over the years. "It's just like I remembered," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion.

You sit down at the kitchen table, the same one where you used to do homework together, and he pulls out a chair, sitting so close that his leg brushes against yours. He reaches out, tentatively at first, to touch your cheek, tracing the line of your jaw with his thumb. His eyes are intense, searching for any hint of doubt or fear. "You're so beautiful," he says, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down your spine.

The air between you crackles with tension, the kind that comes from years of longing and a thousand unspoken words. You lean into his touch, your eyes closing as his hand moves to cradle the back of your neck. His mouth finds yours in a kiss that's tender and sweet, a promise of what's to come. It's a moment that feels like forever, a perfect encapsulation of every emotion that's built up within you.

Gale pulls back, his eyes searching yours. "Are you sure?" he asks, his voice a gentle whisper. You nod, unable to find the words to express the certainty that fills you. He smiles, a soft curve of his lips that reaches his eyes, and leans in again, this time with more urgency. His kiss is a declaration, a silent vow that you're ready to hear.

You stand, taking his hand, and lead him up the stairs to the bedroom you've shared so many times in your dreams. The floorboards creak beneath your feet, a nostalgic sound that seems to echo the beating of your hearts. As you reach the door, he stops you, turning you to face him. "I need to hear it," he says, his thumb brushing your bottom lip. "Tell me you want this."

The words come out in a rush, a breathless whisper. "I do. I want this, Gale. I want you." His eyes darken with desire, and he scoops you up into his arms, carrying you over the threshold. The room is bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, the bed neatly made but untouched since he left. He sets you down on the mattress, his hands trembling slightly as he unbuttons his shirt, revealing the muscled chest that's seen so much.

He lays beside you, his hand tracing the curve of your waist, the swell of your hip. His touch is reverent, as if he's afraid you might shatter in his hands. You reach up to cup his cheek, your thumb caressing the line of his jaw as you chuckle. "I'm not going anywhere."

The tension snaps like a bowstring, and he kisses you again, his hands roaming over your body with a gentle urgency. You feel the warmth of his skin, the steady beat of his heart against your own. He takes his time, exploring every inch of you with his mouth and hands, worshipping you like the treasure you are. When he finally enters you, it's with a soft groan that mingles with your gasp of pleasure. The pain is brief, a fleeting reminder of the innocence you're leaving behind.

He whispers sweet nothings into your ear, praising your beauty, your strength, your courage. You wrap your legs around him, holding on tight as he moves with a rhythm that feels like it's been written into your very soul. Each stroke is a promise, a declaration of love that's been forged in the fires of war and tempered by time. Your breaths mingle, your bodies joined in a dance that's both new and as old as the stars.

As you reach the pinnacle together, your cries of ecstasy fill the room, echoing through the quiet house like a battle cry of triumph. For a moment, the world stops, and all that exists is the two of you, intertwined in a web of passion and love. Gale holds you close, his breathing ragged, his heart racing against yours. He whispers your name like a prayer, his arms tightening around you as if he's afraid you might vanish.

And in that moment, you know that you've come home. That this is where you're meant to be, with this man who's seen the worst of humanity and still chooses to love you with all that he is. You lay in his arms, the sweetness of the moment lingering, the warmth of his embrace a cocoon around you. The world outside can wait, because right now, all that matters is the two of you, together again in the soft embrace of the night.

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ballblender · 1 year ago

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Could I request some headcanons for GoM + Kiyoshi helping their scared s/o on the train? I’ve never been on one before and I’d be so nervous. Death grip on their hands fr

a/n: Thanks for the ask!! I'll also include Kagami if that's okay! :) Btw anon, i recommend trying out the train (unless you live rural and far away from a station, or already know how to drive lol), it's honestly so convenient :) also jshdghd they might ooc because i honestly haven't watched the show in almost a year

GoM + Kiyoshi comforting their scared S/O on the train

cw: fluff, gn reader, idk - trains???, not proofread, my writing is never proofread LOL

Kuroko

"Y/N...what are you doing?"

It's a strange sight to see his usually smiley and happy partner currently cowering as the train rumbles. The carriage is full of passengers, standing tall above the pair.

"Don't laugh but, I...I don't use the train very often...or ever, at that."

Kuroko's face contorts to confusion.

"...so, this must be scary for you, right, Y/N?" Kuroko asks, smiling reassuringly as you bod in response.

"That's okay, I'm here with you. Just hold my hand."

He wasn't expecting you to grab onto him like he was your saviour, but giggled softly anyway.

He kisses your cheek, whispering how he'll have to take you out on dates more often so you can get used to the train.

Kagami

(having a little liberty this time since he wasn't technically part of the ask)

When your boyfriend told you that he'd show you around America, you were excited, as you should've been. Not much about the place seemed to matter to you right now though, as you stand, cramped up in the damp-smelling train of the New York City Subway.

Kagami himself appears unfazed by the way the carriage rumbles, the random coughing from every direction, the flickering lights, not even the rat licking up an old coffee stain on the floor.

"Taiga..."

"Yeah, what's up?"

"...I-I wasn't prepared for America to be this...how do i put it...ratholey?

Kagami laughs out loud, smiling broadly.

"That's a good way to describe New York."

You chuckle along with him, each other's laughter serving as a better light than whatever was short-circuiting above you both.

You hold his hand, and he holds yours, resting his palm on your thigh, as he rubs your knee with his thumb.

"LA is better than this, I promise."

Aomine

"Idiot...why are you scared?"

You can practically feel Aomine's mocking smirk forming, even if your eyes are shut and your face is buried in his chest.

"I don't use trains...you know I walk to school..."

Aomine's eyes roll as he sighs.

"Well, better get used to it now, or how are you gonna live in this city as an adult?"

It's these occasional moments of wisdom that draw you to Aomine. Until he of course ruins it.

"Unless you want me to piggyback you everywhere like a baby."

"Shut up."

He chuckles, stroking a few loose strands of your hair from your face.

"Kidding. I'm not gonna break my back carrying your ass."

You huff in annoyance at his comment, your hands finding his as your face buries into his chest even harder. He chuckles, squeezing your hand and kissing the crown of your head.

"I told you to shut up."

Midorima

"Oha Asa predicted (Your Star Sign) would not suffer any misfortunes today, you shouldn't worry." Midorima says this so matter-of-factly, it's scary.

"I-I know that...but it's still scary, Shin."

Midorima casually wraps a hand around your shoulder and pulls you slightly closer to him.

"You really should travel by train more often. In the future, what if a job you want requires you to travel by train? Don't be scared." he says his last sentence with a little smile, an uncharacteristic one at that, yet you find it so endearing.

Midorima has always been like this, acting less like a boyfriend, and more like a proper spouse, a husband you can share anything with, and be free of judgement, well, except from Oha Asa's.

You then feel him slip a small bangle onto your wrist.

"Your lucky item today is a silver bangle. But, I want you to wear it whenever you go on a train, okay? In fact, wear it everywhere, then I'll be with you."

You look down at the bangle, admiring the small 'M' engraved along it.

"I will...I'll wear it all the time. Thank you, Shin."

As he takes hold of your hand, you suppress a giggle; he'd already given you your lucky item earlier that day, a animal eraser. He must've been looking for an excuse to spoil you.

Murasakibara

The carriage rumbling: the murmurs of students: the ringing of phones. It was a lot to take in, especially since the last time you used the train was when you were a kid.

It especially didn't help that your giant of a boyfriend was crunching on snacks, the sound only adding to your unease.

"Mmph...this flavour's nice."

"Atsushi."

He turns to you and swallows the mouthful.

"Yeah, Y/N?"

"Could you...hold my hand?"

"Ehh? But how will I eat my snacks?"

"...use your other hand."

"But that hand's for holding the bag!"

This little dispute carries on for a while until he suggests, and you (hesitantly) decide to sit on his lap, perched on his thighs as he continues chomping away.

Weirdly, you do feel safe. Too bad you'll be getting crumbs all over you.

Kise

"So then my boss told me that-"

Although Kise is great at telling his stories, both about his modeling work and about Kasamatsu's never-ending impatience with him, you truly couldn't care less in this moment.

Your shoulders press together as the carriage shakes. The contact is hot and unpleasant, despite Kise's joyful face.

Your forehead begins to sweat, the air in the train is damp and humid.

"Kise, c-can you stop talking for just a second?"

"E-eh? Why? I was just getting to the good part!"

"I really don't feel well..."

Upon your words, Kise looks up at the announcement bar, and grabs your hand.

"Come on, Y/N, let's get off at this station."

"Huh? This isn't our stop though..."

He chuckles, the train coming to a stop, as he leads you out.

"I can't have you fainting on me! Let's cool down with a drink or something, my treat!"

You smile at the offer.

"Alright."

Akashi

While you and Akashi would usually walk together, or get rides in his limo, today he decided to use the train. You honestly didn't question it, Akashi always had his reasons for doing what he did.

What you forgot, however, was that you've never actually been on the train before.

It's more...suffocating than you were imagining, despite passing by the beautiful hills and landscapes. Akashi is drawn to them, staring out of the window with a small smile painted across his face.

You, however, can't ignore the other passengers. The sneezing lady, the sniffling office worker, the crying baby. It's a lot all at once.

"Y/N? ...What are you doing?"

You realize that, subconsciously, you covered your ears with your hands.

"Ah, sorry."

"...Do you not like the train?"

"...I...i've just never been on one before..."

A slight silence forms between the two of you.

Akashi's fingers slowly find yours.

As your hands squeeze together, you know it'll be alright.

Kiyoshi

You're with the rest of the Seirin team, walking back from a game (Kiyoshi managed to convince Riko to let you watch from the bench), when Riko rounds up everybody to get their attention.

"Okay everybody! We have to meet up early tomorrow, so let's get the next train out of here."

Everybody nods in agreement, and you realise, you've never actually been on a train before. Kiyoshi's hand squeezes yours as soon as your expression changes.

"Y/N? What's wrong?"

"I've...never been on a train before."

He blinks for a moment.

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah..."

Kiyoshi chuckles.

"Well, what is it that you're so afraid of?"

"Just...never thought i'd have to go on one."

Kiyoshi chuckles again, shaking his head slightly.

"We'll have to go on dates more often to help you get used to it then."

-------

a/n 2: sorry for the lack of posts, and more sorry to this anon for how late this post is. ill try better to post more often hehe

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oliversrarebooks · 1 month ago

Text

The Rare Bookseller Part 70: Alexander's Punishment

Previous > Masterlist > Next

tw: mind control, body control, captivity, hand whump, eye whump, everything whump, stabbing, psychological torment

September 1905

There was no possibility of Fitz relaxing, of course. Not when both his fate and Lex's hung in the balance. Not when tonight would make the difference between a life of freewheeling theater and travel and laughter and a life where his body was no longer his own and his mind was tortured out of him bit by agonizing bit.

He idly flipped through a catalog that Lily had left on her coffee table, trying to trick himself into being interested in fine wool housecoats and imported cosmetics. The tick of the cuckoo clock on the wall was loud enough to be deafening, and the cheerful floral wallpaper felt as though it were closing on on him. He wished that he could pray -- but then, none of the gods he'd ever heard of were likely to want to help a vampire succeed in his mission.

Lex usually tried to conceal his feelings from Fitz, blocking off their shared mental connection, but tonight was different, perhaps because all of his mental efforts were directed towards controlling his platoon of vampire hunters. Fitz could feel his fear, tempered by his determination, and just the briefest flashes of hope. At one point, Lex consciously reached out to Fitz, calming him, and Fitz closed his eyes and allowed himself to soak up the comfort.

His chest ached with the intensity of Lex's fear.

The cuckoo clock was becoming unbearable.

A sudden terror washed over Fitz, and then everything went quiet. Fitz's heart skipped a beat, knowing what this might mean and wishing he didn't. And then Lex's command echoed through his mind, clear as a bell.

"Run."

The clock chimed.

"Fuck," he muttered to himself, standing up. It was over. The worst had happened. They'd lost.

He had to go. That's what Lex wanted him to do. Lex had handed him a small fortune in loose bills and very clear instructions, and Fitz had no desire to still be here when Lex's sire arrived. He could hail a cab, get to the train station, hop on the first train out. He could ride it as far as it would go, or hop in another state and try to get on a boat to another country -- somewhere he couldn't be found. He needed to do it right now, before it was too late.

His hands felt slick with sweat as he grasped the wad of bills. He knew exactly what he needed to do, but actually doing it meant acknowledging the worst -- that Lex had lost, that the future they'd hoped for had gone up in smoke, that he'd probably never see Lex again. That he might be lucky if he never saw Lex again.

He really should have known that this was all too good to be true.

Just as Fitz dug deep for the willpower needed to get his feet moving, Lily appeared in the doorway of the parlor, disheveled. "Lily," Fitz croaked, his mouth gone dry. "I think Lex failed. I need to leave now."

"Mmm." She looked intently at the floor, not moving from the doorway.

"You could go too. There's still a few hours before sunrise, but I don't know what you'd do after that. But I don't think you want to face your sire either," he said. "But I have to run now. I need to make it to the train station before…"

"Showtime, Fitz."

Fitz's eyes went wide, his mind starting to shut down before he could even register what was happening. "What? Why?" he asked, struggling to keep his eyes open as he began to slump over.

"Shh." Lily approached him, taking him in her arms and laying his head on her shoulder, stroking the back of his head. Fitz was fighting the enthrallment with everything he had, but he still couldn't pull away from her. "Shh, Fitz, it's showtime. Just sleep now, Fitz."

"Don't…"

"I'm sorry. I really am sorry this time. I don't want to do this, but I had an order from my sire, just a few moments ago. I have to keep you here, or else he'll torture my Nellie along with you." She brought Fitz, now limp and pliable against his will, over to the couch, and laid him down with his head in her lap.

The floral wallpaper was a blur as his eyelids began to flutter shut. "You betrayed me. You betrayed Lex," he managed.

"I can't simply disobey my sire, and Lex knows that. He knows this is a consequence of his failure. I'm sorry. I know it doesn't mean much that I'm sorry, but I am. But you'll be taken either way, don't you see? Even if I tried to help you escape, he'd only hunt us both down. It's better this way." She pet Fitz gently as he fell under her spell. "For what it's worth, Lex couldn't save me either."

Perhaps he was just imagining it because his vision was blurring, but Lex thought he saw tears in her eyes. "What do you…?"

"Shhh, just sleep. Get some rest and comfort while you can. Just sleep, dear, and have a lovely dream."

A loud, crisp snap caused him to open his eyes. He was no longer on the couch with Lily. Instead, he was in in the middle of a nightmare. He was standing ramrod straight, stiff as a board, in front of the Maestro. His pitch black suit made him look like a tear in the fabric of reality.

The panic within him felt like it would make his heart leap from his chest. Lex had just tried to kill him. They both had. If the Maestro had burned him merely for showing off on the auction house stage, what would he do as revenge for attempted murder? Fitz was very certain that he'd be better off dead.

The only small comfort was the wound on the Maestro's neck, mostly concealed by his collar, but visible nonetheless. At least one person had managed to touch the untouchable.

"Good evening, Fitzwilliam," said Lex's sire in that musical voice that did not reveal his cruelty. "It seems as though Alexander was eager for me to begin your training a day early."

Fitz wasn't sure his question would be tolerated, but he had to ask anyway. "Where is he, sir?"

"Alexander is in his customary cell in my dungeon, bound in silver. He will remain there without comfort and without blood for some time. He has not yet been punished, as I needed to collect you first."

Apparently, being locked in a dungeon and bound in burning metal didn't count as punishment. "I would like to see him, sir," he said. Maybe if he could at least see Lex, and put on a brave face, it would give him some small relief -- which was why he was certain the Maestro would not allow it.

"And so you shall," said the Maestro, to Fitz's surprise. "Lily."

"Yes, sire."

Fitz hadn't even realized that Lily was standing behind him until she stepped forward. She looked only at her sire, as though Fitz weren't even there, resignation written on her face.

"Oh, Lily." The Maestro took her hand gently, oh so gently, and ran his hand over hers several times before snapping her index finger with a sickening crack. "You knew about this." He snapped her middle finger. Lily barely flinched. "You knew about this, and you didn't see fit to warn me." Her ring finger was next. Fitz felt lightheaded from the sounds and the sight of her digits unnaturally bent. "I can understand why you didn't. You'd be a fool if you didn't wish me dead, and I know very well you aren't a fool." Her smallest finger was bent all the way backwards. "You aren't a fool, unlike your sire-brother. That's why I'm so disappointed in you. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sire," she said, her voice wavering.

"I will attend to your further punishment later, but I must see to Alexander tonight," he said. "You will need to be patient."

"Yes, sire."

"Very well then, I'm off. Follow." He snapped at Fitz, and Fitz's body followed him out the door as though he were a wind-up toy soldier, his legs refusing to obey him no matter how much he pleaded.

The night breeze blew through his hair, and Fitz wondered if this was the last time he'd ever feel it. Was this the last of his autonomy? Would he ever be free again? He'd squandered his precious freedom while he'd had it, always wanting more, more, more. And now he would have nothing, not even his own body and mind.

There was a carriage waiting outside of Lex's house, and it was, unsurprisingly, as black as the night, with black horses to match. The Maestro didn't acknowledge the coachman as he entered the carriage, pulling Fitz in after him, and Fitz guessed that this was another thrall. Fitz found himself compelled to sit next to Lex's sire -- no, his new master, wasn't he? -- as the carriage lurched forward.

Fitz was a child again, sitting up straight next to his father, watching and listening so carefully for the inevitable disapproval and punishment.

The Maestro took one of Fitz's hands. His skin was like a doll's, or like fine china, smooth and cold. Fitz couldn't stop himself from letting out a whimper, sure that his fingers were about to be broken just like Lily's. But instead, the Maestro rolled up one of his sleeves and ran a finger up his arm.

"Exquisite. I will need to exercise caution when I scar you, lest I mar the canvas."

"Scar me, sir?"

"You should realize that I am presenting you with an opportunity that few are ever given, the opportunity to be made perfect. You should be grateful."

Fitz swallowed hard. "Yes, I am grateful, sir." Before he could register it, his ears were ringing from the slap to his face.

"You lie very prettily, but you still lie."

Fitz knew this game. Search for the thing that would appease him and spare Fitz the pain. "I will have to learn to appreciate the opportunity, sir."

"Better." The Maestro sighed and leaned back just slightly, not relaxing at all, still as stiff as a steel bar. "I was expecting a quiet evening before all of this nonsense began, you know."

He couldn't actually expect Fitz to feel sorry for him, did he? Fitz kept his head low and said nothing, wondering what the punishment would be for ignoring his new master.

Several long minutes passed by in silence before Fitz realized he wasn't being punished. His body was still in the vampire's grip, but the Maestro himself was staring out the window as they rode through city streets.

Fitz took what little range of movement he was allowed to look out the window himself. If only he weren't being held, he could take this moment to leap from the carriage and flee. The momentary fantasy danced before his eyes -- running through alleyways to evade the vampires, begging and busking for money, leaving on the farthest train out of town before the sun set the next day.

It was all just a fleeting fantasy to take his mind away from the present moment, one which crumbled to dust when they arrived at the Maestro's manor. It managed to be as foreboding as its occupant, surrounded by a high wrought iron fence and a stone courtyard. Every window was shuttered, with no hope for sunlight in daytime and no indication of life at night. The paint and trim were eerily pristine for a house so old that otherwise appeared to be abandoned, as though it were frozen in a time long gone.

As he drew nearer to the dread entrance, Fitz strained as hard as he could to stop himself from following along behind the vampire and sealing his fate, to no avail. All too soon, the moon and the stars and the city streets were gone, possibly for good.

The inside of the manor was pitch dark, the only light the faint flicker of a gas lamp from a distant room. If Fitz had to navigate the manor himself, he would never be able to do it without fumbling and bumping into walls. Instead, he was being moved effortlessly through the blackness, as though he'd been untethered from the Earth and was now floating in a starless night sky. His stomach lurched as he was puppeted down a steep spiral staircase, the air growing cold and dank as he went down, and down, and down.

Finally, the Maestro lit a weak lamp, which flickered and guttered as though it did not want to be here any more than Fitz did. As his eyes adjusted, Fitz could make out iron bars and stone walls. Occasional soft groans and rattling of chains made it seem as though it was inhabited by ghosts.

Perhaps it was. Perhaps Fitz was a ghost as well, a poor soul who was already dead and simply hadn't realized it yet.

The Maestro wordlessly brought the lamp over to one of the cells. The flame was reflected in blue eyes, eyes so dull and lifeless that Fitz nearly didn't recognize them.

Lex.

He was slumped over against the wall, wrists and ankles bound in heavy silver cuffs. To Fitz's surprise, he seemed physically uninjured, but mentally, he was a million miles away. He didn't look up at Fitz, and Fitz couldn't call out to him, even if he wanted to.

Fitz wished he could be a million miles away as well, dream himself to wherever Lex had gone and leave their bodies behind in this miserable cell.

There was a wooden crate next to Lex, and the Maestro picked it up and dropped it in front of Fitz with a rattle. His head was directed downwards so that he could peer into it. It was filled with wooden stakes and silver knives of many different shapes and sizes, some roughly hewn and some with delicately wrought handles, all sharp and ready.

"These are the material goods that I confiscated from the intruders Alexander invited into my house," said the Maestro, as Fitz flinched from hearing his voice so suddenly after so long in complete silence. "They are weapons that are used to kill vampires, of course, but they are only fatal if the vampire is stabbed through the heart or beheaded. Otherwise, they only cause immense pain, and wounds that are difficult to heal."

Fitz felt himself bend over, forced to pick up a serrated silver knife, weighty and cold in his hand.

"That is why you will not be stabbing Alexander in the heart or the neck."

Fitz's arm was pulled upwards, a puppet on strings. Lex didn't even look as Fitz's body stabbed the knife into his thigh, not even making a sound when the Maestro compelled Fitz to twist the knife, dark blood gushing forth and pooling on the floor.

"Alexander meant for these weapons to be driven deep within my heart," the Maestro said. "It is a mercy, then, that I am avoiding any place that would kill him."

The next knife was driven into Lex's face, his beautiful face, and Fitz was not even able to close his eyes or look away as thick, chilled blood ran down his hand and around his wrist. He couldn't block the sight. He couldn't block the smell.

It had been easy to think that this would all be worth it, when he was safe in bed with Lex and the Maestro was a distant threat, one which could be thwarted. It had been easy to think that, even if he were captured and it all ended in tragedy, that Lex would never regret it, that even in captivity and torture he could comfort himself by knowing that it had all been worth it for a moment where he'd felt wanted.

It had to be. It had to be worth it. Or else…

Everything felt like a nightmare as Fitz was made to take the implements from the box, one by one, each one finding its home in a wound on Lex's body. Pretending like this was a nightmare, like none of this was real, was the only way Fitz could endure this. Judging by the emptiness in Lex's eyes, the way he barely looked at Fitz, he was doing the same.

Lex's body would heal from this, but who could say if his mind would?

How many times had something like this already happened to him?

What if this was what it was like from now on? Fitz forced to torture Lex each day until neither of them recognized the other? The Maestro could do that, if he wanted.

After an eternity, the box of weapons was empty. Lex was barely recognizable, lying in a pool of dark blood and silver knives. Some of the knives were still sticking out of his body. He was slumped over, unmoving.

He wasn't dead, Fitz knew he wasn't dead, but it might be better for Lex if he were.

"You've played your part adequately, child," said the Maestro. "As I expected, Alexander decided to care about you, enough to risk… this." He walked closer, standing just behind Fitz, with Fitz unable to move or even flinch. "I want you to answer this honestly. Do you think you were worth all of this pain?"

Fitz couldn't even pretend to himself that it wasn't an easy answer. "No, sir. I'm not."

"Of course not," he said with something dangerously close to amusement. "Hopefully Alexander will learn an important lesson from it."

He'd learn that it had been a mistake to care about Fitz. That's what this had been about all along.

Fitz felt himself turned around to face the Maestro. He looked Fitz up and down with disdain, and Fitz was acutely aware of how much of Lex's blood had soaked through his suit.

"Because your presence has been educational, I won't punish you for Alexander's trangression," he said, and Fitz almost laughed at the notion that he hadn't already been punished. "After all, a thrall as yourself couldn't possibly know better. No, child, I intend to reward you with the gift of my tutelage. I will make you perfect."

He pulled out a single black glove from his pocket, put it on, and used one finger to tilt Fitz's chin upwards so that he was looking straight into cold, dark eyes. "I have no doubt that you'll commit transgressions of your own that will require punishment, in due time."

Committing transgressions was one thing Fitz excelled at. And he might as well commit one now while his tongue was still in his head.

"I wish Lex would've killed you, sir."

He tried not to look terrified as he stood, anticipating the torture that he had been fearful of all night -- no, the torture he'd been fearful of since that day in the auction house. A part of him wanted it to happen, to end the dreadful uncertainty. But after several long minutes, it was apparent that it wasn't coming. Not yet.

"No doubt," said the Maestro. "Unfortunately, despite his considerable innate talent, my Alexander is a failure more often than not. I do hope you won't be like him."

Previous > Masterlist > Next

Next week: How Alexander was initially broken.

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