#rich set a fire and he burned down the house

[chaoticjazz]

OMG, DID YOU GUYS HEAR THAT RICH SET A FIRE AND BURNED DOWN A HOUSE??

[a-is-for-arson]

Looking through the window, I may appear to be having a riveting conversation with someone on my phone, but really I'm lipsynching to The Smartphone Hour

[im-not-a-l0ser]

"He's gotta really learn to handle his high, he shouldn't drink so much for a small guy." "He's gotta really learn not to smoke a lot, he shouldn't get so high for a tiny guy."

He's trying to escape both his home life and the evil Kermit in his head, I think he deserves to get a little intoxicated.

[sonarspace]

❝ TOUCH ME, TAKE ME, KISS ME ❞

ft. gojo, geto & shoko. (4some)

꒰ synopsis. where celebrating new year’s with your best friends turns into something much more intimate—one kiss at midnight isn’t nearly enough.

warnings. MDNI. college au. fem! reader, fōursome, mutual pining, unprotected p in v, orāl (f! and m! receiving), fingerıng (f! and m! receiving), clıt stimulation, overstimulation, dirty talk, shared partner dynamics, voyeurism, slight dom/sub vibes, hair pulling, teasing, praise kink, body worship, light biting/marking, cųm play, & multiple orgasmś.

the cabin was exactly what you’d expect from satoru gojo – unnecessarily luxurious, tucked away on the outskirts of a snowy mountain town, and equipped with every amenity that screamed rich kid with too much money to burn.

“seriously, satoru, who the hell needs a jacuzzi in their living room?” shoko teased, setting her duffel down by the entryway. the bubbling water glowed from the built-in lights, steam curling lazily into the warm space.

gojo smirked, shoving his hands into the pockets of his black hoodie. “it’s about the vibes, shoko. the experience. and, i dunno, maybe i just like having options.”

geto, sitting cross-legged on the couch, glanced up from his phone. “yeah? and when’s the last time you used it?”

“hey, i brought you guys here, didn’t i? sounds like ungrateful energy to me,” gojo shot back, though his grin didn’t waver.

you chuckled softly, toeing off your boots near the fireplace, letting the heat seep through your socks. the large windows stretched across the far wall, showcasing the snow falling steadily outside, blanketing the trees under the silver moonlight.

“he’s right, though,” you chimed in, peeling off your jacket. “we could’ve rung in the new year at some regular house party. but instead, we’re here. cozy, secluded... not the worst way to spend our last new year as college students.”

“see? someone gets it,” gojo said, flashing you that familiar, lopsided grin.

you rolled your eyes, but the truth was, you didn’t mind. the four of you had been close since your freshman year, and as the years piled up, so did the late-night study sessions, spontaneous road trips, and drunken confessions after long nights out. this felt like a full-circle moment. one final hurrah before graduation came sweeping in to change everything.

shoko tossed herself onto the couch beside geto, tugging off her beanie and shaking out her hair. “so, what’s the plan? drinking games until midnight, or are we just free-styling it?”

“why not both?” suguru said, stretching an arm behind her, fingers brushing lightly against your shoulder where you leaned against the armrest. the contact was subtle, but you felt it linger.

gojo raised a brow, tilting his head dramatically. “i was thinking strip poker.”

shoko snorted, flicking his forehead. “sure. you’d be naked in five minutes.”

“is that supposed to be a problem?”

your eyes flickered to suguru, catching the small smirk pulling at his lips. his gaze met yours for half a second, dark eyes flickering with something unreadable, before dropping back to his phone.

this wasn’t the first time you’d caught the lingering tension between everyone – the casual touches, the way shoko’s gaze would sometimes linger on you a little too long, or the moments gojo’s hands would rest on your lower back at parties, guiding you through crowds when he didn’t really need to.

you weren’t oblivious. but none of you had ever crossed that line.

yet.

“alright, let’s start with drinks,” you suggested, pushing yourself to your feet. “anyone want to help me?”

“i got it,” geto said, standing with an easy grace. “come on.”

as the two of you headed into the kitchen, shoko and gojo’s quiet laughter echoed softly from the living room, the crackling fire filling the otherwise silent cabin.

suguru leaned against the counter, watching as you rummaged through the cabinets.

“so,” he started, his voice low and smooth, “how are you feeling about tonight?”

you glanced over your shoulder. “in general? or is this a ‘we’re about to graduate, what are you doing with your life?’ kind of question?”

his lips quirked. “both, maybe.”

you sighed, grabbing a bottle of whiskey. “i’m trying not to think about it too hard. tonight’s about celebrating, not panicking about the future.”

he nodded thoughtfully, but his eyes lingered.

“you know,” he mused, stepping closer, “satoru’s not wrong. it is kind of a waste to let this cabin go to waste.”

“what are you suggesting?” you teased, pouring the whiskey into a glass.

suguru’s gaze dipped, trailing over you slowly before flicking back to your eyes. “just saying… midnight’s a good time for new experiences.”

heat prickled your skin under his stare, but before you could respond, gojo’s voice rang out from the other room.

“hey, you two! quit flirting and bring the damn drinks!”

you laughed, but suguru didn’t move right away. instead, his fingers brushed lightly against your wrist as he grabbed the bottle from the counter, his touch lingering just long enough to make your breath hitch.

yeah. tonight was going to be interesting.

the drinks flowed easily, laughter spilling into the warm cabin air as the four of you huddled near the fireplace, sprawled across the plush rugs and oversized pillows. suguru sat beside you, his knee brushing yours with every shift, while gojo leaned against the couch, one long arm lazily slung around shoko’s shoulders.

“alright,” gojo drawled, tipping back his glass. his eyes glittered behind those obnoxious shades he insisted on wearing inside. “time for a game.”

“drinking game?” shoko asked, already halfway through her second glass of whiskey.

“nope.” gojo’s smirk curled wickedly. “truth or dare.”

you snorted, shaking your head. “what are we? sixteen?”

“don’t knock it,” suguru said smoothly, his eyes half-lidded as he sipped his drink. “it could be fun. besides, satoru’s incapable of suggesting anything mature.”

gojo shot him a look. “this coming from the guy who suggested skinny dipping in the hot tub an hour ago.”

“that was different. it was an intellectual suggestion.”

“sure it was.”

shoko waved a hand dismissively. “fine. truth or dare it is. but no stupid shit like licking the floor or whatever. we’re not in a frat house.”

gojo grinned, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “who’s starting?”

your hand shot up, aiming for the path of least resistance. “truth.”

“boring,” gojo muttered, but there was mischief behind the slight pout. “alright, fine. if you had to kiss one of us at midnight, who would it be?”

the room fell quiet for a beat too long. you felt three sets of eyes zero in on you, the weight of their attention thick enough to taste.

“uh—” you faltered, heat crawling up your neck.

“careful,” suguru murmured beside you, voice low and teasing. “we’ll know if you’re lying.”

your gaze flicked to his, catching the flicker of something darker in his expression. your heart thudded a little harder.

“i dunno,” you hedged, taking a slow sip of your drink. “depends on the mood, i guess.”

gojo leaned closer, grinning like he’d already won. “that’s not an answer.”

“then take it as my answer.”

shoko laughed, leaning back against the couch cushions. “she’s playing it safe. smart girl.”

but the tension lingered, subtle but persistent, weaving through the air like smoke.

“my turn,” suguru cut in smoothly, tilting his head toward gojo. “truth or dare?”

“dare, obviously.”

“kiss shoko.”

“easy.”

without hesitation, gojo leaned down and pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to shoko’s lips. she didn’t pull away – if anything, her hand slid lazily up his arm, nails grazing lightly against his skin before they parted.

“you guys have done that before,” you pointed out, trying to ignore the heat twisting low in your stomach.

“multiple times,” shoko replied, smirking. “you’re late to the party.”

gojo winked. “jealous?”

“not particularly.”

but the idea lodged itself somewhere deep. maybe it was the alcohol warming your veins, or the way suguru’s hand rested against the small of your back, light but possessive, but the thought lingered.

midnight wasn’t that far off.

the countdown started around 11:50. the drinks were mostly forgotten by then, the four of you curled closer near the fire, the alcohol buzzing quietly in your heads.

“five minutes,” gojo announced, his voice dropping to something smoother, almost suggestive. “better start thinking about that kiss.”

shoko stretched her legs out, crossing them at the ankles. “maybe we should just kiss each other. take the guesswork out of it.”

your stomach flipped at her casual tone, but when you glanced at suguru, his gaze was already fixed on you.

“not opposed,” he said softly.

gojo made a low hum of approval, sitting up straighter. “why not?”

“you’re all serious about this?” you asked, voice tipping toward incredulous, but your pulse betrayed you, hammering against your ribs.

“you’re curious,” suguru countered, brushing his knuckles against your thigh.

and you were. the tension had been building for years – subtle glances, fleeting touches, unspoken things hanging just out of reach.

“alright,” you relented, the words tasting like adrenaline on your tongue. “fine.”

the countdown echoed on the tv screen, bright against the dim cabin.

ten.

nine.

suguru shifted closer, his thigh pressed against yours.

eight.

seven.

gojo’s gaze dropped to your lips, his grin softer, teasing.

six.

shoko leaned into your side, her arm brushing yours.

five.

four.

your breath hitched as suguru’s hand curled under your chin, tilting your face toward his.

three.

two.

one.

their lips met yours at the same time – suguru’s mouth warm and steady, while shoko’s was softer, tasting faintly of whiskey.

you lost yourself in it, your hand fisting in suguru’s shirt as gojo’s hand brushed against your lower back, slipping lower, pulling you closer.

and just like that, the line dissolved completely.

the kiss started playful—soft touches, slow exploration—but the heat behind it caught quickly, sparking into something heavier. suguru’s fingers brushed your jaw, coaxing your lips open as his tongue slid against yours, slow and possessive. shoko’s mouth trailed along your neck, leaving wet kisses against your pulse, while gojo’s hand slipped under the hem of your sweater, his palm warm as it splayed across your waist.

you broke the kiss with suguru only to meet shoko’s lips, her tongue teasing against yours as she pressed closer, her hands slipping down to rest on your thighs. the space between the four of you seemed to vanish, replaced by the weight of wandering hands and shared breaths.

gojo groaned softly, nipping at suguru’s bottom lip before tugging him back by the collar, stealing a kiss that left no room for subtlety. suguru didn’t resist, his hand tangling in gojo’s hair, tilting his head to deepen it. the sight had your breath catching, heat pooling low in your stomach.

“god, you two,” shoko muttered, smirking against your lips. “it’s like watching a porno.”

“jealous?” gojo quipped, pulling back just enough to catch his breath, his eyes glittering with amusement.

“maybe.”

“you get her,” suguru said smoothly, brushing his thumb over your bottom lip. “we’ll be back.”

before you could question it, gojo grabbed suguru’s wrist and led him out of the living room, disappearing into the hall with low, breathy laughter echoing behind them.

the absence of their presence left you and shoko tangled together on the rug by the fire, the crackling flames casting soft shadows across her face.

“guess it’s just us,” she murmured, her fingers tracing light patterns over your thighs.

“seems like it,” you whispered, barely able to focus with the heat of her body pressed so close.

shoko didn’t waste time once the boys left the room. her lips crashed into yours, all tongue and teeth, as if she’d been holding back for too long. you could feel the heat radiating off her as her hands roamed your body, tugging at the edges of your sweater until it slipped over your head.

her palms were warm against your bare skin, fingertips skimming the soft curve of your breasts, and you gasped into her mouth, arching into her touch.

“fuck,” she whispered, eyes trailing down your body, drinking you in like she couldn’t get enough. “been waiting to get my hands on you all night.”

you let her take control, her nails scraping lightly down your back as she kissed a path to your collarbone, sucking a bruise into the delicate skin.

your sweater, jeans, and everything else ended up in a pile near the fireplace, leaving you bare and vulnerable in the soft flicker of firelight. shoko settled between your legs, her hands pressing your thighs apart with a confidence that had you squirming beneath her.

“you’re so wet already,” she murmured, dragging a single finger through your folds. “you like this, huh?”

you could barely nod, the sensation making you dizzy.

her mouth followed, soft lips trailing over the inside of your thighs, her tongue flicking out to catch the slick gathering at your core.

“fuck, shoko,” you gasped, hips bucking when she sucked your clit between her lips, the warmth of her tongue making you shudder.

her grip on your thighs tightened, nails digging into the soft flesh as she kept you pinned, her mouth relentless.

“stay still,” she mumbled, voice muffled against you.

it was impossible. you tugged lightly at her hair, desperate for something to hold onto as she worked you closer to the edge, her tongue curling just right.

you didn’t even notice the sound of footsteps until shoko pulled back slightly, glancing over her shoulder with a smirk.

“oh,” she hummed, licking her lips. “you two back already?”

your gaze snapped to the doorway.

gojo and geto stood there, completely bare, their cocks hard and already dripping.

“we were enjoying the view,” gojo said, his voice deeper, laced with something dark as his gaze fixed on you.

geto stepped forward first, his eyes hooded as he stroked himself lazily, clearly not in any rush. “didn’t know you’d start without us.”

“you two looked busy,” shoko teased, swiping her thumb across her bottom lip, catching the glisten of your arousal.

“don’t stop on our account,” gojo added, stepping closer, his hand wrapping around the base of his cock as he knelt beside you.

shoko chuckled, glancing down at you with amusement in her eyes. “what do you think?”

you didn’t know how to answer, too overwhelmed by the weight of their attention—the way geto’s dark gaze lingered on your mouth, the curve of gojo’s smirk as he ran his fingers along your inner thigh.

“she can take it,” geto murmured, brushing his lips along the curve of your jaw. “she’s been good so far.”

shoko shifted lower, her breath hot against your core, but this time, geto was beside her, his lips pressing soft kisses to your clit before shoko’s tongue joined him.

“fuck—” your breath hitched, your back arching off the floor as their mouths worked in tandem, the slick warmth of their tongues too much.

gojo, not wanting to be left out, moved behind you, his lips ghosting along your neck as his fingers slid into your pussy, curling to meet the rhythm of their mouths.

“so fucking pretty,” he whispered into your ear, biting lightly at the lobe. “you like being the center of attention, don’t you?”

you couldn’t answer, too caught up in the overwhelming sensation, your body trembling as the knot in your stomach tightened.

“c’mon,” shoko coaxed, her tongue circling your clit faster. “let go for us.”

you did, a sharp cry leaving your lips as your orgasm tore through you, your hips jerking uncontrollably as shoko and geto didn’t stop, their mouths and fingers milking every last drop of pleasure.

when you finally opened your eyes, dazed and breathless, geto was already shifting, settling between your legs as gojo moved to take his place beside shoko.

“don’t be greedy, shoko,” gojo teased, his lips brushing yours as geto lined himself up with your entrance, the thick head of his cock pressing inside.

shoko’s hand slipped beneath your jaw, guiding you to look at her as geto thrust into you, stretching you wide.

“you can give us one more,” she whispered, pressing her forehead to yours as her lips hovered inches from your mouth. “be a good girl for me, yeah?”

geto’s cock stretched you to the hilt, the fullness making you shudder as he bottomed out, his forehead pressed against yours. shoko’s hand traced slow circles along your cheek, grounding you with soft touches even as her other hand slipped lower, two fingers pressing against your clit, slick from how drenched you were.

“you’re taking him so well,” she whispered, her thumb brushing your bottom lip. “but you can take more, can’t you?”

you nodded weakly, body already trembling, but the praise made your stomach flutter.

gojo shifted, moving behind you, his lips trailing lazy kisses along the curve of your shoulder. “gonna open you up even more,” he murmured, his fingers dragging down the length of your stomach, teasing along the edge of your folds where geto’s cock stretched you.

you felt his middle finger slip inside, pressing against the soft spot geto wasn’t reaching. the sensation was dizzying.

“so fucking tight,” gojo hissed, sliding another finger in beside the first, stretching you further. “can feel how deep suguru is inside you.”

shoko’s breath tickled your lips as her fingers drifted lower, joining gojo’s as he stretched you open, the combination of their touches leaving you gasping.

“so sensitive,” shoko cooed, pressing soft kisses along your jawline, her fingers brushing light circles around your clit.

gojo’s third finger slipped inside, the stretch nearly overwhelming, and your nails dug into the rug beneath you as your back arched, your body tightening around them both.

“fuck,” geto grunted, his cock twitching inside you. “she’s squeezing me like crazy.”

“feels good, doesn’t it?” gojo teased, his smirk audible even if you couldn’t see him. “she’s so warm… bet you won’t last long.”

geto’s grip on your hips tightened, his thrusts slowing, each drag of his cock purposeful as he pushed deep, grinding against the spot that made you tremble.

you whimpered, barely able to take it all in, your body stretched beyond its limits but craving more. shoko kissed the corner of your mouth, her lips lingering just long enough to make you chase after her, your tongue brushing against hers in a soft, needy motion.

“i can feel how close you are,” she whispered, her fingers pinching your clit just enough to make you jolt. “you’re trembling.”

gojo’s fingers pressed deeper, curling in a way that sent sparks shooting through you, and you nearly sobbed from the intensity.

“you’re holding back,” gojo whispered in your ear, his lips brushing against your earlobe. “let go, sweetheart. we’re not stopping till you’re a mess beneath us.”

geto groaned, his pace faltering, hips snapping faster as he chased his own pleasure, his grip bruising in the best way.

shoko dipped her head lower, trailing soft kisses down your neck, her hand leaving your jaw to tug gently at one of your nipples, rolling it between her fingers as her other hand continued its teasing strokes over your swollen clit.

“give it to us,” she coaxed, her voice laced with a softness that made your chest ache. “you can take it, pretty girl. just one more, i know you can.”

your breath hitched, the knot in your stomach tightening as the pressure mounted.

“fuck—shoko, i’m gonna—”

“i know,” she whispered, her lips pressing to yours in a soft, breathless kiss.

the wave hit you hard, your walls fluttering around geto’s cock as your orgasm crashed over you, your hips jerking up to meet his thrusts as gojo’s fingers kept curling inside, stretching you open further.

“that’s it,” gojo growled, pulling his fingers out just as geto’s pace grew erratic.

“fuck, i’m close,” geto grunted, thrusting hard one last time before he groaned low in his throat, spilling into you with a slow roll of his hips.

shoko kissed you through it, swallowing your soft cries as geto leaned forward, his forehead resting against your shoulder, chest heaving.

but they didn’t stop.

geto groaned low in his throat, his hands gripping your hips tighter as he gave one last deep thrust, burying himself fully inside you as he spilled, warmth flooding your core.

your body trembled, the overstimulation leaving you breathless, forehead pressed against shoko’s shoulder as she ran soft fingers through your hair, grounding you.

“fuck,” geto whispered, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths as he pulled out slowly, his cum slipping down your thighs, sticky and warm against your skin.

but even as geto leaned back, his hands still lingering on your hips, gojo wasn’t done.

his cock throbbed against your thigh, heavy and slick with precum, the tip flushed and desperate for attention.

you felt his gaze on you, his hand sliding over your jaw to tilt your face toward him.

“think you can help me out, pretty girl?” he murmured, his lips brushing yours in a teasing kiss, but his hips were already shifting closer, his cock pressing insistently against your palm.

you nodded, the quiet desperation in his voice making you throb, still sensitive from geto’s lingering touch. your fingers curled around him, warm and slick as you stroked slowly, feeling the weight of him in your hand.

“fuck, just like that,” he groaned, tipping his head back slightly as his hand covered yours, guiding your pace.

meanwhile, shoko shifted in front of you, her bare thighs brushing against your waist as she straddled you, her hands resting on your shoulders for balance.

“don’t forget about me,” she teased, voice low, but there was heat in her eyes as she grabbed your wrist, guiding your fingers between her legs.

her slick heat coated your fingers immediately as they slipped inside, making her moan softly against your ear, hips rolling to meet your touch.

“you feel that?” she whispered, her forehead pressed to yours, panting softly. “been wanting you to touch me like this all night.”

your palm pressed deeper, thumb brushing over her swollen clit, and she gasped, biting down gently on your bottom lip as her hips bucked forward.

but shoko wasn’t one to let you do all the work.

her other hand drifted between your legs, her fingers brushing over your overstimulated core, dragging through the mess geto left behind.

“so messy,” she murmured, her tone soft and teasing, but there was nothing gentle about the way she slipped two fingers inside you, pressing into the heat that still fluttered around nothing.

you whimpered, arching into her hand as your own pace on gojo faltered, your grip tightening around his cock.

“shit—” gojo hissed, his breath stuttering as your fist squeezed him just right, his hips jerking up into your touch.

“i’ve got her,” shoko murmured to gojo, her lips grazing your ear as she thrust her fingers deeper, her pace slow but deliberate. “she’s so tight, aren’t you, baby?”

you couldn’t form words, only broken moans slipping past your parted lips, drool glistening as it trailed down your chin, your jaw slack beneath the intensity of it all. shoko’s fingers curled deep inside you, pressing against that spot that made your thighs tremble violently, your entire body arching into her touch.

her thumb circled your clit in slow, deliberate motions—not too much, but just enough to have you writhing beneath her, the friction driving you higher with every slow roll of her hips against yours.

“look at you,” geto murmured, dark eyes fixed on the way you twisted between them, shoko’s hand buried up to her knuckles inside you.

without a word, he leaned in, catching the trail of drool with his lips, kissing gently along your jaw before letting his tongue brush over the corner of your mouth, warm and unhurried.

“you’re taking her so well,” he said softly, his breath fanning over your lips before pressing a kiss to the hinge of your jaw, his palm cupping your cheek tenderly.

shoko’s teeth scraped over your neck, biting gently before soothing the mark with her tongue, her fingers never faltering.

“i know you can give me one more,” she coaxed, her voice soft but firm, curling her fingers until you nearly sobbed into her shoulder. “come on, baby, let me feel you.”

your hips rocked into her hand on instinct, chasing the pressure as pleasure coiled tighter inside you, her fingers coaxing you toward the edge.

“she’s close,” gojo groaned, his cock twitching in your palm as his eyes dragged over your body, flushed and trembling beneath shoko’s touch.

his hand slid over yours, guiding your strokes as his breath stuttered, his hips jerking forward to chase your fist.

“let go for us,” shoko whispered, her tongue tracing the curve of your ear, and with one last slow curl of her fingers, the tension inside you snapped.

your body trembled violently, thighs clenching around her hand as your orgasm surged through you, knocking the breath from your lungs.

shoko kept going, fucking you through the aftershocks, her fingers stroking deeper to draw out every last shiver until you were limp against her chest.

“fuck,” gojo hissed through gritted teeth, his grip on your hand tightening as he spilled hot and thick against your fingers, painting your skin with a satisfied groan.

for a moment, the room was quiet, the only sounds the soft crackling of the fire and the heavy weight of your breathing.

you lay there, muscles lax and trembling, shoko’s fingers still lazily circling your clit as she pressed soft kisses against your shoulder, grounding you in the afterglow.

“you were perfect,” she murmured against your lips, smiling softly as she finally slipped her fingers free, slick and glistening with your release.

geto brushed his thumb along your jaw, tilting your face toward him as he kissed you, slow and deliberate, his touch warm and steady.

“happy new year,” shoko whispered, her forehead resting gently against yours, and you couldn’t help the quiet laugh that slipped out between heavy breaths.

“happy new year,” you echoed softly, sinking further into the warmth of their bodies against yours.

an. HAPPY NEW YEAR BELOVEDS 😼😽😸! what are some new years goals y’all have? one of mine is to grow my tumblr following n get better at posting more 🤞🏽

[eerienostalgia]

When Rich set a fire and it melted his head! When Rich set a fire and he’s totally dead! When Rich set a fire and he burned down the house!

Love drawing some angsty be more chill

[shybluebirdninja]

Bloodheat

Summary: His rough, feral mouth trails lower, and suddenly every vow you made to your husband burns away in the heat of Logan's desire.

Pairing            : Logan Howlett x Fem!Human-reader

Note                : Infidelity and cheating, cunnilingus, smut

The night air is thick, the kind that wraps around you like a heavy blanket, sticky and humid. The rumble of Logan's beat-up truck is the only sound cutting through the silence as he pulls off the road, gravel crunching beneath the tires. The cabin of the truck feels too small, too intimate, and your heart pounds louder than it should. You know this is wrong—so wrong—but fuck, the second Logan's hand brushes your thigh, all that guilt slips away like water through your fingers.

You glance over at him, his jaw set, eyes focused on the dark road ahead. There's something raw about Logan—something feral. His beard’s a little rougher tonight, and those strong hands gripping the wheel send a shiver down your spine. There’s no room for doubt, not anymore. You knew what you were doing when you climbed into his truck. You knew this wasn’t just a casual drive.

His voice breaks the silence, low and gravely, sending heat straight between your legs. “You wanna keep playin' house with him, or you gonna admit you’re already mine?”

That damn voice. It’s like whiskey and smoke, rich and dangerous. You don’t answer, but your body does, leaning closer, like it’s instinctual, like it’s always been him. Logan’s hand drifts higher on your thigh, his fingers rough and calloused, and you can’t stop the soft gasp that slips out.

He chuckles, the sound rumbling deep in his chest, and pulls the truck to a stop. The engine cuts off, leaving only the heavy sound of your breathing in the cab. His eyes meet yours, that familiar heat simmering just beneath the surface. “You got somethin’ to say, darlin’?”

You bite your lip, torn between the voice in your head telling you to run and the heat pooling low in your belly, making your skin buzz with anticipation. “Logan, this—” You try to speak, but he cuts you off with a rough, demanding kiss.

It’s not gentle. Nothing about Logan ever is. His lips crash into yours, a fierce hunger behind every move. His hands are everywhere at once, sliding over your waist, gripping your hips. It’s wild, untamed, and fuck, it’s everything you’ve been craving for weeks.

The guilt melts away, replaced by that electric fire he ignites in you every time he gets close. You kiss him back just as hard, fingers threading through his thick, dark hair, tugging him closer. You can feel the low growl vibrating in his chest as he pulls you onto his lap, his big hands sliding under your shirt, calloused fingers rough against your bare skin. Every nerve in your body is alive, buzzing with need.

Logan’s mouth moves from your lips to your neck, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down to your collarbone. He bites down just enough to leave a mark, and you gasp, arching into him. “Fuckin’ missed you,” he mutters against your skin, voice thick with need.

Your hands fumble with the button on his jeans, desperate, but Logan grabs your wrists, holding them still. “Not yet,” he growls, his eyes dark and dangerous, pupils blown wide. “I got plans for you first.”

Before you can process his words, he’s sliding you off his lap, pushing you back onto the worn leather seat. His hands are on your jeans, undoing the button and yanking them down in one smooth motion. The air hits your skin, cool against the heat radiating from your body, but that’s the last thing on your mind when Logan settles between your legs, pulling you closer with that trademark Wolverine smirk on his lips.

He spreads your thighs wide, eyes locked on yours, and the way he’s looking at you—like he’s about to devour you whole—sends a shiver of anticipation through you. There’s nothing rushed about the way he leans in, taking his sweet time, letting you feel every second of his lips ghosting over your skin. “You taste so fuckin’ good, y’know that?”

Your breath hitches as he presses a kiss to your inner thigh, so close to where you want him, but not close enough. “Logan, please…” The words fall from your lips before you can stop them, need dripping from every syllable.

He grins against your skin, rough and teasing. “Beggin’ already?” He lets out a low chuckle, then finally—finally—his mouth is on you. His tongue flicks out, slow and torturous, and your back arches off the seat as pleasure floods your body. It’s like he’s claiming you with every lick, every pull of his lips around your clit, and it’s so fucking good you can’t think straight.

His beard is rough against your inner thighs, rubbing deliciously against your skin as he works you over with his mouth. You can’t stop the soft moans escaping your lips, can’t stop your fingers from tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. Logan groans against you, the vibration sending sparks of pleasure through your whole body.

“Fuck,” you gasp, your hips bucking up against his mouth, but Logan grips your thighs, holding you down with that impossible strength of his. His tongue moves faster now, flicking and sucking, and the tension inside you coils tighter and tighter, ready to snap.

It’s too much, too good. “Logan, I—” You can’t get the words out, and he knows exactly what you need. He sucks hard on your clit, and that’s it—you’re gone, your whole body shaking with the force of your orgasm.

The pleasure hits you like a freight train, intense and overwhelming, and you feel yourself gush, the slick wetness covering Logan’s mouth and beard. But he doesn’t stop. He keeps licking, keeps sucking, drinking up every drop like he’s starving for it, his growls vibrating against your sensitive skin. You whimper, overstimulated, but he just smirks, beard soaked and glistening in the dim light of the truck.

“Damn, you taste even better when you’re comin’ all over my face,” he growls, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, but the glint in his eyes tells you he’s far from done. He leans back, eyes raking over your still-trembling body, and the hunger in his gaze makes your breath catch. “Think you got another one in you, darlin’? 'Cause I ain’t done with you yet.”

You can only nod, the words lost somewhere between the lingering pleasure and the heat building inside you all over again. Logan’s already got you addicted, and you know you’ll never be able to go back.

[bumblesimagines]

why did you pick me?

you'll never convince me to stay.

Lestat de Lioncourt

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

TW/CW: Typical IWTV warnings, toxic relationship (it's lestat lets bffr), (Y/N)'s European but its up to the reader which country, implied abusive family/father

New Orleans... 

He'd intended to make the city his new home and safe haven. It'd broken him to step onto that boat and part ways with the country he'd been born and raised in, but he'd always thought about traveling and finding something new for himself. At least it was what he told himself as America grew closer and he stepped onto foreign soil. 

New Orleans seemingly never slept, and its residents walked the streets at night just as they did during the day; providing him with the perfect reason to search for a home for himself with the riches he'd taken from his family home. It all felt perfect if he had to be honest. The music pouring out from each establishment filled him with joy and the desire to dance and while the people harbored their own judgemental thoughts, they acted as welcoming as a sweet old grandmother.  

But, of course, it'd all been too perfect. He'd been a fool to believe he could manage to evade the golden cage by simply flying an ocean away.

"I would say this is a fine upgrade from that little house you called home, no?" His voice, once lovely like silk on the skin, now sounded more like nails dragging along a chalkboard. It was light and amused, and (Y/N) could hear the smile when he spoke of his former home.. the very one he ripped from his arms. "There is even a piano for you to play, mon chérie."

"Do you believe a piano and a pretty house will make me stay after what you did?" (Y/N) tore his eyes away from the dancing fire to face him, a familiar heat burning inside his gut and traveling up to his chest. There'd been a time he found anger to be a fleeting emotion, one he buried down to focus on hope. 

The smile on Lestat's face faltered, his jaw clenching and eyes narrowing slightly. "I saved you. I saved you from that wretched family, that mongrel. I made it so no one else could ever hurt you-"

"Is that what you think? That I was some damsel in distress and you the charming knight? I can never return home because of you. Why did you pick me? Because I learned how to play the piano? Because you heard things no one else was meant to hear?" There was the prickly sensation of tears in the back of his eyes but he knew if he let them fall, it wouldn't be salty tears he'd be wiping away. Everything about the creature he'd been turned into was... foul. Disturbing.

"Oh, dearest," The annoyance on Lestat's face vanished, promptly replaced with pity as he crossed the room and delicately set his hands upon (Y/N)'s face with a gentle coo. "You are like the dazzling moon, glowing brighter than the stars and candelights. When people look at you, they marvel with splendid, and when you play... it is a gorgeous melody that must simply live forever. Tu es unique en ton genre. That.. family of yours hardly understood your light but I do." 

His way with words had always been charming, alluring even. But each time (Y/N) gazed into his eyes, all he saw was a mouth stained with red and the wailing screams of his mother discovering her husband's corpse. Lestat had paid her no mind, French intertwining with English on his tongue as he switched between anger and cooing until (Y/N)'s jumbled mind allowed him to take his outstretched hand despite the hot blood dripping from between his fingers. 

(Y/N) stepped back with a swirling head, dragging himself further and further from Lestat until he could breathe again. "You'll never convince me to stay." He exhaled shakily, his hand grasping the top of a chair. His fingers dug into the wood, hearing it begin to creak and crack. "I will not live with the monster who took my family, my life, away from me."

[anisespice]

“ PARTY AT A RICH DUDE’S HOUSE ”

synopsis: after getting dumped, your friends propose you crash his house-party and completely wreck the place using the guise of the rambunctious partygoers as cover. little did you know, someone's been watching you.

warnings: mature language, mentions of violence, vandalism, suggestive undertones, MDI. tesla slander(?) hate those cars so so so much. i honestly don't know, i think this one's pretty tame :))

notes: kesha lives rent free in my head lol. also got inspired by that scene from the movie “bottoms” where they blow up the douchbag’s car >:))) not sure how i feel about it :// but it was fun to write helped with writer's block sooo hope you enjoy!!

notes ii: yall WHY WON'T WORDS WORD ANYMORE I-

It wasn’t difficult infiltrating the party. With all the commotion pouring inside and out, people taking full advantage of their host’s endless bounds of resources and bottomless pockets, blending in was a snap. Immediately, your senses were overwhelmed with the stench of sweat and bad decisions. Smoke clouded your vision as did the rumbling bass of the music, the music rattling you to where you could feel it in your bones.

An annoyance builds every time a partygoer bumped into you as you sifted through the crowds, driving you to start elbowing and shoulder-checking everyone around you. You received stank looks and slurred curses, but it merely molded with the rest of the noise surrounding you.

They were all basically there to celebrate your misery, so fuck them.

Even though you were on the prowl for the douche-nozzle himself to give him a piece of your mind, at some point you got caught up with various cups of who know's what in your hand, downing them like a fish out of water. You welcomed the delightful burn as it rolled down your esophagus, seeping into the wounds of your broken heart, and right into your stomach like a hot stone. You fought back the urge to vomit fire, body vibrating as you mentally set your mission on a different course...the garage.

“Y’know, that’d go a lot quicker if you used this.” 

You yelped. Nearly slipping off of the cyber truck you were currently jumping on you regained balance in the last second, crouching down to slap your hands on the cool metal to steady yourself. While attempting to put a dent through the aluminum foil-ass top, you failed to notice your lone audience member chilling in a corner of the 10-car garage. How long he’d been standing there, you had no idea. All you knew was you had about four seconds to either teleport or hightail it to the nearest exit before he got a good look at your face.

“Shitshitshit,” you hissed, hurriedly and clumsily sliding down off the car, ready to book it. You really wished you hadn't drank as much before attempting to do this, but in your defense, you weren't expecting to have...company. However, as soon as your feet touched the floor, the stranger coaxed out to you with a free hand raised in peace, delaying your panicked scrambling. 

“Hey, hey, relax. Believe me, if I wanted to narc on you I would’ve done so when you lit those firecrackers off in the guest bathroom. Hilarious, by the way."

Your heart sunk. An uneasy feeling formed in the pit of your stomach, not sure whether to be relieved or devastated—Question is, why didn’t he tell anyone?

Remaining vigilant you peered over your shoulder at him, guard up. “Who're you?”

He raised a brow. “Pretty sure that’s my line, sweetheart.”

You glared, turning around fully to scrutinize him. From the way he was dressed—Designer from head to toe even if on the casual side, blinding Rolex on his wrist paired with a few rings, equally icy studs in his ears along with a thin, and golden chain rested upon his toned, inked chest—He had money, no doubt about it. Not too bad on the eyes either..

Shaking your head of that last thought, you scoffed, “Don’t call me that. ‘m not anyone’s ‘sweetheart’.”

He shrugged, coyly. “Be happy to fix that, if you’d like.”

“Do I look in the mood for funny shit?"

He chuckled, tilting his head. “Nah, 'course not. Look more like you’re itching to bust some more shit up. But, gotta say, how you’re going about it s’kinda redundant. Those things may look like they're made out of construction paper, but you’ll tire out before you even make single scratch. So.. figured you’d appreciate a more practical approach.”

Too preoccupied giving him the stank eye, you hadn't seen the weapon rested in his other hand. Once you set your eyes on it and allowed his words to fully register, they slowly widened. The stranger’s grin sharpened at your muted interest, flicking his wrist to spin the slab of metal around before resting it coolly on his shoulder.

"Ah, crazy girl’s in the mood now?"

Your curiosity morphed back into annoyance instantly at his cheeky comment. “I am not crazy.”

He hummed. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Look, smartass, I'll have you know that I have a very good reason—” you pointed, ready to dump hours of alcohol-fueled rage on this stranger, only for him to immediately extinguish it with a mere wave of his hand.

“And you can tell me all about it when we go out for dinner after this. You want the bat or not?"

You paused, confused. Flabbergasted, even. Did this fool just ask me out?, you thought. Maybe you were just a little bit too tipsy and misheard, so you let it slide for now. With a huff, you finally said, skeptically, "Why...are you helping me?"

The stranger merely shrugged once more, eyes coated in mischief as he gave another spin of the bat. "Doesn't every criminal need a henchman?"

BAJI, HANMA, kazutora, mikey, draken, most of toman really, rindou, ran, izana,[insert anyone else who would fit].

© 2024-2025 anisespice ッ all rights reserved. likes, comments & reblogs much appreciated!

[growthhyp]

The Garage Sale VIII

Jack took a deep breath, his chest swelling with pride as he recounted the day of his graduation. "It was like walking on air, man," he said, his eyes glazed over with the memory. "I had this new confidence, like I could take on the world. And everyone noticed." He chuckled, the sound deep and rich. "The girls, the guys, even the teachers." His eyes grew distant, reliving the moment. "But it was what I heard that really pissed me off…"Paul leaned in, his curiosity piqued. "What did you hear?"

Jack's expression darkened, his handsome features twisting into a snarl of anger. "Someone had set the fire, man," he growled. "Someone had torched the house with the intention of destroying everything she had ever loved."

Paul felt a knot form in his stomach. "Who?"

Jack's eyes narrowed, the anger in them burning like molten steel. "Adam," he spat out the name like it was a curse. "Adam fucking Rogers. The biggest dick in school, and my neighbor."

Paul's heart sank as he realized the gravity of the situation. "What happened between you two?"

The room grew hazy, the scent of the garage fading away as Jack's story painted a vivid picture in Paul's mind.

Jack was just 15, with a lanky, skinny frame that made him an easy target. He lived with the last family before Mrs. Castellanos took him in, and every day was a battle against the cruelty of the world. Adam Rogers, the neighbor from hell, made it his personal mission to make Jack's life a living nightmare. Adam is 18, a high school senior with a lean and muscular build, Adam's days were filled with football games and bullying the weaker kids. He had a smug smile that seemed to follow Jack wherever he went, a constant reminder of his own inadequacy.

One particularly brutal day, Jack had stumbled home from school, his books scattered on the ground and his glasses cracked, a souvenir from another encounter with Adam's fists. His clothes were torn and dirty, a testament to the struggle he faced just to get through the schoolyard. As he approached the house, he could see Adam leaning against the fence, his football helmet tucked under his arm, watching him with a sneer.

"Hey, faggot," Adam jeered, his voice cutting through the quiet of the suburban street. "Where's your boyfriend today?" The words were like a knife, twisting in Jack's gut.

Jack ignored him, picking up his books as quickly as he could, trying to keep his head down. But Adam wasn't the type to let his prey escape so easily. He stepped closer, his shadow looming over Jack, the smell of his sweat and grass from the football field heavy in the air.

"I said, where's your boyfriend, queer?" Adam sneered, his eyes gleaming with malicious delight. He grabbed Jack's shoulder, spinning him around so they were face to face.

Jack flinched at the contact, his heart racing in his chest. "I don't have a boyfriend," he mumbled, trying to keep his voice steady.

Adam's sneer grew wider, his grip tightening. "Yeah, right," he spat. "You're just a sad little faggot with no friends." He pushed Jack hard, sending him stumbling backward.

Jack felt the familiar burn of tears in his eyes, but before he could respond, Mrs. Castellanos appeared, her eyes flashing with a fury that was terrifying to behold. She stepped in front of him, her small frame seemingly growing to fill the space between them.

"Adam," she said, her voice cold and even, "you will leave Jack alone from this day forward."

Adam's smug expression faltered, his eyes wide with surprise at the sudden appearance of the old woman. He took a step back, his grip on Jack's shoulder loosening.

"What the fuck, you old hag?" he spat.

But Mrs. Castellanos was undeterred. She raised her hand, and a pulse of energy rippled through the air. Adam's eyes rolled back in his head, his body going slack as he was enveloped in a warm, golden light. The air grew thick with the scent of jasmine and musk, the scent of change.

When the light receded, Adam staggered back, his expression one of confusion and fear. He looked down at his hands, as if expecting them to be different, but they remained the same. Yet, something within him had shifted, something fundamental.

The following weeks saw a stark change in Adam's behavior. The once boisterous and confident jock grew quieter, his swagger less pronounced. His eyes lingered longer on the muscular forms of his football teammates in the locker room, a hunger in his gaze that he didn't understand. He tried to push it away, to bury it beneath layers of denial, but it was like trying to hold back the tide with his bare hands.

One fateful day, after a particularly grueling practice, Adam stumbled into the gym showers, his body slick with sweat. The sight of his teammates' bare, muscular forms washed clean of the grime of the game was almost too much to bear. He couldn't help but watch them, his eyes lingering on the defined abs and powerful shoulders that had once filled him with jealousy and scorn. Now, they filled him with something else entirely, something that made his heart race and his cock twitch with need.

He tried to ignore it, to focus on the burning in his muscles and the cold spray of the water, but it was no use. Every time he caught a glimpse of a tight ass or a well-defined chest, he felt his resolve slipping away like sand through his fingers. His mind was a whirlwind of confusion and denial, but his body had a will of its own.

Days turned into weeks, and the whispers grew louder. Adam found himself drawn to the very things he had once mocked, his eyes lingering on the muscular forms of his male classmates, his thoughts straying to the locker room and the showers that had become his personal hell. He tried to fight it, to prove to himself that he was still the same person, but every time he tried to be with a girl, his body betrayed him. His cock remained stubbornly limp, refusing to respond to the soft touches and sweet whispers that had once been his lifeblood.

College came and went, and with it, Adam's dreams of football stardom. Despite his relentless efforts in the gym, his body remained the same—no matter how hard he pushed himself, no matter how much he ate or how much he rested, he couldn't gain a single pound of muscle. It was as if the incantation had capped his growth, leaving him stuck in the limbo of his high school physique. His teammates, who had once looked up to him with envy, now pitied him. His performance on the field suffered, and it wasn't long before the coaches took notice. The same body that had once made him feel invincible now felt like a prison, keeping him from the one thing that had ever brought him true satisfaction.

The locker room had become a torture chamber for Adam. Every flex and grunt of his teammates echoed in his ears like a siren's call, his eyes drawn to their powerful forms despite his desperate attempts to ignore them. The smell of sweat and manliness was a constant reminder of what he had lost—his place in the hierarchy, his identity as the alpha male. He'd find himself getting lost in the sight of their nakedness, the water droplets on their broad backs and chiseled abs, the way the soapsuds clung to their muscular thighs. It was a silent battle, one that he waged with every fiber of his being.

During games, Adam's mind would drift to the locker room, his eyes straying to the jocks on the opposing team. He'd find himself getting hard at the most inopportune moments, his thoughts consumed by the desire to be like them, to feel their power. It didn't take long for his performance to suffer, for his fumbles and missed tackles to become a topic of whispers. His secret was a burden, a weight that grew heavier with every passing day.

In the gym, the smell of sweat and testosterone was a constant torment. He'd watch the other guys lift weights, their muscles bulging and flexing, and his cock would throb in his gym shorts, a traitor to his true desires. He tried to focus on his workout, his eyes glued to the floor or the mirror in front of him, but it was no use. The sight of their glistening skin, the sound of their grunts and groans, it all just served to drive him mad with need.

One by one, the team members started to avoid him. They could feel his eyes on them, see the hunger in his gaze. It was like a disease, spreading through the locker room, making everyone uncomfortable. The whispers grew louder, the jokes crueler. "What's up, Rogers?" they'd say with a sneer. "Still trying to get some action with the guys?" And he'd just laugh it off, pretending not to care, pretending to be the same guy he'd always been.

But he couldn't hide it forever. The day he was kicked out of the football team was like a knife in the gut. The coach had called him into his office, his face a mask of disappointment. "You're just not cutting it anymore, Rogers," he'd said, his voice heavy with accusation. "You've gotta get your head in the game." But Adam knew what he was really saying. He could see it in the glances he got from the other players, the way they looked at him differently now.

Adrift and alone, Adam found himself wandering the college campus, his eyes always drawn to the places that had been his sanctuary. The football field, the gym, the locker room. They were all tainted now, haunted by the ghosts of his former life. He'd sit on the bleachers, watching the other players practice, his heart heavy with regret and longing. He'd go to the gym, pump iron until he could barely move, trying to recapture that feeling of power and belonging. But it was always just out of reach, like a mirage in the desert of his own despair.

The day he was kicked out of the dorm was a low point. The other players had complained about his lack of focus, his erratic behavior. They didn't know about his secret, but they could feel the shift in the air. The room that had once been filled with the sounds of camaraderie and victory now felt like a cage, closing in on him. He packed his bags in silence, the weight of his failure pressing down on him like a leaden blanket.

As he moved into his new dorm, Adam couldn't shake the feeling of dread that clung to him like a second skin. He'd been placed with a regular college student, Aaron, who was as muscular and confident as the men Adam had once envied. The room was small but well-kept, with one glaring exception—the other side of the bed was adorned with rainbow flags, stickers, and posters of shirtless men. Adam felt his stomach drop as he realized his roommate was openly gay, something he'd never had to confront before. He tried to push the thought away, but it was like trying to ignore a blinking neon sign.

Aaron walked in, his smile wide and welcoming. "Hey, I'm Aaron," he said, extending a hand. Adam took it, feeling the firm grip that spoke of strength and confidence, two things he'd lost. "I'm Adam," he mumbled, his eyes darting to the rainbow decor.

Days turned into weeks, and Adam did his best to ignore the growing attraction he felt toward Aaron. He'd catch himself watching his roommate as he moved around the room, his muscles rippling with every step. He'd tell himself it was just the envy of a man who'd lost his edge, but deep down, he knew it was more than that.

He tried to fill his time with study and work, burying himself in his schoolwork to avoid the inevitable. But every night, as he lay in bed, the sounds of Aaron's breathing seemed to call out to him. The soft rustle of the bed sheets, the occasional groan as Aaron shifted in his sleep, it was like a siren's song, drawing him closer to the truth he didn't want to face.

Adam took to wearing headphones while he jerked off, the sound of his own ragged breaths drowned out by the music. He'd scroll through his phone, his eyes lingering on the images of muscular men that he'd saved in a hidden album. The sight of their bulging biceps, the way their abs rippled as they moved, it was like a balm to his soul, soothing the raw ache that had taken up residence there. He'd touch himself, stroking his cock with a desperation that grew with every passing day. The pleasure was intense, a bright light in the darkness of his self-loathing.

But try as he might to ignore the truth, it had a way of finding him. One night, as he lay in bed, his hand wrapped around his shaft, he heard the soft creak of the floorboards. Panic shot through him, his heart racing as he realized Aaron was standing in the doorway, his eyes wide with shock and understanding. The headphones lay tangled on the pillow beside him, a silent testament to his secret.

Adam froze, his hand hovering over his erection. He could feel the heat rising to his cheeks, his eyes darting around the room for an escape. But there was nowhere to go. Aaron stepped closer, the scent of his cologne mixing with the musk of his arousal. "What's going on, man?" he asked, his voice gentle, yet laced with curiosity.

Adam swallowed hard, his heart racing. "It's… it's nothing," he stuttered, pulling the blanket over himself. "Just… a… a… personal thing."

Aaron's eyes searched his, a mix of concern and something else—desire. "Look, man," Aaron said softly, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate in the pit of Adam's stomach, "I'm not gonna judge you. We all have our… preferences."

Adam felt the weight of the world lift off his shoulders as he realized that Aaron knew. The fear of being outed, of being the subject of more whispers and jokes, dissipated like mist in the morning sun. "Thank you," he murmured, the words thick with relief.

Aaron nodded, his gaze never leaving Adam's face. "You don't have to thank me," he said, his voice still gentle. "But if you ever want to talk about it, I'm here."

The months that followed were filled with an unspoken tension. They remained roommates, but their relationship remained a dance of avoidance and awkwardness. The occasional glances that lingered too long, the accidental brushes of skin as they passed in the hallway—each was a reminder of the night Adam had been caught with his hand in his pants, his eyes on Aaron's body.

===

Graduation approached, a beacon of light at the end of a tumultuous tunnel. The night of the celebration party, Adam found himself swimming in a sea of cheap beer and nostalgia. The music thumped in the background, a cacophony of laughter and chatter filling the air as he leaned against the wall, watching the bodies sway and mingle. Aaron was there too, a beer in his hand, his eyes occasionally meeting Adam's before darting away, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

As the party grew wilder, the drinks grew stronger. Adam felt the warmth of the alcohol seep through his veins, loosening the tightly wound coil of his inhibitions. He stumbled through the crowd, the room spinning, and suddenly, there was Aaron, standing just a few feet away, his muscular frame outlined by the strobe lights. Without thinking, without planning, Adam leaned in, his lips brushing against Aaron's in a clumsy, desperate kiss.

For a moment, the world stopped spinning. Aaron's eyes widened in surprise, but instead of pulling away, he leaned in, kissing Adam back with a passion that made the room fade away. The taste of beer on Aaron's lips was unexpectedly sweet, and Adam felt a thrill of excitement run through him, his cock growing hard against his will.

The kiss grew deeper, their tongues dancing together in a silent symphony of need. Adam felt his body respond, his muscles tightening and his senses heightening. He was aware of every inch of Aaron's body, the feel of his strong arms around him, the press of his broad chest, the smell of his cologne, and the warmth of his breath on his skin.

Aaron's hand slid down to his crotch, and Adam's cock responded immediately, straining against his jeans. Aaron broke the kiss and dropped to his knees, pulling down Adam's pants with a surprising ease. Adam's mind screamed for him to stop, to remember who he was and what he stood for, but his body was beyond his control. The pleasure was too intense, too overwhelming to resist.

Aaron took it all, swallowing every drop with a look of satisfaction that made Adam's knees wobble. They stumbled back to their room, the music from the party a distant throb in their ears. The room was spinning, but Aaron's hand was firm in his, grounding him.

When they reached the door, Adam paused, his heart hammering in his chest. He didn't know what to expect—his mind was a whirlwind of desire and doubt. But Aaron just gave him that knowing smile and pushed him inside, shutting the door behind them.

The room was dimly lit, the only light coming from the glow of the streetlamp outside the window. Aaron's eyes shone in the darkness, hungry and full of promise. Without a word, Adam found himself being pushed onto the bed, his legs spread wide. Aaron hovered over him, his own cock now rock-hard, a testament to his desire.

Adam felt a rush of anticipation as Aaron's hand found his cock, stroking it with a firm grip that sent shivers down his spine. He was lost in the moment, his thoughts consumed by the sensations that Aaron's touch brought forth. Aaron leaned in, his breath hot on Adam's ear, and whispered, "You like this, don't you?"

Adam couldn't find the words to respond, his mind a jumble of emotions. Instead, he could only nod, his body arching off the bed in silent plea. Aaron's hand was replaced by something wet and warm, and Adam realized with a start that Aaron was licking his cock, teasing the head with the tip of his tongue. A moan of pure pleasure escaped his lips, and he felt his body tense, the pressure building within him like a volcano ready to erupt.

With a low growl, Aaron took him in fully, his mouth a tight, wet heat that sent waves of sensation crashing over Adam. His hips bucked upward, and Aaron's hands held him firm, his fingers digging into the flesh of Adam's thighs. Adam could feel his climax building, his toes curling with every stroke of Aaron's tongue. It was too much, too intense, and he was powerless to resist.

Adam felt a sense of release, of letting go, as he gave in to the pleasure. He watched as Aaron's cheeks hollowed out, his eyes closed in concentration. Each suck and lick was a declaration of ownership, a silent promise of more to come. Adam's breath grew ragged, his eyes glazed with desire. He'd never felt so alive, so consumed by another person.

With a primal urgency, Adam rolled Aaron onto his back, the mattress protesting with a squeak. He didn't care who heard them anymore. All that mattered was the feeling of Aaron's body beneath his, the heat of his skin, the musky scent of his arousal. He positioned himself, the tip of his cock brushing against Aaron's eager hole. Aaron's eyes fluttered open, and he let out a low moan, his body begging for more.

Adam pushed in, inch by inch, watching as Aaron's expression shifted from pleasure to something deeper, something more profound. His own moan mingled with Aaron's, the sound echoing through the room. He'd never felt so alive, so in sync with another person. The friction was exquisite, the tightness of Aaron's body a perfect fit for his own.

Aaron's legs wrapped around his waist, urging him deeper, and Adam obliged, his hips moving in a rhythm that seemed as natural as breathing. He could feel Aaron's muscles clench around him, the warmth and wetness a drug that sent him spiraling into an abyss of pleasure. His eyes squeezed shut, and he threw his head back, the sensation of Aaron's body enveloping him too much to handle.

Their bodies moved in unison, the sounds of their passion filling the small room. Adam's muscles tensed and released, the pleasure building with every thrust. Aaron's moans grew louder, his nails digging into Adam's back as he met each movement with an eager buck of his own hips. The mattress squeaked in protest, but they paid it no mind.

Adam felt the warmth of Aaron's body surrounding him, the tightness of his hole gripping him like a vice. The sensation was unlike anything he'd ever felt before, a heady mix of power and vulnerability that sent his mind reeling. He could feel his orgasm building, a pressure that grew with each passing moment until it was all he could think about.

With a final, desperate thrust, Adam came, filling Aaron with his seed. He felt Aaron's body convulse beneath him, his moans turning into a keening cry of pleasure as he reached his own climax, his cock pulsing in Adam's hand. The release was so intense, it was like nothing else mattered. For a brief moment, the world outside their room ceased to exist.

The aftermath was a sticky mess of sweat and come, the air thick with the scent of their passion. Adam pulled out, his cock still hard and glistening, and collapsed onto the bed beside Aaron. His heart hammered in his chest, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. Aaron lay there, panting, his eyes still closed, a look of pure bliss etched on his face.

The silence stretched between them, filled only by the sounds of their bodies calming from the storm of pleasure. Adam's hand found Aaron's, their fingers lacing together in a silent promise that went beyond words. He could feel Aaron's chest rise and fall with each breath, the heat of their bodies melding together. The world outside the room faded away, leaving only the two of them in their cocoon of desire.

Exhaustion claimed them, and soon their eyes grew heavy with sleep. The weight of their bodies, the warmth of their skin, the scent of their shared passion—it was all too much to resist. They drifted off into a slumber filled with the echoes of their cries of ecstasy. The room was a sanctuary of intimacy, the only place where Adam could be free from the prison of his own making.

===

But morning has a cruel way of bringing reality crashing down. The harsh light of day streamed through the window, illuminating the rumpled sheets and the sticky mess of their encounter. Adam's eyes snapped open, and the memories of the night before came flooding back in a rush of panic. His heart raced as he stared at the ceiling, the guilt and anger rising in his chest like bile. He couldn't believe he'd let this happen, that he'd given in to the very desires he'd spent a lifetime running from.

Turning to Aaron, the sight of his peaceful, sleeping form sent a bolt of rage through him. How could Aaron just lay there, so at ease, when Adam felt like he was drowning? The need to lash out was overwhelming, a pressure that built and built until he could no longer contain it. With a roar, he brought his fist down on Aaron's shoulder, shaking him awake. "What the fuck did you do to me?" he spat, his voice thick with anger.

Aaron's eyes snapped open, confusion and fear clouding his features. "What the hell, man?" he croaked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. But before he could say more, Adam was on him, fists flying. Aiden staggered back, trying to defend himself, but Adam's fury was a force to be reckoned with. The room was a blur of limbs and grunts, the bed rocking violently with each blow.

The sound of their struggle grew louder, and soon it was punctuated by the thud of the door being thrown open. The room filled with the shocked faces of their dorm mates, all of them staring in disbelief. "What the fuck is going on in here?" one of them shouted, pushing through the crowd.

Adam's rage was a living entity, a beast that had taken over his body. He didn't care about the audience, didn't care about the consequences. All he knew was that Aaron had ruined him, had made him feel things that no man should ever have to feel. His fists connected with Aaron's face, the crack of bone echoing through the room.

But the pain in his knuckles did nothing to quell the anger boiling inside him. It only made it worse. He could see the fear in Aaron's eyes, could feel the warmth of blood trickling down his own chin. And yet, he couldn't stop.

It wasn't until the sound of sirens pierced the night that Adam's rage finally abated. The sight of flashing blue lights in the window was sobering, and the reality of his actions came crashing down upon him. He'd gone too far. He'd hurt Aaron—his roommate, the one person who had shown him kindness and acceptance in a world that had turned its back on him.

The room was a wreck, the bed a tangled mess of sheets and discarded clothes. Aaron lay on the floor, blood seeping from his nose and a bruise already forming around one eye. His once-handsome features were marred by the fury Adam had unleashed, and the look of pain and betrayal in his eyes was almost too much to bear.

Adam was breathing heavily, his own face a mask of disbelief and horror at what he'd done. The sirens grew louder, the flashing lights casting eerie shadows across the room. The panic set in as he realized the severity of his actions—his future, the one he'd fought so hard to maintain, was now in tatters.

The door burst open, and campus security spilled into the room, their eyes wide with shock at the scene before them. "What the hell is going on here?" one of them bellowed, and Adam felt his world collapse in on itself. He knew what was coming next: handcuffs, a trip to the station, and the end of his college career.

In the days that followed, the whispers grew louder, the stares more pointed. The story of the night had spread like wildfire, and Adam had become the college's poster boy for unbridled aggression. The administration had wasted no time in expelling him, citing his violent behavior and the severe damage he'd inflicted on Aaron as reasons enough to cut ties.

As the finality of his situation settled in, Adam found himself wandering the very campus that had once been his kingdom, now a ghostly reminder of all he'd lost. It was there, amidst the bustling crowd of students, that he saw Jack for the first time. The sight of Jack's lanky and skinny frame brought a flood of memories crashing back.

Jack, the quiet, unassuming guy he'd picked on so mercilessly. The way Mrs. Castellanos had stepped in, her eyes flashing with a power he hadn't understood. The feel of her hand on his forehead, the strange incantation that had sent his world spiraling. It was all connected, all a part of the same twisted web that had led him to this moment.

The security guards' grip on his arms was firm, their faces a blur of disapproval and disgust. They marched him through the halls, his feet dragging as he tried to catch one last glimpse of Jack.

===

Adam's life had become a tumultuous mess, a stark contrast to the days when he was the king of the football field. His muscles had atrophied from lack of use, his once-handsome features now marred by the harsh lines of anger and despair. His hair was unkempt, his clothes tattered, and the gleam of arrogance that once filled his eyes was replaced by a haunted look that spoke of dark thoughts and unspoken regrets.

He often found himself wandering the streets, his gaze lingering on the memories of the past that now felt like a distant dream. The frat houses that had once held wild parties now stood as silent judges of his fall from grace. The football field where he had been a legend now held only echoes of his name, whispered in hushed tones and met with sneers.

The hatred for Jack burned in him like an everlasting flame, a reminder of his own downfall. He watched from the shadows as Jack strutted through campus. The plan began to form, a dark and twisted plot to bring Jack crashing down from his throne. If Jack could rise so high, then it was only fair that Adam should be the one to tear him down.

Adam waited until the witching hour, when the neighborhood was shrouded in a cloak of silence. His heart raced as he approached the house, the shadows stretching out to embrace him like old friends. He'd studied the layout meticulously, knew where the spellbooks were kept—the very same ones that had turned his world upside down. The irony wasn't lost on him; he'd use their own weapons against them.

In the quiet of the night, he slipped in through an unlocked window, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. The house smelled faintly of incense and something else—something ancient and powerful. It was the scent of magic.

Adam's rage fueled his steps as he made his way through the house, his eyes scanning the bookshelves for the telltale glow of enchanted tomes. He found them in a room that had clearly once been Mrs. Castellanos' sanctuary—a place where she had practiced her craft, surrounded by candles and mystical artifacts. The sight of the spellbooks sent a wave of anger through him. He'd show Jack what it felt like to lose everything.

With trembling hands, Adam pulled a lighter from his pocket, the flame flickering to life in the darkened room. He watched it dance for a moment before tossing it onto a pile of old curtains that had been left carelessly near a bookshelf. The fabric caught fire with a satisfying whoosh, and Adam felt a grim satisfaction as the flames began to spread, licking at the books and consuming them.

He didn't dare to stay and watch the destruction unfold. The heat was already intense, and the smoke was beginning to fill his lungs. He had to get out before the house was fully engulfed, before anyone could catch him. He turned and sprinted through the hallways, his eyes stinging and his throat raw from the acrid smoke. He could hear the crackling of the fire growing louder, the house's very bones groaning in protest as the inferno took hold.

The night air hit him like a slap in the face as he leaped out the window, the coldness a stark contrast to the searing heat he'd just left behind. He didn't stop running until he was a safe distance away, his chest heaving and his heart thundering in his ears. The sight of the flaming house in the rearview mirror was a grim triumph, a declaration of war against the one person who had dared to best him.

===

Years passed, and the whispers of Adam's fate grew fainter until he was nothing but a cautionary tale.

Jack's transformation had been nothing short of miraculous. His body, once lanky and unassuming, was now a sculpted masterpiece of muscle and might. It was a power that had come with a price—his mother's house reduced to ashes—but it was one he would never forget.

After graduation, Jack felt the weight of Mrs. Castellanos' legacy heavy on his shoulders. The white polo that he wore; gave him the power and knowledge. The power to read minds and hypnotize others was a heady mix, one that made him feel both invincible and utterly alone.

But there was one thing that gnawed at the back of his mind: the fire that had destroyed his family's home. It had been ruled an accident, a tragic case of faulty wiring, but Jack knew better. The flames had burned more than just wood and memories; they had set alight a rage that simmered in him, demanding justice.

Using his newfound abilities, Jack embarked on a quest for the truth. He searched the minds of those who had known Adam, feeling their thoughts like whispers in the wind. It took weeks of meticulous digging, but finally, the pieces fell into place. Adam's hatred had not been satiated by Jack's transformation. Instead, it had festered and grown, turning into a monstrous desire for revenge.

Jack found Adam's dilapidated house easily, the sadness and anger emanating from it like a palpable force. The once-proud football star was now a mere shadow of his former self, living in the squalor of a home that mirrored the decay of his soul. The house was a sad testament to the life Adam had let slip through his fingers—a stark contrast to the warm, welcoming abode Jack had known from his mother's care.

The door was chipped and peeling, a far cry from the pristine white it had been during their college days. With a heavy heart, Jack raised his fist and knocked, the sound echoing through the silent night. The wait was interminable, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Finally, the door creaked open, and there stood Adam, his eyes bloodshot and his clothes stained with regret.

Adam squinted in the dim light, his eyes narrowing at the unfamiliar form before him. "What do you want?" he barked, the bitterness in his voice a stark reminder of the life he'd squandered.

Jack stepped forward, his body casting a long shadow across the threshold. The firelight from the streetlamps danced across the contours of his muscular frame, a silent testament to the power that now resided within him. "You don't remember me, do you?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate within the very bones of the house.

Adam squinted, his eyes widening as he took in the towering figure before him. The shock was palpable, his mind racing to piece together the puzzle. "Who the fuck are you?" he spat, his voice trembling with a mix of anger and fear.

Jack's smile was cold and calculated, the firelight from the street casting an eerie glow across his face. "I am Jack," he said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate through the very foundations of the house. "The same Jack you picked on, the same Jack whose life you tried to ruin. Do you remember now?"

Adam stumbled back, his eyes wide with shock as he took in the towering figure before him. The skinny kid he'd known had been replaced by a muscular behemoth, a man who seemed to be carved from granite. "Jack?" he whispered, his voice barely a croak.

Jack stepped into the light, the fire from the streetlamps playing over his powerful physique. "Yes, now you remember," he said, his voice a low growl that seemed to shake the very air. "And now you have to pay for what you've done."

Adam stumbled back, his eyes wide with fear as he took in the sheer size of Jack. The kid he'd picked on and tormented was gone, replaced by a man who looked as though he could bench press a car. "Wait," he stammered, his voice shaking. "Let me apologize. I didn't know it would go this far."

Jack's smile was cold and hard, like chipped ice. "Your apology won't bring my mother back," he said, his eyes burning with a fury that could have melted the very fabric of the universe. "You had your chance to make amends, but you threw it away when you lit the match."

Adam's face crumpled, a mix of fear and desperation etching lines into his once-handsome features. "Please, Jack," he begged, his voice cracking. "I didn't know it would go that far. I didn't know she'd die."

Jack's gaze was like a laser, cutting through the lies and the years of anger that had built up between them. "It doesn't matter what you knew or didn't know," he said, his voice cold and hard. "What matters is that you did it, and now you're going to face the consequences."

Adam's eyes darted around the room, desperation coloring his cheeks. "You don't get it," he choked out, tears of frustration and fear welling in his eyes. "Maria changed me. She did something to me. She turned me into…this!"

Jack's eyes narrowed, his expression unyielding. "And what makes you think I care?" he sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "You made my life hell for years, and now you want pity? You're getting what you deserve."

He reached out, his hand glowing with an eerie light that seemed to pulse with the very essence of the enchanted necklace. "By the power of the enchantment my mother bestowed upon me," Jack intoned, his voice deep and resonant, "you shall be cursed to never regain your former strength or appeal unless you are fed the essence of muscular men."

Adam's horror grew with each word, his eyes widening until they threatened to pop out of their sockets. "Please," he whimpered, his voice a pathetic echo of the once-booming bellow that had ruled the locker room. "I'll do anything, just don't do this to me."

Jack's smile grew colder, his eyes darker. "You'll do anything?" he repeated, a hint of amusement in his tone. "Including sucking the cock of every muscular man you see?"

Adam's eyes widened further, his body trembling with horror at the very thought. But as the magic of Jack's words settled into his mind, the idea grew more appealing, his mouth watering at the thought of powerful men's essence filling him. "No, please," he whimpered, but his voice was already changing, his tone growing softer, more pleading.

Jack's grin grew wicked. "You're going to crave it," he whispered, his eyes gleaming with malicious delight. "You're going to seek out the very men you used to despise and beg them to fill you with their strength."

Adam's mind rebelled at the thought, but his body was already responding. His mouth watered, his cock growing hard at the prospect of being dominated by the very men he'd once ruled. The magic of Jack's words wound its way through his mind, weaving a pattern of need and desire that he couldn't resist.

Jack stepped closer, his cock swelling in his pants as he felt the power of the enchantment pulsing through him. He reached out and grabbed Adam by the neck, his grip firm and unyielding. "You want this," he murmured, his voice a seductive whisper that seemed to resonate through Adam's very soul. "You want to serve, to be used, to be filled with the strength of others."

Adam's eyes grew glazed, his body responding to Jack's words as if they were a siren's call. He found himself nodding, unable to resist the strange, compelling urge that was building within him. "Please," he begged, his voice a whimper. "Just let me have it."

Jack's grin grew wider, his eyes glinting with the victory of his revenge. He stepped closer, unbuckling his pants and pulling out his thick, engorged cock. It was a weapon of power, a symbol of the strength he now wielded. "On your knees," he ordered, his voice a low command that brooked no argument.

Adam stumbled, his knees hitting the ground with a thud that seemed to resonate through the very core of his being. His hands trembled as they reached for the zipper of Jack's pants, his mind a whirlwind of emotions—fear, anger, and a strange, desperate need. As the zipper slid down, Jack's cock sprang free, a monument to the power that Adam had once taken for granted.

The sight of the thick, pulsing member was almost too much to bear. The very idea of taking it into his mouth made his stomach churn, but the need was stronger. He leaned forward, his lips parting as if of their own accord. "Thank you, Sir," he whispered, his voice a mere wisp of sound.

Jack's cock was hot and heavy, the veins pulsing with the power of the enchantment. Adam took it in his mouth, the taste salty and slightly sweet, a flavor that seemed to resonate with the very core of his being. His jaw stretched painfully around the girth, and he had to fight the urge to gag as Jack's cock hit the back of his throat. But he didn't dare stop; the need to please was too great.

Jack watched with a cruel smile, his eyes never leaving Adam's teary gaze as he began to thrust his hips, fucking Adam's face with a slow, deliberate rhythm that spoke of his absolute dominance. "That's right," he murmured, his voice a dark caress that sent shivers down Adam's spine. "You're going to suck it like a good little bitch."

Adam's cheeks hollowed as he took more and more of Jack's cock into his mouth, his inexperience evident in the awkwardness of his movements. The taste of Jack's precum was bitter on his tongue, but the power of the enchantment made it into a sweet nectar that filled him with a desperate need to please. He sucked harder, eager to make Jack feel the same way he had felt when he'd been at the top of the social hierarchy.

Jack's moans grew louder, his grip on Adam's head tightening as he guided him in a rhythm that grew more and more demanding. Adam's eyes watered and his nose was buried in the thick bush of hair at the base of Jack's cock, but he didn't dare pull away. The feeling of Jack's cock sliding in and out of his mouth was both terrifying and exhilarating, and he found himself getting lost in the sensation despite his fear and revulsion.

Jack's voice was like a siren's song, guiding him through the act, praising him when he hit the right spots, urging him on when he faltered. "Yes, that's it," Jack growled, his hips thrusting into Adam's face. "Suck it, you little bitch. You're going to learn to love this, aren't you?"

Adam couldn't help but nod, his mouth full of cock. The words were a declaration of his new reality, a reality where he was no longer the one in charge, no longer the one calling the shots. His eyes watered and his throat ached, but he pushed through, driven by a force beyond his own control. The enchantment had twisted his desires, turning him into a creature of submission, eager to please the very men he had once looked down upon.

Jack's moans grew louder, his hips bucking in time with Adam's eager mouth. Each gagging sound only seemed to spur him on, his hand tightening in Adam's hair as he guided him with a firm grip. "Yeah," Jack breathed, his voice strained with pleasure. "You're learning, bitch. Just keep it up."

Adam felt the beginnings of Jack's climax in the pulsing of his cock, the taste of pre-cum growing stronger. He sucked harder, desperate to prove his worth in this twisted new world. He could feel the power of Jack's orgasm building, the very essence of the man's strength and vitality. It was a heady feeling, one that both terrified and excited him.

Jack's hips bucked, and he threw his head back, a primal roar escaping his throat as he reached his peak. Adam's eyes rolled back in his head, his mouth full of Jack's thick, hot cum. He swallowed greedily, the warmth spread through his body, filling him with a sense of purpose that was both exhilarating and humiliating.

As he knelt there, his body began to change. His back arched, and muscles began to bulge beneath his shirt. His arms grew thick and powerful, the veins standing out in stark relief. His chest swelled, pushing his shirt tight against his newfound bulk. The transformation was as undeniable as it was unwelcome. He felt his legs thickening, the muscles straining against the fabric of his pants. He was no longer the pathetic, broken man he'd become—he was something else entirely.

Jack watched with a mix of fascination and horror as Adam's body morphed before his eyes. The power of the enchantment was undeniable, the very essence of his own strength flowing into the man who had once been his tormentor. "What is this?" Adam grunted, his voice now deeper and more animalistic. His cock grew in his pants, pushing against the fabric until it was painfully obvious.

Jack stepped back, his own cock still hard as he took in the sight. Adam was no longer the broken man he'd known; he was a creature of power, his body a testament to the dark magic that had claimed him. "You're becoming what you always wanted to be," Jack said, his voice cold and detached. "Strong, powerful, desired."

Adam's grunts grew louder, his body straining with the effort of his transformation. The fabric of his shirt tore away, revealing shoulders that looked carved from stone and biceps that bulged with newfound might. His jeans ripped at the seams, unable to contain the growth of his thighs and calves. He looked like a creature of the night, a monster born of anger and despair.

Jack's cum filled him. His body responded with an almost primal hunger, his cock thickening and lengthening until it was a massive, throbbing shaft that pointed accusingly at the heavens. The transformation was complete, and Adam was no longer the man he had once been.

With a final, guttural shout, Adam's cock erupted, a fountain of white-hot semen that shot through the air, painting the room in a shower of sticky, potent seed. It was a display of power and need that would have made any porn star envious. His body convulsed with the force of his orgasm, his new muscles rippling and flexing as he emptied himself onto the floor.

Jack stepped back, watching with a mix of satisfaction and revulsion as Adam's body went through its final stages of transformation. The room was thick with the scent of sex and power, a heady aroma that seemed to cling to the very air. Adam's eyes were glazed over with lust and desperation as he watched Jack's cock shrink back down to its normal size.

Finally, the spurts of cum ceased, and Adam's body went still. He looked down at himself, his new muscles flexing unconsciously as he took in his changed form. The once-shameful need to suck cock had become a strange, twisted form of euphoria, a high that only grew stronger as he inspected his body with trembling hands. The bulges and contours of his muscles were like a map of the power he'd stolen from Jack, a reminder of his newfound place in the world.

Jack watched him, his expression a mix of triumph and pity. "Remember," he said, his voice a low growl, "this body comes with a price. You've got a week before it starts to fade." He paused, allowing the reality of his words to sink in. "You'll need to find another muscular man to feed your hunger, to keep the enchantment strong."

Adam nodded, his voice a submissive whisper. "Thank you, Sir," he murmured, his eyes never leaving Jack's. "I'm sorry for everything. I never knew… I never knew what I was doing to you." His words were sincere, the weight of his new reality pressing down on him like a lead blanket.

Jack stepped back, his smirk never leaving his face as he took in the transformed man before him. He knew that Adam's life would never be the same, that every time he saw another muscular man, the need to serve would consume him. It was a fate he'd never wish on anyone, but for the man who had once made his life a living hell, it was poetic justice.

"Adam," Jack said, his voice a low purr that seemed to resonate through the very air, "you will forget that I cursed you. You will think of this…quirk," he spat the word out with contempt, "as something that has always been a part of you, something you were born with."

Adam's eyes were still glazed over, his mind swimming with the aftershocks of the powerful orgasm and the magic that had transformed him. "Yes, sir," he murmured, his voice a soft caress that seemed to echo Jack's own dominance.

Jack nodded, the smirk still playing at the corner of his lips as he pulled up his pants and zipped them shut. He didn't bother to tuck in his shirt; the fabric clung to his muscular frame in a way that seemed almost obscene. With a final, dismissive glance at the kneeling figure before him, Jack turned and left the house. The door slammed shut with a finality that seemed to echo through the night.

The walk back to his own house was filled with a strange mix of anger and satisfaction. He'd taken his revenge, but it hadn't brought him the closure he'd hoped for. The house fire had been a tragedy, one that still haunted him in his dreams, but seeing Adam broken and begging for his power had been a small victory. It was a start, a taste of what was to come.

Jack had always been a man of action, and he knew that sitting around and moping wasn't going to change anything. So he turned his focus to his next move—his plan to help those who'd been bullied and mistreated. It was a mission that had been brewing in the back of his mind for years, and now that he had the power to make a difference, he was determined to see it through.

The garage sale was a stroke of genius, a covert operation that served as both a beacon of hope and a silent threat to those who didn't know better. He'd gathered an impressive collection of enchanted clothes, each one carefully chosen and imbued with a specific power. The magic was subtle, but oh so potent, capable of turning the tables on those who'd once wielded power over others.

Paul sat there, his pants sticky with cum, his thoughts racing. He couldn't believe the story he'd just witnessed, the transformation of a man from tormentor to victim, then to something more. He glanced over at Jack, the hulking figure who now looked at him with a knowing smirk. The vision had been intense, but the reality was even more so—he was still sitting in a foldable chair beside this behemoth of a man.

Jack's words hung in the air, a challenge and an offer all rolled into one. The idea of publishing this story was tantalizing, but the potential fallout was too much to consider. What if it got back to Jack? Would he be seen as a betrayer, someone who'd used his mother's legacy for personal gain? And what of Aiden and Abe? Their relationship was theirs to share, not fodder for the public's entertainment.

Paul took a deep breath, trying to compose himself as he stood up from the chair, his legs feeling like jelly. The sticky evidence of his arousal was a stark reminder of the power of the story he'd just witnessed. He looked at Jack, whose smirk had grown wider, and he felt a strange mix of admiration and fear. "Thank you," he said, his voice shaky. "This… it's a lot to take in."

Jack nodded, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "It's quite the tale," he admitted. "But it's one that needs to be told. Just remember," he added, his voice dropping to a low rumble, "what you choose to do with it is entirely up to you."

Paul felt a knot tighten in his stomach as he processed the implication. He knew that Jack's offer wasn't just about sharing a good story; it was about using the power of the enchanted garments to reshape lives. The thought was both exciting and terrifying. "I'll think about it," he managed to say, his voice sounding more confident than he felt.

Jack's smirk grew into a full-blown smile, revealing perfect, gleaming teeth. "You do that," he said, his eyes twinkling with a mischief that made Paul's heart race. "And remember, the clothes make the man." With that, he turned back to the garage sale, leaving Paul standing there, the story of Adam's transformation still echoing in his mind.

As he walked away, Paul couldn't help but glance back at the house. The curtains fluttered in the breeze, a silent reminder of the power that lay within those walls. He knew that Jack had just handed him a golden opportunity, but it came with a heavy burden. The enchanted garments had the potential to change lives, to right wrongs, but at what cost?

[lunarmoves]

this gingerbread home

pairing: DCA sun/moon x reader

mentions: gingerbread house shenanigans, gender neutral reader (no pronouns used!), holiday goodness, not beta'd lol, sfw, post fire at the plex, relationship up to interpretation tbh

a/n: merry christmas @freakdoodles !! tis i, your secret santa! hope you enjoy this little fic full of cozy vibes and a gingerbread house gone wrong :3 happy holidays!

word count: 3.3k+

ao3 link

Your breath fogs against the window of your living room as you peer outside into the dark streets. Winter makes its presence known through the chill of the glass against your fingertips. Beyond it, snow falls gently to the ground to coat it in shimmering white. The deep blue shadows of the night dance across the layer of snow, chased away only slightly from the golden glow of a nearby streetlamp. 

You wiggle your toes through your fluffy socks, the warmth of your home seeping pleasantly into your skin. Faintly, you can smell cinnamon wafting through the air from the kitchen. You have half a mind to see what it’s coming from, but you are captivated by watching the tiny, crystalline snowflakes drift down from the sky. 

It’s a time before something moves somewhere behind you—reflected like a ghost in the window’s glass. You look over your shoulder just in time for a mug of something warm to take up the entirety of your vision. 

“For you, my dear!” Sun beams at you, gently nudging the mug against your cheek. The smell of cinnamon is stronger now, intertwined with something distinctly chocolatey. 

“Thanks, bud.��� You give him a smile and reach up to grab the mug from his hand. It’s like cupping your palms around a small flame, warming your hands and sinking into your skin. You smile down at the small mountain of whipped cream topping the drink and hiding the rich, velvet brown of the hot chocolate. You take a sip—and immediately regret it. 

“Careful!” Sun warns with the hint of a snicker as he watches you stick your tongue out in dismay. The tip of it is a bright red. “It is still rather hot, I’m afraid.” 

“You couldn’t have said that beforehand?” You roll your eyes half-heartedly and instead scoop up a bit of the whipped cream with your tongue before reeling it back into your mouth. The whipped cream is cool as it melts sweetly in your mouth. Better, if minutely. 

“I would have thought it’d been obvious it was right off the stove,” he retorts with all the affection in the world, giving your shoulder a little squeeze. “I have sorely misjudged your eagerness, I think.” 

You sniff and go in for another, more cautious, sip. It’s worth the slight burn on your tongue, the chocolate deliciously coating it and causing something pleasantly hot to settle within the inside of your belly. You sigh happily and have to force yourself to take on a more mockingly somber tone as you mess with him. “And after all the time we have spent together…” 

Sun chuckles and wraps a lithe arm around your shoulders so he can gently pull you from your spot by the window. “And I thought I was the dramatic one! Enough of that, silly. I have everything set up and ready for us!” 

You grin, all sharp teeth and delight. “Oh, sweet!” Your gaze roves over to the living room as Sun starts to guide you there. Sitting atop the little coffee table in front of the television are the unpackaged materials of the gingerbread house kit you’d bought a couple of days ago at Sun’s insistence. Once he had seen it in the store, he’d been rather adamant about getting it for one reason or another. 

(“Come on, Sunshine!” he practically begs you as he holds the kit up in front of your face and wiggles it enticingly. “It’s the perfect activity to do together!” 

“Mmmh, I don’t know, Sun,” you say, pretending like you’re thinking it over. You’d been sold on the idea as soon as you’d seen him pick it up, but it’s still fun to tease him from time to time regardless. Not that you’ll ever admit that out loud. “It gets pretty messy and I know how you can get with messes…” 

“It’ll be fun either way!” he insists, tucking the kit under his sweater-covered arm so he can clasp his hands together and stare at you with wide, white eyes. “Just think about it: you, moon, and I making a little house together out of frosting and candy!” His voice takes on a bit of a dreamy, enchanted quality.

You hum, letting the seconds tick by as you put on a show of heavily deliberating it. You rub at your chin with your fingers. “Okay, fine,” you say with a smile, crossing your arms behind your head. “You’ve convinced me.” 

“Yippee!” he cheers and swiftly sets the kit into your shopping cart. His rays do a happy little spin that you find so utterly endearing combined with his eagerness. “You won’t regret it!”) 

Sun lets go of your shoulder once you both get close enough to the coffee table and you set your mug on a nearby coaster before plopping down onto the floor. Tucking yourself closer to the table, you regard the pieces of gingerbread and small packets of candy.

“Have you and Moon decided on how you want to divide the work?” you ask as you slide one of the candy packs closer so you can squint at the designs. This pack contains little green gummy Christmas trees coated in granulated sugar. Cute.

Sun lets out an “mmhm!” as he folds himself into place next to you—pretzeling his long limbs into fitting under the coffee table. His knee juts out slightly over your thigh, and you poke at it gently with a grin. It only makes him lean his leg’s weight further onto you—the checkered pattern of his red and black pajama pants contrasting against the deep blue of your own.

“We have come to the agreement that I would help with assembling the house and we would both get half of it to help you decorate!” he says proudly, splaying out one of his hands on his chest. The Christmas sweater you’d gotten for him hangs a little loosely from his skinny torso, but it’d been the closest size you could get for his disproportionate body.

“Moon doesn’t want to help with the, I dunno, ‘architecture’?” you wonder with a raised eyebrow, making small air quotes with your fingers. 

“Nnnnope!” Sun replies cheerfully. He reaches out to pull the materials closer to you both, his voice lowering into a not-so-quiet whisper as he leans down closer to your ear. “Between you and me, I think he’s just being lazy.” 

Knowing fully well that Moon is likely listening in on the conversation, you snort. “Yeah, that sounds just like him.” 

Sun only grins at the flatness of your tone and turns back to the table. “Alrighty! Enough stalling! This house isn’t going to build itself!” He grabs the gingerbread kit’s packaging and flips the box over to read the instructions on the back of it. “First we need to add icing along the edges of the walls…” 

The instructions seem simple enough. While you pipe icing in the designated places, Sun carefully sticks the pieces together and holds them in place for a few minutes so they don’t immediately fall apart. The smell of gingerbread overtakes the gentle hint of cinnamon from your drink. The bag of icing in your fingers is soft and pliable from Sun having defrosted it in warm water earlier. 

Once three of the four walls of the gingerbread house are standing, the instructions say to let them sit for fifteen minutes. Unfortunately for the gingerbread house, however, Sun is not that patient. 

“Bud, it’s barely been ten minutes,” you say in amusement as you watch Sun start applying icing to the last wall to attach it to the others. 

He waves a hand at you in dismissal, already pressing the last wall firmly to the edges of the previously erected ones. “It’s fine, Friend! Everything is still standing on its own, I do not think we need to wait that long.” 

The hint of impatience you can glean from his voice makes you huff out a small laugh. “I thought you liked to follow instructions?” 

“Yes, well.” His rays tick back and forth as he holds the walls together to let the icing settle properly. “In this instance we can take them more as a suggestion.” 

You think he just really wants to decorate the gingerbread house itself, considering that’s his forte. Rolling your eyes, you drawl, “Alright, if you say so.” Who are you to stop him? Hopefully the icing holds properly, though you can’t help but warily eye the skeleton of a house as you fiddle with the chain of one of your necklaces. 

With all the walls of the gingerbread house now assembled, it leaves the slanted roof to be carefully placed on top. You add the icing to the two pieces in the required locations, then lick off the extra that had gotten on your fingers (it’s sweet, almost overbearingly so) while Sun meticulously joins the pieces together to complete the bare-bones gingerbread house. 

“Okay!” he says as his hands hover just above the top of the roof, scrutinizing it to make sure the pieces don’t slide off. Miraculously, they hold. You’re a bit impressed. “How much icing is left?”

You show him the piping bag in your hands, and he contemplates it for a moment before nodding. 

“Perfect! Hand it over.” He opens a hand and makes a grabbing motion that causes you to chuckle to yourself. He’s got his game face on, determination lining all the intricate metal and silicon features of his faceplate. You set the bag atop his palm, and he closes his long fingers around it. “Now for the fun part!” 

You end up watching as he carefully squeezes a steady stream of icing from the bag to trace the outlines of the doors and windows on one side of the gingerbread house. It’s a bit captivating; he is exact with his application, the lines of icing neat and straight. He offers the bag to you at one point to see if you want to add icing along the roof, but you decline in favor of sipping at your still-warm drink and watching him. 

“Wow,” you say when he finishes with the icing. “It looks straight out of a stock photo.” 

He’s iced exactly half of the house right down the middle—even the front door only has half of it done. He really is sticking to the fifty-fifty arrangement with Moon. And honestly? He’s done a better job than you can ever hope to imagine. You would be envious, but well, he’s a robot. It makes sense. 

Sun looks proud of himself as he sets the icing down. “Of course! I am nothing but precise!” He reaches over to grab a pack of small candied leaves and pops it open. “And now, the decor~” 

You lend a hand and pop open a candy packet yourself—this one has tiny, multi-colored hard chocolates in the shape of Christmas lights. But after lazily sticking some of them into the icing Sun swirled along the edges of the roof and watching him fiddle with them afterwards—making them neater or swapping some out so the colors are in a better arrangement—you decide to let Sun take care of it all. You designate yourself to supplying him with the candy, finding amusement in his concentration as he makes a direct copy of the image displayed on the gingerbread house’s package. 

It’s almost scary how accurate it is, from the loops of icing on the roof to the gumdrops lining the windows. 

“Aaand done!” Sun exclaims as he wipes his hands of icing on a spare napkin and stands up. He observes the house from all angles and gives it a solid nod. 

“Looks great, buddy,” you compliment as you lean against the table. By now, your mug of hot chocolate is empty, and you secretly mourn the loss. 

“Now all Moon has to do is live up to my highly placed expectations,” Sun says brightly as he walks over to the light switch. He pauses, then adds sarcastically, “As I’m sure he will.” 

You grin, following his movement with your eyes. “Aw, don’t put him down when he’s not even here to defend himself.” 

Sun scoffs and places one hand over the switch, while the other knocks gently at his head. “I assure you, he is not even attempting to.” 

With a flick of his fingers, the lights go out. You avert your gaze as you listen to the shifting metal of his body. The living room is dark, but not overtly so. The lights from the small Christmas tree in the corner of the room are bright enough for you to see, but not so much that it will impede Moon, you think. 

Speak of the devil, you jump slightly when Moon plops himself down directly next to you and immediately leans into your space. 

“What a lovely gingerbread house,” he rasps out as his arm presses into your own, the bell of his nightcap brushing against your shoulder. You eye his expression—the mischief making itself known in the curve of his mouth and crinkle of his eyes. “Sure would be a shame if someone were to… mess it up.” 

“Moon,” you warn, shoving at him slightly so he can stop leaning all of his weight onto you. He relents with a snicker and rights himself properly. “Don’t you dare ruin Sun’s hard work.” 

“Wouldn’t think of it,” he drawls with a sharp grin, slouching forward as he grabs the icing bag from where Sun had left it atop the table. “One might say I would improve upon it, actually.” 

“Somehow I heavily doubt that,” you reply flatly and watch as he squeezes the piping bag in his hands. Some icing shoots out of the tip and lands haphazardly on Moon’s side of the gingerbread house. He doesn’t seem bothered by it. You have a feeling you know how this is going to end up. 

“Shh,” he says and spins the plate holding the gingerbread house around so he can better access its bare sections. Red eyes flick over it with no small amount of slyness. “Let Santa Moon work his magic, Starlight.” 

Five minutes into watching Moon apply icing to his half of the gingerbread house, you realize by “magic” he meant “utter chaos.” 

He doesn’t even bother to make his lines neat—in fact he seems to be actively going out of his way to be as sloppy as possible. Whereas Sun was careful not to make too much of a mess on the table, Moon does not care. Icing gets everywhere. Crumbs from the gingerbread litter the area around the plate. You watch as a small ball of candy rolls off the table and lands somewhere on the plush rug covering the floor. Sun’s going to have a conniption with this—may already be having one, actually.

You’re more amused than anything, especially when Moon finishes with the icing and starts slapping the candy everywhere on the gingerbread house. There is no rhyme or reason to it, just utter vibes, you think. He passes you a packet of the tiny Christmas lights candy, and you join in helping him to decorate his half—trying to salvage it at least a little bit. 

The resulting gingerbread house, at the end of it all, is something that makes you break out into peals of laughter. 

“Oh god.” You chuckle, wiping your fingers off on a napkin. “It looks awful.” 

And indeed, where one side of the gingerbread house is neat and perfect, the other looks like it came straight from an elementary schooler’s nightmare craft project. The juxtaposition makes you snicker to yourself.

Moon grins, his eyes flicking down to his hands to observe the icing covering his fingers. Somehow, he’s gotten a dollop on his faceplate. “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.” 

You snort and gesture at him to lean down. He obliges, the warm light from his optics gently caressing your face as you reach up to wipe away the icing near his static smile with your napkin. And when you pull away, his faceplate almost seems to chase after your fingers before he stops himself and instead watches you attempt to clean up the table. 

“Okay, fun’s over,” you say lightly as you eyeball all the crumbs. It may be a good idea to run your vacuum around the table as well, considering. “Help me clean thi—” 

But before you can finish your sentence, your eyes catch onto the gingerbread house—that tips precariously to one side as the roof pieces start to slide inevitably downwards. 

“Oh shit—!” Your hands dart forward in an attempt to catch the falling pieces. Icing gets re-smeared all over your hands. Candy gets displaced as your fingers fumble around them. You do your best to straighten the gingerbread house, grimacing all the while. Ah, you had a feeling this was going to happen.

Moon giggles as he watches your vain struggle to fix what he and Sun had worked so hard on (Sun moreso than Moon). You manage to get it standing properly again, but one of the walls has collapsed completely and the others look like they aren’t faring any better now that the icing is giving in. 

You sigh, feeling a wry smile tugging at your lips. “I knew we should’ve waited the full fifteen minutes.” Not that you think that would have made much of a difference. 

“Down it goes~” Moon croons, not even lifting a finger to lend some assistance. His eyes are upturned in delight as he sways slightly side to side. “How the mighty fall.” 

“Yeah.” You pull your hands away and watch, slowly, as the gingerbread house collapses into itself and lays on the plate in a sad heap. Moon is silent as he watches with you, though you can tell he wants to laugh. It makes you suppress your own chuckle. “You think there’s any salvaging that?” 

“No,” is Moon’s short response as he pokes at one of the gummy Christmas trees, then picks it up to mime eating it. You do a nose exhale when his eyes flick over to you to see if you’re watching. 

“Well, what does Sun think?” you ask, feeling your lips twitch at his antics.

“He is mourning.” 

“Pfft, sorry Sun.” You make a move to run your hand through your hair, but catch yourself when you see the icing coating your fingers. “Ah, that’s okay. It was fun while it lasted! We can do something else.” You turn to look at Moon, who meets your gaze with his own curious one. “Any suggestions?” 

There is a moment where Moon regards you, his head tilting to the side. Then, you watch as his pupils flick down to his icing-covered hands before looking back up at you. His smile stretches across his faceplate. 

Oh. You know that look. 

“Moon,” you warn as you scooch away from him. “No. Don’t even think about it!” 

“Think about what?” he asks slyly, starting to lean your way. 

“Abou— Moon!” 

You are too slow to dodge his swipe at your face—icing gets smeared from the corner of your mouth and up your cheek. Faintly, you can register its sweet taste. Your jaw drops open at the audacity of it all, and you scramble up to your feet to put more distance between you and him lest he repeat the action. He doesn’t follow you, only slowly stands in his spot as you shuffle backwards whilst giving him the stink eye. 

“Moon, I swear to god if you do that shit again,” you threaten him as you hold your hands out defensively in front of you, “I’ll—” 

“You’ll what?” Moon asks with a mischievous grin, already bending at the knees in a pose that you are all too familiar with. Uh oh. His eyes squint into ruby slivers. 

Your mouth closes, and you ponder your options for a few seconds before giving him a short nod. “Okay. Yeah. I’m gonna run now.” 

“Good,” is all he says before he abruptly lunges towards you. 

And as Moon chases you throughout your home, the poor remains of the gingerbread house are forgotten and replaced by the sound of your laughter and the gentle tinkle of his bells.

[ur-average-farp]

me: *trying to focus* my trash brain: freeze your braaaaaaiiiiinnn- in zE HAUS OF HOLBEIN JA- rich set a fire and he burned down the house! WoAhOhOH- southern motherf*ckin' democratic republicans!- on the steps of the palaaaaaaace- if i stop smoking crack CRACK???- the wizard and iiiiiiii- all you gotta do is say my name I dOn't KNoW yoUr NaMe- paciencia y feeeeeee me: why

[wonderful-writers-au]

I’ll burn their houses to the ground.

JJ Maybank x Pogue!Reader

W/C - 2 k

Summary - JJ sets fire to a kooks house, you’re the person the reason and the outcome isn’t the best.

Warnings - Fire, Gun fire, fluff, blood, violence, swearing, death, wounds, mentions of death, dead/dying parents, kissing, gore, slut and whore shaming, drug mention, bottle bombs.

A/N - Re-alive good fandoms people!!! Also, this is after season three, so between three and four!!

JJ was a pogue, so were you. A life you were both forced into since birth. You both didn’t have an option. You and JJ loved your life, John B didn’t.

JJ was the most impulsive one of your friends. He hated the kooks, he couldn’t help it - or that’s what you’d like to tell yourself anyways -

So as you were sitting on a beach, with the devil himself, Topper and Rafe slowly approach you two, with a purpose in their steps. Rafe had a devious look on his face and Topper had a smirk that you could only yearn to punch off, being a woman and all. JJ snarls in complete and utter anger as he clenches and unclenches his fists and looks down at his feet in the sand. Rafe laughs, the laugh taunting in a way, as Topper decides to speak up like the idiot he is.

“Darling couple you two make.” Topper laughs. You groan and look up. “Fuck off Topper.” You bark out. Rafe laughs. “How did you move on from me to him?” Rafe asks mockingly. JJ groans, clenching his fists so the skin turns tight and white.

You and Rafe had a nightmarish history. You were forced into a couple with him by your horrendous father. Date Rafe for cash to seem slightly less impoverished than you were in the first place. Didn’t work, but when your father has a plan he sticks too it. Devoted, but impossible to change the situation and stubborn as hell.

“What the fuck do two you want?” JJ asks, his question coming out almost like a dog bark, snappy and filled with displease. Topper chuckles cockily. “Oh please, You and your imbecile friends think you’re all so fucking elegant with that money.” Topper ridicules. Topper was a rich bastard, heaven forbid anyone actually work for their money. Ever since you and the rest of Pogues came back with your riches from South America, kooks would taunt your decisions with the money. You all made a tackle shop off the shore with JJ’s Dads land.

“You two are idiots.” You scoff. Rafe snarls and clenches his fists. JJ jumps up to his feet in complete anger and fury. “Watch your mouth! You pogue slut!” Topper yells.

JJ pushes Tooper harshly, the whole show taking you by surprise. “Don’t fucking call her that man or I swear to go-“ JJ yells back, his voice louder then Toppers, by a long shot. Topper pushes back, JJ’s anger starts to increase and you can see the fire igniting in his eyes.

“What are you gonna do ‘bout it man! I’m just saying the simple truth!” Topper shouts, you stand up with them, almost feeling lonely on the floor. “Come on man! Did you see the way she treated Ra-“ Topper gets cut off with a quick blow to the face, by you, surprisingly.

“Shut the fuck up, You rich dirty coke-sniffing pig.” You growl in disgust. Toppers hands are at his nose. “You broke my nose, you whore!” Topper yells out, the yelling being muffled by the fact the fat of his palms was contesting his abilities to speak correctly.

Everything went by in a quick blur, but before you knew it, you and JJ were running from them, Rafe and Topper. Took you both a decent ten minutes to lose them before you and JJ ended up back at the tackle shop. JJ looked pissed, the most angered you’d ever seen him.

He’s rummaging through the cupboards where you keep hooks for fishing and he pulls out two bottles of beer, that are filled with mold. “I knew I’d need these one day.” JJ mutters to himself, his voice filled with purpose. “Fucking with my lady, I swear to fuck they’ll get what they deserve.”

“Jay…” You say softly, he keeps mumbling under his breath. You clap indirectly at his face so he snaps out of it, quickly and swiftly as you two meet eyes. “Jay, Baby, please relax.” You whisper as you cup his cheek.

JJ almost instantly calms to your touch. Almost. “They said horrible things about you!” JJ protests, his voice bordering a whine as he places the bottles up on the counter. “It’s disgusting, they can’t get away with it.” You peck a soft and light kiss to his lips, while caressing his cheek.

“I know baby…” You purr. He hums and pushes you away, you frown out of reflex. He grabs a bottle and you scrunch up your nose in disgust. “And what is the purpose of these bottles?“

“Two words. Bottle. Bombs.” JJ smirks, waving the bottles in your face tauntingly. You swat his hands away.

“Oh hell no.” You say, your face a good, clear look of seriousness. JJ smirks and touches the tip of your nose with the pad of his fingertips.

“All is fair in love and war, Pretty girl.” JJ says, somewhat romantically. You almost swooned, you probably would’ve if he used the term correctly…and if he wasn’t trying to blow up Toppers house with a bottle bomb. But you more distressed over the latter.

“That is not how you use that.” You say, folding your arms in a sense of purpose and you blinked, you swear you closed both your eyes for half a second and he was out the door, motorbike was turned on and he was riding away with the bottle.

You storm out with the Twinkie keys and drive after him as swiftly as possible. It all seems so over whelming to you. Your hands grip the wheel as tight as possible so the skin turns slightly opaque and the whiteness of the bones shine through.

You arrive at JJ’s motorbike, placed strategically behind a bush probably so it cant be recognised. You park the car and get out and see JJ throwing the bottle bomb through a window of the second floor. It smashes the window and the glass shards ricochet like someone’s bone to a bullet. It gets JJ in the eye, you can see it in his face as he winces softly.

Flames ignite throughout the room, slowly rising, and burning wood as it spreads wildly. The smell of smoke fills the air and is intoxicating your smelling ability. Blue and red lights flash around you as you peak through the bush that you were situated in.

You felt as if your feet were stuck into the ground, like a crab who burrowed down into the sand. A feeling of dread filled you as you watched the scene unfold.

As JJ runs back to the bush, his eyes and yours meet and instantly, his eyes filled with somber and grief-stricken emotion that only could be seen as heartbreak. But as his eyes frail away, a boom of finality rings through the air, JJ’s body falls to the floor with a grunt. His body looking vulnerable, as he lands back on the ground, starring up at you. You let out a bone-chilling scream, you run to him and look at the blood stained white t-shirt.

You instantly put pressure on the wound, tears falling from your eyes. He lets out a painful groan and you sob. “Stay with me…” You sniff. “Please, Y/N I wish I could, I really do.” He chokes out. There was a pain in his voice. But not of physical pain, of yearning and longing. As if he feels his life crumbling away before his eyes.

You sob wistfully again. Your hands remaining on the wound as he cups your cheek, his thumb softly and slowly moving and caressing. The small action was enough to know the amount of pain he was in. You feel lost as your eyes look at the blood staining your hands. A flash of life and memories fill your head. The man you’ve loved, kissed, hugged and known since you both were three, his life was slipping away only at 19. He had so much more life to live. The house he promised you. The stupid fucking picket fence life. You never realised how much you longed for that with him, never until his moment, as he lays in front of you.

“Please Jay…stay with me…” You plead again, somehow, your pleading looks like it wont work. You just wish that you could wish for it all back. “This isn’t…” He chokes and coughs, a light faint red splatter from his lips. Your eyes fill with terror, the pressure on the wound instantly loosening, but still tight. “Your fault, please don’t…blame it on yourself.”

Your heart shatters with each fading breath JJ takes. “I love you Jay.” You sob. You stop putting pressure on the wound and your grab his hand. He smiles weakly, the small action causing a pain that shatters your heart into smaller shards. “I’ll love you to forever, and I mean it Y/N.”

The light in his eyes dims, leaving an unbearable emptiness. You kiss him one final time. Then you scream and cry for help. Dreading that this is his end. He doesn’t deserve this, any of the hatred he got, you always will love him. The reckless, loyal, loving man he was.

“I’ll burn all the houses in the world for you.”

[fanficapologist]

Of Dragons and Maelstroms

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Chapter Eighty-Four

The large hall in Dragonstone was an imposing space, with high ceilings and walls of dark stone that bore the weight of centuries. A massive hearth dominated one end of the hall, its fire blazing warmly, tended by diligent stewards. Lamps hung from iron sconces along the walls, casting a soft, golden glow that flickered as the evening settled in. The sun was setting outside, painting the sky with hues of deep orange and pink, visible through the tall, narrow windows.

In the center of the room stood a long stone table, adorned with an array of food. Platters of roasted vegetables , fresh bread, pies, and soup a were laid out invitingly. The abundance and variety were meant to impress, but to Maera, the smell was overwhelming. Her pregnancy had heightened her sensitivity, and the rich aromas of the feast threatened to turn her stomach. She took a deep breath, steadying herself and attempting to conceal her nausea.

As Maera observed, Hugh and Ulf took their seats at the table. It quickly became apparent they were not of highborn blood. They handled the cutlery with a lack of familiarity, their movements awkward and unsure. Instead of waiting for servants to serve them, they filled their own plates, heaping food onto them with a casualness that spoke of their common origins. There was no pretense of decorum or the polished manners of the nobility, just a straightforward approach to the meal that contrasted sharply with what Maera was accustomed to.

Aemond was the first of the couple to approach the table, his movements precise and deliberate. He pulled out a chair and gestured for Maera to sit, ensuring she was two seats away from Hugh and Ulf. Maera smiled to herself at his slight jealousy, limping slightly as she made her way to the chair. She sat down carefully, grateful for Aemond’s assistance as he pushed the chair in for her.

The Prince then began to serve Maera’s plate before even taking his own seat. He selected a slice of pie and placed it on her plate, but the minute it touched the dish, Maera quietly wretched. Aemond’s concern was immediate, his eye locking onto hers with worry. She shook her head slightly, prompting him to remove the food from her plate quickly.

As her husband took his seat beside her, his posture rigid and formal, Maera picked at the items on her golden plate, choosing the least aromatic items to merely nibble on. She kept a careful eye on Aemond, who was similarly restrained, his wariness evident in the way he handled his knife and fork.

Hugh jumped a seat closer to Maera, his eyes twinkling with interest despite Aemond's efforts to maintain the space between them. He cocked his head, noticing Maera's lack of appetite. “Is the food not to your liking, Princess?” he asked with a teasing smile.

Maera laughed softly, shaking her head. “No, no, forgive my rudeness,” she apologised, rubbing her belly soothingly as she felt the child move beneath her leather dragon riding skirts. Hugh’s gaze lingered on her hand, captivated by the sight. Aemond's glare was sharp and protective, his jaw tightening as he watched the interaction. “The child makes it difficult to stomach certain foods,” Maera added, her tone light but her eyes flicking cautiously towards her husband.

Ulf, seated across the table, leaned forward slightly. “We wouldn’t be very good hosts if the Princess did not eat,” he remarked with a slight exasperation in his voice. “If you could have anything, what would you like?”

Maera’s eyes lit up. “Raspberry tart with custard is my current favorite,” she said almost instantly, a genuine smile spreading across her face.

Ulf nodded, and Hugh rudely barked across the room, “Bring the Princess a bowl!” The servants complied immediately, though Maera noticed a subtle eye roll and a huff from the steward as he exited the room, as well as some glaring at the men from the serving girls. It was clear these dragonseeds were not well liked.

A short while later, a bowl containing the tart and custard was brought in. The tart looked delicious, its golden crust perfectly flaky, while the custard was rich and creamy, its sweet aroma mingling with the tartness of the raspberries. Maera licked her lips, anticipation in her eyes as she picked up her silver spoon to take a bite.

But before the first spoonful could reach her mouth, Aemond’s hand shot out, grabbing her wrist firmly. His warning glare spoke volumes, his distrust palpable. Maera looked at him, confused at first, but then understanding his wariness. What if the food was poisoned?

“Oh, for Gods’ sake,” Ulf groaned, rising from his seat and striding over to Maera’s side. He snatched the spoon from her hand and ate the contents, swallowing it down to prove there was no foul play. “See? No poison,” he said, his tone edged with frustration.

Maera sighed, offering an apologetic smile. “Forgive my husband’s reaction. He is just very protective,” she explained, trying to ease the tension.

Ulf nodded curtly, glaring at the one-eyed prince before returning to his seat. “A loyal husband you have there,” he muttered, though the atmosphere in the room had shifted, an awkward tension settling over the table as they continued their meal.

Maera could feel Aemond’s anger simmering beside her, but she forced herself to focus on her food, determined to glean whatever information she could from their hosts.

She knew speaking with Hugh would be more productive than trying to break through the soured demeanor of Ulf. With a warm smile, she turned her attention to the giant and politely inquired about his upbringing. He responded with a hearty laugh, explaining he was raised by blacksmiths and joked how he might have passed for the blacksmith’s true-born son if it hadn’t been for his violet irises.

Ulf scoffed, his expression bitter. He muttered something under his breath about how at least Hugh didn’t have white hair in a family where the seven other children had red hair. Maera chuckled at this, remembering her own upbringing with many siblings, and began to share her past. She spoke of the chaos and camaraderie of growing up in Rain House, recounting funny stories and playful rivalries among her brothers and sisters. Ulf seemed to warm to her, a flicker of understanding in his eyes as he realized she too had been inundated with siblings to compete with.

The atmosphere at the table gradually relaxed as Maera continued her tales. Hugh and Ulf’s rough edges were evident: they talked with their mouths full, reached across the table without hesitation, and displayed a certain honesty in their manner that intrigued her. How freeing it must have been to live without the constraints of highborn etiquette.

Aemond observed the interactions quietly, not uttering a word or eating any food but sipping every so often on his wine. His presence was a silent sentinel, his sharp gaze assessing every move and every word exchanged.

Maera noted the brutish behavior in Hugh, particularly in the way he spoke to the castle staff, barking orders with little regard for their feelings. Ulf, on the other hand, indulged a little too much in the wine, his laughter growing louder and more raucous as the evening wore on. Maera knew these men controlled dragons, and to have them as enemies with nothing to lose would be dangerous indeed.

Once the meal had finished, the wine continued to flow. Hugh and Ulf indulged themselves, their cups never empty as they settled by the hearth. The guests, Maera and Aemond, were invited to join them, but they merely sipped on their cups, keeping their wits about them amidst the increasingly loose-lipped dragonseeds.

As the wine made their tongues more liberal, Hugh and Ulf revealed much about the Blacks’ plans and their own roles in the war. Ulf spoke with a certain pride about how Rhaenyra had encouraged Targaryen bastards to her service, offering them the opportunity to tame dragons and support her claim to the throne. In return, she promised them land and titles once the war was won.

Hugh laughed darkly, recalling how many of those recruited had been burned, killed, or eaten by the wild dragons, leaving only a few bastards still alive. His laughter sent a shudder through Maera. The gruesome fate of those unfortunate enough to fail at taming the dragons highlighted the perilous nature of Rhaenyra’s plan.

The pale-haired bastard continued, revealing that the recent invasion of King’s Landing had been prompted by the death of Jacaerys. Maera’s heart sank with guilt, knowing she had inadvertently contributed to his demise. As a future mother, she couldn’t help but sympathize with Rhaenyra’s pain to an extent.

The giant then explained that Rhaenyra’s strategy to conquer the city included her husband Daemon, her step-daughter Baela, and two dragonseeds, Nettles and Addam, along with all of their dragons. He added that the gold-cloaks remained loyal to Daemon and would assist in claiming the capital. King’s Landing, he boasted, did not stand a chance against such a formidable force.

Maera listened intently, piecing together the gravity of the situation. The hearth’s warmth contrasted sharply with the chilling revelations being laid bare before them. The two dragonseeds, with their uncouth manners and harsh laughter, painted a vivid picture of the brutal reality of the war. Maera’s mind raced, contemplating the dire implications of the Blacks’ plans and the peril that lay ahead.

As the fire crackled in the hearth, Aemond broke his silence with a sharp question. "What did my cunt half-sister ask you to do once I arrived?"

Ulf chuckled darkly, leaning back in his chair. "She asked us to behead you and fly your body to King's Landing to be displayed before the Realm."

Maera felt a chill run down her spine, but she drank deeply from her cup to mask her discomfort. The pale-haired man continued on, explaining once the job was done, he and Hugh were to fly to the town of Tumbleton, a region in the Reach that supported Rhaenyra’s cause.

The giant man, sipping his wine, added, "Rhaenyra sees us as pawns, blindly following orders. She did not anticipate your wife arriving on her own dragon with you, Prince Aemond. Nor was she aware of her grace and charm."

Maera smiled, raising her cup in Hugh's direction. She decided to massage their egos further in order to get more information. Leaning sideways in her seat, she reached out with her hand and danced her fingers along Hugh’s arm. He welcomed the touch, a smirk forming on his lips, while Aemond boiled with rage beside her.

"Why did you not kill us then?" Maera asked, her voice soft and curious.

Ulf scoffed, "It's best to keep our options open."

Hugh nodded in agreement. "Especially after Rhaenyra kept breaking her promises."

Maera noted the bitterness in their voices, recognizing a potential advantage. She maintained her charm, hoping to extract more valuable information. The tension in the room was palpable, but Maera's calm demeanor and strategic flattery kept the situation under control, even as Aemond seethed quietly at her side.

The Princess swilled the wine around in her cup thoughtfully before commenting, "A good queen should not break promises to her subjects without good reason. What was promised to you both?"

Ulf leaned back, a smirk playing on his lips. "I was promised a marriage to Lady Stokeworth and Storm's End, while Hugh was promised a marriage to Lady Rosby and Casterly Rock. But Rhaenyra rescinded the offers after Lord Corlys advised against it."

Hugh scoffed, his expression darkening. "The only reason Rhaenyra gives a shit about the Sea Snake’s opinion is because he threatened to leave after learning of his wife’s death." Maera raised a brow as the giant man took a swig from his cup and then slammed it down in anger. "Not only did Rhaenyra elevate Corlys to Hand of the Queen, but she even legitimized his bastards so he would have heirs to inherit Driftmark. And what did Ulf and I get? Mere knighthoods."

Maera glanced at Aemond, who looked back at her with understanding. There was a clear disgruntled attitude from the men towards Rhaenyra, and both Ulf and Hugh struck them as men motivated by payment rather than honor. This presented a potential opportunity to secure their allegiance.

She smiled gently at the men, her mind working quickly. She needed to tread carefully, but if she could turn their dissatisfaction to her advantage, it could shift the balance of power in their favor. "Promises should be kept, especially to men of your valor and strength," she said, her voice smooth and persuasive.

The Princess heard her husband hum in agreement beside her, his gaze fixed on the flames of the large hearth. He very matter-of-factly told the men, "You were fools to think bastards could hold such kingdoms as the Westerlands and Stormlands."

Ulf glared at the one-eyed prince, his anger palpable, but before he could argue, Maera interjected. "Bastards can rise to high stations in this world," she said, her voice calm yet firm. Hugh cocked his head to the side in curiosity, and Maera continued, "Lord Unwin's bastard brother, Meryn, is a knight. And my uncle Friedrick’s bastard son has become a Maester. And in Dorne…” Leaning closer to Hugh she added in a low voice, "Bastards become kings."

Ulf scoffed, his skepticism evident. "Do you truly believe bastards are worthy of such honors?"

Maera countered quickly, "I believe a good queen should make good on her promises."

Aemond couldn't help but add another dig, "The lords of Westeros would never have accepted you to have claim over Casterly Rock and Storm's End. Mayhaps it was the Blacks' fault for offering such large prizes in the first place."

Maera nodded in agreement, her tone conciliatory yet strategic. "But a more realistic offering with the promise of a secure future? I think that is indeed possible.”

Hugh's eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he considered her words, while Ulf's expression remained guarded. Maera knew she had planted a seed of doubt about Rhaenyra's character, and now it was time to nurture it into something more beneficial for their cause.

The pale-haired dragonseed raised a brow and asked, “What are you suggesting?”

Maera turned her head to look at her husband, catching the subtle signs of his irritation—the way his tongue swiped across his teeth, his jaw clenched tightly. She knew Aemond well enough to anticipate that his pride would get in the way of offering the men something they would actually accept.

As Aemond opened his mouth, Maera butted in first, her tone confident. “The war is sure to wipe out many noble houses who have fought against us. When our dragons burn their lords, there will be plenty to offer.”

Aemond’s glare was intense, but Maera ignored it. She pointed at each of the men in turn. “Lord Ulf the White of Horn Hill,” she said, then moved her finger across to the giant. “And Lord Hugh Hammer of Harrenhal.” Maera giggled, adding, “I like how those both sound.”

Hugh’s eyes lit up with interest, a greedy glint in his violet irises. Ulf’s demeanor softened as he considered the offer, the tension in his shoulders easing. Maera could see that the seed she had planted was taking root.

She felt a hand on her leg, lightly squeezing her thigh. Turning, she met Aemond’s stern gaze. He said her name with a warning tone, “Maera.”

She responded calmly, “Even you cannot deny that Vermithor, Silverwing, and their riders would make a great addition to our cause.”

Hugh’s broad face split into a grin, his brutish features momentarily softened by the prospect of power and wealth. “Lord Hugh Hammer of Harrenhal,” he repeated, savoring the title.

Aemond’s expression was unreadable, but Maera could feel the tension in his grip. She had taken a bold step, one that could either secure their allies or incite their wrath. But she believed in the strength of their position and the allure of the promises she made. After a moment, the one-eyed Prince nodded in agreement, indicating his support for her plan.

A contemplative silence settled over the hall, broken only by the crackle of the fire and the distant calls of Ēbrion and Vhagar. The flickering flames cast long shadows, adding to the heavy atmosphere.

Ulf, still guarded in demeanor, finally broke the silence. "You present a generous offer," he said, leaning forward in his seat, his tone suspicious. "But would you truly entrust such estates to bastards who would betray their original cause?"

Maera was momentarily speechless. He had a good point, and her mask of confidence slipped slightly. Before she could embarrass herself by stumbling over her words, Aemond interjected. "The Realm will never accept a Queen," he stated matter-of-factly. "Rhaenyra will not last long." He tilted his head to the side, his gaze piercing. “Better to be on the winning side with a legitimate claim to the throne, is it not?” He took another sip of his drink, the hint of a smirk playing on his lips.

Ulf and Hugh exchanged a look, their expressions hard to read. The tension in the room was palpable, each side weighing the implications of the conversation.

Maera promptly rose from her seat, her hand resting protectively on her bump. Aemond stood as well, helping her to stand fully. "We will not trouble you to come to a decision tonight, my Lords," Maera said light-heartedly, trying to ease the tension. "The hour is late."

She politely asked the servants across the room to lead them to a chamber where they could spend the night. The maid and steward nodded, and the guards moved to open the doors of the hall. As they departed, Aemond looked back at the dragonseeds. "I expect an answer on the morrow," he stated firmly.

The dragonseeds watched them leave, the flickering firelight reflecting in their eyes. Maera and Aemond stepped out of the hall, the weight of the night's negotiations still hanging heavily in the air.

“Daor dokimarves pāsagon zirȳ?” You cannot seriously trust them?

The room Aemond and Maera were shown to was modest yet comfortable. A large, canopied bed dominated the space, its dark wooden frame intricately carved with dragon motifs. Rich tapestries depicting scenes of dragon battles hung on the stone walls, adding warmth and a sense of history to the chamber. A fireplace was already lit, casting a soft glow and gentle warmth throughout the room. A small table with a pair of chairs was set near a window, offering a view of the now darkened sea.

Maera assumed this was not Rhaenyra’s or Daemon’s chamber due to its size and simplicity. It lacked the grandeur and opulence expected of the ruling couple’s quarters. Instead, she surmised it was either Prince Jacaerys’s or Prince Lucerys’s old room. This realization made Maera’s heart sink; she had inadvertently caused the death of Jacaerys, and her husband, Aemond, had directly killed Lucerys. The weight of these past actions settled heavily upon her as she moved further into the room. The shadows seemed deeper, and the room, though warm and welcoming, felt tinged with sorrow.

Aemond remained guarded, even as the servants of the castle helped the couple prepare for bed. His watchful eye followed the serving girls closely as they attended to Maera, his posture tense and alert. He was insistent on staying nearby, as if he did not trust the women. After everything they had been through, Maera could not blame him for his wariness.

The One-Eyed Prince did not even wish to speak the common tongue in front of the servants, fearing they might relay any information to the dragonseeds. Instead, he chose to converse with his wife in High Valyrian, confident that the bastards would only know the basic dragon commands and not understand their private discourse.

As he sat on the edge of the bed, his violet eye remained sharp, Maera laughed softly in response to his question as one of the serving girls began to undo her hair, the dark strands falling loose around her shoulders. “Jaesi daor,” Gods no, she replied, her voice light yet tinged with pragmatism.

The other serving girl worked on loosening the strings at the front of Maera's dragon riding gear, careful with each movement. Maera looked at Aemond, her green eyes meeting his intensely. “Yn nyke zoklākogon zirȳ lo īlva skoros īlon jaelagon,” But I shall indulge them if it gets us what we want, she added, her tone firm and resolute.

Aemond's jaw tightened, and he gave a single nod, acknowledging her strategy. The servants continued their tasks, oblivious to the deeper meaning behind the words spoken in the ancient tongue.

As the serving girl undid the final lace at the front of her leather bodice, Maera let out a sigh of relief. Her tender, swollen breasts from the pregnancy had been constrained for too long, and the release brought immediate comfort. The serving girls then guided her to a stool in front of a dressing table. One brushed her hair with gentle, rhythmic strokes, while the other began to carefully remove her boots.

Maera glanced at Aemond, her eyes filled with a mix of sadness and determination. Speaking softly in High Valyrian, she said, “Se oktio iksos ojūdan, Aemond. Nyke gaomagon daor gīmigon se vējes hen aōha lentor. Isse nūmāzma nyke daor naejot pendagon bē.” The Capital is gone, Aemond. I do not know the fate of your family. In truth I am trying not to think about it.

She winced as the servant accidentally knocked her upper arm, before she offered her sincere apologies. Maera nodded with a sad smile before looking at her reflection in the mirror. Her heart ached in that moment, unable to suppress the vivid images that came to her mind. She could almost see the horror on Helaena’s and Jaehaera’s faces, hear the sound of Maelor’s cries, much like the night Jaehaerys was murdered. Silently, she prayed that Thena had managed to get them out safely, sparing them from further horror.

Aemond's face remained stoic, but his eye betrayed a flicker of shared pain at his wife’s words Once her hair was brushed, the serving girl set down the comb and retrieved a folded white nightgown, its delicate fabric a stark contrast to the tension and sorrow in the room. It might have been Rhaenyra’s, adding a layer of irony to the moment.

Maera sighed, the exhaustion of the day and the weight of her burdens pressing down on her. "“Yn lanta tolī zaldrīzoti naejot dohaeragon īlva ērinis sagon beldan.” But two more dragons to help us claim it would be advantageous, she murmured, the pragmatism in her voice a thin veil over her underlying despair.

The Prince nodded, his expression hardening with resolve. “Xaldrīzes kipagīrosi bona daor hen īlva ānogar hinittan naejot emagon sōvegon dāero.” Dragon riders that are not of our blood are dangerous to have flying freely. Before Maera could reply, she yelped out in pain. As the servants peeled off her black leather coat, it quickly became clear that the healing wounds on Maera’s arm had split. The skin was raised and red, her arm and underdress stained with dried blood.

Maera raised her eyes from her wounds to her husband. She could not help but scowl at him; the wounds would not be there in the first place if he had not been so foolish to entertain the witch of Harrenhal. But instead of verbalizing this, Maera hissed in pain before suggesting, “Pār mazverdagon zirȳ hen īlva ānogar?” Then why not make them of our blood?

The servants moved with practiced efficiency, carefully removing her skirts, leaving Maera in her blood-stained underdress, her enormous belly protruding under the fabric. The sight of her wounds reopening filled her with a mix of pain and helplessness, but she refused to let it show too much. She groaned in frustration, noticing the healing wound on her leg had also split open, the blood seeping through the fabric.

The servants moved quickly and efficiently, bringing forth a bowl of warm salted water and setting it aside on the dressing table. Maera sat down, carefully shifting her weight to avoid aggravating her wounds further. The servants began to prepare to tend to her, but Aemond intervened, snatching the rag from one of the serving girls. He submerged it in the water and approached Maera to clean her arm. She flinched, stepping back, refusing to let Aemond touch her. After a moment of tense silence, he handed her the rag, and Maera hissed as she cleaned her arm herself, the salt stinging her wounds.

“Skori se vīlībāzma iksos ērinagon, lo pazavor umbagon, īlon se ābri Baela se Rhaena, se emagon Ulf se Hugh dīnagon.” When the war is won, and if they remain loyal, we should spare the ladies Baela and Rhaena, and have Ulf and Hugh wed them, Maera suggested through gritted teeth as she scrubbed at the skin of her left arm.

She pulled her white dress to the side, rinsing out the rag and dipping it back in the bowl before scrubbing harshly at her left thigh. Aemond watched on, captivated by the sight of her, his gaze intense and unwavering. The firelight cast a warm glow on her figure, highlighting the strength in her movements despite the pain she was enduring. But Maera looked away from him, focusing on the task at hand.

The servants offered her the new nightgown, a soft, white garment that seemed almost out of place in the harsh setting of Dragonstone. As Maera attempted to lift her arms and pull off her underdress, she screeched in pain. One of the serving girls tried to assist in pulling it over her head, but Maera could not cope. She was sweating from the jolts of pain, her breath coming in sharp gasps.

She then felt a strong, warm presence behind her, followed by the unmistakable sound of a dagger being unsheathed. Aemond’s calloused palm rubbed gently down her right arm, a touch that was welcome in this moment of vulnerability. With his dagger, Aemond gently cut the back of her underdress, the fabric falling to the floor in a heap, leaving her curvaceous body bare. He asked her, while remaining behind her, “Ao pendagon Corlys Velaryon mazōregon lī irūdan syt zȳhon jorrāelagon talanni?” You think Corlys Velaryon would accept those terms for his dear granddaughters?

The servants helped Maera into her nightgown, gently putting it over her head and guiding her arms through the holes. The fabric was cool and soothing against her skin, and Maera sighed in relief as the pain subsided slightly. She then turned to her husband and raised her brow, stating with a determined edge, “Konīr kōrī gūrotir syt qrimpālegon.” There are worse fates for traitors.

Aemond’s gaze met hers, a mixture of pride and concern in his eye. The servants offered to assist Aemond in readying for bed, but he merely looked at them with a look that could kill, a low growl escaping his throat. They jumped, quickly bowing their heads to both him and Maera before scurrying out of the room, their footsteps echoing down the corridor.

Aemond dragged one of the chaises across the room to the foot of the bed as Maera sat on the bed, watching him. He removed his long black leather coat, his movements deliberate and precise. “Nyke pendagon se rōva mēre vaoresagon dīnagon ao,” I think the big one would rather wed you, he remarked sarcastically, his tone dripping with jealousy. Maera couldn't help but smile to herself, sensing the bitterness behind his words.

As she settled against the pillows, she watched Aemond slowly unbuckle his doublet. His fingers worked deftly, loosening the clasps one by one. The flickering light from the hearth highlighted the hard lines of his body, the scars that told stories of past battles. Maera bit her lip, feeling a familiar ache. She was mad at him, she hated him, yet she could not help but want him. Her eyes lingered on him a moment longer before she tore her gaze away, adding with a touch of sarcasm, "Kostilus nyke ojenilla zirȳla jorarghutan zȳhon pazavorve,” Mayhaps I should bed him to ensure his loyalty.

She giggled to herself, stroking her swollen belly as the child within her kicked out, a small reminder of the life they had created. When no other laughter came, Maera looked up to see Aemond staring at her, his expression as stoic as ever. An awkward atmosphere settled into the room, the air thick with unspoken words and unresolved tensions. Maera picked at the sheets nervously, her fingers tracing the delicate patterns embroidered into the fabric. The silence was heavy, the only sounds the distant crackle of the fire and the soft rustle of fabric as the one-eyed Prince slipped into a night shirt.

Maera heard the wind rustling through the curtains and glanced out the gap to see the black sky adorned with a canopy of stars. The night was quiet, save for the occasional whisper of the breeze. Turning her gaze back to Aemond, who had settled onto the chaise, she voiced her concern softly, “Lo pōnta gaomagon daor obūljagon, pār skoros īlon gaomagon?” If they do not bend the knee, then what shall we do?

Aemond's response was blunt, his voice carrying a weight of resolve tinged with frustration. “Skoros īlon emagon gaomagon mirros,” What we should have done anyway, he replied, his tone steady but edged with a hint of bitterness. He met Maera's gaze evenly as he continued, “Ossēnagon zirȳ.” Kill them

Maera nodded slowly, her expression thoughtful as she processed his words. It struck her how straightforward it was for Aemond. To him, it seemed, the solution was clear-cut—kill or be killed. It was a mentality that had defined his actions throughout the escalating conflict, a testament to his uncompromising nature. She adjusted her position on the bed, her brown and silver curls cascading over her shoulder, framing her face as she cocked her head slightly to the side.

In that moment, Maera realized anew the stark differences between herself and her husband, particularly in their approach to resolving conflicts and securing alliances. For Aemond, the path forward often seemed paved with swords and bloodshed, driven by a fierce loyalty to his cause and an unwavering determination to uphold his family's honor. As she looked at him, she couldn't help but wonder if there could be another way, one that didn't always lead to violence and death.

During Maera's contemplative silence, Aemond finally broke it, speaking in the common tongue. "I will not find sleep this night," he stated, his voice a quiet rumble in the room. Maera stared at him from the bed, her gaze unwavering. It had been two moons since he had laid beside her, and she still did not feel ready to offer him an invitation to share her bed.

Aemond seemed to understand her unspoken message. He nodded slightly, accepting her silence as a response. "Rest," he told her, his tone softening a fraction. "I will stand watch." With that, he picked up his sword and procured a sharpening stone from his pocket. Settling on the chaise, he began to sharpen the blade with slow, methodical strokes.

Maera lay down against the pillows, pulling the sheet high up to her chin. She watched Aemond for a while, his movements hypnotic in their rhythm. The sound of the blade being honed was strangely soothing, a constant reminder of his presence and his protection. Gradually, the tension in her body eased, her eyelids growing heavy. The steady rasp of the sharpening stone became a lullaby, and soon, Maera's eyes shut, and she drifted into a deep, much-needed sleep.

Notes: Hello! How we all feeling? 🖤 Did we watch episode one? I have many emotions about it 😅 some parts I loved, some parts I did not, and others I thought were not needed. It also kinda felt a bit rushed, and we missed out on so many different scenes I would’ve loved to see (this is coming from the girl who’s written a 100 chapters on a fanfic like 🫠)! But I’m taking it as a positive. I thought seeing the new series would make it hard to write as I would have a difficult time distinguishing the two, but so far so good 👌 and remember friends; it’s 👏 not 👏 real 👏 we don’t need to hate on each other for having different opinions, we don’t need to hate on the actors for how the show is different to the books. If it makes you unhappy, don’t watch it. Same with my fic! You are in control of your own destiny and should let fiction on the internet or TV shows dictate your life 💅🏼

Tags: @0eessirk8 @magicseahorse @blue-serendipity @abecerra611 @saltedcaramelpretzel @marvelescvpe @watercolorskyy @shesjustanothergeek @thelastemzy @kckt88 @darylandbethfanforever9

Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤

[callsigns-haze]

Ace of the aces

Eris x Rhysand's Sister!Reader Summary: Eris wakes up alone, realizing Y/N has taken their son, Finna, out for the morning. As he starts a fire and picks up a book, he drifts back to sleep. He wakes to Y/N and Finna returning home with a new hunting hound puppy, bringing back memories of his own twelve hounds from childhood. Warning: Mild language, Brief mention of past trauma. Emotional reflections, MOSTLY PURE FLUFF

*Serves as a one-shot but can be read as memories fade or the sequel loves haze series

Eris loved his little family more than anything, but ever since Finna was born, sleep had become a rare luxury. He shivered awake as the cool November sun peeked through the curtains, casting a soft glow on the room. As he turned over in bed, he noticed the empty space beside him. Y/N wasn't there.

He sighed, pushing himself up and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The bed was cold where she had slept, indicating she had been up for a while. Eris stretched, feeling the familiar ache of exhaustion in his muscles. He listened for any sounds that might indicate where Y/N and Finna were, but the house was unusually silent.

Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Eris stood up and made his way to the nursery. The room was bathed in the soft morning light, and the gentle colours of the walls seemed to soothe his tired mind. He walked over to Finna’s crib, expecting to see his son sleeping peacefully. But the crib was empty.

A jolt of worry shot through him, and he quickly scanned the room. There were no signs of Y/N or Finna. Eris’s heart began to race as he hurried down the hall, checking each room along the way. Finally, he headed to the kitchen, hoping to find some clue as to where they had gone.

On the kitchen table, he spotted a note in Y/N’s handwriting. Relief washed over him as he picked it up and read:

Good morning, my flame. I took Finna out for a walk to let you sleep in. We’ll be back soon. Don’t worry about us. Enjoy your morning off. Love, Y/N and your buddy.

Eris let out a long breath, feeling the tension ease from his shoulders. He smiled to himself, grateful for Y/N’s thoughtfulness. She always seemed to know what he needed, even before he did. Folding the note, he placed it back on the table and went to make himself a cup of coffee.

As the rich aroma filled the kitchen, Eris leaned against the counter, sipping his coffee and thinking about how lucky he was. Y/N had given him the gift of a quiet morning, a rare opportunity to rest and recharge. He took another sip, savouring the moment of peace, and decided to take her advice.

Deciding to make the most of his quiet morning, Eris moved to spark a fire in the living room. He pulled on a thick robe and slippers before stepping outside to gather some firewood. The chill of the November air hit him instantly, making him shiver as he quickly collected a few logs and hurried back inside.

Once back in the warmth of the house, he set to work stacking the wood in the fireplace. With practiced ease, he arranged the logs and kindling, clicking his fingers and coaxing the flames to life. The fire crackled and roared to life, filling the room with a comforting warmth and the familiar scent of burning wood.

Satisfied with the fire, Eris grabbed the book he had been reading from the coffee table. He settled into his favourite armchair by the hearth, the flames casting a flickering glow across the pages. As he opened the book, the quiet of the house enveloped him, creating a perfect cocoon of tranquillity.

He lost himself in the story, the words transporting him to another world. Every now and then, he would glance up at the fire, the dancing flames mesmerizing him. The warmth seeped into his bones, and he felt the tension of sleepless nights slowly ebb away.

The book was a comforting escape, a beloved novel he had read countless times before. Each turn of the page brought a familiar sense of joy, and Eris found himself smiling as he immersed himself in the tale. Time seemed to slow down, the peaceful morning stretching out before him.

Eris couldn't remember the last time he had a moment like this to himself. Between the demands of leadership and the joys of fatherhood, these quiet moments were few and far between. He cherished the solitude, knowing it wouldn't last long but appreciating every second of it.

He read for a while, the fire crackling in the background, the house still and serene. His thoughts occasionally drifted to Y/N and Finna, wondering what they were up to and when they would return. But for now, he was content to simply enjoy the peace and quiet, the book in his hands, and the warmth of the fire beside him.

As Eris lightly drifted to sleep, the warmth of the fire and the cozy chair lulling him into a peaceful doze, he was abruptly awakened by the sound of the front door opening. He heard Y/N's giggling, followed by a delicate bark that made him sit up straight, his heart pounding in confusion.

They didn't own a dog.

Curiosity and a hint of anxiety propelled him out of his chair and toward the corridor. He moved quickly but quietly, not sure what to expect. As he turned the corner, his eyes widened in surprise and a mix of emotions.

There, standing in the entryway, was Y/N, her face lit up with joy as she held Finna in her arms. And beside her, wagging its tail energetically, was a hunting hound puppy. The puppy had the same sleek, powerful build and intelligent eyes as the hounds from the Autumn Court that Eris had grown up with.

Y/N looked up and saw Eris, her smile widening. "Surprise!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with excitement. "I thought you could use a little company and a reminder of home."

Eris was momentarily speechless, his gaze shifting from Y/N to the puppy. The hound looked up at him with curious, bright eyes, and Eris felt a rush of nostalgia and unexpected emotion. It was as if a piece of his past had suddenly come to life in his present.

"Where did you find him?" Eris finally managed to ask, his voice thick with emotion.

Y/N laughed softly. "We found him at a breeder at the market. I couldn't resist. And Finna seemed to love him at first sight."

As if on cue, Finna reached out a chubby hand to the puppy's head, giggling in delight as the hound licked his fingers. Eris felt a lump form in his throat as he watched the scene, the happiness of his family mingling with the poignant memories of his past.

Eris knelt down, reaching out to pet the puppy. The hound responded with a happy bark and a wag of its tail, nuzzling against Eris's hand. It felt like a bridge between his old life and the new one he was building with Y/N and Finna.

"Thank you," Eris said softly, looking up at Y/N with gratitude. "This means more to me than you know."

Y/N's eyes softened, and she leaned in to kiss him gently. "I know," she whispered. "I thought it might."

Eris gathered them all into a hug, his heart swelling with love and appreciation. The puppy barked again, as if to join in the family embrace, and Eris couldn't help but laugh.

"Welcome to the family, little one," he said to the hound, his voice filled with warmth. "You're going to love it here."

Eris watched as Finna continued to bond with the new puppy, his tiny hands grabbing at the hound’s fur while the pup wagged its tail excitedly. The sight tugged at Eris’s heart, bringing a flood of memories from his own childhood, surrounded by the twelve loyal hounds that had been his constant companions.

"I think I'll name him Ace," Eris said softly, a smile forming on his lips. "It's a strong name. Suits him, don’t you think?"

Y/N nodded, her eyes twinkling with stars of understanding. "Ace it is."

Eris knelt down beside Finna, gently stroking Ace’s fur. The puppy responded by licking Finna’s cheek, eliciting a burst of giggles from the baby. Eris’s smile widened, feeling a sense of peace he hadn’t felt in a long time.

As he watched Finna play with Ace, Eris’s mind drifted back to his early years in the Autumn Court. The memory of his twelve hounds was vivid—how they had been his guardians, his friends, his solace in the turbulent court life. Those hounds had understood him in ways no one else could, offering unconditional loyalty and love.

Eris felt a pang of nostalgia mixed with gratitude. He had vowed to create a better life for his own family, free from the shadows of his past. Seeing Finna bond with Ace, he knew he was on the right path. This little hound, named Ace, symbolized not just a new beginning, but a bridge to the cherished memories that had shaped him.

Looking at Finna’s happy face and Ace’s playful antics, Eris felt a surge of determination. He would protect this family with all his strength, ensuring they never experienced the pain he had endured. With Y/N by his side and their children growing up in a loving home, he knew they could overcome any obstacle.

Eris stood up, lifting Finna into his arms and cuddling him close. "Ace is going to be your best friend," he murmured to his son. "Just like my hounds were to me."

Y/N wrapped an arm around Eris, leaning her head on his shoulder. "We’re building something beautiful here, Eris. Our own little piece of heaven."

Eris nodded, his heart swelling with love for his family. "Yes, we are. And I’m going to make sure it stays that way." As the sun continued to rise, casting a warm glow over their cabin, Eris felt a renewed sense of purpose.

Tagging some:

@callsign-magnolia

@kmc1989

@hardballoonlove

@senawashere

@hookslove1592

@marvel-molly

@lucky7rosie

@daughterofthemoons-stuff

@lilah-asteria

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@pit-and-the-pen

@inky-sun

@the-sweet-psycho

@why4anne

@bunnyredgirl

@rcarbo1

@pandabiiissh

@adalia-jaycee

@swiftie-4-lifes-stuff

@minaethrym

[real-odark]

kill them with kindness? WRONG! RICH SET A FIRE AND HE BURNED DOWN THE HOUSE🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

[mediocrecowboyhat]

Set in sand - Chapter 9

We mark the year 1934 and a peculiar journal falls into your hands. It's telling the tale of an outlaw and the downfall of a gang. Some pages are torn and others are downright unreadable, but nevertheless, you are still able to make out some parts of the tragic story.

With the help of a certain time traveler friend of yours, will you be able to safe the author of the journal or will you be the cause for his demise?

Previous chapter

Next chapter

Word count: 4347

TW: end-game spoilers will be mentioned very early on in the story, 18+ MDNI, sexual themes, violence, gore, death, misogynistic themes (anything that happens in the game as well), she/her pronouns

"You good to go?", Arthur asks as he approaches the table you're sitting at.

A smile begins to spread on your face and you stand up from your chair. "Of course."

It's almost noon and the sun is burning into your neck, but you barely feel it. Today you will finally go out with Arthur again and you're convinced that nothing is going to be able to dampen your excitement.

He extends his hand to help you get atop of his horse after he hoists himself onto the saddle himself.

"Got your gun with you?", he asks and even though you know that it never leaves your pocket, your hand still moves to your side to check it.

"Yup."

Arthur nods. "Keep it tucked away. I don't want folk to get the wrong idea."

That sounds reasonable. He's made it clear yesterday that this won't be a job where you'd have to resort to violence. It's a relief, really. Yes, you're starting to feel more comfortable with the thought of firing your revolver, but it doesn't mean you're particularly enjoying it.

"So what's the plan?" You remember him telling you that he would come up with one this morning.

There is a hope in you that he might have possibly changed his mind about playing a bit of dress-up and pretending, but you know that the chances aren't good.

"We'll just say that we're lookin' to learn more about the rich history of this land 'round here.", he answers and you try your best to mask your disappointment.

"Alright.", you answer and he throws you a quick look over his shoulder before focusing on the road again.

"You sound disappointment.", he comments and you bite back a sigh.

Disappointed doesn't even remotely come close to what you're feeling right now. Crushed would be more appropriate (and more dramatic). "No, I'm fine."

Even though you sound anything but fine he still doesn't question you any further. Perhaps it's to respect boundaries or perhaps he doesn't want to get deeper into the whole dress-up topic. It's probably the latter of those two.

That's when you notice that the Gray residency isn't too far away from camp. In fact it doesn't even take 15 minutes until you arrive and Arthur slows down into a trot.

As you come closer to what seems to be the main house, two guards at the front stop you. Both of them are heavily armed with rifles and grip them a tad tighter when their eyes fall on you.

"What do you want?", the one on the right asks and takes a couple steps closer.

He sizes you two up through narrowed eyes and with a suspicious glare. What a warm welcome.

"My wife and I are history enthusiasts and would like to learn more about this land. We've been told-" Before Arthur can even finish his sentence, the guard who had stepped closer raises his hand in an irritated manner.

"I've heard enough. You'd like to talk to Master Beau regardin' that.", he answers and walks back to his post. "He's near the stables on the left."

Arthur thanks the man and together you start going into the direction he has pointed towards.

"My wife and I are history enthusiasts.", you repeat, dropping your voice to sound lower and imitating Arthur's deep southern drawl. "We're so interested in in history."

"Real funny.", he answers, dragging out the first word and with his tone oozing with sarcasm.

Then you spot a young man leaning against the wall, completely engrossed in his book. Arthur and you get off the Tennessee Walker and make your way towards the man.

"I see you at the Sheriff's office?", the outlaw calls out and the young man's head snaps up. You give Arthur a quick puzzled look. Whatever happened to the history enthusiasts you were pretending to be?

"Excuse me, friend.", the young man answers and puts his book down on one of the crates.

Arthur takes his usual stance where he places his hands on his weapon belt and eyes the young man thoroughly. "We friends?"

The energy he's giving off now is a vast contrast to earlier when he talked to the guards. There he was almost trying to appear small, but that facade is off now.

You assume that it would be smart to match his sudden change of mannerism and so you straighten your back and keep your chin high. Does it look convincing and threatening? Ah, it seems as if the young man hasn't quite noticed you just yet so it doesn't really matter.

"Not yet, but here's hoping.", he tells Arthur and curls his lips up into a smile. "We don't get a lot of traveling men here. Then suddenly there's a whole phalanx of mysterious, but strangely helpful Yankees about the place."

His wording makes you raise both eyebrows slightly. It doesn't sound like how the rest of his family talks or how anyone else in this area talks, for that matter.

Arthur scratches his cheek. "Is there?", he responds in a casual way.

"What are you doing here?" The question isn't accompanied by a wary or alerted tone, but more genuine curiosity.

Lately it's been a rare sight to meet someone who doesn't immediately assume the worst about you and you're starting to like the man for that.

Arthur looks back at you for a brief moment before answering. "We're just lookin' for work."

For the first time since you've arrived here the man's eyes fall on you and he gives you a friendly nod. "Well, lookin' for something. Don't worry, your secret's safe with me."

"What secret?", you chime in and thankfully manage to hide the concern in your voice. Does that means he knows who you guys truly are?

But the young man completely ignores your question and his entire face lights up instantly. "I've got a secret of my own."

"Are you secretly normal?", Arthur asks bluntly, earning a snort from you. You catch him attempting to hide his half smirk with his cowboy hat by looking down.

"The thing is, I don't care if you kill the whole lot of us and the Braithwaites."

"We don't want to kill anyone.", you assure the man even though he doesn't look worried at all. It doesn't feel like he needs to be reassured, but you still don't want to leave it unsaid.

"I love her, you know?"

"Love who?", Arthur asks rather aggravated.

Though you do have to agree that it's quite difficult to follow this conversation with the way the young Gray jumps from one topic to another like it's a skipping rope.

"Penelope.", he answers in a dreamy way as if he just told you the meaning of life. "But it's impossible."

Of course. A Romeo and Juliet themed love story was bound to happen with the way these two families hate each other. It's almost mandatory for every blood feud.

"She's a Braithwaite.", he continues on. "I'm Beau Gray, son of Tavish Gray, nephew of Leigh Gray the sheriff, grandson of old Murdo Gray."

It's not anything you were aiming for, but now you know the whole goddamn family tree. Arthur seems to share the same thought by the look he's giving you.

Your eyes follow Beau as he paces around like a caged tiger. Obviously the entire situation is making him more than frustrated and you understand.

"We Grays have been loyal to the state and murderers to the Braithwaites for so long now, no one can even quite explain why! Beyond blind loyalty and stupidity. I'm supposed to be loyal to some nonsense while she-"

The young Gray stops mid sentence and let's out a soft sigh. He tells you more about this Braithwaite, Penelope, calling her a woman of the future and praising her in high tones. It earns a gentle smile from you.

How refreshing it is to see that at least some of the younger generation don't see the point of continuing this senseless hatred and fighting.

"Well, I'm sorry for your predicament.", Arthur says and turns to leave, but Beau extends both hands in his direction.

"Would you help?" His voice is laced with desperation and he watches you two with pleading eyes.

"We don't wanna get involved in gang feuds. It seems unseemly", the outlaw answers on your behalf and you shoot him a rather offended look. You would like to hear what the young man has to say, but you understand that you also have to keep a low profile here.

Beau's response comes shooting out of him like a bullet. "I'll pay! I've got money! We Grays we've always got money. No brains, mind, but money."

Arthur and you change looks for a brief moment.

It's worth hearing him out now.

Judging by the expression on his face he seems to be thinking the exact same thing. Well, you haven't quite been as opposed to helping as the rugged outlaw has.

"In that case..."

The words don't even leave Arthur's mouth completely and Beau already jumps to hand him a letter and a small gift box. He explains how Penelope usually sits in a gazebo at the edge of the Braithwaite property.

Together you make your way back onto the horse and ride towards where the other family resides.

"Now we're caught up in this hillbilly version of Romeo and Juliet.", Arthur mutters under his breath, sounding more than a little frustrated.

It makes you chuckle. "I think it's cute."

"Good for you then. I for one don't like bein' some errand boy."

"Oh, don't think about it like that, Arthur. We're not just running some errands. We're helping a young couple in the name of love.", you respond with an amused smirk on your face and he shakes his head.

"I'd rather do it in the name of money like he promised us."

True. You can't imagine Arthur saying yes to this without the outcome involving a payment of some sort. That's not the case with you though. You're actually kind of excited to see where this goes.

"He said the guards aren't too friendly to strangers so I'll sneak in.", Arthur says as he stops outside the Braithwaite property and jumps off his horse.

"I can come with you.", you answer, but he raises his hand and shakes his head.

"Absolutely not. You'll wait here for me and at the first sign of trouble, I want you to run away."

The fact that he doesn't trust you with these things still frustrates and offends you. After what you've done to these two O'Driscolls you thought he wouldn't doubt you this much still.

It's futile to argue about it though and you know it so you silently watch Arthur jump over the white fence and vanish in the tobacco fields.

Yes, he told you to flee when something happens, but you're convinced that he's got this in the bag. Arthur might not be the sneakiest member in the gang, but he's a good enough hunter to stay undetected by humans.

Besides, if he actually would get into trouble and you'd get wind of it, you're convinced that you couldn't leave him. Knowing you, you'd most likely run head first into the fight.

As you're leaning with your back against a tree and playing with a flower you have picked from the ground, your mind starts to wander.

This is another fantastic opportunities to travel back home, but you're playing around again.

You shake your head in an attempt to get rid of these thoughts. There's no way you can just disappear in the middle of a job. Especially during one where you're with Arthur.

Excuses.

Much to your relief and luck, the rugged outlaw returns again before you could even begin to spiral once more. Quickly you notice that he has an even more annoyed expression on his face than he did after talking to Beau.

"Did it not go well?", you ask, concern thick in your voice.

"No, I met her and we talked, but she gave me another goddamn letter.", he answers through gritted teeth. "Come on. I want this to be over as soon as possible."

As you climb back onto his Tennessee Walker, you bite back a chuckle and overall remain silent during the ride. Yes, you could tease him relentlessly, but you decide to leave the man alone. For now.

You definitely won't show this much mercy once you get back in camp. Just imagining Sadie's face and laughter when you tell her about all this makes you grin to the point where your cheeks hurt.

When you arrive back at Beau's, he's in one of the stables and taking care of the horses. Arthur and you get off his and he leisurely strolls over the gate and leans against it with both arms.

"You got our money?"

Beau's arm shoots forward to place some dollar bills in Arthur's hand and he gives him a yearning look. "Did she send anything back."

"Yes.", the outlaw answers and the young man goes to push open the gate, but Arthur stops him. "But it'll cost ya."

The man's face falls and you give Arthur a stunned look. His eyes flicker towards you, noticing your disapproval and he let's out a defeated sigh before stepping away from the gate.

"Fine.", he grumbles into his beard and hands over Penelope's letter.

Beau's eyes fly over the words and his expression turns more mortified by the second. "This'll get her killed for sure."

This piques your interest and you turn to face him. "What is it?"

"Women's suffrage. 'Round here they don't even like men voting. They'd bring back the monarchy if given the chance. Progress is a dirty word in these parts unlike incest."

The last part now even has Arthur's attention and he furrows his eyebrows. "Excuse me?"

"I don't wanna marry my cousin, Mathilda! I wanna marry Penelope, but they'll- they'll kill her at one of these rallies they're holdin'! They've done it before!"

Beau paces around, clearly upset at the situation and then he turns around on his heels to give you both another one of his pleading looks. "You gotta help!"

Before you can even open your mouth to answer, Arthur beats you to it. "No, we don't want no part of it."

"I'll pay! My family, we've still got some money!", Beau argues.

This time it's you who doesn't let the other speak up. Whether it's out of offense for being interrupted or because you feel the strong urge to help this man, you can't tell. "We'll do it."

Your gaze is set on Beau, completely avoiding whatever venom Arthur might be shooting at you through his blue eyes. Later when you two get back to camp, you'll probably get an earful for this, but right now you couldn't care less.

"Thank you! I knew you and your wife would understand!", Beau yells out and before any of you could correct him he's already on a horse. "Come on!"

The prospect of possibly joining the rally makes you excited. It dampens the thought that it could end in violence with the way Beau described the people around Rhodes.

In the distance you spot a large wagon and a group of women gathered next to it. They're all wearing a banner in which the vehicle itself is decorated with as well.

Beau practically flies off his horse the moment you all get there and you follow him on foot towards a young blonde woman. Her face both lights up and darkens when her eyes fall on the young Gray.

"Beau, what are you doing here?", she asks in disbelief and grabs both his hands with hers.

"Stopping you! You'll get yourself killed." His voice is laced with fear and desperation and upon hearing his words, she pulls away.

Her chin is set high as she steps back with a determined look on her face. "I'm prepared to die for the cause."

It sends a shiver down your spine and you feel something within you stir. If there was even a little bit of doubt inside you, then it had left for good. Now you're more than certain that you want to, no have to join this rally.

"You have to do something!", you hear Beau plead and Arthur let's out a grunt.

"Do what? Fight this mob? They'd eat me alive."

Without an ounce of hesitation you tap the blonde woman, who you assume is Penelope, on the shoulder and she faces you. "Arthur can drive the wagon. We'll join you."

"Excuse me?", you hear the outlaw call out to you and Penelope hastily walks towards the older woman who's giving a speech at the other end of the group.

Arthur places a firm hand on your shoulder makes you turn around towards him and opens his mouth for what you think is a scolding, but nothing leaves his lips when you two lock eyes.

None of you speak a single word, but at the same time it feels like plenty is being said. The anger in his face slowly fades away and so does his grip on your shoulder.

"You said you'd drive the wagon?" The older woman who was giving a speech up until now steps next to you.

Without his eyes ever leaving yours he answers. "Yes."

"Wonderful! Olive Calhoon.", she says and shakes his hand. "Normally I like to drive the wagon myself, but today I feel like a man joining us sends just the right message."

Your smile grows ever wider as everyone gets onto the wagon and you climb into the saddle of Arthur's Tennessee Walker. The horse knows you well enough by now to not cause any trouble and buck you off and you give him a soft pat.

As the wagon starts moving and the women begin to sing, you shoot Beau, who's riding beside you, a reassuring smile. He returns it, but it's clear that he's still worried.

"We're mothers, wives, housekeepers, and daughters! We cook the food and we fetch the water! Sing songs of freedom and glory be! Fair women on the mind, come join with me!"

Voices of women singing fill the air, making the people of Rhodes step out onto the street. They're all staring down the wagon with discontented faces and some of them even yelling, demanding for the rally to stop.

"You're disrupting the peace!", one of the bystanders calls out angrily, earning loud agreement from the others.

All that protesting doesn't seem to intimidate the women at all or stifle the energy they're putting into this. On the contrary, their voices grow even louder as if they're being cheered on instead.

It feels like electricity is coursing through you at the sight and you begin to join into the song as the wagon drives through the small town.

"They're gonna stop at the bank. Let's leave the horses in the back.", Beau rips you out of your bubble and you blink a few times before nodding. You had totally forgotten about the reason why you're here in the first place.

Without saying another word you follow the young man behind the bank and hastily make your way back to the group. Arthur is standing at the edge and you stop by his side while listening to Miss Calhoon.

"Ladies and Gentlemen! This is a great day for all of us!", she starts and you join in on the cheering.

You feel Arthur's gaze on you, but your eyes and ears are glued to the older woman who is standing at the top of the stairs. The wide smile on your lips never leaving your face.

Unfortunately you spot two nasty looking men in the corner of your eyes, walking straight towards Beau and you carefully watch them like a hawk.

One of them is big with a balding head and a thick mustache. "What the hell you doin' here, boy?"

"Hello, darlin' cousin.", Beau responds with a strained voice while his eyes are fixed on Miss Calhoon. He's doing his best to avoid looking at the men.

"Don't you ever speak to me like that!", mustache man spits as if he's got an insult thrown at him instead of a term of endearment.

The other man is slightly taller than the first one and a vast contrast with his full set of hair on his head. "What are ya doin' here?"

"Listenin', I suppose."

You nudge Arthur's shoulder and motion with your chin towards them. A single look is being exchanged between you, a silent message and together you push through the women to get to the young Gray.

"Weren't we just leavin'?", the outlaw calls out to Beau and you follow closely behind.

"Who are you?", mustache man asks through narrowed eyes.

Arthur gives him a long, stern look, but ignores his question. "Follow me through here.", he tells Beau.

The three of you walk around to the back and the young man tells you about a place where you could go to. It's an old battlefield no one visits anymore and it's apparently a good spot where his cousins won't be following you.

You sincerely hope that he's right with that. After all this you're not particularly in the mood for a fight.

"You know, I ain't voted before, but I'm kinda gettin' hot for votin' rights!", Arthur comments and you can't tell if it's meant as a joke or if he's being serious.

"I don't know if I should take you seriously, Mr. Morgan, but my cousins are my primary concern now. If anyone should know about Penelope and me..."

"Everyone knows about Penelope and you!", the outlaw yells and you nod along. "We know about Penelope and you and we been here all of ten minutes."

He's right. Beau might keep saying how important it is to keep his love a secret, but the signs really don't look too good if he tells every stranger he meets about it. Goddammit, he told Arthur and you about it before you could even grasp the chance to introduce yourselves after all.

Beau continues telling you once again how much his family hates the Braithwaites and that it's not any different the other way around. He even mentions a Catherine Braithwaite and her daughter, but Arthur shuts him down quickly.

"I ain't heard 'bout daughters. Only treasure.", he says and your small group stop by the spot Beau was mentioning earlier.

You get off the horses and the young mean rummages inside the satchels of his saddle.

"You know, you should leave. With Penelope.", you chime in and he let's out a longing sigh.

"I will once I have enough money. You see, my family has a lot of money, but I don't."

Arthur crosses his arms infront of his chest and chews on the inside of his cheek. "Is your family very rich?"

You almost cough at the bluntness of his question, but manage to compose yourself in time. This is the whole reason why you're here after all. To find out if these families really are sitting on a pile of money or if it's all just some horseshit.

"Yes I believe so, but they keep me out of the discussion.", Beau answers. "I have more of an artistic temperament so..."

"Is that what they call it?", the outlaw comments while looking away into the distance. You bite back a laugh.

Beau walks around his horse, handing a bundle of dollar bills to the outlaw. "I really love her. I do."

"Well, stick around and maybe you can die for her as well.", he answers casually while counting the money.

"I thought you were gonna make me feel better."

You place your hand on the young man's shoulder and give it a reassuring squeeze. "It will all turn out just fine."

Hearing your words makes him smile even though there is nothing backing them up. None of you know if it actually will turn out alright for the two unfortunate lovers, but you'd like to believe that it will.

Arthur's voice rips you out of your thoughts and you pull your hand away. "We gotta go now."

Beau says his farewells to you two and your gaze follows after him as he disappears into the distance.

"Wasn't this kind of nice?", you ask and a scoff leaves his throat.

"Nice? If you think runnin' around deliverin' some letters is nice then sure." He shakes his head in a disappointed manner. "And we still don't know for sure if this treasure everyone keeps talkin' about exists."

He hoists himself up onto his saddle and extends his hand out to you. As you take it, you give it a short squeeze and smile up at him. "Thank you."

Confusion spreads on his rough features and he pulls you up. "For what?"

"Bringing me with you and doing all this. I know you didn't want to join the rally or drive the wagon. I also wanted to apologize for that, you know? I understand that I put you on the spot back there and I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

The horse starts walking in a leisure and comfortable pace and for the longest time you don't get an answer. You begin to fear that he might be angrier than you have initially expected.

"There's no need to apologize. I guess it was fun...in a way.", he mumbles into his beard.

It feels like a burden has been lifted off your shoulders and you sigh in relief. "So you're not mad at me?"

"'Course not."

Instinctively you wrap your arms a but tighter around his waist in a half-hug and it doesn't go unnoticed by you that he's not attempting to get away from your touch or even tensing up from it.

Sure, you didn't find out too much about the Gray family, but today was still a success in your book.

Taglist: @shackspossum