#right next to 'he always find himself inside me' and 'ride that horse'

[violettierre]

Kind of a sus thing to tell your homie in his wedding day don't you think ??

[fieldofdaisiies]

I've Got You

ship: Sihtric Kjartansson x female!Reader type: angst/fluff word count: 2k warnings: talks of violence and wounds summary: I've become obsessed with TLK again and maybe also with Sihtric; so here a little fic about you and Sihtric riding together on a horse back after he saved you

~all rights reserved~

"Come on," Sihtric says to you, pointing at the large, dark horse beside him. It looks majestic and at the same time absolutely terrifying — you have never been on a horse in your whole life and– 

"Come on, we need to leave. Now." There is urgency in his uttering, yet his gaze remains empathetic.

The convent where you have spent your entire life in was suddenly attacked. They mercilessly took down the guards, hurt you and your sisters, and as you tried to flee, one of the brutes followed after you. Despite your attempts to escape, his blade managed to slice into your calf, leaving a deep gash there. Unbeknownst to you, help has arrived outside, slaying the attackers. 

And out of nowhere, a man appeared in the corridor you tried to escape him, almost like a heroic figure emerging from the turmoil of the battle. With skill that was beyond you, he killed the attacker with his sword, ending his life right before your eyes. 

With remarkable ease, the man who revealed himself as Sihtric then swept you up in his strong arms, carrying you over his shoulder outside into safety.

Once joined by other men, and also some of your covent sisters he placed you on the ground next to a large horse and this is where you find yourself now, staring at him with eyes and your mouth wide open.

Your heart is beating so incredibly fast, hammering against your ribcage. There is so much pain in your system, so much panic, and fear, your whole body is shaking with the terror of what just happened. 

You suck in a sharp breath, then another, your head feeling dizzy as tears start to cloud your vision. 

"I…I can't…ride," you stammer, a whirlwind of emotions brewing in your mind. Your feel how your fingers tremble, how wobbly your knees are. The ground beneath you is covered in frost, crunching when you reposition your feet.  

Something like sympathy passes over Sihtric's face and he reaches out and gently grabs your arm, his touch surprisingly tender. "Then we are riding together."

The words struck you immediately — riding with him, with him on the back of the horse! 

You are a good Christian woman, you have never been so close to a man. It scares you, but the emotions are not stronger than the panic inside of you, and the urge to leave this place. You need to get away, fast. You know what you witnessed will haunt you forever, but staying here for longer won't make it any better. You need to get away from here. 

One after the other your sisters are lifted onto horses as well, always riding with one of Sihtric's companions. A few of them are guided towards a very small carriage, your gaze following them until they disappear. 

A gentle breeze starts to blow, gradually cooling the air around you and you find yourself shivering, both out of fear and the cold. 

"Ride with me?" you hear the man next to you ask, almost like he is waiting for your consent. And God in heaven above, he truly is. 

"Yes…" you say in a voice barely above a whisper, seeing tendrils of breath in front of your face. 

Without hesitation and with strength that is beyond you, he lifts you off the ground, gently, and onto the back of the majestic, dark horse, onto the fur placed their. Your legs swiftly wrap around its strong body as you clutch the pommel tightly, a feeling of fear gnawing at your gut. 

You're so high up, perched on this powerful creature. Your rob shifts upwards, revealing the pale skin of your legs and another shudder courses through you. If he notices, he does not let show, his gaze trained only on the horse, his jaw tense. 

Sihtric wastes no time in mounting the horse behind you, causing your breath to catch in your throat. Uncertain of how to react, you remain frozen as he edges closer, gently pushing his chest, nothing but solid muscles beneath his leather armour, against your back. You feel how your hips are enclosed by his strong thighs, capturing you. 

A shiver runs through you as you make contact with him – it's a sensation unlike anything you've ever experienced before.

A breath whooshes out of you when you urge yourself to relax your body. You can't escape the closeness to him up here, so you might as well give into it before you make your both fall off the horse. 

"Let's go!" one man commands. He looks like the leader of the group, but you don't know for sure. Sihtric behind you shouts his answer. His warm breath tickles your neck, causing the hairs on your body to stand on end. 

Your hands tremble as he wraps one arm around your waist for support and takes the reins with the other hand. Why did you let him touch you so intimately? What's come over you? This is not like you. 

The wind grows stronger, now flakes of snow starting to fall, getting caught in your hair. It is growing colder, and the horse finally starts to move. It is bumpy, and despite the strong arm around you, you fear you might fall. 

You shift slightly, trying to find a more secure position, but this elicits an unexpected groan from the man behind you. 

"Don't do that," he grumbles behind you before urging the horse to move a little faster, albeit at a slower pace than the others. 

You are left confused, your body all of a sudden tense again and you don't move at all. Soon, you fall in line with others, their horses moving gracefully in sync with yours, all trotting at the same pace. The rhythmic beat of hooves hitting the ground creates a melody around you that slowly soothes the panic inside of you. Yet, your breathing is shaky and ragged, suddenly the memories of what you saw flooding your mind again — you see it all, the blood, the pain, the violence. 

Sucking in a sharp breath, your eyes close and you try to level your breathing. Small snow flakes land on your face and get caught in your hair. You blow out a long breath, heart beating so unsteadily in your chest. Biting down on your lower lip, you try to direct your thoughts to more positive things, thinking about happy times in the covent. 

Sihtric watches you from behind, your figure so fragile in his strong arms. It almost feels like you could break any second, and he knows that you were close to doing so back at the convent. 

His mission is to protect you now, forever, it seems like it is his destiny. There is something about you, something that brings out an enormous sense of protectiveness. He has seen the flame of determination vanish when you first made eye-contact in that corridor. 

Sihtric looks at you for a moment longer, revelling in the warmth and the feel of your body against his. 

You, other than he himself, even smell nice, like chamomile and parchment. From time to time he can feel you shudder, the little clothing, the robe you are wearing, not shielding you from the cold of the winter. He wishes he would have given you his coat earlier, but right now it is too late and he can only provide you warmth with his body. 

Once you arrive and once the wound on your calf is looked over and taken care of, he will see that you are provided with a coat and fur to keep you warm. 

Another shudder courses through you, your body trembling in his hold. 

"I've got you," he assures you, his voice suddenly so very soft and calm, and you offer a hesitant nod. 

The horse carries you through the landscape at a not too fast pace, allowing you to take in the surroundings — snow covered landscape, looming mountains, and weathered trees. You have never been out here. 

"You are safe now." You feel his hand move from your waist to your hip, no longer gripping you so tightly.

"And you don't ever need to fear again." It is another young man whose voice you suddenly hear and your head whips to the side. He is wearing a soft smile, one of your sister's is seated behind him on the horse, both her arms wrapped around his torso. "None of you needs to fear, you are safe now." 

You find yourself nodding at him, his kindness warming your chest a little bit. 

"Osferth," he whispers and you tell him your own name in a silent voice. "Y/N."

With the tilt of his head, and an empathetic smile on his lips, he urges his horse to move faster, past you. Your eyes stay on your covent sister and the man for a moment longer, until you look back at the head of the horse you sit atop. 

The landscape starts to darken in the distance and you find yourself wondering if you will stop soon, and build up so tents where you can sleep in. But then you actually don't know if they even have tents with them. You don't know where they normally sleep. But the one thing you know is that you will never sleep in your bed ever again. And that unsettles you — you will never have the comfort of your once safe space again. It will never be the same again, you will never have your old life again. 

It is almost like he can feel his distress, leaning in the slightest bit closer. 

"Would you like to go faster as well?" Sihtric inquires, his grip on your hip tightening slightly. 

You nod and he signals the horse to pick up the pace, and it obeys, galloping across the snow-covered land with newfound speed. 

In order to keep you safe, he pulls you even closer, and the sensation is exhilarating. There is no space between your bodies, and for a moment you think you can feel his heart beat through his skin and leathery armour. 

You've always been afraid of riding, but right now, you're completely lost in the moment—galloping across the land, drawing closer to the edge of the forest. You feel free, alive, all of a sudden as the cool wind whips across your face, through your hair and feels your lungs. 

And then— 

Frustration surges through you as you abruptly come to a halt.

Everyone has stopped, slowly climbing of their horses. It almost seems like this all works without any conversation passing between them. 

Without hesitation, Sihtric shifts behind you, letting go off your waist and also dismounts his horse. 

You watch, eyes wide open and wary, how people start to hurdle around, gathering and collecting things. Everyone is tasked with something, many collecting firewood, some already starting to build up tents. You don't even know where to look, there is so much happening. 

"Y/N?"

Slowly you turn your head to the sound. Your name from his lips is like the most beautiful song you've ever heard, it brushes your skin, your terribly cold and pebbled skin, like a feather. 

Sihtric extends his hand for you to follow suit. "Let me help you dismount the horse."

He watches you closely as you reach for his hand, trembling, cold fingers curling around his. 

You don't know how to dismount the horse, still wearing the long robes. You hesitantly, and with great difficulty pull your leg over the back of the horse, and suddenly—

You lose your balance and start to slide and eventually fall, but before you can hit the ground, he swiftly wraps his arm around your waist, catching you, clasping you tightly to his body. "I got you," he once again says, carefully placing you on the ground, allowing you to regain your footing. You take a deep breath and look up at him, offering a mumbled thank you. Your eyes lock. 

"Always," he replies with a sincere look in his eyes, and a smile tugs at your lips. You want him to see how grateful you are what he is doing for you, but you can't find the right words. 

"I will see that someone looks over your wound, then we will find you warm clothing and a place you can sleep tonight." He steps away, extends his arm to show you the way to…

[arcanarix]

Beneath You - Geto Suguru X Fem!Reader

CW // manipulation, coercion, geto is a pining mess, reader's not a jujutsu sorcerer, cunnilingus, face sitting, body worship, geto is a walking red flag but the reader has no idea for a long time, geto's got a big dick, lactation kink, reader is inexperienced

Word Count: ~10K

Summary: There’s a twist of disgust inside of him as he to compare himself to a human, but he doesn’t consider you so low. Not at all. Far from it. If anything, he may go as far as to declare with full conviction that he’s the one beneath you. Yet here you are, blessing him with that ‘common decency’ he doesn’t deserve, even still. Because that’s the kind of person you are. People like you are rare finds, and he is sworn to protect rare breeds of human like you who belong to his new world order.

AO3

Another mission takes Geto to a remote village where grade 1 curses have wreaked havoc amongst its residents. He doesn’t intend to stay for long—grade 1s are not too much of an issue for someone like him—but upon arriving, he’s stunned to already see some locals hard at work given what little tools they have to survive. While true, the existence of curses isn’t completely a secret to the general public, he’s still shocked to find a select few of these villagers have begun to fight back.

Those non-sorcerers are not as primitive as he has been led to believe…

One particular villager leaves an impression on him. You are that villager. You’re not even a sorcerer, yet you attend to those afflicted or attacked by curses at a moment’s notice.

You’re the first person he meets, on the train ride there. He’s glancing at his ticket lost in thought over everything that’s transpired since the incident with Riko, and notices you peering at the thin slip of paper, before you lock gazes with his.

“What’re you going to my next stop for?” you inquire with a smile. “It’s probably not a good idea right now. There’s been reports of mass murders by an unknown cause and I’ve been called to treat any surviving victims.”

Geto hums, a flash of irritation in his eyes because he’s not one for small talk—especially given what he’s witnessed in the past few months.

“I’m there to stop the problem myself,” he responds, his tone a bit short but you don’t seem bothered by it. “Worry not, I’m sure it’ll be over after I take care of everything.”

“Wow, you sure got it all figured out, eh?” you remark, tone laden with curiosity for him, your grin widening. Geto stares at you for a moment. Why do you remind him of someone…? “That’s good to know. It’s nice that there’s still people like that out there. I’m glad you’re here to help out that village. We can always use true heroes like you.”

Geto perks an eyebrow at that last statement, averting his gaze to the nearly empty train. The train is about to slow, meaning they are close to their stop.

 “…You call me a hero and yet you’ve just met me,” he murmurs, more to himself.

Ah. He’s beginning to see who you remind him of now.

“Aw, well, let’s just say I have a knack for understanding someone’s real character,” you answer with a wink. “Since we’re going to be working together for a while, what’s your name?”

“Suguru Geto,” he answers, a bit too quickly for his own liking. Why’s that? Why is he suddenly so intrigued by you…? Why can’t he just ignore this sort of thing like he always does? He does sense something a bit unique about you, though. Perhaps it’s to sate his curiosity. Nothing more. He can forget about this mission and you by extension when this is over.

“Nice to meet you,” and you respond with your name. It rolls off his tongue nicely when he addresses it, and when you giggle, it’s the most pleasant of sounds to him. Unlike with most humans, who sound discordant and annoying, yours is light, beautiful, ringing like cathedral bells…

…Why is he pulling the cart before the horse here?

The train slows even more. Then comes to a complete stop. You both leave the train side by side, but you appear to be in a rush. He doesn’t mind. He’s probably going to run into again sooner than he wants to…

…And lo and behold, he’s correct to make that assumption as by the next morning, he’s found you at the front lines, securing any remaining victims and keeping them secured in a safe house protected by a veil a weaker sorcerer from the village has managed to cast themselves with the aide of a cursed scroll. That’s what you explain to him. So now he discovers you’re aware of sorcerers and what people like him do. He finds himself impressed by the effort from these villagers—they do seem to be a little more progressive here—but he learns that he’s called to this village because there are no sorcerers here who can compete with grade 1 curses. All of those who have tried, have died in combat, as you explain to him between treating victims.

And these villagers…don’t look opposed to the existence of sorcerers or curses. Or at least, it doesn’t seem so. Not necessarily. They don’t appear alarmed by them…as if this is a normal occurrence.

So much unlike the ones he’s encountered in the past.

He observes you like a deer caught in headlights, dumbfounded, as he scans rows upon rows of wounded villagers on the floor. Some are unconscious, some are barely breathing. Some are cut up terribly, blood seeping through their bandages. The stench of bitter metal, vomit, and shit hits his nose and his lips curl as he grimaces; it’s so foul he can’t breathe, fearing he may vomit himself…

And yet her you are, undeterred by the horrors which have befallen this village, the only one saving them all. As if they’re worth something more than a scrape of metal or a speck of dirt.

It’s awe-inspiring…yet confounding all the same.

He almost wants to scoff at how futile your efforts are, to save such scummy people who may sooner feed you to the wolves than thank you, but he finds himself drawn to how focused you are on healing them. You have no reverse cursed technique, only relying on traditional medications and the few incantations the living weaker sorcerers have learned. Humans, in general, can’t use reverse cursed techniques, so there’s no other option for them. This all likely won’t be enough, he figures, and it’s not like he can contact Shoko because she’s not meant to be fighting.

But maybe he doesn’t need to call Shoko because you’re already making a huge difference by actively trying to make changes. That’s so much unlike the behavior he’s seen in humans before.

What a conundrum he’s faced with now… he must accept that his own feelings aren’t all that pure. His morals aren’t as unshakable as he once believed.

He’s so trapped in his own inner conflicts that he doesn’t realize you approach him to dispose of the blood and vomit soiled gloves protecting your hands and retrieving new ones after disinfecting your hands. While you adjust them, he catches your eye.

“Geto, can we rely on you to exorcise those damned curse spirits? We can’t afford anymore casualties. The population of this village is already next to null, and we’re going to lose all of our villagers at this rate. It’s good you came to help us when you did.”

He nods, expression grim as he makes his way to the exit of the safe house, but not before turning back to announce: “I’ll make sure the barrier technique remains intact as well. You’ll be safe in here.”

“Thank you, Geto—you really are a hero,” you praise him before you run to your nearest victim who’s moaning in agony from a broken arm and a leg that’s been sliced cleanly off. He watches you, immobilized by how intrigued he is of you and the few residents in this village before he takes action to completely eradicate the cause.

The curse spirits are more than even he bargains for, but he manages to eradicate a few that night. Preventing further casualties or more injured villagers.

When he returns, some victims have been nursed back to adequate health in a rapid amount of time. He’s impressed by your efforts. Just watching you as you give them their herbal treatments and clean up their wounds. He does get injured a few times himself while he’s out there exorcising the spirits, and as you stop once you completed cleaning up another victim’s wounds, you signal him to come over.

“Let’s take care of you, Geto. You’re a godsend,” you praise him yet again with so much genuineness and a strong hint of reverence, that your words catch Geto a bit off-guard. He’s staring again, immobilized for a few moments once more before he ambles to your side and settles in the cushion before you. You pick up a fresh damp cloth with some medication to help disinfect the wounds. His body is scratched, slice and diced, and bruised all over, and you shake your head at the condition of his body. Nothing you haven’t seen before, at least he thinks, and yet…

“This might sting,” you warn him while he removes his top, and as you rest the damp cloth on a particularly large gash on his shoulder, he flinches and grunts out loud. “Man, you sorcerers…you really are full of heart. All of you. Sticking your neck outs for people like us who can’t do much for ourselves due to our lack of cursed energy. Many of these villagers can’t even perceive what attacked them.”

Geto hums absently. “It’s no glamorous lifestyle—that much I can assure you.”

You let out a dry laugh at that, while apologizing to him under your breath when you go over some tender parts of his skin from his many wounds and gashes.

“I’m a medicine woman, a healer, yet I’m sure I haven’t seen stuff more gruesome than you must’ve,” you comment, working to stitch the gash up after you clean and disinfect the area. He probably doesn’t know that you’ve noticed how frail he looks, like he’s neglected his own health in favor of his role as a sorcerer.

He manages a wry grin at that. “You have no idea.”

He freezes when he realizes how close your face is to his, and his cheeks burn as he flits his gaze elsewhere, to the door, to the sealed windows, to the moaning and groaning victims. Anything to avoid getting lost in those eyes that are so full of kindness that he doesn’t deserve, not with the sort of thoughts that have plagued his mind for months now since Riko’s death.

Once you’re done stitching up that large gash, you move to clean up the smaller cuts and bruises around his body. You sponge him gently with a fresh cloth, and he’s caught in another daze again as he observes you.

“You’re not scared of me,” he realizes out loud. “Or the curses.”

“Of course not,” you almost snicker at the absurdity of his statement, which has him furrow his brows at your behavior. Are you not aware of how rare sorcerers are in this world? “We have had a few sorcerers in this village who have since perished when these attacks began, protecting villagers who don’t understand what attacked them in the first place. I’ve had sorcerers in my family, but they’re all gone, fighting these curses that are too powerful for them.”

Ah. So she’s got a fair idea of the world for sorcerers, then.

“I’m sorry,” he replies, tone solemn. He knows too well losing those close to him to things like this. You manage a smile.

“We all have to go one day,” you reply with a deep sigh, moving to sponge his lower back. “I just wish I had more time with them. We’ll be together in the next life.”

“You believe in the afterlife?” he mutters, as you move to continue to clean the dirt and grime off of him.

“We have to believe in something to keep going,” you counter with a curt nod. “And for me, it’s to be with my family again. That’s enough for me.”

“I see,” he states. Once you’re done patching him up, you pat his unwounded shoulder.

“There you go! All fixed up…mostly.” You throw him a thumbs up while using a fresh cloth to wipe your neck glistening with sweat down. “You have to give your shoulder some time to heal, obviously.”

“We have a doctor back at the organization I work for who can help me with that,” he replies with a smile. “Thank you. Your kindness is most appreciated.”

“I like to think of it as common decency!” you retort under your breath with a playful wink. “Just doing what’s right.”

“Most people don’t think that way,” he points out, and his eyes catch you rubbing your arms and shivering a bit. It is a bit chilly tonight, he remembers, and the thermostat in this safe house doesn’t work.

Quirking an eyebrow, he picks up a nearby blanket in a basket by your tool kit that appears freshly washed, wrapping it around you in a gentle motion. He catches himself in the act, warring with himself over why he’s suddenly concerned for you. He usually does not allow himself to get too close anymore—especially after Riko.

“You should rest. The barrier won’t break, so nothing will get to you and the other villagers, for now. Don’t you have others working with you?”

“Thank you, Geto. You’ve got an eye for practicality,” you reply with a winning grin in spite of how exhausted you appear to him. His brows furrow—why do you risk your life for these people who don’t matter? “But unfortunately, no. This is my post—there’s only one person and they’re out of commission themselves.”

“Is there anything else I can do to help?” He doesn’t understand why he’s asking, but given there are more curses that aren’t showing themselves at the moment that he still has yet to exorcise…he’s going to be here with you for longer than he initially expected.

“Well, uh, I guess you could, with giving them their nightly medicine,” you murmur through a yawn. Geto looks at you with concern etched across his face, resting his hands on your shoulders.

“Rest,” he insists, frowning. “I can keep watch, and I can give the medicine. It’s this one, right?”

He gestures to the vials by your feet in a basket.

“Yeah,” you answer through another yawn, covering your mouth. “They need to be given the entire vial…taken orally, obviously, and the taste isn’t great so…give them some water if they ask for it. If they’re strong enough to ask for it. Let me watch you take care of one villager before I really pass out.”

“Sure,” he replies, and he does as you instruct him. Feeding a villager the entire vial and offering water, which the villager thanks him for profusely before desperately gulping it down to wash away the taste. As he turns around to seek your approval, you flash him a quick, tired grin before you settle into your chair and attempt to rest.

He’s never seen anyone like you…and all he can do is try his best to return your efforts.

The next morning, he’s waiting for you when you wake up. You complain of a dull throbbing in your head, clutching the side of it as you reorient yourself.

“The rest of the curse spirits have been exorcised,” he explains to you. Before you open your mouth to speak, he continues to clarify for you: “You were knocked out cold for a while. You’ve been neglecting yourself to help the villagers. Everyone is safe now. The problem is gone. My work here is finished, but I wish to stay to help you nurse the villagers back to perfect health.”

It’s against his character, and frankly, he still doesn’t understand why he’s offering to help out when he does have the freedom to return to Jujutsu Tech.

Something about you compels him to stay. His lips press into a grim line as he wars himself over his own aged inner conflict.

Why help those pathetic monkeys who can’t even fend for themselves?

It’s because of you, and he loathes this fact. He loathes that you stain him with your futile ideals. How you can still see humanity as worth protecting when they have taken your sorcerer family members away.

Everything about you—everything about you shatters his conviction about non-sorcerers. This whole conundrum…perhaps he must accept that there shall always be a gray area no matter how much he wishes to adhere to the belief that people like you are the reason he suffers, are the reason his comrades die.

But now he’s come to view you as a comrade. Someone to protect from harm’s way.

“I can’t ask that of you,” you finally answer him after a period of reflection. “You have your duties, and I have mine here, and mine don’t stop at this village. You must have more waiting for you, do you not?”

“You’re not asking this of me. I’m offering you,” he retaliates as he rests his hands on your knees, squeezing them gently. “Let me stay and help. The people I work for already know I’ve been gone longer than anticipated, so what’s another day or so?”

You snort at that. “You sorcerers really stick your neck outs for us, huh, Geto? Alright. I’ll let you help—for one more day. But then you have your own life to return to, alright?”

His heart skips a beat at that. “Of course.”

And he does stay and help as much as he can for that one more day. Once the remaining villagers can more or less leave the safe house, you offer him your place to stay for the night and offer to cook him some things to regain his strength before he leaves.

You prepare him a hearty stew along with other family favorites, splayed out all over a low wooden table.

“It’s the least I can do for you,” you announce after setting up the table and offering him some piping hot jasmine tea to accompany his meal. “Please, eat. I’ll prepare you some more meals for you to take back with you too.”

“That’s kind of you,” he mumbles as his eyes scan the colorful array of food. He’s moved by your kindness—more than he cares to admit to himself as he brings the bowl of stew to his lips, blowing on it gently before taking a sip and humming at how delicious it tastes. Rosemary, basil, and thyme hit his nostrils, and the soft potatoes are so chockful of flavor. 

“It’s a gift,” you tease with a little smirk playing on your lips. “I may not be a fancy shmancy sorcerer like you, but I can cook a mean meal that can win anyone’s heart!”

“I believe it,” he admits openly, downing the rest of that stew with a bit of gusto before attacking some of the finger sandwiches you prepared. You grin at him with a little twinkle in your eyes.

“Now you just eat up, relax, and you can stay the night,” you reply, “This is the bare minimum of what I can do for you after you protected this village. This is what’s left of my home. But, ah, it’s not like I get to stay here as long as I want to anymore. I tend to hop from village to village taking care of people.”

“So, you’re a nomadic medicine woman?” he inquires, mid-sipping on the stew.

“Something like that,” you declare as you rest your clenched fists on your hips. “I try to stay within the more remote villages since they don’t have as much access to modern medication. They don’t care enough to upgrade or fund these areas, so us countryfolk are left to fend for ourselves a lot of the time.”

Fucking monkeys, he finds himself thinking, but more about those who don’t want to progress than those who wish to help themselves, like you do, and by extension, clearly your family.

“Eh, it is what it is, I guess!” you go on as you whip around to return to the kitchen. “Now I have a big ole’ mess to clean up so you just sit back and relax, okay?”

“Are you sure you don’t need any—” he starts, but you interject before he can finish.

“—no, finish your meal and then rest up! You’ve helped me more than enough!” you call back to him with a dismissive wave over your shoulder as you disappear into the kitchen.

You don’t get to see it, but he’s smiling more genuinely than he has in the last few months, digging into the rest of the dishes you prepared for him. He might have some disdain toward non-sorcerers as a general rule, but he supposes there are some outliers, like you, who happen to come from a family with sorcerers and non-sorcerers. Someone like you, who can understand the horrors of the world yet still wear a smile through it.

It’s refreshing, indeed.

When he leaves the village the next day, you follow through on your promise and offer him some extra meals for him to take back with him. A little something to remember you by, you joke, to which he responds saying he can’t forget a kind soul like you. You remind him that there is still true good in this world, and you only shrug it off, calling him an idiot in jest.

“I’m just doing what’s right,” you remind him as you wave him goodbye. “Now go on before you miss your train ride back home! You stay strong now, ya hear?”

He doesn’t miss his train back to Jujutsu Tech. And then not too long after he returns, he learns of Haibara’s death through Nanami and Gojo has taken up the mission. He’s then sent on another mission shortly thereafter, in a village not too far away from the village you resided in, and maybe he should have expected to, but he doesn’t at the time this happens.

He finds two helpless twin girls caged by the villagers, threatening to execute them due to their ability to use cursed energy and see spirits. Even with your words echoing in his head—‘I’m just doing what’s right’—‘I think of it as common decency’—he’s scoffing at those notions. A deep scowl on his face as he scrutinizes the village for damning two innocent little girls.

Even now. These monkeys have none. No decency whatsoever. Not like you. They’re not understanding like you. They’re not full of heart like you. You’re not blind like these monkeys are to the true, unshakable reality that they are nothing but scum for putting these girls in danger over something they can’t help or change about themselves. They’re not like you, who understand the horrors sorcerers face trying to protect scum like these…filthy fucking monkeys who refuse to understand something bigger than them exists.

These people are beneath him, beneath you. They don’t deserve mercy.

“Excuse me, why don’t we all step outside for a moment?” he finds himself suggesting, and securing the girls, he goes out somewhere he can’t be witnessed committing the atrocity he’s about to do.

That village burns to the ground at his hand. Cursing them all to Hell like they all fucking deserve, these fucking monkeys who don’t understand the burdens sorcerers bear swearing to protect their weak asses. None of them deserve respite. None of them deserve safety. They have proven to him time and time again that they don’t understand the suffering, the struggling he endures again and again and again at their hands. Unknowingly or not, such monkeys are a plague to society and are best wiped from existence.

Even with your influence, he can’t wholly change his mind, and maybe he’s still plagued by the guilt of not telling you the whole truth of the matter, by that but not by very much. He hopes you’ll understand him one day. That you’ll see him beyond his actions and for his own truth—that these people, these monkeys, don’t deserve to live for the horrors they impose on sorcerers like him.

Smirking in triumph, his eyes scan the area, smirk widening with pleasure from the growing number of dead corpses of non-sorcerer scum before he ventures into the buildings. The stench of rotting corpses fills the air.

As he searches through the village for any survivors, he freezes when he finds you amid the rubble and cobblestone, unconscious, arm splayed over your heart cradling medication and herbal remedies, and he pales upon recognizing your face.

He doesn’t expect you to be here, but he should have considered the possibility before burning it all and calling it quits on the stupid rules the world of jujutsu imposed on him. He’s done playing games with the higher-ups and jujutsu society.

Thinking nothing of it—what you don’t know won’t kill you, and he’ll nurse you back to health—he scoops your body into his arms and tosses you over his shoulder, taking you along with the girls away from that wretched village.

There are no remaining survivors aside from you and the girls, and you are not a local. You don’t count in this equation. You just happen to be in a place where shouldn’t have, but you have your own duties to fulfill, he reminds himself as a disgusted frown graces his features, gaze flitting down at your unconscious, battered form in pity, don’t you?

He returns you to the cult he’s now taken over after he expelled himself from Jujutsu Tech. Like he’s reminded himself, what you don’t know won’t hurt you. He doubts you’ll have the means of discovering what he’s done to that village any time soon, anyway.

You’re slowly recovering from the incident. The guilt does gnaw at his stone cold heart, seeing you being thrown in the crossfire when someone like you doesn’t deserve it. Someone so kind, so genuine. So true to your character. Unshakable.

You may be the only one who almost made him change his mind about stupid, simple humans, but not quite. Not everyone deserves to be saved.

Frankly, not even he deserves to be saved. He’s told Satoru himself: if Satoru’s going to kill him, then he should be the one to kill him. There’s a point to it, at least.

There is a point in keeping you safe, though. He believes in that. Wholeheartedly.

He’s drawing idle patterns along your collarbone as your eyes flutter open, taking in the surroundings that you’re still adjusting to since he brought you here. You are barely conscious through most of your time here, but you’ve already been in the temple for quite some time now.

He calls your name, and you stare at him, a bit out of it. You don’t remember where you are, naturally, since you’ve been constantly drifting in and out of consciousness.

“Geto?” you murmur upon recognizing his face as a dull pounding comes on in your head, clutching it tight as you sit up against the headboard of the bed.

“Hey,” he greets with a little smile, happy to see you’re fully conscious this time. The most you have done since he’s brought you here is drift in and out. You seem more alert this time.

“I had a mission…” you trail off, then your eyes widen, and you gasp upon realization. “Geto, how did you find me? What happened to that village? And where am I?”

“Everything’s fine,” he lies through his teeth through that plastic smile of his. “The problem there has been exorcised. I found you there unconscious, so I took you here to heal you. I’m afraid it might be wise not to leave just yet, because you’ve taken quite a blow. What were you doing there?”

“I told you—I had a job there too!” you counter, “The girls…the ones who are sorcerers from that village, are they alright?”

“Yes,” he assures you as his smile brightens his entire face. Of course, he can rely on you to worry about what truly matters in the long run—the safety of those two innocent girls.  “They’re here, safe and sound. You need to focus on your recovery. At least this way, I can repay you for the kindness you’ve given me. Though I doubt there’s much I can do in comparison.”

“You’ve done more than you could possibly imagine for me,” you breathe, reaching to rest your hand on his cheek. He leans into your touch, before resting his hand over yours. “You look…strong. Healthy. Since I saw you.”

“Do I?” he chuckles as he intertwines his fingers with yours; when you don’t seem taken aback by the gesture, he relaxes his body a bit more from its more rigid posture. “I’m glad to hear it. I’ve been feeling much better. And it’s in part because of you, you know. I’ve come to realize that you and I, we’re not so different, right?”

There’s a twist of disgust inside of him as he to compare himself to a human, but he doesn’t consider you so low. Not at all. Far from it. If anything, he may go as far as to declare with full conviction that he’s the one beneath you.

Yet here you are, blessing him with that ‘common decency’ he doesn’t deserve, even still. Because that’s the kind of person you are. People like you are rare finds, and he is sworn to protect rare breeds of human like you who belong to his new world order.

You grin wide, and his breath catches in his throat; how are you so effortlessly beautiful? Yet you aren’t aware of your own. How…perplexing.

“Of course. Like I said, I may not be a fancy pants like you, Mr. Sorcerer, but I can help where applicable—I call myself a medicine woman since I use some tricks my sorcerer mom taught me!”

“Do you feel good enough to get out of bed?” Geto asks, “If you’d like, I’d love to give you the tour of my temple.”

You blink at him owlishly, eyes flitting to every area of the room, awed by how huge and spacious it all is. “Wait…this is yours? I knew you were fancy! I could tell by those pretty bangs of yours, but not this fancy!”

He chuckles, his tone bright and rich, at your remark about his bangs—he usually gets the opposite reaction—and smiles as you take in your new home, if he can help it. You look more than thrilled for him, and he can’t help his heart swelling with pride from earning yet another pat on the back from you. It just reminds him of how good-natured of a person you are.

“So how’s that huge gash on your shoulder? Did that doctor friend of yours help?” you find yourself asking as your gaze lands back on him. He freezes for a moment at the mention of Shoko before grunting.

“Yes, it’s much better now,” he replies, smiling. “Thank you. For everything back there. You really are an extraordinary girl, you know that?”

You rub the back of your head, wincing a bit from the mild throbbing still. “Aw, shucks, it’s like I tell ya, I’m just doing what’s right.”

He hums, and while a bold move, he moves to press a soft kiss to your forehead. You freeze, gazing up at him with those shimmering, timid eyes as you realize what he’s just done.

“What’s that for?”  you whisper, eyes flitting down to his lips in spite of yourself. His lips curve into a smirk when he catches that little action of yours and merely shrugs.

“You’ve done a lot for me,” he answers in a smooth tone. “It’s just a little token of appreciation. And I find you’re a wonderful girl.”

Your cheeks burn from the flattery, and you laugh nervously. “That’s awfully nice of you to say, Geto! But I’m nothing special.”

“Don’t be silly,” he insists, brushing his fingers along your cheek. “I won’t rush you, of course. You’re still recovering. But I’d like to know you better.”

Now it’s your breath that catches in your throat when he says that, and you’re smiling even bigger, before wincing again as the dull throbbing in your head makes another wave. “I’d love that more than you know, Geto.”

“Suguru,” he corrects, still smiling. This time it reaches his brilliant sparkling purple eyes. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

You beam at him, your gorgeous eyes twinkling. “Uh-huh, we sure are—owww!”

You clutch your head again, wincing, another wave of throbbing pain...

“You should take it easy,” he reprimands you with a frown. “Treat my home as yours. You can stay for as long as you need.”

“You’re far too kind, Suguru,” you reply, still beaming through the pain. “But hey, I can power through it! Just might need to be knocked out cold for another week or something though…”

Geto can’t help chuckling at that. “I’ll have some of our servants bring you food and medication. You can just relax as long as you need to, and I’m here for you.”

“Mr. Geto!!!!” A loud voice calls before a young blonde girl runs up to him. “We’re hungry!!!! Is she awake and is she okay???”

“Keep your voice down, Nanako,” he chides, before flashing you an apologetic smile. “She’s fine, but you need to use your inside voice around her.”

“Inside voice,” Nanako replies, lowering her tone to a low whisper. “Okay! But we’re huuuuuungry! Does she want to join us for lunch?”

“It’s noon?” you groan at him with an exasperated look. He stares back at you, apologetic.

“Well, would you like to? None of us would be opposed to lunch in bed,” he teases.

Nanako pumps her fists in the air.

“Yeah!!! And we can play Pokemon!”

“Nanako,” he chides again. “Inside voice! And she’ll need her space.”

You grin at Nanako’s antics, not minding in the slightest. “I’m really glad the twins are alright. Those people treated them so harshly.”

“They are,” he promises, then turns back to Nanako while scratching her head affectionately. “Order some food and bring Mimiko here. We’ll have lunch together, alright?”

Nanako nods and runs off.

“If I wasn’t feeling like shit, I’d cook for you again,” you offer, “It clearly looks like I’ll be out of commission for a bit longer than I want to, but if it means I get to spend more time with you, then I’m not complainin’!”

“There’s no need for that,” he replies, flattered by your comment as his heart swells with more pride. Your approval is all he cares about right now—because you don’t yet know the truth of the situation you have found yourself in; the guilt from lying to you is still weighing heavy on his heart. But you understand the real priorities—those humans are scum, which reassures him to a certain extent. “We’re happy with the pleasure of your company.”

“Man, stop buttering me up!” you whack him on the chest playfully. “I’m just little old me, not a big shot like you, Suguru.”

“Nonsense,” he retorts, “You’re plenty special.”

“And you’re still smooth talking!” you huff, before spluttering with laughter. “But alright! I’m seriously down for lots of rest and lots of food!”

“I’ll let Nanako know what to order for you. What would you like?”

You list out your typical go-tos, and he takes it all into account. He’s putting in his very best efforts to bring you the utmost comfort, and you don’t have to tell him you’re grateful for his hospitality. It’s safe to say he’s obviously not the type to offer something like this so openly.

Once you fully recover, he lets you go so you can fulfill your duties—much to his own reluctance. He’s become too attached to you—far more than he wants to admit to himself or to you.

Keeping you from doing what you believe is right is selfish of him, though he fears that you may not cross paths with him for a while.

“Aw, don’t fret, Suguru! I can come back, you know!” you assure him with an actual pat on his back.

“I’d love for you to,” Geto replies, his stare bordering on longing and tender. But of course, you don’t take it that way. You’re already turning your back, waving over your shoulder. “Take care.”

It’s at that moment he realizes he should have told you more, that he should have told you what happened, but he doesn’t want you to be afraid of him.

You do follow through on your promise, like you always do. Your character always proves to be unshakable. You’re a woman of your word, and he takes great pleasure in the fact.

For the last four or so years, you have returned in between your duties to spend time with him and the twins, who are more than thrilled to have you spend more time with them. They remember your kindness even before he burned it all to the ground.

Though you still have yet to learn the truth of what happened, he wants to maintain the illusion that everything’s still fine between you.

You make Geto more alive than he’s had since that dreaded day. Since he’s made that decision to stray from the conservative ways of jujutsu society. Full of fools who don’t understand the burdens they’ve forced upon people like him.

He strives for progress; he strives for harmony; he strives for peace. The only way to get that peace is to eliminate the cause of everyone’s suffering.

Geto just knows he’s clinging onto something from you he knows won’t last, but damn it, he can’t change what his heart wants. And it’s you. By his side. Through Hell or high water. There’s a point in protecting you, even if you aren’t traditionally what he accepts. He can’t bring himself to allow a good person like you die—there’s already so few of you out there.

He does wonder if you’ve caught onto the subtle changes in him. Well, it’s not too subtle to those close to him, or who have once been close to him—to them, it’s like he’s made a complete 180—but he wishes for things to reman more or less the same with you. You still view him through rose-colored lenses, and he would hate to shatter your perspective with the crushing reality that he’s not the hero you praise him to be, that he’s a monster.

Even if he kills that village for the safety of those girls, it doesn’t change that he doesn’t regret what he did, that he prefers that non-sorcerers be evicted from society…permanently.

“Are you going to keep staring into space, Suguru? Because those veggies ain’t gonna chop themselves,” you call out to him as you read along in your family recipe book while working with multiple pans and pots. Your culinary genius never fails to impress him, but that doesn’t mean you don’t appreciate a helping hand every now and then and he’s offered to numerous times.

He pulls himself out of his thoughts, picking up the large, sharpened premium chef’s knife and deftly chops the cucumbers, dices the onions, shallots, and bell peppers…

“You guys are so lucky I don’t charge you for all of this cookin’ I do for your conferences,” you snort, switching off some areas of the stove once those dishes are complete. “So how many members are we even feeding? This could feed entire villages, you know!”

“We have accumulated a staggering number of devotees and members,” Geto chuckles as he tosses the variety of veggies into a large ceramic bowl before handing it to you. He tries to ignore the softness of your skin as your fingers brush against his. He can’t lose sight of the reality—he’s a liar, and he has yet to come clean about his actions. He can’t entertain his feelings right now.

Maybe he shouldn’t bring it up while you’re in an environment with knives present.

“I really do appreciate everything you do here. The girls have really come to love you. Even some other members of the family have praised you, and that’s a rare thing, given how guarded all of them are,” Geto tells you with a winning smile on his face.

He doesn’t appear as worn and torn as he had all those years ago—well, four years is not that long but it’s enough to drastically change a person—and he can tell you’ve noticed. He may have found comfort in troubling ideals, but there’s a part of him that believes that you still see goodness in him, that he’s striving for the greater good, ultimately.

“Here you go again buttering me up like I’m about to these veggies,” you snicker as you toss them into the pot before twisting around to face him. “I think we’re all good to go here. Thanks for your help, Suguru! These dishes should be done right on time.”

Geto flashes you a smile before taking one of your free hands into his, kissing gently along your knuckles.

“Thank you,” he praises, violet eyes flitting upward to meet yours. “You have no idea how grateful we are for you.”

You roll your eyes as you retract your hand. “Alright, you. Enough of that. Leave me to the kitchen now. Actually, wait—!” you start while scooping a bit of stew from a large ceramic pot with a ladle, before presenting the piping hot sample to his lips. “—Taste test?”

You tip the ladle into his mouth, and he hums, smacking his lips as he judges the flavors. He then makes a pleased sound, sipping the rest of the sample with gusto, a little bit of the stew spraying on your hand.

Ah. An open opportunity. He lowers his lips to the area of your hand that still had some leftover stew, pressing his lips to the inflicted area and lightly slurping the leftovers up before pulling away with a little grin.

You make a mock displeased face before wiping your hand clean. “Ya nasty. Okay, now you can leave me to my devices.”

He does just that—frankly because he doesn’t want to test your patience while you’re in the cooking zone—and retires to the common area where Nanako and Mimiko are playing some dumb mobile game that’s completely taken up their free time between training sessions. Geto isn’t going to be one to rob them of their youth like those villagers were going to, so he tries his best not to be too strict with his rules about particularly electronics.

Especially considering Nanako’s cursed technique…

The meeting runs smoothly. You do stay behind to greet some of the members of the family you have met in the past. Even Miguel seems pleased to see you, which is a rarity for him, but it’s likely because they both share a love for the culinary arts. Regardless of the reasons, Geto is just happy to see you finding a place here—a home away from your home, where you had everything from you taken away just like he did.

Once the meeting concludes, Geto insists you stay over for a few nights. You at first try to decline, reminding him that you can’t exactly leave people in the more rural areas of Japan unattended, but he swears to make it worth your while.

An offer you can’t refuse, mainly because you’ve grown attached to him too.

“I’m afraid I haven’t been fully honest with you,” he brings up one evening, as you’re assisting him with some household work in his temple. You offer to in spite of the numerous times he refuses. You just like to be of service where you can. “About what happened in that village.”

“Why bring that up now? It’s been years,” you answer as you wipe off a bead of sweat from your brow with the back of your wrist.

“Because what I’m going to tell you might change everything between us. I’ve been selfish.”

“Suguru, you’re scaring me,” you remark, “What happened out there? I was out cold for most of it.”

“I know,” he replies, expression grim as he wipes his hands with a cloth. “I think it’s best if you take a seat for this.”

He leads you to the common area and sits you down on one of the couches there. He begins telling you that the villagers aren’t as open to the existence of sorcerers as your village was, that they threatened to execute the girls believing that they were the cause of their misfortune. He braces himself for the icy cold sting of rejection as he admits that because of that, he massacred the entire village and took you, and the girls, with him out of there to safety.

But instead of a backhanded slap across the face, or a lot of shouting or yelling, he meets your gaze to find your expression blank. Like you’re grappling with everything he’s just spilled to you—something he’s kept from you for all these years because he’s selfish and he can’t help that side to himself.

“I don’t blame you if this means you don’t want to see me again. I’ve done terrible things, and I will continue to do terrible things…” Geto can’t bear to look at your blank expression anymore and he flits his gaze elsewhere, resting his hands on your knees. “Sometimes we must do the things we mustn’t…for the greater good. For the protection of those who deserve protection. F….for those who truly matter in this world. You deserve protection. The girls deserve protection. But that village…they’re nothing but scum better off erased. I don’t regret a single thing I’ve done.”

Deciding it best to face the music, he meets your eyes again. Blank. Expressionless. Void.

Like him.

“But I don’t regret meeting you,” he goes on, eyes softening as he feels his heart drop to his stomach when you’re unresponsive, likely from shock. He squeezes your knees gently. “I don’t regret saving you, protecting you. I know I should have told you the truth sooner, but I didn’t want things between us to change.” He rests his head on your lap, voice strained. “I didn’t want to lose what we had. I didn’t want to lose you.”

The silence hangs in the air between them, constricting him like invisible chains around his neck and torso. He buries his face into his lap, awaiting your ultimate judgment—because he’s accepted a long time ago that he is indeed beneath someone as pure and as kind as you are. He’s not once deserved your kindness or this ‘common decency’ you so often preached because that’s the kind of person you are. He’s admired you for your character. He hasn’t stopped admiring you for your character.

His lips begin to quiver, and he feels a wetness down his cheeks, and, stunned, he raises his hand to find they’ve been stained with tears. You haven’t said a word since he confessed his sins. He doesn’t regret those sins.

“They were people too,” you mumble, digging your fingers into the fabric of your pants. “You…you really killed them? All of them? I-I know I’ve heard reports of a natural disaster taking the village, but all this time…that was to cover up your crime?”

“Yes,” he confirms, bloodshot eyes meeting your dead ones. “As you know, the existence of sorcerers is rare, and thus when such occurrences happen, and they do—perhaps not to such a degree like my own crimes—they have to cover it up to the general public. So they declared the village was overtaken by an earthquake. But the reality is I cursed them all to death.”

“You…” You hug your knees to your chest, shivering. “You—you…why?”

“Not everyone is like you. Not everyone is understanding and kind like you. They were going to kill two innocent girls!” He wants you to understand that particular detail—if he plays a bit more on your empathetic nature, does that mean he has a shot at keeping you in spite of the sins he’s committed? “You do understand where I’m coming from, don’t you? Those villagers you tried to protect in your village, your family died protecting them!”

“Yes,” you breathe, remembering your lost loved ones, your eyes now shimmering from sadness at their memories. “They were heroes. They did what they believed was right.”

“And I did what I believed was right,” he insists, desperation evident in his tone as he squeezes your knees too tight, to the point his veins begin to pop. “I saved you and the girls from those wretched, vile people.”

“You did save us,” you mumble, “That’s true. But the villagers, they didn’t all deserve to die…”

“I know you must be conflicted, but please understand where I’m coming from,” he bites back a whimper. “I don’t want to lose you. You’ve become dear to me and to the girls.”

“Suguru…” you trail off, but then you’re taken aback as his hands move up to cup your cheeks, wiping away the tears pricking at the corners of your stunning eyes.

“A man does what he mustn’t to protect those who matter to him most,” he whispers as he draws his face closer to yours, until his lips are barely against yours. “For her. To be worthy of her. Do you believe me?”

“I want to,” you whisper back, your eyes dropping to his lips then back to meet his eyes. Your breath hitches as you force down a sob. “I want to, but this is—Suguru, this is…a lot…”

“Then try to believe me. Try to trust me. That’s all I ask of you. I know I don’t deserve it,” he says, his lips teasing yours, hovering so close yet not quite meeting. His warm breath fans over your lips.

“But I am nothing without you,” he finishes, his words coming out in a low, raw whisper—he sounds so jaded from the horrors he’s witnessed all of his life. His eyes unravels so much to you, a man who has known too much violence and too much tragedy, and in this moment, a need for you to accept him as he is—hero or not, criminal or not.

Finally, his lips meet yours. His softness takes you aback, no urgency in the kiss just yet. His moves move languidly against your own, coaxing soft sounds out of you. He can tell you’re hesitating, frozen by the action, but his persistence encourages you; he’s frightened, that this is the only chance he might ever have with you. You shyly return the kiss, uncertain. You’re breathless when he pulls back, his entire expression softening.

“Wh-what was that for?” you murmur, your fingers brushing absently over your lips, still tingling from the kiss.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he confesses, his voice lowering an octave as he reaches out, brushing his fingers through your bangs. “I love you.”

“Suguru, I…” you stammer, your body still trembling, a war of unfamiliar emotions rushing through your mind.

“Shh,” he whispers, drawing his lips closer to yours once more. “There’s so much I want to try with you. Can you try to trust me?”

You gulp, averting your gaze as your heart races. You find it difficult to breathe. “I…”

“Do speak up,” he purrs, as a teasing smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

“I don’t know if I can wait.” The playful edge to his tone catches him off-guard, but he frames his words to make it seem like you don’t have a real choice on the matter. Trust is no longer something you can withhold from him, even if you want to, and maybe that’s selfish of him, but he’s come to accept that he’s no virtuous hero a long time ago.

“O-okay,” you squeak, the sound of your (reluctant) submission charges something within him. An all too eager Geto scoops you up effortlessly into his arms, carrying you princess style as his lips trail kisses all over your face and forehead. The tension in his body melts off of him as he whisks you away to his bedroom.

“I’ll prove to you that I’m still the man you know,” he murmurs into your skin as he rests you on the feathery mattress. “I’m not a hero, I’m afraid,” he adds softly, speaking to himself more than to you. “No, not a hero…I’m far too selfish for that.”

He rests a hand on your cheek, a calloused thumb brushing along your soft skin with a reverence that catches you off-guard. He leans in, his hovering over yours, your breaths mixing.

“But I can still be the man for you,” he murmurs between heated kisses along your jaw. “The man you deserve.” His voice dips in a rawer way.

“Suguru…” Your hands instinctively reach up to grip his shoulders.

“I’ve…never done this before…” you confess, your voice barely a whisper, laden with nerves.

He pauses, a low hum vibrating in his throat as he kisses you once more, dragging his lips along the edge of your mouth before pulling back with a low, fervent growl. The intensity in his gaze is far too much.

“Then I’ll be gentle, my dear,” he vows, his voice a low rasp as he presses his forehead against yours. I’m yours to use as much as you like.”

He moves to unbutton your top, revealing your delicious figure. There’s a tremble in his hands as he explores your body. He traces the swells of your breasts before pulling them out from your bra, grinding his teeth against a nipple before sucking it into his mouth with a loud slurp.

You gasp, another flush blooming across your features. “Wait, Suguru—!”

He ignores you as he suckles a bit on the nipple, eyebrows furrowing as some milk splatters on his tongue. He hums at the exquisite taste before jis bewildered eyes meet yours, removing your nipple from his mouth with a pop to speak.

“How are you lactating?” he asks, not doing much to hide how giddy he is from this new discovery. He definitely plans on taking advantage of this for more than one occasion.

“Um…partially diet and uh…herbal medicine stuff…” you flush, covering your face from embarrassment. “S-some new mothers face difficulties with nursing so some remedies I created help with that…and I have to test them on myself, so…”

“I see,” he groans as he laves his tongue around your nipple, flicking off leftover droplets of milk. “Fascinating.”

He closes his mouth over your perky nipple and suctions hard, groaning at the taste. More flavorful than any meal you have ever cooked for him, and he can’t get enough of the pitchy moans you’re working so hard to bite down.

One of his hands fondles your unattended breasts, and he coos at how soft your mounds are, flicking his finger over your nipple as he greedily drinks from the other one.

“Fuck,” he moans into your skin. “Don’t hold back on those beautiful noises. You should enjoy it.”

“Suguru…it’s just…embarrassing…” you admit through a pitched voice. He laughs a bit at that, not to mock you (shockingly), but because he wants to ravish you.

He parts the nipple he assaulted with a kiss before switching, suckling on one nipple while a finger toys with the opposite. He prays that he will be the only one who gets to have you like this, and he intends to see that through. He doesn’t like the idea of you being with anyone else. The thought makes his blood burble beneath his skin.

He shifts gears, flipping you over so that now you’re on top of him. You yelp from shock, but it’s muffled as his lips plunge against yours, his tongue invading your mouth and gliding along the edges of your teeth. His hands snake down your waist and hips, stopping at the hem of your pants where he tucks his fingers inside and pulls them off along with your panties (which he definitely plans to keep to himself).

He purrs your name, and you let out a low whimper.

“I meant what I said before,” he murmurs against your lips before pulling away, sliding you up until your cunt is hovering over his face. “I’m yours to use.”

“I-I don’t know what to, um, exactly do…Suguru…” Your face is beet red.

He chuckles at that, sliding his tongue up your folds. “In that case, I’ll guide you. Worry not.”

He shoves your cunt into his tongue, twisting it between your folds and a shaky gasp leaves your lips. He digs his fingers into your ass cheeks, close to your crack as his tongue laves over your sensitive skin, your own slick already building from the slightest treatment. He hums, tongue flicking over your clit as his eyes never leave yours, admiring your flushed face, your rosy, parted lips as more breathy moans escape them.

From his focal point, you truly are a goddess, a true beauty—further proof that he’s truly beneath you in every conceivable way.

“Suguru…” Oh, his name rolling off your lips sounds so good, so sweet.

“Don’t be shy,” he purrs, his breath fanning over your folds before plunging the wet muscle into your fluttering entrance, making you choke on another gasp as you grasp for something—you reach for the top of the headboard to maintain a semblance of balance as his tongue fucks repeatedly into your spongy walls.

His grip on your ass cheeks tighten as his tongue ravishes you, and he growls when he feels your gummy walls clenching around him. You’re coming, and you throw your head back as you do, shouting as you’re unfamiliar with the sensation.

“Thank you for blessing me with such a beautiful sight,” he praises, tone full of reverence as he pinches one of your ass cheeks, making you squeak again. “My mouth isn’t the only thing free for your use, my love.”

He guides you back down to his lap, where his growing erection through his robe is evident. He grinds up into your pussy, still drenched from your arousal. “My cock, my fingers, anything. They’re all yours.”

He grabs one of your hands and rests it on his clothed erection. He groans your name. “Do you feel what you do to me? What more can I do to show you—that I am the man for you?”

“I…I don’t know,” you admit, tone wistful. “Suguru, I told you. I’ve…never done this before.”

He adjusts your positions, taking a moment to completely disrobe and reveal his bare body to you. He moves to cup your face, brushing his thumb along your lips.

“I’ll make this worth it for you,” he purrs, as he grinds the tip of his cock against your pussy. You bite back a moan in spite of yourself. “Can you trust me? I understand it’s too much to ask—”

“—Yes,” you murmur, and as he presses a kiss to your lips, he pushes the tip of his cock inside, experimentally. Sensing any discomfort from you before he rests his back against the headboard, guiding you up and down his girthy cock. His lips trail down your jaw and neck, growling into your skin as he keeps a gentle, but far from slow pace. Trying to get you used to the sensation, to the feeling of being filled to the hilt by his impressive size. He doesn’t want to hurt you. His fingers sink into your waist, as he purrs your name over and over.

“I’m yours,” he vows as his intense gaze never leaves yours. “I’m yours, my love. That much is true.”

He shouts as he comes, and you soon follow after and he’s moaning throughout as your walls clench around his girth. You slowly come down from the hot flash in ragged breaths, yours syncing with his.

“I’m yours,” he repeats, nuzzling his nose against yours. You glance down at him, chest still heaving as you catch your breath.

“I know,” you say, as his hands intertwine with yours. “I’m yours too.”

[sophierequests]

Could I please request a Toyla x reader..? (Bless you for writing for everyone I can’t find any for him 😭) they’re crushing on each other and them having to share a bed 🥺

you are foolish to want

Navigation┃Main Masterlist┃Request

Pairing: Tolya Yul-Bataar x gn!Reader

A/N: After reading this you might ask me: Sophie, will you ever write anything else than Hurt/Comfort when you get requests that aren't in any explicit genre? The answer to that question is: no <3 Also, the second time of using horses in a Tolya fanfic?? What has overcome me?? Thank you for the request! I hope you'll like this, even though the one bed trope isn't the main focus of this story </3

Summary: Tolya and the reader are on their way to the Lazlayon until unforeseen circumstances put a slight dent in their plans.

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff (if you squint)

Word Count: 5.8K (oh god)

Warnings: Mention of almost dying, broken ribs and hurt feelings

The silence between you became louder the longer you indulged in it. It wasn’t really silence, so to say. It was more the state of not speaking. The forest surrounding you was anything but silent. Between the creaking of old rotting larch trees swaying in the wind and the padding of hooves against the more or less solid ground, nothing ever really felt quiet. 

He couldn’t be sure how much longer the path ahead of you could possibly still drag on; all he knew was that he likely wouldn’t be able to stay awake for the entirety of it. The tension of riding next to you alone would have usually been enough to keep him from falling asleep. Hell, the thought of you alone did the job well enough already. Yet something about this time felt different. 

It was just the two of you. No Tamar. No Nikolai. No Zoya. No one else to worry or think about. Just the two of you, wordlessly riding next to each other. 

And while his brain screamed at him to use that factor in his favour, to finally make some sort of move, his body recoiled at the impulse of opening his mouth and articulating his feelings. Whenever he even attempted to do so, an obstruction seemed to form inside his larynx, blocking the feeble sounds that might’ve crossed the breach of his vocal folds. Maybe it was his heart leaping out of his chest and ending up in the enclosure of his throat, desperate to be spat out and stowed away inside a neat little box that he could disregard as long as he pleased. Maybe it was bile at the thought of having to come clean about the months and months of yearning he had been subjected to since meeting you. Maybe both of these options rang true; he couldn’t be sure. The sole thing he was painfully sure of was that it had to be closely related to you. 

Everything was somehow related to you. You had always been everywhere and nowhere; everything and nothing at the same time. At least to him, he hoped. You occupied his mind, his space, and his time whenever he should be focused on anything else. When he wanted, no, needed to focus on anything else. You were everywhere just as much as you were nowhere. Nowhere he could reach. Touch. Hold. You had always been more of an idealistic daydream, rather than something concrete. And just like most dreams, you would be foolish to pursue.

“Do you think we’ll reach the Lazlayon before the night sets in?” Your voice broke through the air like a gunshot, forcing his gaze away from the impenetrable barrier of trees next to him. You stared at him expectantly, waiting until he could will himself to produce a coherent sentence.

He let out a huffed breath, absent-mindedly fiddling with the reins in his hands as if they were a set of tarot cards that would permit him to look into the future. “If we keep up this pace, we’ll likely get there right before sundown.”

“Oh, lovely. Just in time for Count Kirigin to welcome us. I’m sure he’s already buzzing with excitement,” you chuckled dryly, giving your companion a distinctive eye roll to accentuate your annoyance. 

Tolya rolled his shoulders, the mention of the count’s name sending a wave of unease through him. He didn’t necessarily hold any tangible grudges against him, he didn’t know him well enough to form any sort of well-shaped opinion of him to begin with, but what he knew was that the man was an absolute rake. If the countless times of resolute flirting with anyone that didn’t leave his presence on the count of three wasn’t enough to support this hypothesis, Nikolai’s long-winded tales of his drinking and lavished parties sure filled the gaps. Count Kirigin as a whole simply wasn’t a coeval he wanted to be around. Not when he was busy enough with keeping his emotions in check while you were close to him. 

“There’s still hope that he chose to go to bed instead of waiting by the door for us to arrive. I doubt that he’s all too invested in our presence. After all, Zoya isn’t accompanying us, so he won’t have much to ogle at,” the Heartrender objected slyly, using the scarce situation of being alone with you to voice his obvious disdain for the man in question.

“We can only hope.” You clasped your hands together, holding them in front of your chest as if you were in prayer. “At least we’ll share the same fate if it comes down to him having genuinely waited on us.” 

He nodded in agreement. It was a comforting thought to know that he was there with you. The fact that you were meant to take on the journey to the Lazlayon on your own at first disconcerted him greatly. Not that he wouldn’t have trusted you to come back in one piece, however, having you be out of his sight for so long without a possibility of contacting you made him uncomfortably aware of the actual extent of his feelings.

Another wave of silence settled around you. It was more comfortable this time. Especially since it didn’t take too long for you to speak up again. “I’m glad Nikolai decided to have you come along.”

His smile falters for just a split second, the wave of emotion your simple statement had created stripping him of the last bit of feigned confidence he had. Perhaps his years of studying and breaking down ancient poetry had gotten the best of him. Convinced him that there was more to the comment than merely you being glad that someone else had to suffer through the hours on hours of travel. But that’s what you would have said, right? You would have said ‘someone’ instead of explicitly mentioning him. During times like these, he genuinely missed Zoya’s bluntness to bring him back down to earth.

“Oh, uhm, it’s good to know that you don’t see my presence as patronising,” he stammers, his voice hitching and cracking as if he was a puberty-stricken young boy again.

You tilted your head and looked at him with narrowed but gentle eyes. The same eyes that always seemed to magically find his own whenever he had stared at you for a bit too long. “Your presence could never be patronising to me. I like being around you.”

In an ideal world, he would have told you that the feeling was mutual. The sentence would have rolled off his tongue equally as casually as it had off yours, and you both could have continued your travels with the knowledge that you appreciated each other’s company. This was not an ideal world though. In fact, he didn’t even give you a verbal response. Instead, he hastily turned his head away from you, futilely trying to cover the gleaming blush that had spread across his cheeks in a matter of seconds.

Once again, the steady whirring and rustling replaced your short-lived stab at a conversation. It took another hour for the unkempt thicket to gradually turn into a widespread field, stretching out in front of you until it was obscured by the dense artificial fog that hid the watercraft testing grounds of the Gilded Bog. It would have been a stunning view if you hadn’t been aware of the massive amount of work that lay behind it.

A sigh of relief escaped your lips when Count Kirigin’s estate came into view. Your whole body ached after riding for hours on end without a break, making you long for a warm bed and a good night’s sleep. It didn’t take long for Mother Fortuna to knock that idea out of your head though.

Just as you had intended to throw some sort of sarcastic comment in your friend’s direction, a sudden sound of a rifle being fired cut through the forest behind you. After that, everything continued to go downhill horribly fast. 

You barely managed to calm down your horse, yanking the reins to the side to let it spur out its fright by trotting in a circle. Tolya, on the other hand, was less lucky. He hadn’t been able to react quick enough, his horse rearing on its hind legs before he was in the right mindset to properly hold onto the straps of his saddle. He was thrown off its back quite roughly, his back hitting the hard ground with a bone-chilling thud.

“Tolya!” you called, dismounting your horse without thinking about the looming threat of someone directing their gunshots at you. It was as if you were passing through a tunnel, eyes only focused on what was in front of you.

A litany of his name spilt out of your mouth as you knelt down next to him; you repeated it so many times that it didn’t even feel like a real word anymore. But no amount of repetition could bring him to regain consciousness. He remained laying on the ground, perfectly still and with no reaction to anything you did. Years and years of basic medical training flickered through your mind, hopelessly trying to give you an impulse that might be able to save his life. Your hands promptly moved to the pronounced column of his throat, a motion that would have been intimate if you weren’t filled with panic. The skin underneath your fingers was warm - and unexpectedly soft - as you dug for any form of heartbeat. When you finally localised a faint but rhythmic thudding, you sucked in a deep breath, momentarily considering changing your stance on the Saints if they had been the ones to grant you this minuscule act of reassurance.

“Tolya,” you tried again, hands cradling the sides of his face as you shifted him onto your lap. His eyelids fluttered open briefly, immediately seeking out contact with yours. It took another moment for him to recognise what position he was currently in. Your hands on his face and his head on your lap felt almost too good of a situation to be anything but a dream. 

He wanted to say something, anything for that matter, but a piercing pain in his chest caused him to let out a stifled groan. It hurt to move. It hurt to speak. It hurt to breathe. His whole body felt like it had been pulled apart and reassembled without a manual, and you couldn’t do anything to ease his discomfort.

“Hey.” You let your thumbs smooth over the ridges of his cheekbones, your feather-light touch creating an embarrassingly visible trail of goosebumps all over his arms. Everything you did was too soft. Too delicate. Too wholly overwhelming. “I know it hurts. Just stay here for a while and-”

“Saints!” A shrill voice made your head shoot up, the memory of the gunshot striking you like a brick. When a familiar figure scrambled out of the woods, an extravagant hunting rifle strung over his back and a mortified look on his face, you began to piece together what was going on. “I’m terribly sorry! I- We were just coming back from our hunting trip and we didn’t- Oh, no.” The count ran a shaky hand through his neatly slicked-back hair, causing a few stiff strands to fall onto his forehead.

Something inside you wanted to be mad at him. It was his fault after all. If he had been more careful and a little less trigger-happy none of this would have happened. However, Tolya’s weight still very much present on your legs substituted your anger with worry. “Kirigin, I’ll need some help getting him to the Lazlayon. He needs to be looked at by someone more…medically-inclined than me.”

Emil nodded his head reverently, calling over a few of the other men that had joined him in his hunting party. With their help, you heaved him back to his feet. His nails dug into your shoulder as you helped him walk to your horse; neither of you trusted his horse enough to not throw him off again. It was quite the struggle, but after a lot of cursing and griping coming from the normally very composed Heartrender, you reached the opulent mansion just before the sun had vanished behind the mountain range completely.

Upon entering, the count immediately called for a medik, showing the two of you to his drawing room while he flittered through the foyer in a frenzy. Tolya let himself fall onto one of the plush divans with a groan. His hand flew to his side as soon as his back met the fabric underneath him, flinching as he seemed to have pressed down too hard. It was a strange picture to see him look this helpless. He appeared small and vulnerable, almost as if a bare touch could cause him to break and crumble.

“Don’t move,” you requested gently, one of your hands reaching out to take hold of his. He was aware that this gesture was merely meant to give him a piece of reassurance; you wanted to give him something to hold on to, something to get his mind off of the erupting pain in his chest. Still, a nimble twinge of hope sent a burning wave of longing through his body. “I think you may have broken a rib. After your fall earlier that would be one of the lesser evils,” you assessed, letting the fingers of your free hand brush over the clothed expanse of his chest. “We should probably pass a message to Nikolai. You can’t be expected to take on the ride back anytime soon. But all of that can wait until tomorrow.”

The medik arrived just as you closed your mouth, forbidding Tolya from saying anything in response to your short-lived ramblings. He was a bit miffed by the fact that the person treating him was a simple medik instead of an actual Healer that could have fixed him up in the blink of an eye. However, a faint memory of Kuwei accidentally setting a whole section of the laboratory on fire told him that their presence was a bit more required downstairs. 

He was ripped from his thoughts when the medik pushed down on his ribcage with unexpected force. A jolt of pain flashed through him again, and embarrassingly enough, that only caused his grip on your hand to tighten. You didn’t show any sign of discomfort as he did so, entirely concentrated on providing the tiniest bit of comfort you could offer him.

“Fractured rib,” the woman beside you muttered, her brows furrowed as she looked at his exposed chest stomach. “This will take a few weeks to heal on its own. We can send for a Healer as soon as one’s available, but that will probably take just as long. The new project is keeping everyone busy, I’m afraid.”

“I will send a letter to the King,” the Count interjected, rubbing his palms together in an attempt to cope with his nervousness. “The Healers at the Grand Palace are often more willing to make the trip than the ones we have on our hands here. I’m certain he would do everything in his power to ensure that one of his most trusted…guards is back in his service as soon as possible.”

“I suppose that would be for the better.” The medik took out a few differently coloured vials from the pouch on her hip, handing them to you as if the person needing them wasn’t also in the room with you. “These are painkillers. Make sure he takes one of these twice a day.” You nodded along slowly, letting go of Tolya’s hand to not drop any of the flimsy flasks. “It would be best if someone keeps an eye on him for now. Especially after taking the medicine. In case the pain gets worse, you know where to find me.” She directed her gaze at Emil who merely dismissed her with a grateful wave of his hand.

“Thank you for…taking the initiative.” You gave him a brief smile, sitting on the armrest of the sofa where Tolya was still laying. Slowly but surely, the heaviness of the day began seeping through your bones.

“But of course! That’s the least I could do after causing such a mishap.” He pursed his lips but opted to force them into a straight line while he pondered his next words. “I shall send for a servant to mind you during the night if that’s alright with you. Someone should probably be there to attend to you, just in case something happens.” 

Tolya looked up at him, evidently not too fond of his suggestion. The idea of having some stranger even do as much as stay in the same room as he slept didn’t sit right with him at all. “I…appreciate your kindness, Count Kirigin. However, I would prefer it if you refrained from doing anything like that. I’m certain it will be fine if I’m left unsupervised for the night.”

“The count has a point,” you reasoned, a distinct expression of worry present on your face. “You’re hurt; don’t be so blasé about it. It would genuinely be better if someone is there for you. At least for tonight.”

“Maybe you could stay with him for the night if it’s the aspect of familiarity he’s concerned with?” Emil offered, his eyes darting between the two of you nervously. If his upper body had allowed it, Tolya would have shot upright in his seat after hearing that. As much as he hated the notion of having someone else practically babysit him while he was asleep, anyone else would be a better option than you. He wouldn’t survive spending a night under these circumstances.

His suggestion caught you off guard with what felt like brute force. He was a good friend; one of your closest actually. Yet you had never even seen the inside of his bedroom. Spending the night in the same room, no matter under what circumstances, seemed like a terrible way to improve that friendship.

“I… Tolya? Your call.” You shifted all the responsibility of decision-making onto the Heartrender, giving him an apologetic look while he struggled to find the right words.

He mentally considered all the implications this action might entail. What if he snored? What if he talked in his sleep? What if the medicine made him do or say things he might regret? What if nothing out of the ordinary happens and he was just diving into the worst-case scenarios? “If I have to choose, I’d prefer your presence,” he mumbled, instantly clamping his eyes shut in order to avoid looking at your face while you let his words sink in. 

“It’s decided then,” you chirped, slumping off your seat to carefully place the ampoules in your bag. You sounded pretty much unbothered by the prospect of sharing a room for the night. Weren’t you even a little bit uncomfortable with that?  He should be glad that you were taking this situation so well, however, your unexpected nonchalance concerning the topic made every last speck of hope that you could possibly like him back dwindle down to nothing.

“Very well!” Kirigin clasped his hands together with a resounding clap, the jovial nature returning to his face in an instant. “Now, if you’d be so inclined - and able -, please follow me upstairs to the guest bedrooms.”

The guest bedrooms of the count’s estate reminded you of the countless ornate rooms you had seen at the Grand Palace; broad wide rooms with high ceilings and long windows that made them appear more like a makeshift dining hall than an actual bedchamber. Needless to say, the Lazlayon was a bit more bucolic than what you were used to seeing in the capital, but the white walls and the rococo king-size bed definitely opposed every notion of humility one might expect if there was no prior knowledge of Kirigin’s spendthrift way of living.

Neither of you really had enough willpower to change into your nightclothes, so you merely rid yourself of the thick jackets and clunky boots, which you mindlessly tossed on top of your bags. The bedding would be changed in the morning anyway.

It was a terribly awkward scene, the tension practically electrifying the air around you. Tolya sat on the bed, his back perched on the carved headboard while he watched you scurry around the room like a rabbit in front of a rifle. You also seemed to have realised what the offer of staying in the same room for the night might imply; your previous casualness being gone completely.

“Here,” you said, handing him one of the vials the medik had given you earlier. He took the medicine from your hands, eying it with a suspicious expression. In comparison to his hand, the tiny bottle looked like a prop right out of a doll house. The image of comparing your hand to his popped into your mind, but you hastily shooed it away, thinking about how inappropriate that thought was. “Drink. I’ll get you some water to help with the taste in case you need it.” 

Quickly, he downed the viscous medicine, cringing at the sickly-sweet flavour that spread inside his mouth as he swallowed. As soon as the liquid went down his throat, he had to stifle a cough, the taste only getting worse the longer he occupied his mind with it.

You plopped down on the empty spot next to him, cautious to not spill any of the water that you held out for him. When he reached out to take the glass, your hands touched his for a split second, your fingertips barely brushing over his. Still, that simple gesture was enough to make his head spin. Saints, he hated that you had that effect on him.

“Thank you,” he breathed out, not quite knowing what exactly he thanked you for. Thank you for being there for me when I fell off that damned horse? Thank you for holding my hand earlier? Thank you for staying with me tonight? Thank you for getting me that glass of water? He could probably think about at least a hundred things to thank you for off the top of his head.

“How are you feeling?” Your voice sounded just as sweet as the medicine tasted, he thought. He just liked listening to your voice a whole lot better. Were the painkillers already kicking in?

“Better. Sore, but better. I’m dreading thinking about what Nikolai will say once he gets wind of this.” He let his head slump against the wall behind him, his eyes glancing at you furtively as you scanned his body for any sort of unease or pain he might still feel.

“Forget Nikolai. He can survive without you for a bit longer. And Tamar is still there to save his ass when it comes down to it.” You gave him a quick smile, taking his hand to give it a reassuring squeeze before leaving his side again. “The only thing that matters now is that you’re getting better. No matter whether that happens naturally or with the help of a Healer."

“I’d prefer it happening through the help of a Healer,” he muttered under his breath, scowling at the idea of having to spend another six weeks alone in the confines of a bed without being able to follow his usual duties.

“Well, an actual break would do you some good every once in a while. After everything that Nikolai put you through during the last few years, you should be eligible to take off at least a few months without him being allowed to say anything against it.”

“So eager to get rid of me now?”

A sharp snort escaped your mouth as you looked at him, the feigned pout on his lips making him look like a kicked puppy. Sometimes you had the suspicion that Nikolai’s inherent obnoxiousness was rubbing off on him.

“Believe it or not, I still like being around you. Even though you now gave me the added stress factor of having to keep a close eye on you when we’re around horses.” You walked over to one of the cushioned armchairs that decorated the corner of the room, leaning against it without actually sitting in it. “And If I really would be so eager to get rid of you I wouldn’t have agreed to play your nursemaid for the night. Especially not if I had known that I’d have to sleep in one of these forsaken chairs. Kirigin could have at least given us a double room.”

Tolya’s previously playful expression dropped. He had been so hung up on the fact that you’d be with him for the entire night that he had completely neglected to think about the logistics of his request. Had he known that you’d end up sleeping in a chair rather than a bed, he would have answered differently. 

An unwelcome thought clawed its way into his mind; he wanted to strangle it before it could properly manifest. Had he been Nikolai or Tamar he would have immediately sprung into action, offering you his bed, and probably also his heart while he was at it. But he wasn’t like either of them. He wasn’t brash, or romantic, or even socially intelligent. These attributes would be foreign on him, like a coat that was just a bit too big to fit correctly - contorting his actual silhouette to make him look like something he wasn’t.

“Are you okay?” you asked, a worried undertone present as you spoke. He quickly closed his mouth, straightening out his features to appear more collected than he felt before fixing his gaze on you again. You didn’t only sound worried, you also looked the part; eyebrows tightly knitted together while a distinct flash of concern gloomed in your eyes. “Are you still in pain? Should I get-”

“No, it’s- I’m fine, Y/N. I was just thinking…” 

“Care to share with the class?”

Even though everything inside him rebelled against opening his mouth and speaking his mind, his heart moved quicker than his mind could process. “Sleeping in an armchair can’t be comfortable. We could share the bed,” he trailed off, watching as you gawked at him like a fish on land. “If you want to, that is.” He felt the need to add that, even if it was only enough to calm his raging nerves.

“Tolya, you’re hurt. You need the rest more than I do. I can’t possibly do that in good conscience.” The room was filled to the brim with the nervousness exuding off of the two of you. It was almost sad to watch you two stumble over your own words, acting as if you were two little schoolchildren that both had a crush on the other.

Seemingly taking your refusal as a challenge, he awkwardly shuffled towards the edge of the bed, leaving the other side very clearly unoccupied. “Would that be enough space for you?” Your eyes darted from the comfortable-looking bed to the stiff armchair you had originally intended to sleep in. Much to your dismay, the bed did look more inviting than the chair could ever be.

“I really don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” was everything you could muster up to talk yourself out of it. A futile attempt at not giving in to the want clouding your coherent thoughts ever since being in the same room as Tolya.

“You wouldn’t.” You couldn’t. “Trust me, I don’t mind. I couldn’t let you sleep in a bloody chair with a good conscience either.” As if to underline his statement, he patted the empty space next to him.

With an exasperated sigh, you shook off the roots that had metaphorically formed around your ankles and moved to the offered side of the bed. You felt terribly awkward as you slid into bed right next to him. You two had never been this close. Not in this context.

“Thank you,” you whispered, laying flat on your back with your hands folded over your stomach. He mirrored your movement soon after, albeit a bit slower.

He wanted to say something - anything - to relieve some of the tension buzzing between you. But everything he could have said wouldn’t have improved the situation in the slightest. Just like a few hours ago in the woods, the silence was anything but silent.

“You really scared me earlier, do you know that?” you mumbled, breaking through the uncomfortable silence. Again, he thought. “This could have ended with way worse consequences than a fractured rib.”

“I know.” The words were heavy on his tongue, suffocating him. Up until the possibility that worse things could have happened had sounded like an impossible what-if situation to him. But judging by the honest fear in your voice, he really could have suffered a fate way worse than being forced to rest for an uncertain amount of time. The only feeling he could recall after his fall was the dizziness of laying on top of your lap and the intoxicating touch of your hands on his cheeks. He didn’t even think that he genuinely registered the pain in his chest until he felt the impulse to move. “Thankfully, we didn’t have to find out exactly how badly this could have ended.”

“Good. I honestly wouldn’t have known what to do if you hadn’t woken up. What I would do without you.” The last sentence was so unexpected that it almost knocked the air out of his lungs. You had your way of catching him off-guard with your words that was so brutal, but equally as stunning.

“You won’t have to that out either. Not if I can help it.” He wanted to tell you. He wanted to tell you so badly that breathing normally became more and more difficult. But he couldn’t. Not right now. And maybe not ever.

Silence fell over you again. It was such a stark contrast to the chaos raging inside his head that he barely noticed when you turned to lay on your side, facing him. He forced his eyes to close in hopes of at least getting a few full hours of sleep before he was pushed back into a world where it wasn’t normal for you to sleep next to him.

“Tolya?” you whispered, resisting the urge to nudge him. 

“Mhm?” he murmured, eyes still clamped shut.

He heard you shuffling next to him, probably to put a bit of distance between you and him. “I have to tell you something.” You shuffled again, the mattress giving in ever so slightly when you did. You were sitting up now. “This might be a terrible time to do so, but I have to get it off my chest.” That caught his attention enough to look at you again. You sounded so serious.

“Uhm, sure, go for it.” To say that he was concerned would have been an understatement. His whole body tensed, much to the dismay of his fractured ribcage.

“I don’t recall the last time when I was genuinely so afraid of someone I care about not being alright, but what I felt when you didn’t wake up at first was way worse than just being scared. I'm not sure how to tell you this, and I’ve been putting this off for quite some time now. But I don’t just care about you like how I care about the others. I think I'm in love with you." The last words tumbled from your lips in a hurry, so quickly that he almost didn’t comprehend what you were saying. He could have sworn that this was a fever dream. Maybe the medicine had kicked in way stronger than he expected it to. Maybe he was genuinely going mad. Whatever it was, it didn’t feel real.

You realised how badly timed this confession was as soon as you saw the completely befuddled expression that was plastered all over his face. Suddenly, sleeping on the armchair looked way more appealing than the shared bed. You felt like you were trapped in a mass of writhing quicksand, slowly but surely devouring you until there was nothing left to take. This was way more embarrassing than you had imagined.

“I, uhm, this was a mistake.” You felt your cheeks heat up, burning you until you couldn’t take it anymore. You needed to get out of this bed. Preferably also this room. “It would be best if I leave, I’m so sorry. I’ll go downstairs to call fo-” 

Tolya seized your wrist just as you wanted to throw the covers off of you. The rash movement caused him to wince slightly, but he didn’t let go of you. A thousand questions forced their way into his mind, and he could answer none of them. 

“Wait.” He didn’t know what else to say. But he knew that you needed to stay. “Are…are you being sincere?”

“What? Of course? Do you genuinely think I would make a joke out of something like that? Especially in our…current situation?” you questioned, absolutely bewildered that he thought you were joking around.

At this point, his face was beet red. He couldn’t tell where his embarrassment came from. Whether it was the fact that he had been tiptoeing around his feelings for months by now while you felt the same or the fact that he had the genuine audacity to ask you if you were kidding.

“Tolya, I can understand that this makes you uncom-”

“No, no, don’t!” His grip on your wrist tightened as you tried to wriggle yourself out of his grasp. That was his cue to say something. Anything if it made you stay.

“What do you mean?”

“I love you too,” he blurted, maybe a bit too quickly. But the fear of having to watch you leave made his heart act before his brain could.

“You do?”

“Do you genuinely think I would make a joke out of something like that?” He gave you a sheepish smile, his eyes gleaming with adoration. Saints, he really was in love. “I never said anything because I didn’t think you’d feel the same.”

He had intended to let go of your hand, giving you a moment to process what he had just said. You didn’t let him pull away though. Instead, you took his hand in your own, tightly squeezing it before allowing your lips to curl up into a wide smile.

“Sounds like we’re both idiots then.”

“At least we’re idiots in love.”

“But idiots nonetheless," you laughed, your heart thudding even louder when you heard Tolya join you.

Taglist:

Grishaverse fics in general: @yesshewrites1 @dal-light @treasureofmy-heart

Tolya Yul-Bataar: @juneberrie @horny4knives

[allzelemonz]

Big, Not Dumb: Bill Williamson X Male Reader

Fictober Prompt: Day 2, Compliments Pronouns: None Mentioned, Reader referred to as ‘boy’ Physical Sex: None Mentioned Rating: T/Language Warnings: Referenced bullying, referenced crime, fluff, comfort, kisses, cuddling, bashful Bill, use of Bill’s birth name Summary: You get back to camp to find Bill in a bad mood, that simply will not do.

You can see it from across camp. You’ve just come back from a job with Charles and John, nothing exciting. It was your plan to take a few moments with your horse, give them some sugar cubes and pats for riding well done, but seeing the look on Bill’s face changes that rather quickly. You press a few treats into Kieran’s hands with a small nod and make your way over to the grumbling bear of a man. He’s already downed a beer, the bottle sitting at his feet, and he has another in his hand.

“You alright, Bill?” You ask, keeping your voice soft.

“‘m fine.” He mutters.

His gaze is fixed on the fire so you step in front of him.

“What?” Bill growls, staring up at you. “A man can’t have a drink in peace ‘round here?”

You hold your hand out to him. “Come with me, sweetheart.”

His cheeks turn rosy at the pet name and he grumbles to himself, but he takes your hand. You guide him through camp as he chugs the last of his beer and throws the bottle on the ground. The tent flaps are open but you close them after Bill ducks inside. He automatically settles on the two bedrolls that sit right next to each other and fixes his eyes on the ground.

“You wanna tell me what that face is about?” You ask gently, sitting next to him and putting an arm around his waist.

“It ain’t nothing.” He mumbles.

“Bullshit, Marion.”

“Quit it.”

“I’m serious.” You say, your free hand reaching for his and holding it against his thigh. “You know I don’t like seeing you upset.”

He’s quiet for a moment. Expressing himself, being open about his actual feelings, is straining and you don’t blame him. Keeping everything bottled up for his whole life and suddenly having a caring boyfriend that is sweet and understanding is a big adjustment. But you’re patient, happy to hold him and press kisses to his flannel clad shoulder as he thinks about what he wants to say.

“They was callin’ me dumb again.”

You tighten your arm around his waist, pulling him into you a little more. “You’re not dumb, Bill.”

“Course I-”

“Shut up.” You warn. “You are smart in your own way, Marion.”

“I ain’t smart!” Bill snaps. “I’m big an’ dumb, I’m a drunk, can’t even wire up dynamite when the whole damn gang’s countin’ on it-”

“Bill.” You say softly but sternly. “Shut. Up.”

“I ain’t smart.”

“You’re big, sure, but that’s not a bad thing. Widely handsome, in my opinion.”

His cheeks dust pink again. “Shut up.”

You pull him down with you, your arms automatically wrapping around him in the way you know makes him feel the safest. The large man snuggles into you, always enjoying being held despite what he might say.

“You made a mistake, but it hasn’t happened since.” You say, pressing a kiss to his head. “No one could ever hold a candle to your know-how on anything explosive.”

“I ain’t-”

“Stop.” You say, tugging him closer. “You are damn good at what you do, Marion. I love you for everything. Mistakes and imperfections, everything.”

For a moment he simply stills, then his arms timidly wrap around you. “Love ya too.”

You press another kiss to his head. “You are impossibly perfect in my eyes, sweetheart.”

“Quit it.” He mumbles into your shoulder.

“No.” You smile. “You’re so incredibly attractive and strong and funny-”

“I get it, alright?” He sighs. “I get it.”

“You just wanna cuddle, don’t you?”

He only holds you tighter. You return the pressure, nuzzling against his cheek and feeling the rare softness of a freshly washed beard.

[midnight-lilac-blue-hues]

Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy.

There are no horses that need saving in this fic ;P

(\ _ /)

( o0o)

Wolfwood × reader

Warning!!! NSFW below the cut

AFAB reader, smut, cowgirl position (yeehaw), ass smacking (just once), I live for country wolfwood, men moaning, creampie, slight overstimulation, lots of swearing.

Note: excited because this is my first trigun fic :] and I'm also back!! (I say about to take summer classes) but nevertheless, enjoy this holy meal ^^!!

"Hurry up there, cowboy," Wolfwood leaning back on the bed, elbows propping himself up to look at you.

"Hush," you hissed, "you know I get antsy right before we fuck." Pulling your shirt off, and stepping out of your shorts.

"I'd doubt that, cos' with the way you're speakin' yo-"

"I'd said hush," you covered his mouth with the palm of your hand. You quickly unbuckled his belt with your free hand, sitting on his lap and running your lips up and down his tawny neck.

You pressed yourself further into the priest, embracing the skin-to-skin contact while he runs his fingers into your hair. His hips ever so gently roll up into yours, his clothed cock pressed right over your clit causing you to mewl into his mouth. 

You unlatch your lips from Wolfwood's neck with a 'so good' drooling from your lips. You felt a rough hand run down your back, rubbing your ass in circles. "You'd think you can ride a bull? Or are you gonna be screaming my name so loud the whole inn can hear?"

"I can handle it," you gulped.

"Good," a harsh smack stung your ass, "giddy up, cowgirl." He said with a smirk.

You gave him a glare before guiding the tip of his cock to your entrance. "You know after that smack, I shouldn't give you a piece of me," grinding down on Wolfwood's tip just enough it wouldn't go in but would leave him begging.

"Come on, princess. How else are you gonna show me you can handle it?" His rough hands rest on your soft hips, "Sorry about that though, doll," his hand smoothed your hips.

You trailed the curves of your torso, finding Wolfwood's hands, and lacing your fingers together. Using his hands, you lowered yourself down onto his hard-on with a sigh. His quick gasp caused a shiver to run up your spine.

"Tight as ever, huh?"

"S-shut up," you squeezed his hands and shut your eyes.

"At least take me all the way down, then I'll think about it," Wolfwood gave you another cheeky smirk.

You humph, pulling up leaving the tip in, and sinking further down until your rear was sitting on Wolfwood's thick thighs.

You began riding Wolfwood, using his hands as leverage. You sighed, feeling his cock pressing the soft spot inside, over and over again. "Haa~ it feels good," you whispered, rubbing your clit on his pubic bone.

"Careful there, princess. You're twitchin' already," Wolfwood grunted underneath you.

"Focus on yourself, Wolfwood. I can feel your dick throbbing." You felt your face grow hotter and hotter.

Wolfwood hummed, "That so?" Digging his heels into the mattress, thrusting his hips up to meet yours as you came down. "Cos' I'm always throbbing whenever I see you. Especially when you try to act tough."

You choked on your own moan, squeezing Wolfwood's hand so hard, nail markings will definitely show up the next day. His pace was relentless, causing you to curl over him.

You cursed under your breath, feeling yourself get closer to your climax. And you could Wolfwood was also close, as his grunts and a few of his whines grew more audible.

He slipped his fingers out of yours, bringing them to your hips, pulling them down to grind on his own. Letting out a dissatisfied whine, you frowned at the man. "Fuck!" You squeaked out, feeling your cunt throbbing around his shaft, "what was that about?!"

"It wouldn't be fair to me if you got to set the pace, now would it?" Wolfwood leaned forward, guiding your movements like you were nothing but a fuck toy for him. 

This was really bad, you were so close to your climax. Your hips rutted into Wolfwood's waist as your moans spiked up and up.

"Fuck yeah baby, moan for me, just like that~" he purred. He began kissing your neck, his stubble brushed against your collarbone forcing a loud moan to spill from your lips. "Oh fuck yeah!" He growled into your neck. Suddenly, you felt warmth fill your pussy, quickly sending you over your peak.

Wolfwood's grip on you became loose, allowing you to pin him back down onto the mattress. You continue to ride out your orgasm on his cock, enjoying how your pussy seems to weep around him. Wolfwood's breath quickly became whines and whimpers.

"Oh my God, doll! W-wait, augh- slow down," he begged, throwing his head back. 

"Damn Nico, I thought you were going to have me scream so loud- the entire inn would hear us," you smirked as your hips found a new desire to continue moving. You chuckled, "Keep being a good boy, and I'll think about slowing down."

[onmyyan]

🗡️Psycho🗡️ Anon, here again! #3?

I don’t think you’re ever gettin rid of me now that you’ve told me you like what I’ve submitted to ya. Ya bad for me n my ego. You’re enabling me hun. It does mean a lot to me though and I am very happy I’m makin you foam at the mouth. Your men make me go feral and I obviously have stage 4 brain rot for all your OCs. No treatment for me. No salvation either doc

So here some intense follow up appointment delulu I got from the long ass Ashley Hunt AU story with hard core city girl reader I sent earlier. Buckle up bitch…you’re probably always gonna be in for a long haul with me…

Leavin off from Ash and our HEA, we got twins on the way n shit. And Ash is gonna give us at least another 5 babies too since we his happy lil breedin sow. But we gon speed up in time and not focus too much on dat, cause in the end we got 6 sons and 1 lil baby girl who da youngest. All back to back pregnancies. Ash got dem sexy hot dominant genes and really just gave his sons all the gifts he himself has. Tall, handsome, strong, chivalrous, charismatic, intelligent, etc. (They probably god’s favorites too). And we were like a fuckin printin machine makin copies n wonderin why the fuck we havin so many sons. So we fuckin delighted when we finally got a baby girl and are finally able to put the towel in cause we were also done havin his babies too. We love him. But 7 is plenty…

And so our story is really gonna focus on our lil baby Princess, cause she’s basically gonna be the “new reader insert.” Lil baby Princess grows up as a total daddy’s girl and is also doted on by her 6 big bros. She knows how to do some farm work, though she mostly inside helpin us her mama doin domestic work as it’s a bit more tough takin care of 7 men by oneself and we can always use an extra pair of hands in the kitchen. And you bet Ash is drillin in the same work ethic into his own sons as his own pa did to him. Builds character...

Lil baby Princess grows up wantin more in life. Just like how Ash’s sons inherited near almost everything from him, she inherited near almost everything from us her mama. Princess wanna leave the small town fast and is dead set on doin so when she graduates with her associates degree from the local community college. Her daddy, Ash managed to convince her to stay at the community college first. Get out general eds, stay closer to home before makin the big city leap and potentially getting a bachelors degree. Reluctantly Princess agreed to it but still had to go to the next town over since that’s where the community college is. Her home town is still much smaller…

And so she finally got her associates degree at 21 and is headin to the city to find a job n new life once the summer passes. It’ll be her last summer at home with her family she’s decided. On one of her casual outings ridin a horse she finds a man stuck on the road. Flat tire. Nice car too. He’s very handsome, tall, and muscular…to everyone else. But to Princess he just average and nothin much to look at. That what livin with 7 men built by Greek gods for 21 years does to ya. Makes ya numb to everyone people will conventionally say is beautiful n attractive. And Princess grew up with every woman around her thirstin over one of her bros and her father too. Even women from other towns would find excuses to swing by and gawk at the 7 men workin on the farm. So needless to say Princess isn’t wooed by men’s appearances…

Princess decides to help the poor fellow out cause her daddy raised her right. Offers him up a ride on her horse and tells the man she’ll call a truck for his car later. The man accepts and thinkin she’ll have to help him up on the horse for some time, the man easily mounts on the horse like it’s the second nature? And in an expensive suit too? She shakes it off and they go back to the Hunt farm…

During the ride the man asks Princess her name and what not (and I guess it’d still be Y/N cause the excuse is that she was named after her mama by Ash’s demands). Princess asks his name too, he gives it to her, and then no more talking on her end. This confuses the man as all his life people have usually wanted to make conversation with him. Or have usually always commented on his beautiful appearance by now. But not Princess. She really doesn’t give a shit about a stranded man’s life story. She’s here to do a job and get on with her life. And of course she’s immune to beauty at this point…

They finally come to the Hunt residence where Princess puts away her horsie and fixes up the man some water and food, bein a good host and all. She calls up the local mechanic and informs them of the details. Princess then just straight up leaves the man and tells him if he wants to take a nap, shower, whatever, to help himself. This is a fuckin power move as Princess has truly run out of shits to give in life. And she still ain’t tryin to converse at all with the man. Man is livid right now. Seeing Princess’s eyes filled with indifference. He confused as fuck too. Wonderin if she mentally sound or this is some country culture etiquette he doesn’t understand…

Now for the good shit. The Hunt men all come in as with so many hands workin on the farm now, shit gets done exponentially faster even though they got more stock and stuff over the years. They a little confused at first seein a posh lookin man greet them. But nothin gets bad as the man quickly explains the situation that happened. And the man is stunned to lookin at all these 7 aesthetically gorgeous men. The man is very confident in his own looks and it rarely happens in his life that he starts to get a bit insecure about them…

Ash asks the man where his daughter is, and the man replies that she just left? Much to the laughter of Ash’s 6 sons howling that “they’ll have nothing to ever worry about” with Princess. The man’s ego is damaged at this point. Is he unattractive? Is he undesirable? But he easily keeps a calm and collected face and voice…

The Hunt men politely excuse themselves having to go wash up from workin all day, leaving the man all alone again. We the mama enter the area, having heard commotion n stuff. We were preparing dinner n stuff in the kitchen which was far away. We go through same process and introduce and meet the mystery man. The phone rings and it’s the mechanic tellin us that the car won’t be ready for quite some time and the man will have to hitch a ride out of town if he’s got somewhere to be urgently. We inform the man and also ask if he got a place to stay. He don’t since he was just drivin by the town, so we offer him our home for the time bein. He hesitantly accepts…

Man decides to converse with us instead since we’re the most hospitable and social person he’s met in the family. He asks about our family and we do him. He keeps his background vague and we get the hint not to pock around. He really is just curious about our daughter, the Princess of the family. And we happily tell him all about her. Her hopes and dreams n stuff. Much to his delight that Princess seems like a normal human being n not a mechanical doll…

And that when he get the idea to propose to Princess later to take her with him out of the town to see the city and new places. Cause while he hasn’t fallen in love with her at first sight or anything like Ash did, there’s something about us that’s drawing him near. Perhaps it is our absolute indifference to him, and the fact that he just wants to prove something to himself. He wants to “figure us out.” Princess is a bit of a conquest and trophy to him, and he’s not afraid to admit that. So what’s the harm in this mutually future beneficial relationship? He’ll provide for Princess to get out of town and be able to see the world, and in turn he’ll get us to fall for him. The perfect plan. Nothing can go wrong…

A Princess for a Grand Duke, isn’t that fitting? Though the man will keep that a secret for as long as he can. If she asks questions about his wealth he’ll just pretend he’s an investor or something. One things for sure, Princess will definitely keep him entertained for a long time. A really really really long time…⁄(⁄ ⁄ ⁄ω⁄ ⁄ ⁄)⁄

And scene! I just love imaginin different flavors of a yandere stories. Like dis one is obviously a much more slower burn than the whirlwind romance of Ash and his wifey. And it’d really follow the descent of madness of a Grand Duke yandere who’s truly falling into love and obsession over his lady. He thinkin he in control at first but realize steadily fast that he can’t live without her. And to make it worse, he never lose control of things in his life. Not his looks, his composure, etc. so it makes this predicament even nastier for him to deal with. But lucky for us Princess, havin grown up with Ash as our daddy and 6 big bros who also have some questionable “protective” tendencies, we have a bit of a contorted sense of love too. So our “normal” is much different than other people’s “normal”

Also did you like the hint I dropped in dis drabble about the mystery man’s background? It was about him being able to easily get up on a horse despite being in a suit and lookin all fancy and stuff. Cause not many people can do that. So you either know how to do it as a career…or as a hobby…

Final thought as to why a Grand Duke yandere ya thinkin? From your OCs ya got the Delmonts who are criminal flavor, then Ash who’s country flavor, and then other popular yandere archetypes tend to be royalty, famous, or CEO more often than not. So I thought that royalty would be fun since it’d give the new leadin man not just an abundance of financial power but social power as well that CEO power might lack. Ya know…since royals can have diplomatic immunity and CEOs pretty much don’t. Some new flavors for the spice cabinet is always good. Besides I also just wanna see a man abuse his absolute power with impunity in yandere stories sometimes…So if ya ever decide to make a new yandere OC. Here an idea. I don’t mind ya usin it and I’d be thrilled if ya did

Love 🗡️Psycho🗡️ Anon

A/N: OKAYA THE INSTANT BRAIN ROT THIS GSVE ME SBDJDKD YOU DID IT AGAIN MY LOVE OMG THE WAYYY I INSTANTLY FELL IN LOVE WJTH THIS PIECE EEEE THE SIX OLDER BROTHERS WHO ARE CARBON COPIES OF ASH??? HELLO??? AMAZING WRITING THAT DOWN Holy FUCK‼️‼️‼️💗👄💗 NOT TO MENTION THE DUKE EEEEEEEE AND PRINCESS IS SUCH A PERFECT NICKNAME FOR BABY GIRL I CANNOT YOUR MIND IS SO BEAUTIFUL THANK YOU FOR FEEDING ME AND US ONCE AGAIN😩😩😩😩❤️❤️❤️UR POOKIE FR HERE SUM V SMALL BEC MY BRAIN IMMEDIATELY STARTED HAPPY DANCING W THIS CONCEPT

Princess stared at the man, her hard (e/c) eyes unwaivering, unmoving in their glare. She sucked her teeth, hearing her father's voice in her head as she stuck her hand up waving the stranger over.

"Get on, we'll take you somewhere safe, get this all figured out yea?" Princess says, no hint of suggestion in her soft voice. The stranger staggered for a moment before offering her his famous grin, a smile that had gotten him far in his life, "Thank you- really you're too kind, what's your name?" He says smoothly mounting the horse, expecting some fanfare from the desert rose before him, but instead he got a stiff nod and, "(Y/n)." was all he got.

She clicked her tongue and the horse took off, she hadn't waited to see if he was situated, a small smile on her face as she heard him gasp at their sudden departure.

[lanitalay]

Among Flames and Starlight Chapter 7

a/n: i really wanted some fluff in this one but oh well

warnings: violence ( i keep the descriptions brief ), trauma

word count: 2k

Other Chapters

The stables had become Irene’s favorite place in the Autumn Court. She rode nearly everyday, only staying inside when torrential rain made riding unbearable. But if the skies were clear, Irene would be riding. At first it was just around the stables, getting to know the horses. Quickly, she started wandering off farther. She got lost one day, deep in the woods, the paths overgrown. Unable to find her way back. By chance, Lucien stumbled upon her. “What are you doing here?” 

“I got lost.” He sighed deeply. “Follow me.” 

That’s how Irene met Jesminda. The female was waiting for him at a small cottage. Lucien dismounted and Irene did the same. When he walked inside he was almost tackled to the floor by her. She kissed him deeply only stopped when Lucien pulled away to say “love, this is Irene. Irene this is Jesminda.” Her eyes widened and she stepped closer to Irene. 

“Lulu has told me many things about the new bride of Autumn, I’m sorry that you were… well what happened to you is unfortunate.” Irene nodded, “I don’t think Lucien has mentioned you before.” 

“He wouldn’t dare. If the High Lord finds out about us I’d be toast, isn’t that right, dear?” Lucien clarified for Irene “no one knows, but I trust that you’ll not say anything about this to anyone. Not even Eris.” 

“I won’t say a word.”

They were sitting by the hearth and drinking a spiced tea as Lucien explained to Jesminda why he had brought Irene along “she was out in the Cliff’s Edge Pass when I found her, too far to take her back and then come back out again.” 

“I’m glad you’re here Irene, us females need to have eachothers’ backs in this court.” 

Once the sun began to set Lucien announced they should head back, not wanting to ride in the pitch black forest. 

“It was lovely meeting you Jesminda, thank you for your hospitality.”

“Come by whenever you like, Irene, I need a break from Lucien every so often.” She teased and the male picked her up so fast she didn’t have time to let out a squeal of surprise before his lips were on hers. “I’ll be back soon, love.”

After that they would ride together to keep each other company even if Lucien insisted he was “only teaching her how to navigate the Court’s lands.” 

On the rare occasion it rained, Irene would read in her rooms or spend time with Mora. The Lady of Autumn had a calming presence and when the days were gloomy and storms raged outside and in Irene’s mind she would be soothed by her demeanor. Often discussing the books they were reading over tea or just sitting in silence by a crackling fire. 

Most days, she did not see Eris. To avoid Beron, she would have all her meals in her rooms or take a picnic on her rides. She only visited the library on the far end of the house, nowhere near his room or his study. Eris would spot her riding and sometimes they’d see each other in the library. “That’s my spot.” He had said when he found her in an alcove behind the section that housed all of the fiction books. Eris looked annoyed, he was carrying a book and had allotted himself an hour to read in peace when he found Irene in the very spot he wanted to be. 

“I was here first.” 

“Aren’t you supposed to be galavanting with Lucien?” 

Irene pointed to the window that was being pelted by harsh rain. “Not in this weather. We both fit here, let’s just share.” 

Eris thought about it and reached the same conclusion she had. His rooms were getting stuffy and this was one of the few places his father or his brothers wouldn’t bother him. So he sat next to her, on the far end, creating as much space between them as he could. They stayed like that until the sun set and Irene got up “I’ll see you around, Eris.” 

She was doing fine, she really was. Nightmares about being paralyzed or being burned by Beron would wake her up nearly every night, but she always managed to get back to sleep. The nights when sleep was impossible, a weight on her chest so large she could swear her ribs would crack, Irene would plot. She’d indulge herself with fantasies of the High Lord of Night’s head on a stake. Ideas of pulverizing him and spreading his ashes on piles of manure. Then she’d think of Beron’s punishment, driving an ice stake through his heart seemed an interesting approach. If fire runs through his veins he must enjoy the heat and Irene wanted his last moments in this world to be filled with pain and discomfort. Lastly she would think of how to get her mother out of the prison, but that always came with a wave of grief. 

Irene was perfectly fine.

Until she realized Starfall was two weeks away and the nightmares were not of her recent horrors, but of more ancient ones. 

That night, after leaving the library and eating alone, Irene fell asleep and dreamt of the first Startfall without her family. She remembers fragments, gaps looming over her memory. After crying most of the day, Victoria went into her room and forced her to get out of bed. “You don’t have to go to the party, we can just look at it from the window or something.” 

Decades later Irene wasn’t sure what Victoria’s intentions were that night. Maybe it was prepubescent contempt and the desire to not be surrounded by only her brother and his friends. Or maybe it was that she had gotten lonely after months of Irene isolating herself and it was an attempt at reviving her only friend in the world. But Victoria pulled Irene out of her room that night and Irene was forced to reckon with the fact that her world had been destroyed but life was still happening. 

The two girls sat huddled together by a large window and watched the sky come alive. For those moments, Irene felt a break from the crushing weight on her heart. They did not talk for a while, Irene was still bristled from being torn from her bed. 

“No one likes him.” Victoria broke the silence. “I know Rhysand doesn’t like him, neither does my mother and I hate him.” 

“I hate him too.” In her too small heart she harbored undiluted hate for the male and hate was easy. She could hate him without trying, hate him in her sleep. After Starfall was over and the girls went back into their rooms, Irene slipped into the kitchen to find something to eat. 

She heard footsteps for a split second. Then, the light vanished. Darkness enveloped her but she was not asleep. Hadn’t fainted either. It pressed against her and restricted her airflow. She was suffocating under the weight of the universe. At that moment, she couldn’t comprehend what was happening. Considering that maybe she had died and this was the painful passage to the next life. It could have been minutes or hours later, but Celene walked into the kitchen to find that her mate was strangling Irene with an onyx mass. 

The Lady must have sent something down the mating bond, or yelled hard enough that the High Lord snapped out of whatever compelled him to attack a child. Irene was frenzied, gasping for air and frantically clawing at her chest, like she wanted to rip out her heart and soothe it with her hands. 

That was the night her hate turned to fear. That was the nightmare that woke her up, all these decades after. 

The next few days were spent in a blur of sleeplessness. Irene could not bring herself to close her eyes. She kept a candle burning in every corner of the room and the curtains all the way open. Eating was difficult again. Mora asked what was the matter, “what can I do to help?”  Irene could not explain to her that the nightmares that kept her up and were slowly making her insane. She couldn’t find the words. 

Then Lucien visited her room and insisted that she sleep. “You look terrible and this room is a mess” he pointed to the piles of melted wax on the floor, the stale bread on the little table she ate and the bedding strewn on the mattress. “I can’t sleep.” He sighed “yes you can Irene, and you have to.” She refused. Lucien left and an hour later Eris walked through the door. 

“Hello.” Irene looked back at him from her chair by the window. “Hi.”

“I’m told you are not well.” She did not respond. “Something about not sleeping or eating?” 

“I can’t.”

He was still by the door, not stepping further into her room. “Why not?” Silence. “Irene, no matter how much of a fuss you make no one is going to come rescue you.”

“I know.” 

“Then sleep, eat.” He ran a hand through his hair, disheveling the short red locks. “Or rot away. It's your call.”

“Nothing has ever been my call, Eris. I’m stuck in this prison of a Court with a husband as a chain.” 

“No one is forcing you to stay in this roo-” he stopped speaking as she stood up from her chair. He saw her for the first time since the library and was taken aback at how dark the circles under her eyes were. How gaunt her face. She roared at him, and her eyes, bloodshot and wild, piercing his own. 

“Damn it Eris! I can’t go back home anymore! I can’t be with my family because I’m married to you! I’m nothing more than a stupid political hostage and you know it.” 

He did not need a reminder that his wife was a mere punishment. That she resented him just as much as he resented her. 

“Are you really that stupid? You were a hostage there too. If your precious Rhysand loved you or cared for you in any meaningful way he wouldn’t have let you marry me. You are a fool for wishing to be back there.”

“I’m more of a prisoner here.” 

“Here you have a title. Here you are the sole Princess of Autumn.”

“This house is a prison”

“The entire Night Court is a prison!” 

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You can rot in this room for all I care. But that’s your choice.”

“No it 's not. None of this is my choice! You, this mariage, this bloody title!”

“Look around! No one chose to be here! I was born into it, so was my father and so were my brothers. My mother was married into it, you’re not special. But you are choosing to waste away and, whatever your reasoning is, it's stupid.”

“Fuck you.”

“Pathetic.”

She couldn’t disagree. So she remained silent. 

He had nothing else to say. So he left. 

Eventually exhaustion won. She passed out on the chair and more nightmares came, each one worse than the last. How the High Lord would take her out of her room at night and experiment. First with suffocation, but then he tried to drown her, to lash her, he tried carving out her organs but could not get through a protective layer beneath her skin. He grew frustrated with all his blades ricocheting off her. When he was tired of trying he would return her to the room, drop her on the floor and think of new ways to try and end her. He tampered with her mind. Creating a permanent spot in her memory for the nights they spent together and forbidding her from speaking them aloud.

taglist: @sidthedollface2 @acourtofbatboydreams

[reine-du-sourire]

Ranger Gathering 16: Game

"Hello and Go Along, apprentices! It's ya boi R4NG3R_G1L4N coming at you live today, diving back into the epic world of my new favorite game... the one I've been playing so much recently that it feels like I'm really living it... Ranger's Apprentice!

"Quick recap: our scruffy mentor's off on a little enforced vacation in Gallica after the Bridge Incident, so our mission, should we choose to accept it, is to track down the notorious Foldar. Yep, Mr. I-Killed-My-Parents-Over-A-Horsie himself. Here we go, accept the mission... I've got my trusty bow, my cloak, and my loyal horse, Blaze. Let's ride!

"All right, we’re starting in bustling Highcliff Fief. Look at those pixelated peasants! Living their pixelated lives... I mean, these graphics are actually pretty good, but I digress. Anyway, we’ve got a lead on a recent robbery, and you know what that means! Time to put on our detective hats- I mean cloaks- and suspiciously eye every NPC. First suspect on the list? Philip, the seneschal. Let's see...

"Okay, let's have a little chat with Baron Douglas. Baron, Baron, Baron... let's click on 'ask about recent robberies'... wow, my guy, not very helpful! Apparently, bandits are just a nuisance, and Foldar is a figment of our collective imagination. Thanks a lot.

"Looks like we're in luck! Maeve's got the inside scoop. Oho, looks like Philip's been racking up gambling debts. Big surprise. Apparently, he’s also been visiting the village at night... probably not for the clubs, I bet. Only one way to find out. Stealth mode activated!

"Here we go, keeping a safe distance. Just a ranger and his horse, blending into the night. No biggie. Aaand there's our guy. Look at him, sneaking out with that sack of money... bingo! That’s the payoff. Let’s follow him back to the castle and set our trap. Gotta tail him...

"Hold up! Ambush time! Crossbowmen at twelve o’clock! And these guys have the aim of stormtroopers after a night at the tavern. Just... stand still for a second... gotcha! And hey, would you look at that! There he is, the man of the hour, berating his goons. Nice going, Foldar, love the haircut!

"Timeskip! Nice. All right, guys, let's get some double bluff action going on here. We’re setting up a fake tax convoy... gonna need some archers for this. Let’s recruit!

"Hmm. Setting up our archers here... here... and here. Aaaaaand... here we go! Convoy’s on the move! Time to ambush these bandits. Go go go, guys, c'mon, give 'em all you got! Yes! Bullseye! Look at them scatter. Wait a minute... Foldar's making a break for it! Yeah, that's not happening. Quick, Blaze, let's get him!

"C'mon, c'mon, I've got him in my sights- time for some serious Power Ranger action. Aaaand nailed it! One, two three, and… wham! Down he goes! Game over, Foldar! That is how you take down a notorious villain while looking incredibly cool. Another mission done successfully. Just gotta head back to spill the beans on Douglas now. Speaking of beans, I could really go for some coffee after this...

"Anyway, thanks for joining me, apprentices! Don't forget to like, subscribe, and always keep an arrow nocked and your cloak handy. This is R4NG3R_G1L4N signing off. Go along, and see you next time!"

[jean-vi]

Lie To Me | Levi x Reader

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x Reader Inspiration:  “Chizu ni nai basho e yume wo hasete / Shiharau no wa Risiko der Freiheit” - Jiyuu No Daishou by Linked Horizon Summary: Facing the female titan, you find yourself in a sticky position. Genre: Angst, Fluff (?) Warnings: Major Character Injury, Spoilers for Season 1 of SNK, Most events that occur in this work do not actually occur in the season, but the context is a spoiler. WC: 4.3K A/N: I have been writing fanfic on here for a while under @tae-cup but this is my first AOT Fic. I hope it reads well :) Other: Masterlist

Part 2

    You didn’t think you’d ever get used to riding horses for hours at a time. You understood, fundamentally, that they kept you alive when you were outside the walls, but at the same time, you really did not enjoy the constant jolting. It was truly a beautiful day to be outside, no doubt about it, but maybe this was…a little too outside for comfort. The walls had been your home for many years until you joined the Scout regiment. To be completely honest, it had been a bit of a rash choice, a sort of rebellion against the Military Police that terrorized your family. 

    Your hands gripped the reins with uncertainty. The first time you’d left the walls, all those years ago, you’d been excited. The world felt fresh and new. Now the sky felt like a rotten apple and the people were all the same: excited or nervous recruits and down-trodden experienced soldiers alike. One person caught your eye though. 

    You looked up from the reins to view the people in front of you. Squad Levi. You were a relatively new addition. You were the newest member until the nuisance known as Eren Jaeger joined. It wasn’t that he was particularly annoying, although sometimes his shouting and monologues about freedom did grate on your ears, it was more that he injured himself a lot. You understood the basic fundamentals of his abilities, like being able to heal considerably quicker than a normal human, and regrowing whole limbs wasn’t out of the question either. Being the designated medic, not by choice, you had made a name for yourself by chasing after any squad members who had the slightest ailment. Eren Jaeger? Well, he had lots of them, and it was considerably more draining. 

    The others had laughed and thanked Eren for keeping you off their backs. That was only a few weeks ago. Now, here you were. There was always a grimness to the air on these missions. The usually lively squad was dead silent. The beating hooves of the horses pierced the air. It was too quiet, too calm. 

    Your eyes roved from person to person. You were taking the rear with Eren in front of you. He was just a kid, but he had the stare of someone much older. Next was Petra. She was always a good friend to you. Her smiles and determination brought light into this serious squad. You finally rested your eyes on Captain Levi. 

    At this moment in time, you were having trouble remembering why you were chosen for this team. Still, he had trust in you and so you would have faith in him in return. It was a mutual sort of arrangement. Going into the Scout regiment, you had known some basic first aid. It was a skill taught by your mother. After hearing about your unwavering interest in the Scout Regiment, she had insisted on teaching you the basics. 

    “You can’t stop me.” You hissed. 

    “I know.” Your mother sagged in defeat. “I know you have this–this anger deep inside. I just don’t want you to go into this mess unprepared.” She took your hand and held it firmly. “Let me teach you what I know. I may only be a midwife and I may not be of use to you, but I want you to be of use to others.” 

    You sat down at the dining table and waited as she fetched her bag of tools. 

“And another thing, sweetie,” she whispered as she drew out the needle and thread, “make yourself important, irreplaceable.” 

    A red flare went off, somewhere to your right. A return green flare to your left. 

    “Captain.” Eld called out and the Captain glanced at the flares. 

    “Petra, fire the flare.” He said simply. 

    “Yes, Captain!” The woman responded quickly and sent off the green flare. 

    Well, things were getting interesting. There was already a titan so close. It was a little unnerving. You’d seen scouting missions fall apart before and you really did want this to be the exception. Defeat after defeat. The wounds dragged on. Another set of hoofs joined the marching beat. 

    “Captain Levi, a message!” The new girl shouted as she sidled up to the right of your squad. You observed her carefully. She seemed shaken, but not harmed. The girl was sweating and her hands were gripping the reins too hard to be considered relaxed. 

    “Report.” The Captain commanded. 

    “The right side scouting squads have been decimated! There are huge casualties!” The girl cried. 

    Levi seemed to think for a moment before nodding in the direction of Petra. 

    “Petra, pass on the message.” He commanded. “And thank you for the report.” He addressed the girl who nodded and fell back, racing towards the right. You saw it now; flares screeching into the sky, puffing black smoke. 

    “An abnormal this far in?” You wondered aloud and you had been with the team long enough to see the tell-tale signs of distress. Still, Levi remained a statue-like figure. His head barely turned in the direction of the flares. 

    “The formation has fallen apart. We have no choice but to divert to a more advantageous position.” Levi responded after a short pause. You then sense the shake of the new recruit ahead.

    You considered yourself pretty straight-laced and a person who was rather blunt. However, you didn’t exactly lack human compassion, which you speculated that the Captain in front did. It wasn’t that he didn’t care for human life, it was evident that he did based on his role in the regiment, but he didn’t react much to anything. This stone cold expression of his definitely paid off when you asked for his help in the medical ward. 

    “Hey.” You pulled up next to Eren. His face was downcast and his eyebrows were sinched together. “We’ll find your friends.” 

    It was a promise that was more than likely false. You had wanted to say that they would be alright, but that was certainly a lie. Eren’s expression was that of a boy who was already imagining his friends dead. You didn’t want to see those thoughts come to fruition, they were children after all, but this world was cruel in the worst ways. 

    “I told you to stop saying things like that.” Levi spoke and there was something in his vocal fry that made your heart quicken. 

    “I know, but remember what I said?” 

    The man thought for a moment and then dipped his head. “Continue.” 

    A few weeks earlier

    Levi had always been a good steady hand and a calming presence. It was probably what first drew you to asking him to assist you after missions. You felt a little guilty asking an already exhausted man to continue to work, but he had agreed. He was rather apathetic but he worked diligently. 

    “You told that man that he would be okay.” Levi seemed perplexed, truly, as he looked towards the corpse on the ground. “You shouldn’t lie to the dying, so why?”

    “I don’t know.” Was your first response. It was something you seemed to say often with the man, but this time you took a moment to ponder his question fully. “I guess when a person is forced to deal with death and the inevitable pain, they need to be told lies to keep themselves sane.” Then you took a deep breath. “In less metaphorical terms, in order to keep them on our side until the end, they need to feel secure.”

    Your hands were shaky after long missions or stressful days with lots of patients. The day was just winding down now and it was another heartbreaking loss. Less and less soldiers seemed to come back alive and intact lately. It was mentally and physically draining to care for the wounded, but for some reason, Levi kept coming back. He would hand you the needle and thread and when your eyelids began to droop, he’d finish the job for you. It wasn’t in any gentle or particularly caring way. He’d take the needle and thread, as if commanding you to sleep. But you never could sleep. You’d drift in and out of consciousness sitting on the ground nearby. Tonight was one of those nights. 

    “Get some sleep.” He said quietly as he finished and fixed your rough stitching job. It had been hurried because the soldier was bleeding quickly. Now, the table was covered in blood and you couldn’t stand looking at his disfigured body any longer. You’d saved his life, but he’d never walk again. 

    “I can’t sleep on nights like these.” You responded gruffly. You were stubborn and Levi shared this trait. 

    “I know that, but you need to be able to properly treat people tomorrow. They need your best mind.” 

    You paused and then frowned, shutting your eyes in thought. “So you save the lives of humanity by getting four hours of sleep, right?” 

    “I am here to save myself and only myself. I can get by on four hours. You, on the other hand, are stupidly trying to save the lives of all these dying soldiers. It is a pursuit that will lead you nowhere.” He snipped the thread and set his hands down on the table with a heavy sigh. You ignored his scorn for your current occupation and decided to rest your head against the cold stone.  

    “You say you’re only here to save yourself, and yet you have so little regard for your own life?” You said softly, on your way to dreamland. You heard the soft fabric of his clothes rustle and you felt his gaze slip to your face. The glance was fleeting and warm, but he remained focused on the task at hand.

    “There are some people I can not bring back. I should have died with them years ago, and although they want me to lay them to rest, I will continue to cruelly live on in their name. It is purely selfish.” He responded. 

    You thought on his words for a moment. Levi seemed the opposite of selfish to you. 

    “Some would call that selfless.” You shrugged before the night took you away.

    “My friends.” He was muttering to himself. 

    “Eren.” You tilted your head down to look him in the eyes. “Don’t worry. We will find them.” You’d probably be finding their bodies and even that would be a miracle. With how close the titan had reached, you doubted a bunch of recruits would be able to stand a chance. “And if they’re injured, you know I’ll fix them right up.” You assured further. 

    The boy looked away and you took that as your cue to fall back. Still, even if he didn’t fully believe your lie either, it was something to convince himself of. Captain Levi spared you a glance. You went back to dreaming. You day dreamed about what your life could have been like. You imagined a world where titans no longer terrorized humanity. Would you have still chosen the path of medicine if it weren’t needed for your survival? Would you have…fallen in love? Maybe a doctor or a nurse you worked with? Maybe a stranger you’d met at the market? What did all this daydreaming do you anyway. It wasn’t going to change the situation. 

    “Captain, I hear something.” Oluo shouted. 

    Levi looked behind him and, of course, everyone else followed suit. There was a thud, but it was faint and seemed so far away. In the distance, behind, was a tiny dot. It was moving at an alarming rate, though. 

    “Is that–” You started.

    “ –the abnormal?” Petra finished as you both stared in horror. 

     The Captain gave away nothing. 

    “We continue riding forward.” He insisted and you usually trusted the man but this was absurd. The forest was out of the way and more of a barrier than anything else. It just made no sense. Then it hit you. The useless ODM gear currently strapped to you would become a lethal weapon in the forest. 

    “Understood.” You replied, but you truly did understand this time. 

    “Captain! We could have saved them!” Eren screamed as the soldiers zipping through the trees were swatted out of the sky. This titan really was terrifying. You’d never seen one that looked like it before. Despite being at the back of the formation, you remained vigilant in looking straight ahead. You probably trusted a self-appointed “selfish” man far too much. 

    Eren’s exclamations were becoming more desperate. 

    “There’s another dead.” The boy cried and it did tug at the heart strings. 

    “Eren,” You began, “I work with the dead all day, every day.” You felt the listening ears of your teammates, even Levi, especially Levi. “I know their deaths were violent, but they were quick.” You continued and you heard another crunch. God, you were really sick of people dying. You could feel your eyes wetting as the slaughter continued behind you, but you refused to let tears fall. With a steely determination, you stared straight ahead. “It is much better than suffering a slow, painful, death later on a table in a strange room.” 

    “I agree.” Levi added and your eyes fell on the back of his head. He was so calm and reserved in a time where even Eld was nervous. “Cover your ears.” 

    You had just enough time to register his words and mindlessly react. 

    Bang!

    For some reason, you saw him watching you as the world exploded in light. 

    “Did we really capture it?” You asked, waiting for anyone to answer. 

     “It would appear that way.” Petra murmured. 

    “You guys leave, switch to ODM gear.” Levi instructed. “Get Eren to HQ as fast as possible.” 

    “Yes, Sir!” You all replied in unison. You unstrapped the small medical bag from your horse and wrapped it around your shoulders. 

    The Captain disappeared from sight. You switched to your ODM gear, flying from tree to tree. Everything was moving so quickly and the green of the forest hid most of the sunlight. However, a movement caught your eye. 

    “The traitor.” You heard Eren hiss. That’s when you saw them. The Scout Regiment logo felt wrong to be displayed on a traitor to humanity. 

    “Move! Move! They’re closing in!” Eld shouted and you began to weave through the trees. 

     “Gunther!” Petra screamed and you knew. You knew what happened. Fuck. You didn’t want to see the body of a person you just saw yesterday, but you needed to. You looked back and you acknowledged him. He hung lifelessly, swinging like a pendulum. 

     “Go! Go! Go!” Eld continued and you followed. It wasn’t your business for heroics. 

     Then, a flash of yellow light, like lightning striking. You couldn’t hold back a surprised scream now. Shielding your eyes, you felt your hair sizzle and the air pop. Then, like something out of your worst nightmares, the titan was there. She was fast and agile. Her movements were unlike any other titan you’d seen or killed, but you supposed this was unlike any other mission you’d been on. 

     “I’ll kill her, once and for all.” Eren screamed to Eld as he raised his hand to his mouth. 

    “Stop!” Your eyes widened and you felt breathless. “Please, just let us handle it. We’re the best, after all.” You tried to reason with him. 

     “Trust us.” Petra nodded. 

    Eren looked from you to your squad to the titan. The titan was closing in and you didn’t have much time left. 

    “Trust us.” You pleaded. If Eren transformed, it put so much at risk. You couldn’t risk him getting taken. 

    “Okay.” He finally said and you all breathed a collective sigh of relief. He turned and zipped ahead. “I trust you.”

    You watched his figure fading into the distance as you and the others began your assault. Eld moved in to distract. The wind was rushing in your ears as you positioned yourself on a tree. You didn’t have quite the kill count as the others, but you understood the basics. Petra and Oluo sliced into the titan’s eyes, causing the monster to stumble back into the tree. 

    “It’s protecting its nape!” You shouted and you flew in to join the fray. You hooked onto its ligaments and began slicing. The tendons in the arms were gone and the shield on her nape dropped. You hesitated to celebrate as the others looked on in victory. They wanted the killing blow. 

    After seeing and hearing the cries of all those soldiers she’d killed, you wanted to slaughter her too. You could feel their pain fueling you to push on, even as your gut began to sink. It was just too easy. 

    “Strike the neck, now!” Eld yelled his war cry and you hooked onto her nape to join him. The female titan lunged. You pulled back with a scream, but Eld was already bit in two. Blood began to stain the grass. No. 

    “Eld!” You screeched. You watched as his body fell. No medical miracle could bring that back to life. You frantically turned to the others. “We need to regroup!” 

    “It’s–It’s impossible.” Petra was muttering as she flew away from the titan. “It’s only been 30 seconds or so. That’s just not–” 

    “Petra!” Oluo warned, but it was too late. Blood splattered on a tree. 

    “No, no, no.” You whispered as you retreated. 

    “I’ll kill you.” Oluo went in for the exposed nape. Your eyes widened. 

    “Wait! Stop!” You shouted, but it didn’t matter. You’d never seen a human kicked that hard or that far, but Oluo was gone on impact, you knew that from the sickening crunch. There was no way. All of squad Levi? Gone? 

    You landed on the grass. You felt numb as you stared into the face of the titan. Falling to your knees, you looked up to the sky, past where her form blocked the sun. Maybe, in this giant forest, it wouldn’t be such a bad place to die. You’d be with your comrades. You dropped your medical bag and accepted this fate. The female titan stared down at you and then her hand was wrapped around your body. Her grip was so tight, you felt your bones cracking like sticks and now you screamed in agony. 

    “You killed them!” You were a mess. Tears were running down your face and now you couldn’t breathe. You came face to face with the female titan. Her hair covered her blind eye. 

    A blinding light and Eren had abandoned the plan. You felt the pressure on your body ease up and then suddenly, you were falling. You had no time to grapple to any trees. You just plummeted to the ground. 

     The air left your lungs and every breath, every movement, every shake of the ground, hurt. On a scale of 1 to 10? This was a 10. The two titans were fighting and their rumbling moved farther away. You almost wanted to thank Eren. Now, you’d be able to die in peace. 

    Captain Levi. 

    The whole squad was wiped out in one go. You didn’t have it in you to sit up, so you lay with your back tucked between the grasses. It wasn’t long after the explosion of light that you noticed a familiar figure flying through the trees. 

    Levi had come to a stop above Petra’s body. You were in blinding pain, but you needed to get his attention before he left. 

    “Captain.” You choked out, but for some reason, he heard you. He turned to you and jumped down from the tree. His feet landed softly next to you and he didn’t hesitate to kneel beside your body. His rough, but nimble, hands circled yours. The Captain could have said any number of things, but chose these:

    “Do you want to be saved?” It was simple. He was giving you the option to die peacefully with your comrades or be saved. You usually couldn’t read Captain Levi very well, but when you looked at his face, finally, you were taken aback. 

    Anger. His mouth, set in an ever-present line, was now tilted into a frown. His eyebrows were pushed together ever so slightly and his eyelids dropped into a killer gaze. You had wondered at his emotional capacity for years now, but with this single gaze, you understood him. You understood how he needed to protect himself from the death that surrounded him. You refused to be another comrade that he’d be haunted by at night. Looking at the sky, you realized you had a long life ahead of you. Now was not your time to die. 

    You had your answer, and it was for, just as he said, purely selfish reasons. You couldn’t muster the energy to move or speak, but your eyes slid over to your fallen medical bag. And now Levi had his answer too. You wanted to say you saw him breathe a sigh of relief, but it was probably an illusion. 

    “Don’t worry, you’ll be okay.” He parroted your blissful lie as he grabbed the bandages from the bag.

    You found the nerve to speak with that comment. “Maybe you were right. Lies don’t help the dying much. We know it’s over.” 

    “You are not ‘the dying.’” He bit back with a deadly tone. You didn’t flinch. Instead, you wanted to laugh. He finished the wrapping and sat back. “I don’t know what else to do.” He finally admitted. 

    Your gaze moved to the treetops. Everything was fading and going in and out of darkness. 

    “Nothing else you can do.” You mustered. “I’m probably bleeding internally. I’ll die before leaving this forest.” 

    “You will not.” The man said quietly and when he stood, he stared down at you with an incredulous expression. “Why do you accept your death so easily? You will survive and you will live until you are old. Do you hear me, idiot?” 

    You smiled as your eyes slid closed. “I hear you, Captain.” 

    A Few Days Later

    The last remaining member of Squad Levi. You lifted your hand gingerly and stared at the wrappings. They were clean, fresh. That must be good. You watched the dust particles filtering through the sunlight streaming in. A roof. That was a good sign. You were in a bed. Also a good sign.

    “Don’t move.” A harsh voice commanded, but your lips pulled into an easy smile. 

    “Captain, I wasn’t aware you cared so much.” 

    “Do you know how hard it is to deal with all those injured scouts when you get yourself injured?” Levi was sitting in an armchair in the corner of the room. His legs were stretched out lazily as he reclined, one hand nursing a steaming teacup. “Don’t do it again.” He took a sip. 

    “Yes, sir.” You grumbled and dropped your hand. The man got up and moved to the side of the bed, where you could see him better. 

    “We are now the only members of the Special Operations team.” 

     You tilted your head back and stared at the wooden beams. What were their last thoughts? Last sight? Probably the forest floor and trees the size of castles. That forest was littered with bodies now. It felt like a terrible nightmare. 

     “I am hardly special enough for any ‘Special Operations.’” You countered. “Why do you even want me on the team?” 

    He gave you a blank stare, which was a common occurrence. “Because you were on it before and you’re alive and breathing.” Levi reasoned. 

    “I think I should switch to being a medical helper instead, full time.” 

    “Why are you arguing with me, idiot?” He frowned. “You are a part of Squad Levi still and you always will be. That’s how it works here.” 

    “I could just get myself thrown out.” You chuckled. 

    “And I’d just argue that you stay, like last time.” 

    The conversation fell silent. Then you shifted to look out the window. “I care for this team, a lot, but there is no team left.” You sighed. “I guess that only leaves me to care for you, Captain.” 

    You heard his footsteps and he was now in front of the window, just staring at you. His usually intimidating gaze was gone. 

    “I wouldn’t have saved you if I didn’t care either.” He stated simply and leaned against the window sill. The light fell so perfectly on his face, highlighting the curve of his mouth, the sharpness of his eyes. 

    “I would have saved you, too.” You added. 

    “You would save everyone if you could.”

    “And you wouldn’t?” 

    “I save people I think I can save.” He shrugged. His grip tightened on the edge of the window. “I don’t know why I saved you. I was sure you were going to die, and maybe I should have let you.” 

    You pressed your lips together. “I’m still glad you lied to me. I will be truthful in saying that I asked you to save me for purely selfish reasons.” 

    “I guess we have that in common.” The Captain crossed his arms. Your eyes widened and he tilted his head. “Did I say something amiss?” 

    “No I–” You stopped yourself. “I just didn’t realize you cared.” 

    “If I didn’t care, why would I spend all those nights with you, fixing up the worst injuries I’ve seen?” 

    “Because you care about…human life?” 

    “Because I care about you, idiot.” He said roughly and moved to your bedside. The man took your hand in his and it was eerily reminiscent of the forest. You could almost smell the dirt. 

    “Maybe I care about you too.” You finally said and he dropped your hand. His face fell back into its usual stone-cold expression. His only acknowledgement was a dip in his head.

    “Get some rest.” He said bluntly and headed for the door.

    “You as well, Captain.” 

    He let his hand brush against the door frame for a moment and then left. A fleeting ghost. A vision. You wished you could hold onto his hand for a just a bit longer. It was nice to be in good company. 

To be continued...?

[bobfloydsbabe]

LINGER | rhett abbott x oc | chapter 2

two: something in the air

SUMMARY: Rhett Abbott is stuck. He rides bulls, works on his family’s ranch, and probably drinks more than what’s good for him. 

Lou Kinney is aimless. She never stays in one place for long, driving from state to state, and picking up odd jobs along the way.

So when she shows up in Wabang, Rhett’s life tumbles into free fall and Lou’s not sure she trusts herself to catch him. But maybe these two lost souls find exactly what they didn’t know they were looking for: each other.

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WARNINGS: angst, bull riding inaccuracies, horses/ranching inaccuracies, i don't understand american culture but i try.

WORD COUNT: 3k

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special thanks to @wkndwlff for helping me name some side characters, being a reference point to everything about the show, and for listening to me rant about this for hours on end. You're a darling!

He comes home to a dark and quiet house. There’s a candle burning in the windowsill that his Ma must’ve forgotten before going to bed. He blows it out for her, engulfing the house in blackness.

He drags his feet up the stairs, the scraping of his boots on the wooden floors sounding like a marching drum in the darkness. He shouldn’t. His Ma always told him to lift his feet, but they’re all asleep so it won’t bother them.

Not that he cares. He’s usually too drunk to see straight.

Not tonight, though.

He walks into the bathroom and looks at himself in the mirror. His Ma’s been complaining about his hair for a while, but he likes it longer. It makes him look older, and it curls at the nape. The girls seem to like that there’s something to tug on and he likes it when they do.

He brushes his teeth slowly, pacing as much as the small bathroom will allow.

He spits the toothpaste out, watching as it disappears down the drain with the water. His eyes return to the reflection in the mirror, and it’s a sad sight staring back at him.

He always meant to get out of Wabang. Maybe go to college, get a degree, make something of himself that didn’t involve the ranch or his family. Make a name for himself somewhere no one knows him or expects anything from him. But all he sees now is a guy who rides bulls to win his father’s love, who’s always played second fiddle to his brother, who’s a good-for-nothing cowboy.

He turns the faucet back on and splashes water in his face, trying to wash away the pathetic boy in the mirror.

He closes his eyes and imagines getting out, but he only allows himself the indulgence for a few seconds before he turns the water off and shakes his head. The only person he can’t bear to leave behind is Amy.

When he walks back to his room, he lifts his feet. It’s only midnight, after all. Once inside, he toes off his boots, gets undressed, and falls into bed. The bedframe creaks and complains as he adjusts on the shitty mattress that should probably have been replaced a decade ago.

Placing a hand behind his head, he stares at the ceiling. He listens to the sounds of the land that surrounds him. A horse whinnying in the stables, a sleepy cough from someone in the house, the hallway clock ticking away outside his door.

His thoughts turn to Lou. She’s an outsider, yet somehow, she fits right in as if she’s been here the whole time. She knows this life. She knows ranching; she knows about bull-riding; she knows how to make small-town people, like Patty and Old Man Arthur, smile and laugh. She puts people at ease in a way only someone who’s familiar with towns like this does.

Beyond that, and the fact that she has a dog, he knows nothing about her. He doesn’t even know the color of her eyes, but he thinks they’re dark. Probably brown.

He turns on his side, the good one where his shoulder doesn’t hurt, and closes his eyes. He thinks it’ll be a while, considering he’s not drunk, but sleep takes him almost immediately.

He wakes up well-rested but sore. His shoulder is still achy and stiff, but it’s a lot more manageable, and his lack of a hangover probably has something to do with it, too.

Only his Ma is up when he comes downstairs freshly showered and dressed for the day. He pretends not to notice the shocked look on her face and appreciates that she doesn’t comment on it.

She pours coffee into a mug and hands it to him. “Thanks,” he mutters and sits at the dining table.

She leans against the kitchen counter, looking at him with skeptical eyes. “When did you get in?”

“Around midnight.”

She smiles into her coffee cup, and Rhett swears he hasn’t seen that directed at him in months.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she replies, but the smile doesn’t fade. “You just don’t smell like a distillery for once.”

“I can swim in a whiskey barrel if that helps.”

His mother laughs, and the sound bounces off the walls, filling the room with lightness. Her face has been etched with seriousness for far too long, and watching her smile sends relief flooding through his system.

Heavy footsteps on the stairs tears his attention away. Perry stops at the bottom of the stairs, watching his brother and mother in the kitchen making jokes and laughing. Rhett knows it’s a foreign sight.

“Mornin’,” Perry says, eyes slightly narrowed.

Rhett hums in response just as Amy slips under Perry’s arm and bolts for a seat at the table. Ma kisses her cheek, placing a plate of toast in front of her she tears into immediately.

Rhett ruffles her hair, and she shakes him off with a playful look on her face. Those big eyes shine with innocence and if he could bottle it up, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

“Is Dad already out there?” Perry asks, as if their father hasn’t been up at the crack of dawn all his life.

Rhett shakes his head and rises from his seat, snatching a small corner of toast off Amy’s plate.

“Hey!” she protests. “Get your own.”

Royal sends him to the south pasture to check the fences. He rides along the fence, his breath comes out in a puff of hazy smoke, and enjoys the warmth of the morning sun on his face.

An unexpected sound pulls his attention. He turns his head towards it and spots Lou in the distance. She’s on horseback, Stetson on her head, and her dog running alongside her.

They make eye contact, and Rhett raises his hand in a small wave. He wants to approach, talk to her again, hear her laugh and finally determine the true color of her eyes.

She decides for him as she guides her horse, a beautiful red one with soulful eyes, towards him. Her dog falls behind, sizing him up, and Rhett has never felt more under the microscope than under the watchful eye of the black and white dog.

“Fancy seeing you here,” she says once he’s in earshot, smile wide and friendly on her face. It makes her look younger.

“Yeah,” he agrees.

Once they’re right in front of each other, he can finally tell that her eyes are brown. Deep, like the desert on the darkest night of the year. Stunning.

They ride alongside each other for a while in comfortable silence, only a fence separating them. Hooves heavy on the wet ground from a bygone rainfall he missed during his long sleep, and the jiggle of the collar on Lou’s dog as it runs ahead of the horses.

“What’s his name?” Rhett asks, mostly because he doesn’t know what else to say.

“Denver,” she replies, a small smile on her face again. “I call him Denny most of the time, though.”

The dog halts at the sound of his name, looking over his shoulder at Lou and Rhett. She whistles, a different tone to the one he heard the first time he saw her, and the dog keeps going.

“You riding this Friday?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Gotta do well if I want to move up.”

It’s been on the books for weeks and yet he’s surprised she knows about it. It’s a local event, but it counts towards his score to get the regional competition.

“I’m sure you’ll do fine,” she replies, and she sounds so confident he almost believes it, too. “How’s your shoulder?”

“Better.”

Up ahead, Denver barks at what appears to be a stick on the ground, making Lou shake her head at him with a breathy chuckle. “Silly dog,” she mutters.

Silence stretches between them again, but it’s comfortable. He doesn’t feel the need to fill it this time. He feels Blazer’s muscles move with every step he takes, listens to hooves hitting the ground softly, Denver’s collar jiggle, and somehow the air in Wabang doesn’t feel so stifling.

Maybe he’s imagining it, though. Wouldn’t be the first time.

“You coming to the rodeo?”

He turns his head to Lou, his ears burning hot at the question he’s just asked. He expects to see a smile on her face, but her mouth is in a straight line, jaw clenched, and she’s fiddling with a loose stitch on the reins in her hands.

“I don’t know,” she finally says, barely perceptible shake of her head. “Haven’t been to one in years.”

Rhett hums. He watches as she keeps fiddling with the reins, similar to the way she picked at the label on her beer bottle last night until it was gone. Nothing but a pile of tattered paper on the counter.

“Amy’ll be there,” he tells her. “I’m sure she’d be happy to see you.”

It’s a long shot, and a cheap one at that, but he can’t help it. Something tells him it’s important she comes to the rodeo, to see him ride, and maybe even cheer for him.

“Hunter has been begging me to go,” Lou says with a ghost of a smile back on her face. Barely there but present, and his chest feels lighter. If he’s not mistaken, Hunter is the younger of the two Taylor boys.

“Now you have to go,” he says. In the distance, Denver comes to a halt and waits for them to catch up. 

“You think so?”

He grins. “I know so.”

She chuckles as she checks her wristwatch. “I have to head back,” she tells him and whistles in yet another tone that makes Denver come running to her. “I have a new client arriving in 10 minutes.”

“Yeah, alright,” he mutters.

He watches her gently pull the reins away from the fence, and her mare obediently follows the command. Lou softly kicks her heels into the horse’s rounded belly, making it set into a trot.

“See you around,” she shouts over her shoulder, waving a hand in the air.

Rhett’s eyes follow her retreating figure until she’s out of sight, swallowed by the fog that’s finally lifting, making way for bright and clear day.

The day of the rodeo rolls around a few days later. Humidity hangs in the air, with dark autumn clouds looming, threatening the possibility of a good ride for him. He silently prays for the rain to hold off until later.

Royal talks about Rhett’s stats and how many points he needs to move up as they walk towards the area for riders. Amy skips ahead of them, Perry not far behind, and his Ma seems to have gone off somewhere on her own.

“You’ll need to last those eight seconds tonight,” Royal says.

Rhett grunts as way of a reply, but his mind is miles away. There’s something different about tonight that’s setting him on edge, but it’s not the nerves he usually experiences before a ride.

Royal leaves him to get ready on his own. Rhett pulls his chaps on, secures them, grabs his gloves and safety vest, and goes to the fence to watch his opponents ride. The bulls seem wild tonight, bucking more than he’s seen any of them do in a while.

A coordinator calls his name, letting him know it’s time to get to the chute.

He slips the vest over his shoulders and as he’s securing the velcro straps on his side, Lou appears in his periphery. He’s close enough to the edge of the area reserved for riders that she can come to him, only separated by a rope.

“You came,” he says.

“Yeah,” she agrees, looking over her shoulder towards the stands. “Hunter is very convincing.”

“You should find Amy,” he tells her. “She keeps begging my brother to take her to Oak Creek for a lesson.”

The sound of Lou’s quiet laugh bounces around his chest and settles in his stomach. He can’t help the corners of his mouth turning upward.

“She’s more than welcome,” Lou says. “I just wanted to wish you good luck.”

He cocks his head slightly, eyes trained on hers. “Yeah?” She nods. “Thank you.”

The coordinator calls him again, and when he makes eye contact with him over his shoulder, Rhett knows he can’t push it any further. He looks back at Lou, and opens his mouth to say something, but she beats him to it.

“You got this,” she says, reaching up to his hat, taking hold of the brim. His breath hitches, thinking she’s going to take it off him, but she just adjusts it. Heat rushes to his cheeks.

Her hands fall back at her side as she meets his eyes. Rhett barely hears the announcer on the loudspeaker saying he’s next because the only thing that exists is him and the woman with the soft smile in front of him.

“I gotta go,” he says eventually, not sure how long has actually passed.

Lou nods, wishes him one final good luck, and turns around, heading towards the stands to rejoin the Taylors.

He weaves in and out of people and trailers to get to his chute. He tapes the glove to his hand before climbing up the ramp, easing himself down onto the bull where he wraps the rope tightly around his hand, taking deep breaths as he does. The black bull writhes in the chute, ready to buck him off as soon as he gives the go ahead.

He gives the nod of approval and the door springs open. His bad shoulder aches as he’s thrown around, but he holds on with all he’s got. Eight seconds feels like a lifetime when you’re on a bull.

He hits the sand with a thud loud enough that he can hear it over the crowd cheering, the announcer’s voice ringing in the air, and the stomping of the bull he just got tossed from.

He flexes his fingers inside the gloves before pressing his palms flat against the ground. He pushes himself up, slowly getting to his feet until he’s standing at his full height, eyes flicking towards the raging bull as it’s wrangled into a pen behind the ring. It was a mean one tonight.

He rolls his shoulders as he looks at the scoreboard, finding his name at the top. He did good, but there are more riders after him, so it’s still not a done deal. He could use the money, though. The points, too.

As he climbs over the fence to get out of the ring, his eyes turn to the stands where he sees his family still cheering for him, and he lifts his hand in a wave. Say what you will about Rhett’s family, but at least they show up at his competitions and roots for him.

The rest of the riders are halfway decent, and by the end of the night, Rhett is in second place. That new kid he can’t remember the name of beat him by the skin of his teeth, leaving a sour taste in his mouth. Rhett’s still young, but it stings that this kid, who looks fresh out of high school, did better than him.

He joins up with his family, who all congratulate him. Royal gives him tips on how he can do better next time, but it sounds more like he’s reprimanding him like he did when he was ten.

Rhett knows the first prize money would have been better for the ranch, and he tries not to resent them for spending the money he’s earned by putting himself in harm’s way. Some days it’s easier said than done.

“I saw Miss Kinney,” Amy tells him, her eyes bright and smile wide. “She said I could come see her work.”

“That’s great,” he says, ruffling her hair. 

“You coming with us?” Cecilia asks, probably hoping he won’t go to the bar this time. He’s sure some part of her knows it’s a lost cause.

“Nah, I’m gonna stick around,” he says, and ignores the displeased look on his Ma’s face.

They say their goodbyes, and when they step out of the way, Lou is walking towards him. Her boots kick up dirt, her hands buried in the pockets of her jacket, and she’s taken her hair down so it frames her face.

“Hey,” he says when she gets close enough.

“I guess congratulations are in order,” she says, stopping in front of him. “Didn’t I say you could do it?”

He huffs out a humorless laugh. “I didn’t win.”

“But you placed,” she points out as another rider walks past them toward the parking lot.

“You coming for a drink, Abbott?” He asks, walking backward until Rhett yells his agreement.

He turns his attention back to Lou, who’s pushing a strand of hair behind her ear, and his eyes trail the movement of her hand.

“What do you say?”

She frowns, tilting her head to the side, and Rhett wants to smooth out the crinkle between her brows. “To what?”

“Wanna get a drink?”

She tilts her head further, but there’s a teasing smile at the corner of her mouth. “Only if you’re buying,” she says, spinning on her heel and starts walking towards the rows of trucks in the distance.

He shakes his head, a grin so wide it almost hurts. “Yes, ma’am,” he says and catches up to her in a few long strides.

“I carpooled with the Taylors here, so you’re driving, too.”

A/N: The next chapter is going to be all from Lou's perspective, so we get to know her a bit more. Thank you so much for reading, and don't forget to reblog if you liked it!

TAGLIST: @wkndwlff, @joaquinwhorres, @fandom-princess-forevermore, @chicomonks, @thedroneranger, @dhwanishah09, @callsign-cacti, @chickensarentcheap, @lt-bradshaw, @cherrycola27, @hismissharley13, @bradshawsbitch, @yanna-banana, @phoenixhalliwell, @rhettabbotts, @laracrofted, @everbizzare, @t-nd-rfoot, @callsign-joyride, @angelbabyyy99

[stalkedbytrains]

Beneath the Electric Sky: Chain One Sequence Two: A Series of Minor Crimes

I introduced Io to Seth. There was already some tension there because I think Io realized he fucked up on the ride over.

"I'm Seth. You must be Io."

The pair shook hands.

"You got me," Io said. "You're the partner. Right, well you need someone to get inside and open a door?"

Seth bristled a little bit. It was clear he wanted to introduce himself as my superior or something more haughty and worthy of him.

"And you must be our conman. I'll be keeping my eye on you."

"Don't worry, you've got nothing I want," Io said as he gave himself a small tour of the apartment.

Seth scoffed. "You sure about that?"

"Yeah, I don't give a shit about new tech or whatever it is you're after. I wanted the dumbest, oldest stuff you can find. I was trying to steal a cybertruck."

My partner only got angrier. I quietly congratulated myself on picking the right person to bring in. Io could do the job and do it well, but pissing off Seth was a nice bonus.

Io was a pretty unassuming person. Average height, average build, average everything, which he would probably use to his advantage as not standing out in any significant way was something that could really work in his favor.

"What do you need to do this job?" Seth asked tensely.

"You have a hacker on staff? Because unless things have changed much more drastically than I'm aware of, Synthia certainly can't handle the asks. And no offense, Sep-"

"Seth."

"That's what I said. You don't look like you can hack your way out of this room."

I couldn't help but smile. "I missed you Io."

"Arc! Get in here! We've got a job for you!" Seth yelled.

Io moved next to me so he could conspiratorially whisper to me. "Arc? Really? Bit on the nose with that one don't you think?"

"I've always thought that," I whispered back.

The small in every direction tech walked into the room. If I was thin in a vaguely unhealthy way (I can't help my ultra-enhanced metabolism and the calories required to run this hardware) then Arc was deeply unhealthy. His hair was stringy and all over the place and the electronics poked out of the skin on his face, shoulders, arms, and hands.

He was also Seth's lapdog so I couldn't give a shit what he liked or cared for. He was supposed to do the tech support angle of this little trio and so far he had utterly failed to hold up his side of the job.

"Yeah, what's up?" Arc asked Seth, only looking to him for instruction.

"You're a hacker?" Io asked.

"Yeah, who are you?" Arc countered.

"Someone with a sense of style, Jesus," Io muttered mostly to himself but I heard it and cracked a smile. "I'm the conman. I need you to hack some emails for me."

"Oh, yeah, sure, it's not that this place is tighter than a nuclear waste dump site. I can barely peak at their servers, much less hack an employee's email. The Illuminated Path is next level."

Io rolled his eyes. "Then I suggest you find someone who can hack a single employee's email. It shouldn't be that hard to arrange a phishing scam or something. I thought you people were experts."

"Why the fuck do we need this asshole?" Arc asked indignantly.

"Because you assured me, multiple times, that you couldn't hack any of the security measures around the building, so I got us someone who can get me inside," I snapped at him. "If you can't get Io what he needs then I'm going to find someone else who can help me with this mission and I'll be sure to let Gareth know what dead weight you two have been."

"What do you want?"

Io shrugged. "A couple of back dated emails hiding in someone's folder. Preferably someone high up who is in charge of shipping and receiving. Then some angry emails from them into some subordinate's spam folder about a shipment that is overdue."

"What scam are you pulling?"

"A Trojan horse. I'm going to make a delivery and no one is going to look twice at me because we're playing the angry boss card. Oh and if you can get me a fake manifest and an invoice. Make them look good. If you make them look good enough and I get paid for the delivery then I'll count that towards my fee," Io said.

Arc opened his mouth to say something but Seth cut him off. "Do it."

"Fine. What are we delivering?"

"I'll let you know when we're done stealing it," Io said. "Synthia, let's go steal a truck or two."

"You want me to plant a bunch of emails for something I don't know what it is yet?" Arc asked.

"Well you're the one that said they've got top notch security."

"Synthia, stay with Arc, keep him on task. I'm going with Io," Seth said.

I scoffed. "You think I can keep the keyboard jockey on task? The little fucker never listens to a word I say."

Seth had a look on his face that looked like he tasted ass. Which was his default expression whenever I got my way.

"Fine. Check-in every hour. And we will be listening," Seth threatened.

"Sir, yes sir," I responded, saluting him with my middle finger raised. "Io let's go."

As we turned to leave, I heard Seth tell Arc to get to work, and to start pulling up files on anyone who might be connected to me named Lorelei.

Io was going to pay for that later.

[010·10]

"You work for a bunch of assholes," Io told me as we approached the overnight warehouse for one of the online distributors.

"Yeah I fucking know," I told him as I worked on punching a hole through the electric fence. "And now they know too."

"How the fuck do they know everything?"

"I've got just south of a trillion dollars worth of beyond top of the line technology in me. That kind of money and investment warrants a level of security that cannot be overwritten, ignored, or turned off. Everything I say and do is recorded in excruciating detail."

"Fuck," Io said once I was through the fence. "That's rough."

"Yeah, well. I'm sorry I brought you into this mess," I admitted. "Really. I'm sorry."

Io stopped halfway through the fence. "I truly don't think I've ever heard you apologize for anything."

"New body, new me."

"Well I appreciate seeing you again, getting into shenanigans again. And I'm sorry about before," Io said quietly, as if that would keep the myriad of sensor in me from picking it up. "I'll fix it, I promise."

I couldn't help myself. I shouldn't have been shitty but I had to do it. "I'll believe it when I see it."

After a few minutes of sneaking through the warehouse, dodging drones, and keeping out of sight of the one overnight, overworked, underpaid service worker, we found an access point that gave us manifests for everything being loaded on the trucks in the lot.

"Alright what would be easiest to con some... what are they again?" Io asked.

"Religious cultists and terrorists that are working with extremely illegal and bleeding edge technology. Working in most gene splicing and tech."

"Ah so religious scientists," Io said with as much sarcasm as he could muster. "Love that for them. We're going to need truck... let's see... eh... I think the one in row twelve slot b. Some centrifuges and other medical equipment. Should be helpful."

"Right, what are we standing around here for?"

"Well I'm going to drive, because you are always the worst driver, even now. Just... bad."

"Hey!"

"I also need you to steal me a uniform."

"That would make sense."

Breaking into the locker room and stealing a spare uniform was trivial and I did it in less than two minutes.

In fact, I made it back to Io and the truck he was supposed to be stealing before he had even managed to get the truck open.

"What were you saying about being better than me at this?" I asked.

"I was just waiting on you, the second we drive off things are going to start."

I rolled my eyes and waited for Io to get going. While I had nothing to do I messaged Arc that were were bringing medical equipment, and he should add that to his manifests and hacked emails and stuff.

"Alright we're good to go," Io said as the engine rumbled to life.

"We will be as soon as Arc is done doing his job."

my kofi that hosts early chapters

[stagefoureddiediaz]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by the always lovely @spotsandsocks

I"ve not actually had all that much time to do any writing recently - now that Christmas is installed and running I'm hoping I can geet back to it over hte next couple of weeks or my plan to start actually posting on Ao3 in the new year will go flying out of the window!!

Have a snippet from the secret Buddie AU I'm working on in tandem with my time travel AU!!! to be honest I need to expand this scene a little bit and edit it - its not sitting right for me!!

Buck is up early the next morning and enlisting the help of one of the friendlier footmen to get his trunks downstairs and into a horse and cart he has hired to deliver them to the Diaz residence, he hopes they will arrive around the same time as he will the following day, but it has rained overnight and he isn’t sure what steroid will be like for the journey.

That done he return to his chambers until it is time for him to endure breakfast with his parents. The fact it will be the last time for a while makes it easier to bear and he heads out to take a stroll in the nearby park as soon as he can, trying to burn some of the pent up feeling he has bubbling up inside him. 

Eventually the day has passed and he is able to head to bed but the prospect of freedom prevents him from getting more than a couple of hours of sleep. He rises with the sun and dresses quickly. Grabbing his saddle bags, he sneaks out of his room, through the house, and down to the stables where he quickly saddles his horse and leads her out onto the mews before mounting her and setting off through the quiet streets.

As soon as he exits the city limits and he finds himself surrounded by countryside, he urges his horse into a canter and whoops at having managed to get away from the house without issue. Freedom feels wonderful and he settles himself into his ride back to the Diaz house and his new life.

*******

Eddie has spent the time since Bucks interview mentally preparing himself to have another man in the house with them. Having spoken with his housekeeper to ensure that the school room and the room next to his will be ready for Bucks arrival, he shuts himself in his study and returns to his work to distract himself from the feelings of apprehension and something he can’t quite name, but doest want to examine too closely.

The day of Bucks arrival dawns and Eddie remains closed in his study, where he stays for the whole day, taking lunch and dinner in there to avoid running into him and having to share and awkward meal. He isn’t sure what the protocol is with tutors. He supposes that technically Buck is a servant, he is after all under Eddies employ, but it seems somehow wrong to expect the man who is educating his son to eat his meals with the servants. perhaps he will let Buck settle in and see how he goes before he makes any decisions.

Hope you enjoy - let me know what you think and have any of you figured out what its based on yet??!!

[lady-maracas]

Wildflowers, a RDR story - 0.2 - Cheat

Series Masterlist

-Blackwater, West Elizabeth, October 1898-

It's been a couple of weeks since my meeting with Mrs. LeClerk and Horley. Since then, I've met some new people and completed various jobs for them, earning a decent amount of money in return. Right now, I'm on my way to meet another newcomer—a stranger—up in Tall Trees.

I step out of the bustling general store after stocking up on ammunition, always ensuring I have enough before heading out on any jobs. The small town is alive with activity today; merchants are calling out to customers, children are playing, and the smell of food wafts through the air. Navigating this lively scene proves a bit challenging as I make my way back to my horse. I've opted to keep that scrawny nag Horley gave me; surprisingly, I've grown quite fond of the animal despite its appearance. After packing the ammo into my saddlebag, I climb onto my horse and set off toward Tall Trees, where I hope to make a good impression.

The air is crisper this time of year—not cold, but refreshing. After the sweltering humidity of West Elizabeth's summers, the autumn breeze feels just right against my skin. As I ride into the woods, I light a cigarette, sensing my energy running low. I nudge my horse's sides to urge him into a lope, taking note of the sun beginning to dip behind the treetops—it's late afternoon, and I need to stay alert.

Upon arriving at the small cabin nestled deep in the woods, I dismount and grab my bolt action rifle, prepared for whatever may come next. Cautiously, I approach the cabin, scanning the surroundings for any signs that I might be followed. I knock softly on the door, awaiting an answer that never comes. Curiosity piqued, I decide to step inside, finding the place deserted. I begin to look around for anything of value I might be able to take, the eerie silence weighing on me.

Suddenly, a distant whistling breaks the stillness, growing steadily closer. Through the window, I glimpse a man passing by too quickly to discern his features. He circles around the cabin, heading toward the very door I just entered. I freeze, holding my breath, bracing myself for the worst.

When the man opens the door with his back, hands weighed down by a crate filled with liquor, a moment of chaos ensues. The second he sees me, his face drains of color. "What the fuck, buddy?" he exclaims, dropping the crate. Bottles shatter on the floor, and he quickly unholsters his gun, leveling it at me. I instinctively draw my Navy revolver, both of us locked in an intense stare, fully aware of the precarious situation.

"What the fuck do you want, eh?" he shouts, pulling back the hammer of his gun, ready to fire. "Settle down," I reply, echoing his action. "What is it? You want to get yourself killed or something, huh?" he continues, his voice a mix of fear and bravado. I do my best to take him seriously; he certainly doesn't seem afraid to shoot. Yet, his thick Irish accent makes it hard not to chuckle. "No," I answer, suppressing a smile in response to the absurdity of it all. "I don't like getting surprised. Shit," he sighs, his tension somewhat easing. I keep my gaze fixed on him, determined to mask my impatience—it could cost me my life. "I understand," I reply.

"You looking for work, is that it?" I nod and decide to holster my gun, hoping this will defuse the tension effectively. The man chuckles, mirroring my actions, a slight smile creeping onto his face. "I know the type—strong, silent, real frightening. Still waters run deep. That type of shite, is it?" he muses, bending down to retrieve the crate he dropped and sweeping away the broken bottles, marking the start of an unanticipated partnership. "You could say that..." I chuckle under my breath.

"Names' Sean MacGuire," he introduces himself, his thick Irish accent punctuating his words. His stature relaxed yet confident. "I've temporarily lost me friends. It's a fucking disaster." He runs a hand through his disheveled hair, clearly agitated. "I had them, then went away for a couple of days to take care of a bastard I owed a killing to—good man, eh? Then I lost the folk I ride with. Big bunch, not like you lot. Nah, we lived like sultans in our fucking tents," he explains, his gaze looking at the distance, as if picturing his past. I hand him a couple of discarded bottles I took from the ground, remnants of his waste. "What makes you think I don't live like a 'fucking sultan'? Do not assume things about me, Mr. MacGuire," I tease, raising an eyebrow.

"Apologies," he replies, a hint of sheepishness in his tone. "I'm sure I'll find them again, you know? I've lost 'em before. Once for three months, it was. That's how it goes, I guess." He shrugs nonchalantly, as if the loss were a mere inconvenience rather than a significant setback. "Anyway, where was I?" He strolls over to the rocking chair in the far corner of the cabin, its creaky wood reminding me of the age of the place, and takes a seat, settling in comfortably.

"Ah, yeah, yeah—murder and mayhem," he chuckles, his mood lightening. "Now, I don't like to kill innocent folk myself; it gives me a real nasty feel inside." He grimaces slightly. "But these bastards? Well, I don't know how innocent they are. There's a stage that runs out of Aurora Basin. Now, I heard a fella say it's laden with silver. I can't rob it...and I can't guarantee someone else won't try...but it'd be a rotten shame to let it pass by."

I pause to think, the gears turning in my mind. I've done this kind of job multiple times before. Robbing people comes easily to me; it's almost like second nature. I usually just play the part of the damsel in distress, watching as they underestimate me and then shoot them all in the head. Quick and painless, so I can get the hell out of there. "Alright, I'll do it," I finally say, a sense of resolve settling within me.

"Good, now on with ya's," Sean says, shooing me away with a wave of his hand, which brings a smile to my face. He's a funny feller, and his humor is a nice change of pace.

I mount my horse, feeling the familiar weight of the saddle shift beneath me as I set off to get the job done before nightfall.

---

The robbery of the stagecoach was effortless. There were four guards plus the driver, but I moved swiftly and silently, ensuring that I left no evidence behind and looted everyone clean. Among the treasures, I discovered a pocket watch with intricate engravings on its surface, which I decided to keep for myself; it felt like a tangible reward for my efforts. After stashing the loot, I returned to the cabin to give Sean his share of the deal.

Now, here I am, making my way to the bar in Blackwater's saloon to celebrate yet another successful job. It seems like I'm 'celebrating' every little achievement since I got back from Sisika. I keep telling myself that I'm not an alcoholic—I'm just going through some tough times, trying to drown out the memories that haunt me.

I order a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid swirling in the glass as I take a seat at the poker table. Three men are already deep into a game, their faces serious, the tension visible in their clenched jaws. When they spot me, one of them snarls, "This game is for men." He tosses down his cards in an exaggerated show of disdain, and the guy to his right follows suit, clearly eager to join the mocking.

"Women are brainless; they can't play poker!" he laughs obnoxiously, his voice echoing off the wooden walls of the saloon. Both I and the man on his left exchange grimaces, caught in the small bubble of awkwardness he's created.

"Excuse me?" I reply, taking a sip of my whiskey, letting the warmth spread through me as I hold his gaze.

"You're excused," he retorts dismissively. "Ya ain't got the money anyway. So get!" He gestures for me to leave, a smug grin plastered across his face, clearly pleased with himself.

I let out a brief laugh, feeling a rush of defiance. I pull out one of the coin bags I snagged during my previous heist, letting it hit the table with a solid thud. The sound draws the attention of the playing men, their expressions shifting from mockery to surprise as the weight of the bag settles into the reality of the moment. The two disgusting men snarl some unimportant remarks while the third one gives me a slight smile.

When they finish their game, it's my turn to deal the cards. The old wooden table, worn from countless games, feels steady beneath my hands as I shuffle the deck. I hand each player two cards, their faces flickering with anticipation, then place five cards face down in front of me, forming the communal pot. That's when I start scanning the faces around the table.

The man directly in front of me—the same one who had the nerve to shoo me away—has a classic poker face, maintaining an air of stoic indifference enveloping him like a cloak. He sits with his elbows on the table, hands relaxed, but I catch a slight twitch in his eye. He's out of aces—an important detail that gives me an edge. The next guy over, the second jerk, appears more nonchalant, his posture slumping slightly as if he's unsure about his cards. He might be bluffing, something worth keeping an eye on. The last man, who seems genuinely decent, is staring intently at his cards, his brow furrowing as if trying to will the hand into something better.

I briefly glance at my own cards—a king and a ten—solid but not unbeatable. I tighten my grip, feeling the familiar adrenaline course through me as the stakes begin to rise. The nice guy eventually folds, as does the second jerk, leaving it a tense showdown between the dumbass and me. Three of the five community cards are face up—two aces and a king. My heart races; there's no way I'm losing this game with two pairs.

"All in," the man declares, his voice steady but tinged with uncertainty. Damn it. "Call," I respond, feeling sweat trickle down my brow as I push every gold coin I have into the middle of the table. The coins clink together as they land, a clear testament to my resolve. With a shudder, I flip over the two remaining community cards—two tens. That's it; I've got a full house. The man chuckles lightly, a mirthless sound. "Two pairs," he says dismissively, gesturing to his own cards and the ones on the table. That fucking asshole. I knew I wasn't losing this. "Full house," I respond, revealing my three tens and two kings, a smile breaking on my face. The shock registers on the faces of the other players, and the second jerk storms off in a huff, throwing a fit as he leaves.

But the first one, furious and defeated, rises from his chair and points his gun at me. "You fucking cheat!" he screams, the anger boiling over. I decide to stay still; any movement could turn this into a deadly situation. While I want to tell him to get out of here, the words die on my lips. Suddenly, I hear the decent man echo my unspoken thoughts, now aiming his own gun at the bastard's temple. "Leave the lady alone," he adds, standing resolute, a defender against the bully. He's risking his life for little old me? What a brave soul.

The asshole, noticing the seriousness of the threat, grumbles and holsters his gun before stomping out of the saloon, the door swinging shut behind him with a bang. The young man turns back to me, concern etched across his face. "Are you alright? That damned bastard—I wanted to put a bullet through his head since early evening." He strides over to another table, clearing the poker area for new players, his movements purposeful and efficient.

"Yes, I'm alright, thank you. Uhm..." I stall, my silence prompting him to share his name.

"I'm Sam," he says, extending a hand for me to shake, his grip firm yet warm.

"Elizabeth, thank you," I reply, accepting his hand and feeling a sense of camaraderie beginning to bloom between us.

We engage in small talk for a while, discussing everything from the saloon's atmosphere to the various characters we've encountered. After three glasses of whiskey, my mouth starts running before my brain can catch up. "Did you actually cheat earlier? I thought poker was a game of luck," Sam asks, a hint of curiosity in his tone.

I chuckle softly—while poker does involve luck, I've learned a few tricks to turn the odds in my favor. Every hand's a winner, and every hand's a loser. "I did, with a bit of fake shuffling. I watched the game you all played before I joined, picked out the cards I wanted, and tried my luck," I say with pride, knowing it's a gamble that has served me well.

"Well, I'll be damned!" he exclaims, his eyes widening in surprise.

In many ways, we seem quite alike—though not in appearance. His blonde hair contrasts sharply with my dark locks, the vibrant hue drawing attention in the dim, smoky light of the saloon. He carries a softness about him—his features are rounded, with a gentle jawline that stands in stark comparison to my sharper, more angular ones. Despite our differing appearances, I quickly learn that we share a commonality in our lifestyles. He reveals himself to be a lonely soul, much like me, traveling around the country and taking various jobs just to scrape by.

When I mention my occasional killings, he doesn't flinch or recoil, an unexpected reaction that adds a layer of depth to the conversation. There's no judgment reflected in his eyes, just an understanding that takes root between us. I'm not ashamed of my job; it's simply a part of the harsh reality we live in. Yet, I feel a simmering resentment toward those who disown me for it. We exist in an era where stealing and killing often blur the lines of morality, becoming necessary for survival. The weight of survival hangs heavy on both of us, uniting us in a world that seems increasingly unforgiving.

Lonely souls or not, I feel like Sam and I are going to become good friends.

-

Sam belongs to @sam-vdl , all RDR characters belong to rockstar games.

[cowboyhorsegirl]

*sniffing around like a fanfic starved dirty rat*

Ya got any Stony crumbs?

LMFAO this is so funny😅😅

I'm sorry i haven't been posting any fic lately, I'm a very slow writer and a huge perfectionist, the combination of which is basically just the author's death knell. but the last thing i was working on was an ask response for horse divorce au so i'll share some of that <3

~~~~~~~

I know why they divorce :(

it's because Tony kisses him. In the stables, one day when they're playing the same game they always do, the same cheeky back-and-forth. Some silly argument with no heat behind it, save for the lustful gazes they turn on each other.

Tony doesn't even really know what was different about today, except that Steve couldn't stop singing Friday's praises about how well she kept her cool through the thunderstorm that took her and Tony by surprise when they were out riding earlier. Tony wants to remind him that he’s sure he & Friday would still be stranded out there somewhere, soaking wet and scared and lost and caught out in the storm when Steve had run through the trails on foot to come find them and lead them back home. He wants to say that the only reason Friday was so calm was because Steve was there, soothing her with a low voice and a gentle hand and Tony knows he’s right about that, at least, because Steve is the only reason he regained his calm, too.

But he doesn’t say any of that, just lets himself take in the adoring way Steve looks at Friday, the way he stops stroking a hand down her neck every so often just to close his eyes and rest his forehead against her steady, solid body as if he’s reminding himself that she’s okay. That they’re okay. And Tony’s always had a soft spot for people who love to love Friday, who appreciate her even though she’s past her showjumping prime. Even earlier in the summer, before Howard had sent the rest of the horses off to the Stark’s trainer to prep for competition season, Tony could see the affection Steve held for her in particular above all her other stablemates.

Tony doesn’t really know what was different about today, or maybe he just doesn’t want to admit that the only thing that’s changed is his own perspective, because this time when Steve shoots a jab at him about how “with all those fancy gadgets you’ve got you think at least one of them would be able to show you the weather forecast” all Tony hears is I was so worried about you and I’m sorry I didn’t get to you sooner and please don’t ever disappear on me like that again. 

So he kisses him, and suddenly it feels like a whole summer of pretending he hasn’t been slowly falling head over heels for this infuriating, intoxicating stablehand has been leading to this single moment in the stables, with the scent of hay and rain heavy in the air and Steve’s clothes drenched and cold under Tony’s fists and Steve’s chapped lips on his, warming him up from the inside out.

Kissing Steve in the stables leaves Tony feeling weightless, the same thrill as hitting the peak of a jump before landing back in the saddle again. But if kissing Steve feels like momentarily flying off the ground, then being called into Howard’s office the next morning brings him crashing back down to the Earth.

[banannabethchase]

Mox calls Hangman out. Hangman flies out to Austin. Mox goads Hangman. Hangman realizes Moxley may have been talking about an unexpected "piece" Hangman might want. Chaos ensues.

~

So, for this fic, the kayfabe goes into the realm of "Dynamite happens on Wednesdays and Rampage happens on Friday independently of Dynamite" because of Reasons. AKA the fic didn't feel right unless I made it that way. Apologies for...whatever this is. Title from Radar by Britney Spears (like I said - this fic does not normal.)

~

Hangman Adam Page is watching AEW from his living room, yawning. But Moxley is going to be on. And he knows that asshole is about to talk some serious shit.

He takes a sip of soda, because he’d rather known exactly what his reaction is in the moment instead of letting it be clouded with alcohol. Plus, he hasn’t allowed himself a good Coke in a while, and it seemed like the moment.

He watches Ricky Starks eliminate the competition in a decent battle royal, but he can’t help but think that his, the one where his knee was busted and he ran in as the joker, when he fucked up his recently unfucked up knee and it was totally worth it, will always be his favorite.

He scrolls his phone during the commercials, forgetting briefly that he doesn’t have twitter anymore when he goes for the app and it’s off his phone.

“It’s a good thing,” he tells himself as he opens up Facebook. He seems the same people he went to high school with discussing their misery of Christmas shopping. He can’t relate – all his friends want are weird, specific, mildly disturbing things. He makes a note to pick up Silver’s elephant mask and Reynolds’ air fresheners when he goes out next.

And then he hears it.

“You think last week got a little out of hand?”

“Oh, god, here we go,” Adam sighs.

“In fact, I’m starting to really, really, like the Cowboy, Hangman Adam Page,” and Jon continues. Adam is rapt, focused on the guy as he goes off. He respects him, he does, but Mox is always so desperate for a fight that Adam’s halfway to taking him up on it anytime he sees him. Though Adam does agree with his views on the Jericho Appreciation Society and, infuriatingly, notices himself nodding along to Mox’s tirade.

He’s surprised, though, when his name drops from Mox’s mouth again. “Hangman Page,” he says, with his usual intensity, “you want a piece? You know where to find me.”

Hangman bites the inside of his cheek. “Fuck.”

The last time he got called out and didn’t show up, he was humiliated. Punk had made sure Adam wouldn’t have had a chance in hell to come meet him, to rise to the challenge.

Mox, unfortunately, had left the invitation open.

He watches the rest of the show with ideas slowly building. He won’t be able to go anywhere until tomorrow, late afternoon at the soonest – one of the horses is sick, and she’s skittish, so he has to be at home tomorrow when the vet comes.

When the match is announced, Adam actually leans forward in his chair.

Mox and Takeshita, the kid the whole locker room knows is going to outshine the sun in the next few weeks. This Friday. In Austin.

He’s got to get a flight in.

~

There’s no flights tolerable until later Friday than he’s comfortable, but he doesn’t check a bag and isn’t planning to stay long, so he, his carryon, and his backpack haul ass across the airport when he lands in Austin at 6pm to make sure he can get to the hotel easy.

He signs a few unexpected autographs and has to deal with more people than he’d planned, but he’s slightly calmer knowing he’s in the same city as Jon fuckin’ Moxley and his shit talking mouth. He tips the Lyft driver double because they didn’t ask him any questions and spent the whole ride talking about their cats, which was a much needed distraction. Princess and Munchkin were having problems, and the driver really listened to Adam’s advice about the individual time.

It all comes back when he gets one of the best hotel rooms and throws down his stuff on the bed, remembering where he is and why. He stretches a big, changes into something he’s willing to bleed in, and gets himself ready for the night.

At nine, he makes his way to the venue.

“Hangman!” Matt Jackson says, flustered. “I – you’re not on the card tonight.” He looks skittish. Adam can work with that. It’s better than the disdain and pity he’d been getting a few years ago.

“Somebody called me out,” he replies, shrugging. “Stepping up.”

Matt groans. “Oh, god, are you gonna get thrown out again?”

“I mean -”

Matt makes a weird, panicked laugh. “Actually, no, don’t tell me. I can’t know. Also, I can’t be involved in another fight.”

“Aw, will Papa Tony send you to time out?” Adam asks grinning.

“Shut up,” Matt says, but the shove at his shoulder feels friendly, and the strain has lessened. “Go be all noble and – and-“

“Cowboy?” Adam suggests.

“Yes, that,” Matt says. “Go be a cowboy.”

Adam nods at him and walks off, already glad to have made this trip, even if he doesn’t manage to catch Moxley.

He peeks around corners to find the place near empty, and hears the intro to the show start. He decides to hang back in the shadows, unsure if he wants people to know he’s here. Any of them could get the information to Moxley, and he wants his presence to be a surprise.

If he cranes his neck like a weird little giraffe, he can see most of the match as it goes on. He’s always impressed to see Mox wrestle, but his methods with the younger talent is a miracle in the making. Takeshita breaks out move after move, and Moxley counters them, the two going after each other with single minded drive.

Adam likes the way the man wrestles, but still wants to drop kick him down a stairwell. And maybe other things, too.

Mox wins with a particularly impressive move set, paradigm shift into a choke that knocks Takeshita out faster than is technically safe. He reaches for the microphone once Bryce calls it. “Haven’t seen the Hangman yet,” he says as Takeshita rolls out of the ring. His music drifts off to silence, and it’s all Moxley’s voice in the ring. “It’s weird he’d chicken out twice.”

“Fuckin’ bitch,” Adam growls, and he storms through the wings to the stage.

“Adam?” Brandon asks. “When did you get here?”

Adam doesn’t answer him, and Brandon must get someone to cue his music right on top as he powers through whichever tunnel is closest. The crowd goes absolutely berserk, but he’s not focused on them right now.

“Ah,” Moxley says, like they’ve just met for lunch, “Adam, how nice of you to join us. Thank you for proving me r-“

Adam doesn’t let him get out the last word, throwing a fist directly in his face. His fist catches Mox’s cheekbone, and the crush of bone and flesh is satisfying. It’ll leave a bruise, all right. He can’t slow his momentum, so he collides into Mox on the ground, throwing punches as a distraction so he can steal the mic from his hand. “You wanted me?” he asks, getting the hand not holding the microphone curled around Mox’s neck. “You got me.”

He's surprised to see Moxley grinning. “Glad to see ya, Cowboy. Didn’t want to make me a liar, I see.” And he twists them, pinning Adam to the ground, trying to lock in a bulldog choke. Adam fights out of it, kneeing Moxley in the gut and shoving him off. There’s other hands out here, now, far more than can reasonably be the man he wants to tear apart, but they all have their hands around their waists and one is trying to pry the microphone from his hand.

“Give me – quit that!” Adam yells. He breaks from their grasp and can barely see Mox through the throng of people. He’s doing that thing where his arms are behind his back, like he’s begging to get another fist to the face. “Saw your match with Takeshita,” Adam says into the microphone. He feels the people around him relax their grip. Good. “He might be better than all of us already, but you managed to beat him by locking in a choke. Sad you couldn’t do that to me.”

“Caught me off my game,” he says to Adam. Somebody must have gotten him a mic.

The clutter of people, of security and other wrestlers, thins, as they walk toward each other. Adam chooses to be calculated, careful. He can knock Mox out later. But this is the best place to issue a challenge. “Then next time, we’ll both be prepared,” Adam says, breathing heavily. He steps up to Mox, seconds away. He intentionally does not dart down to his lips. He does not. “Texas Death Match. What do you say?”

“Heard you got a little scared last time you heard of a death match coming up, Cowboy?” He’s laughing about it, practically jovial. “With Archer, was it?”

“We’re talking about the future, not the past,” Adam says, trying to muster a little more authority than Mox. “If we talked about the past, we’d have to discuss the championship we’ve both lost to those undeserving, and I don’t think we want to start that conversation.”

The crowd reacts to that one, and Adam pulls back a little bit to see their reaction behind Moxley’s head. It’s a mistake. Mox takes the moment to get a hand on the back of Adam’s neck and pull them forehead to forehead again. “I’m going to rip you apart,” he says, “and I’m going to love it.”

“Promise?” Adam says before he can hold it back.

Another monumental crowd reaction, and Bryce, the referee for the next match, is glaring at them, pointing to the stage. “Go flirt somewhere else,” he grumbles, and Adam’s just glad it’s out of earshot of the microphones.

He and Mox get hauled to backstage, where Tony is waiting with arms folded like a disappointed teacher.

“What the hell are you doing here, Hangman?” he asks.

Adam shrugs. “Mox called me out and I wasn’t going to back down like a coward.”

“Are we really doing a ‘who started it’ line?” Tony asks. “Now you’re stupid little feud has me booking a Texas Death Match early – we’d been thinking we’d put Yuta and Garcia in one of those once the Final Battle pay per view was over, but no, you,” he points at Adam, “had to go make a spectacle in front of Austin.”

“Better than Dallas,” Moxley grumbles, and Adam snickers.

“That’s it,” Tony says. He points to what looks like a closet. “You two. Plan your stupid death match. I want nothing to do with it. You two iron out the logistics. I have a show to run.” With surprising power, he pushes the two of them, probably too dumbfounded to react, into the small room, and shuts the door. “You don’t come out until the show’s over or you have a plan!”

They’re silent for a moment.

“Reminds me of high school,” Moxley muses. “Though your tits are a bit smaller than some of my dates for seven minutes in heaven.”

“Shut up and help me find a light,” Adam grumbles, pawing at the wall. He finds a switch and a whirring noise starts up from the fan, but no light.

“Yes, because we needed a breeze.”

Adam reaches out and rests his hand on something, then smacks it as hard as he can.

“What the fuck?” Mox asks. “You just slapped my ass.”

“What?” Adam asks. “How?”

“Found a bench,” Mox replies. “Trying to find a vent in the ceiling or something. Now quit groping me.”

Adam feels for the person-shaped object again and shoves as hard as he can. With a hoarse yelp, Mox crashes into the wall and Adam feels a sudden, sharp pain in his knees. “Goddamnit!”

“You did this,” Mox says, from below him. “You fucking idiot.”

“You’re the idiot,” Adam says. He moves his head, and bumps into a string. When he pulls it, the lights turn on. There’s a bench in front of him that must have crushed his knees, and Mox is crumpled on the floor, one leg on the bench and the other up against the wall. “Why the fuck did you think standing on a bench was a good idea?”

“Better than fumbling for a light switch that wasn’t there,” he grumbles. “Help me up, I’m stuck.”

“No,” Adam says. “Go fuck yourself.”

“Not in the position to, but thanks for the suggestion.”

Adam intentionally doesn’t move from where he’s standing so the bench won’t move. The ache in his knees will be worth the expression on Moxley’s face while he struggles.

“Move the fuckin’ bench.”

“No.”

Moxley’s response is to push at the bench with his leg as hard as it can, and it cracks into Adam’s knees enough to make him yell. He moves before he thinks about it, and Mox is up in a flash, his hand around Adam’s throat, pushing him up against the wall. “I like you a lot less than I did earlier.”

Adam can’t help but look Moxley dead in the eyes. “Yeah, well, feeling’s mutual.”

Moxley pushes off of him, then sits on a bench. Adam pushes the bench with his foot, and, before he knows it, Mox grabs his leg and twists it so Adam falls to the floor, flat on his back. “What,” Mox says as he kneels over Adam, “is with you and this goddamned bench?”

“What’s with you and trying to get your hands on me like this?” Adam asks, and it’s a fair question. His hand has slid up Adam’s leg to his thigh, and it’s not exactly the most normal thing that’s ever happened.

Moxley freezes, then his face splits into a dark grin. “You’re asking me why I want to get my hands on you?”

Adam shrugs. “You all but begged me to come see you tonight. And now,” he nods down to the hand that still hasn’t moved.

Moxley licks his lips. “I asked if you wanted a piece. Didn’t feel the need to clarify.”

Adam considers the moment. Most of his life has been consumed with the anxiety of whether or not he was making the right move, so focused on moving up and on that he never let himself fuck up until it was so bad he tears his own world down around him, surrounds himself with the shreds of his dreams like eighties wallpaper.  

But he’s never fucked up on purpose.

On impulse, he reaches up and presses a hand to the front of Moxley’s pants, and grins. “I could make an incredibly crass joke about your piece.”

Moxley cocks an eyebrow. “Or you could just fuck me on company time.”

Adam has enough time to bark out a laugh before Moxley’s mouth is on his, biting and hot and allowing for no input on Adam’s part. He uses the bench as leverage to haul himself up to get closer and push Moxley to the floor. He slides a leg between Moxley’s and pushes up, grinning at the way Mox groans at it. Adam immediately goes to the buttons on his shirt, but gives up and rips it off, buttons flying.

“You’re like a fuckin’ Hallmark movie lead,” Moxley grumbles as Adam bites at his throat.

“Yeah, but they never get to fuck in Hallmark moves,” Adam replies, punctuating it with a bite to Moxley’s shoulder. “Get your pants off.”

Moxley, to Adam’s surprise, pulls his pants off without a single word, and it’s an interesting change to what Adam had planned. “You like being told what to do?”

“Fuck off,” Moxley practically spits, arching up to grind against Adam’s leg. He’s hard and eager already, and Adam gets a grip over him, rough and demanding.

“Seen the way you like getting hit,” Adam laughs in his ear, in a not particularly funny way, “the way you like to put your hands behind your back, make it easier.” He bits down on Moxley’s earlobe, then pulls off his cock to spit in his hand, make the experience a little more slick. “You’re just begging somebody to shut you up, huh?”

“Wish you would shut up,” he groans, but the way he keeps pushing up into Adam’s hand at every word he speaks proves his lie. “Pants. Yours. Off.”

Adam’s glad he skipped the formal buckle for something a little easier to handle, and he pulls his hand off of Moxley’s cock just long enough to shove his pants down his legs.

“Hurry up,” Moxley says. “I’m not getting any younger over here.”

“Oh, bite me,” Adam says, and he gives up on getting his boots off, pants around his ankles like he’s a teenager fucking in the locker room again. He gets himself back on top of Moxley, who grabs for his cock and pulls, a little too hard.

“Fuck, do it right, at least,” Adam snaps.

Moxley rolls his eyes. “Beggars can’t be choosers.”

“I’m not the one who’s gonna be begging,” Adam replies. He grabs Mox’s hands and presses them down to the concrete floor, then slides down his body to get his mouth on Moxley’s dick. He doesn’t give Moxley a second to breathe, goes at it like it’s the match and he’s going to win. Moxley pulls at him, but Adam doesn’t let go.

“Stupid fuckin’ cowboy,” he groans, and, when he tries to thrust into Adam’s mouth, Adam drops one of his hands and puts an arm across his hips, forcing him still.

Adam pulls off. “Sounds like begging to me.”

Moxley spits out a half dozen curses as Adam gets his mouth back on him, laughing a little at the way Moxley does everything he can to resist.

“Cowboy, I’m gonna-“

Adam’s ready for it, because he knows this is an unsung talent of his, and he’s swallowing Moxley down before he knows it, to the tune of Moxley cursing his name and that of all his ancestors. It’s the least romantic thing Adam’s ever heard.

“Fuck your great grandmother too, or whatever,” Adam says, “and get over here.”

Moxley needs a second to get back to normal, so Adam takes care of himself a little until Moxley slaps his hand out of the way and pushes him up against the bench so hard it slides against the floor and slams against the wall.

“God, I want to set that bench on fire,” Moxley says, hand working furiously against Adam’s cock.

Adam laughs, a little breathless. “We – we might have to, oh, fuck, do that later.”

“Yeah, Tony’s gonna be pissed.”

“Could you not talk about our boss while you’re jerking me off?” Adam asks, scrabbling to hold onto something. He grabs at Moxley’s shoulder. “Actually, do something useful with your mouth. Come on.”

Moxley glares at him. “Lay down on the bench so I don’t have to go all crawling on the floor. Unlike you, I have standards about what floors I lay down on.”

He sits on the bench, legs spread. “No standards about where you put your mouth,” Adam says, but he’s not able to say anything else with the single minded determination Moxley has with his mouth on Adam’s cock.

“Fuck – I – yeah, that’s good, but close, about to –“

Moxley doubles down on his efforts, then flips Adam the bird as he makes eye contact, and that just about does it. Adam comes down his throat with a wordless cry, and falls back against the wall. “I think you’re better at sucking cock than you are at wrestling,” Adam says, breathless. “And that’s saying something.”

“That two compliments at once, Cowboy?” Moxley asks, wiping at the corners of his mouth with his thumbs.

“Fuck off,” Adam replies.

Moxley climbs up on the bench next to him as the two of them come down from whatever the fuck they’d just done, and the conversation slowly turns to the death match. In the back of his head, Adam knows he should be panicking about this. But he doesn’t. It flows too easily into the discussion of the match, of what they want to do next. They want it soon, yes, but they want it to be good. The begin sending emails, planning the venue, deciding on the props they want. This should be awkward. It isn’t.

Adam’s phone rings. “I’m unlocking the door,” comes Tony Khan’s voice. “Show is over. You both better still be alive with good business plans behind there.”

Moxley reaches to the floor then grabs something, throwing it at Adam.

“Uh, yeah, we have some ideas,” Adam says. It’s only in this moment that the reality of whatever the fuck the two of them just did hits them. “Got some, uh, planning done.”

“Good,” Tony says.

Adam barely has enough time to pull on his shirt and make it look slightly less disheveled when the door is swinging open. Tony gets a look around the room and sighs. “You two get it all out of your system?”

“You could say that,” Adam says, but Moxley is shaking his head.

“Only reason he’s not dead is I’m waiting for the death match so I can kill him on national television,” Moxley says with a wolfish smile. “Get him nice and bloody for the cameras.” He lights up. “Hey, before that, can I concuss somebody again?”

“Fuck you,” Adam says.

“I’ve heard enough. You two are benched until your Death Match,” Tony snaps, pointing between the two of them.

“Heh,” Moxley chuckles, “bench.”