#speaking of arms i have to twist my own damned arm to watch anything that's not a documentary or a rewatch of something i've seen i am TRYI

[mlobsters]

caddo lake (2024) / teen wolf s3e1 tattoo

watching caddo lake and get totally sidetracked by this tattoo dylan o'brien's character has that's similar to his pal tyler's tattoo that got incorporated into teen wolf

dippy reasoning or not, i will never forget that it's a thick and thin band due to this little drawing in the dust lol

[whitedovebby]

— TLC

Spencer x fem!nurse!reader

TW - Brief mentions of a child vomiting and a blood test?

WC - 1,176 (proofread, but there may still be mistakes).

Genre - Fluff, fluff, fluff! Soft, nurturing Spencer, literally mostly plotless and just a self-indulgent idea that popped into my head, so I decided to write it. Please bear in mind that I haven't written/published anything in a loooong time, and it's my first actual published Spencer fic, so feedback is so so appreciated! If you read it, I hope you enjoy it. I really enjoyed doing this! ♡

(Disclaimer: I know nothing about being a nurse other than what my mother has told me in the past, and she mentioned that the 'easier' days can sometimes be hard, too).

Summary: After a challenging day at work, Spencer gives you a little much-needed care.

---

Fatigue seeps its way into your body, flowing through your muscles in the form of tight aches that linger incessantly between your shoulder blades, across your lower flanks, and all the way down to the soles of your feet. You feel stiff yet heavy, like a dead weight, and Spencer can tell as much as soon as you set foot into your shared apartment.

You’ve just arrived home after clocking off from a gruelling 12-hour ER shift - feeling mentally and physically drained from being rushed off your feet - and in desperate need of some TLC from your boyfriend.

“Welcome home, angel,” Spencer greets, watching you slip your feet out of your plimsolls and hang your jacket on the coat hook. You turn toward him and offer a half-smile, to which he immediately responds with a sympathetic one.

“Rough shift?” He asks.

“You don’t even know how rough,” you reply, dragging your heavy body across the living room to the couch, where Spencer sits, legs folded with a book resting on them. Flopping down beside him, you tip your head back against the backrest and let out a long sigh. “If it wasn’t a kid with a fever puking all over my scrubs, it was a stubborn old guy arguing with his wife over refusing ‘unnecessary’ blood tests.”

While you rant away, Spencer closes his book and sets it on the coffee table, twisting his body to face you fully, leaning his back against the arm of the couch. Your eyes are closed, but you can feel the way his gaze drifts over you, taking you in in all your exhausted glory. He always puts all his attention on you whenever you’ve clearly had a rough day, and every time, it’s as if he’s trying to calculate the best way to ease some of your burdens.

“It wasn’t even like there were any severe cases today, but sometimes the ‘easy’ days are just as hard.”

Your eyes crack open, and you watch as Spencer reaches out to squeeze your shoulder gently, eliciting a slight hum of something between pain and appreciation.

“You’re all tense,” he muses, repeating that same little squeeze, and it’s then that you see the evidence of a thought flashing in his soft, brown eyes. “Take your top off.”

You let out a puzzled laugh when he instructs this out of nowhere. The instruction came quite far out of the left field. For a moment, you wonder if this is his idea of trying to tempt you into something physical, and if that’s the case, his timing couldn’t be worse. You’re sore and tired and gross-feeling. Not to mention absolutely starving. And after a moment’s pause, you start to speak.

“Spence, I’m not really–”

“That’s not what I’m thinking,” he cuts you off before you can even finish what you’d started, almost like he had read your mind. He can read you as well as one of his damn books sometimes. “I want to give you a shoulder rub,” he continues, rubbing his hands together and blowing into his cupped palms, presumably to warm them up. “So, take your top off and turn around. Please.”

You’re silent momentarily, staring at him and studying his face before a soft smile crosses your own. You feel a little foolish for assuming he was trying to get frisky with you when you’ve already made your fatigue as evident as you have. He’s too sweet for that.

With a soft nod and a quiet ‘alright,’ you sit forward and peel your tank top off over your head, setting it down on the empty space on the other side of you. After turning around so that your back faces him, you let your shoulders sag, the black strap of your t-shirt bra sliding down to hang loosely off the side of your arm.

A few short seconds pass, and then you feel Spencer’s nimble fingers brush your skin as he carefully pulls open the clasps of your bra, allowing the two halves to fall open. “This too,” he prompts softly, and you can hear the grin in his voice, making you grin too.

“After a day of saving lives, I think that’s all the excitement you need right now,” he mumbles, dipping his face to kiss the nape of your neck once. A shiver passes through you when his breath fans across your skin, and you smirk at his words.

“Right,” you huff through a giggle, shrugging your bra off, too, leaving it with your tank top. Spencer’s hands curve over your shoulders, beginning a tender yet firm petrissage with his fingers and thumbs. You already feel like you’re melting, his touch adding just the right amount of pressure to your taut muscles, the knots slowly ebbing away.

“Does that feel good, angel?” He asks, feeling you sag under his ministrations, and you merely hum in response while your mind floats away, carried along by this moment of comforting bliss. “You can take that bun out of your hair when I'm done,” he says, “if I’m right in thinking you have a headache, that thing definitely isn’t helping… restricting all that blood flow with how tight you’ve got it. Your scalp must be crying.”

His thoughtful ramblings bring you back to the present with a light laugh. His constant combining of practicalities with his loving gestures warms your heart in an almost sickeningly sweet way. His way of loving you is just so uniquely Spencer, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Whatever you say, Doctor Reid,” you eventually respond, and there’s a playful edge to your voice, to which he responds with an extra little squeeze of your shoulders.

A comfortable silence falls, and you enjoy your boyfriend’s skilled hands as they soothe away some of your aches, but he soon speaks again, sharing with you the plan he’s organised in his head for how the rest of the night will go.

“After this, you can grab a shower… and I’ll cook you up something tasty and filling. Rossi recently gave me another one of his ‘famous Rossi family recipes’–”

A snort forces its way out of your nose at that, Spencer joining in with a chuckle before carrying on as if the concept of him cooking something recommended by Rossi isn’t wholly amusing.

“Then we can get into bed, and… you can get a decent night’s sleep.”

“Sounds exciting,” you remark, but there isn’t an ounce of genuine snark in your tone. In fact, you’re feeling somewhat spoiled in being so well looked after like this, even if you won’t admit it aloud.

“I’d hardly call it ‘saving lives’,” you argue, too stubborn to take his compliment as it is.

“Well, too bad you’re wrong,” Spencer retorts, smiling against your neck where his lips are still pressed. “You’re my little life-saving angel.”

All you can do is grin in response, biting back another whimsical retaliation and instead settling with, "I guess we'll just have to agree to disagree."

"Fine by me. I know I'm right, anyway."

[starkeyvhs]

kill bill

PAIRING: rafe cameron x dark!fem!kook!reader

SUMMARY: your ex-boyfriend has a new girlfriend, so you take matters in your own hands.

WORD COUNT: ~6k

WARNINGS: MAJOR DARK CONTENT WARNING! DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT! murder; blood; gore; reader is extremely possessive over rafe, gaslights him, short tempered, toxic, selfish, gets jealous very easily, physically unable to grieve, very very sick and twisted; they have an extremely toxic relationship; mentions of two ocs; suggestive content (absolutely no smut), reader likes to mark rafe; consumption of alcohol, hardcore drugs and cigarettes; minimal usage of nicknames like babe and baby; reader often exercises her ownership over rafe vocally; rafe chokes reader (but not so much she passes out), locks her in a room; minimal swearing; like one mention of y/n (I tried to avoid it as much as I could); detailed descriptions of a funeral; grieving; I always beta read my fics but if you find any minor grammatical/spelling error please ignore :) + let me know if you think I missed anything (I crossed checked everything twice)

EDITH SPEAKS: I hardcore believe we need more sick and twisted reader instead of the usual sweetheart one (nothing wrong with that, btw!) because it’s so much fun writing a complex female character. I had the time of my life writing this, and I hope you love reading this too <3 please please heed all warnings, this fic is really really dark, and I wouldn’t want anyone to be triggered by the content in any way (the warnings are there for a reason!) please reblog if you liked reading this, and feedback is always appreciated 🥀 massive thank you to my baes raye and zya who heard my brainrot for this fic all the damn time <3 (I love having fic writers besties 🥰)

masterlist / join my taglist / requests / moodboard from my old blog

It’s dark.

For some reason, it feels darker than usual.

Maybe because it’s a new moon, the indigo sky is completely devoid of the pale moonlight, which is usually the source of light at night.

Or maybe, the reason for it feeling darker isn’t literal.

Maybe it’s metaphorical.

Your gaze drops down to your hand, your gloved fingertips digging into the engravings on the handle of the knife, the tips of the nails settling between the grooves. The tip of your index finger is trapped in a curvy groove, your finger repetitively moving up and down, up and down, up and down through the curve.

You take a step back, the sound of the rubble crunching under your feet with a certain wetness echoes in the dark alleyway.

With your free hand, you lift up the hem of your dress, revealing the cover of the knife strapped to your upper thigh by a garter. The length of the dress hides the garter at all times, keeping it completely out of view. You slowly slide the knife back into its covering, letting it still in place, and allowing the dress to cover your thigh back again.

Your gaze begins to trail along your arm, the streaks of blood staining your skin red, matching the deep red of your dress. You flex your fingers under the single streak of street light entering the alleyway, illuminating the dried blood rubbed on your fingertips and knuckles.

Slowly, you let your eyesight travel down more and more, until you’re looking down at your feet.

Your feet stand in a dark pool of blood, almost seeming black in the darkness of the eerie alleyway. With the way only a single street light is responsible for the only light source, it almost seems like a scene from a black and white horror movie.

The metallic smell of blood fills up your nostrils entirely as you take another step back, gently kicking the foot in your way to the side.

“Oh poor Amber…” You mumble softly, taking a step closer to her face and bending down to her level, watching her soulless eyes gazing up at the bricked wall behind you. Her soft, pearly white slip satin dress is flushed with a deep burgundy, the slit through which your knife pierced her porcelain like skin is wide and open, right above her chest.

Your gloved fingertips trail over her cheekbone, so pale and so cold, as you feel the lifelessness under your skin. It’s almost pitiful if you think about it: the way poor Amber could’ve avoided all of this only if she knew to keep her hands off what you own.

She wouldn’t have to experience such a horrible end to her life, stabbed in a hidden alleyway, her dainty arms spread on her sides, her lifeless fingers grasping onto the last bit of memories of his touches, only if she knew better than to attempt to exercise her ownership over something clearly taken by you.

Oh well, you slowly get up from your crouched position, sparing a last glance at her body lying in the pool of her own blood.

Maybe it feels darker than usual because your own hands picked up a knife and drove it straight through the girl’s heart.

Do you regret it?

Absolutely the fuck not.

And why would you, if it means you get to have Rafe Cameron back again?

⊹₊⋆.˚୨୧⋆.˚₊ ⊹

SEVEN MONTHS AGO

The strobe lights flash all around the otherwise dark party mansion, the bass of the loud music thumping in your eardrums. The party is as crowded as it can be, sweaty bodies rubbing up against each other tantalizingly on the dance floor, causing the all too familiar smell of sweat mixed in with weed, alcohol and what not to settle heavily in the building.

There’s so much happening around you, the dance floor if fully occupied, there’s a game of beer pong being played over-enthusiastically at one end, a corner table surrounded by mostly boys busy with their hardcore drugs at another end, the bar right behind you with all the alcohol you can ever need; yet your hardened gaze is fixed on Rafe, and the girl he’s having a conversation with a few feet away from you.

“I’ll be back in a moment, babe,” He had mumbled against your hair, giving your thigh a firm pat before leaving his place next to you at the bar counter. You were confused for a moment as to where he was going suddenly, but then you saw him approach a girl completely unknown to you, give her a hug and get involved in a conversation.

Now, over ten minutes have passed and he still hasn’t left her side. You can’t hear them talk due to the loud music, but you can watch them laugh, the conversation so engaging it’s like they both have forgotten a world outside them exists too.

Your hand resting on your thigh is beginning to press harder against your flesh, your fingers digging into your skin, causing a sharp pain to spread on your skin, but you do nothing to reduce it. Your jaw clenches tightly at the sight of Rafe and the girl, streaks of possessiveness flaring up in every nook and cranny of your soul.

But the moment the girl’s fingers reach out to nudge his arm, you know you have had more than enough.

In a swift movement, you get up from your occupied barstool and make your way over to Rafe.

As you approach Rafe, you reach your hand out for his arm, letting your fingers curl around his bicep to grab his attention. The girl talking to him suddenly stops speaking as she spots you right next to him, and the way your hand is around his arm, your fingers digging into his skin.

“Oh hey babe,” Rafe says, very discreetly trying to get you to loosen his grip on him by moving his arm subtly, but of course, you’re too busy glaring at the girl to even realize the borderline iron tight grip you have on his bicep.

Rafe senses the tension in you — it’s not hard to miss the way it’s oozing off you.

“Oh uh,” he clears his throat, gesturing to the girl. “This is Keely, she moved away two years ago but now she’s visiting the island for–”

“Yeah I don’t care,” you swiftly cut him off, giving his arm a sharp tug and dragging him away from Keely. Before Rafe can even say anything to Keely, you are tugging him away from the crowd, away from the party, leading him up the stairs of the party mansion.

“Where… babe what are you doing?” Rafe asks, his tone incredulous as he tries his best to pry your hands off his arm, but your grip only seems to be getting tighter by the second. He can catch a glimpse of his arm, and the way his skin has started to pinken under your bruising grip.

You don’t say anything, just lead him up the stairs silently. You reach the hallway on the second floor, and the first door you open is an empty bedroom. You push Rafe inside and close the door behind you two, locking it.

“Babe what are you–” Rafe tries to speak, but with another nudge to his shoulders the back of his legs stumble against the edge of the bed and he flops on his back onto the mattress.

You are quick to follow as you get on top of him and sit in his lap, straddling his waist. You look down at him, your palms laying flat against his chest.

Without any words, you dip down and capture his lips in a searing kiss, your lips moving with a fiery fervor against his. Rafe doesn’t even have a moment to process what’s going on, but his body naturally responds to you, his hands coming to grip onto your hips and squeezing them tightly.

“Fuck baby…” he murmurs hoarsely as your lips leave his to trail over his jawline and finding the side of his neck. A sharp gasp escapes his mouth as your teeth suddenly sink into his flesh, your tongue running over the mark to soothe the burning sensation.

Instinctively, Rafe’s grip tightens on your hips, his eyes squeezing close. Your movements are unrelentless, your teeth biting down into whatever patch of skin of his neck you can succumb onto, your tongue running over the marks, and your lips sucking on the skin.

“You’re mine you hear me?” Comes out your voice in a whisper against his skin as you begin to travel over to the other side of his neck, not stopping for even a second to give him a break.

“Yeah yeah I’m yours I’m–” another sharp gasp leaves his lips as your lips find a particularly sensitive spot on his neck right above his pulse point and suck on it. He can feel the bruises beginning to form, bruises so deep he knows they won’t fade soon.

He knows you like to leave marks on him. Since you and him started dating, he was often seen with a bruise or two on the side of his neck, or peeking from under the collar of his shirt on his collarbone. They were always small, and never too dark.

But today? Today he feels you aren’t doing to let a single inch of his skin bare from your marks.

One of your hands slips into his hair and you pull his head back, baring his slender throat to you. You lean down and press your lips to his throat, kissing and sucking on the skin the same way you did to the sides of his neck.

Rafe’s blunt fingertips begin to dig into your hips, his lips parted as heavy exhales escape him.

“Is… is this about Keely?” He breathes, feeling your fingers slightly tighten in his hair, causing him to let out a barely audible whine.

“What if it is?” You mumble against his skin, biting down on his throat which elicits a sharp gasp from him. He writhes a little under you, as if trying to escape you, but you let your full weight fall on Rafe’s waist, making it impossible for him to move.

“Baby she’s…” he pants. “She’s just an old friend… nothing else…”

Your hand on his chest reaches for the top button of his shirt and your fingers pop it open, revealing more skin to you. Your mouth is quick to follow suit, your lips attacking the newly visible skin.

“She needs to know you’re mine,” you mutter against his skin, your voice lowering an octave. “Who the fuck–” you bite down on the skin right under the hollow of his throat, emphasizing your words, causing Rafe’s upper body to buck up involuntarily, “–does she think she is huh? Touching my man that way?”

“T…touching…?” Rafe breathes. “She didn’t… she never touched me–”

“She did,” Your voice is sharp, leaving no room for any argument. Your mouth goes back to its work, your fingers popping the second button open to bare you more skin of his to mark.

“You’re mine, Rafe,” you mutter against his skin, “always.”

Rafe’s breathing speeds up more — if that’s even possible, as he feels the next buttons of his shirt getting unbuttoned too.

“Say it,” comes out your voice, sharp and low. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m–” he breathes, “I’m all yours baby, all yours… always and forever…”

You let your lips curl up into a faint smirk, the movements of your mouth slightly slowing down as you only kiss along the skin of his chest. At the slowing of your pace, Rafe’s fingers begin to loosen their grip on your hips, his short bursts of breathing slowly coming under control.

You slowly lift your head up and sit up in his lap, your fingers slipping out of his hair. You gently trace your fingertips over the sides of his neck, feeling the red, swollen bruises forming on his skin, which you know will only become more pronounced as the time passes. Your fingertips trail down to his chest, feeling the indents in his skin from the bruises and the bite marks. Something about feeling the bruises on his neck and not just seeing them begins to calm down the stoking fire of possessiveness on you.

It’s like you’ve branded him as yours.

“You look so perfect like this baby…” You coo softly, the gentle tracing of your fingertips a sharp contrast to just a few seconds ago when your teeth were on the verge of breaking through his skin. “So beautiful, so perfect, so mine…”

Rafe watches you through half hooded eyes, his breath only beginning to come under his control. He can feel his chest heaving from his heavy breathing and your touch over it, a sharp tingling sensation spreading over his skin wherever your mouth had been.

He can see it; the look of satisfaction in your eyes as if you’ve won a big prize. Your eyes rake over him, taking in all the bruises that stand out against his light skin.

“This… this should be enough to show her that you aren’t up for grabs,” you mumble to yourself quietly, still tracing over the marks and bruises over him.

Rafe shudders under the feeling of your fingertips tracing over his bruises, the skin reddened and getting more and more sensitive with each touch and nip of the air.

“You haven’t got anything to worry about baby…” he says slowly, almost cautiously. “I belong to you, forever,”

Your piercing eyes find his, the eye contact so strong it sends a chill down his spine.

“Yeah, yeah you are,” you mumble softly, before leaning down to let your lips connect to his skin again.

⊹₊⋆.˚୨୧⋆.˚₊ ⊹

FIVE MONTHS AGO

Rafe stands next to the dining table with Wheezie and Sarah as Ward and Rose greet their guests for the night, their noises of greetings and laughter floating over to the three siblings in the dining room. The noise of their chatter only increases as the group approaches the dining table, spotting the three Cameron kids waiting for them.

Next to Ward and Rose are Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence, with their daughter Amber. Ward and Mr. Lawrence are the bestest of friends; business wise and casual wise. Their businesses work hand in hand, and their families meet often for dinners and night outs.

Rose politely guides everyone to the dining table and everyone takes a seat, Amber’s seat being right next to Rafe’s.

“Hey Rafe,” she smiles, adjusting in her seat as she takes her purse off and hangs it on the back of her chair.

“Hey,” he says back, his voice quiet as he watches the food being served on the table.

He can feel Amber’s gaze on him; he has always had a hunch that she likes him with the way she looks away with a subtle blush on her cheeks when he catches her staring. Or with how she’s always talking so sweetly to him.

Or maybe his hunch is wrong.

Just like he’s the Kook prince, she’s the Kook princess. She’s known for being an absolute sweetheart, kind to anyone and everyone she meets. Even though she already has millions attached to her name, she’s volunteering at elderly homes, soup kitchens, beach clean ups and what not. She donates to charities whenever she can, and always sponsored them back in their days at the Kook Academy.

Rafe is quiet as the food is served, his plate kept in front of him. Everyone on the table is immersed in chatter, Amber distracted by Sarah and Wheezie, but he’s silent.

He takes small bites of the chicken he’s served, nibbling on the end of his fork as his mind goes to you, and the horrible, horrible fight you both had.

“It’s getting out of hand, y/n! You’re always on my heels, never letting me breathe!” Rafe snaps, trying to create as much distance between you and him.

Your eyes widen, an almost crazy look in them as you walk closer to him. “‘never letting me breathe’ is that so? I care about you Rafe! I love you!” You retort, attempting to reach out for his hand but he pulls back before you can touch him in any sort of way.

Your touch doesn’t feel loving, it feels like a burn to his skin.

“If you loved me, you would believe me that I was out with my friends, not with some girls! You think any girl will approach me when I’ve got these–” he frantically gestures to the marks all over his neck, “–all over my neck? Huh?”

“I leave those marks cause you’re mine!” Your voice comes out as strong, sharp yells now, echoing in the hallway of your house.

“Stop- stop saying that shit! I’m not yours! I don’t want to be yours anymore! You don’t fucking own me!” Rafe spits.

Now, he shouldn’t have said that.

You take another step closer to him, causing his back to hit against a door of a room in the hallway, completely caged by the door behind him and you in front of him.

He can see the look on your face, the way your eye is almost twitching, the way you let out soft pants; he has pissed you off.

“Yes I do,” your voice comes out low, and cold. “Yes, I own you, always and forever.”

“No you don’t!” Rafe snaps back. One of his hands reaches back for the door knob, his fingers curling around the cool metal. “I’m done with this shit! I’m done with you!”

You inch even closer to him, your chest almost touching his, leaving barely any space between you two.

“You think you can let me go this easily, huh?” You sneer, looking him dead in the eye.

Rafe’s hand on the door knob only tightens further, his knuckles almost turning white in the process. He’s done with this, he’s done being controlled by you, done letting you exercise ownership over him, and he’s done being in this loveless relationship.

In a swift movement, Rafe’s free hand comes to wrap around your throat, causing your eyes to widen and your lips to part, a choked gasp escaping you. Your hands reach for his fingers gripping your throat so harshly, feebly attempting to pry his fingers off. But his hold is strong, so strong.

You feel the amount of air in your lungs lessening with each passing second, your movements becoming weaker as the moments pass. You try to speak, anything, try to kick him off, but your body is just getting weaker.

Your tear rimmed eyes meet Rafe’s, whose own cheeks begin to streak with the tears that start to fall down. They aren’t tears of sadness, they’re tears of frustration, because he’s done with this shit.

“I’m done with you, you hear me?” He mutters through his tears, his voice frustrated and shaky. “Done with this entire thing.”

You try to fight back, to argue, to do anything, but nothing works. Rafe’s hand on the door knob pulls the knob down, opening the door. It reveals the store room, and in a single movement, he pushes you inside, a choked gasp leaving you, and he quickly shuts the door and turns the lock.

“Open the fucking door!” Come out your muffled yells from inside, and he can hear you sputtering, trying to catch your breath after being at a loss of it for the past minute.

Your hands bang against the wooden door, the sound loud in the empty hallway.

Rafe steps back from the door, hearing the loud banging on the door, the sound thumping in his ears along with his loud heartbeat.

For a moment, it seems like everything goes silent except the loud banging in his ear, pulsating throughout every nerve in his brain.

This is the first time he ever did anything to defy you, defy your so-called “love” for him.

And god, does he feel… good. Strong. He never knew he would be able to stand up against you. But now, he has you locked in the store room of your own home.

It feels exhilarating.

“Open the fucking door Rafe!” Your voice comes from inside the store room again, zapping Rafe out of his thoughts. He swallows harshly, his arms frozen on his sides as he slowly takes another step back.

With the way you’re banging at the door and are yelling, he can tell you’re getting impatient.

But he’s not going to do anything about it.

He’s done getting pushed around by you.

Taking another step back, he begins to back out of the hallway, ignoring your constant muffled yelling and banging at the door. He can hear you rattling the lock, desperately trying to escape the store room.

He tries his best to push away the sounds of you and your attempts to escape out of his mind as he takes shaky steps back from the hallway, slowly and slowly inching away from you. He takes a deep breath, and finally, turns around, his back to the store room, and he makes his way out of the hallway, approaching the main door of your home.

Without thinking twice, he opens the door and steps out, letting the door slam shut behind him, his mind pushing away the distant voice of yours yelling at him to open the door.

“Rafe? Rafe are you okay?”

Rafe snaps out of his thoughts and looks up from his plate to his side, seeing Amber gently shaking his shoulder. He looks back down to his plate and see he barely ate any of it, just nibbled on the piece of chicken, the veggies lying untouched.

“Uh,” he clears his throat, gently moving his shoulder which causes Amber’s hand to fall back to her side. “Yeah yeah I’m good uh… excuse me,” he politely excuses himself and gets up from his chair, leaving the dining table. Sarah and Wheezie glance at him with concern, but Rose and Ward don’t really seem to give this matter much light.

Amber watches Rafe leave the dining room, adjusting his turtle neck once as he makes his way out to the balcony, closing the wooden door behind himself.

Her eyes remain fixed on the path which Rafe had just followed, every cell of her body itching to follow him.

Just a few seconds later, she excuses herself from the table too and makes her way to the closed door of the balcony.

As the door opens and she steps out, Rafe diverts his attention to the door, a cigarette smoking away in his hand.

“Hey,” Amber says softly, giving him a gentle smile as she lets the door knob slip from her hand, the door closing with a gentle click. She makes her way over to Rafe, standing next to him in front of the balcony railing, her eyes fixing on the cigarette slotted between his fingers.

“Hey,” Rafe says back looking back out at the view from the balcony. His free hand comes to sneak under the turtle neck, scratching the side of his neck. “God this is itchy,” he mumbles under his breath, slightly frustrated.

“It’s too hot for a turtle neck anyway,” Amber says, her brows furrowed. “It must be irritating your skin,”

“Yeah,” Rafe mutters, taking a deep drag of his cigarette and letting out a plume of smoke. He knows better than to take the turtle neck off though, the thought of revealing the dark bruises left by you causes a small shudder to go down his spine — knowing Amber will be extremely concerned and will press on the matter.

Even then, his fingers reach out to itch under the turtle neck again, the material really irritating his skin. He pushes the fabric aside to grant him more skin to itch, but just as he does that, Amber catches the sight of the bruises marked on his skin; and these ones just so happen to be the darkest ones he has.

“Oh my god,” her soft voice comes out laced with concern as she steps closer to him, her fingers wanting to reach out to soothe his skin with her gentle touch. “What happened are you okay? That looks really bad,”

Rafe looks down at her, her frame almost comically smaller than his. He can see the concern etched on her face, her eyebrows furrowed and her lips downturned in a frown.

“I’m… I’m fine,” he mutters, focusing back out at the view from the balcony, taking another hit of his cigarette.

“Are you sure? Cause that looks really bad Rafe,” she murmurs, gently placing a hand on his arm, looking up at him.

The moment she touches her arm, he tenses for a fraction of second, but then immediately relaxes. There is something about her touch that you don’t have; that tenderness and the warmth that has always been missing from your touch. And her voice, it’s gentle. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard you talk to him in such a gentle voice.

“Did someone beat you up?” She asks, her voice soft.

Beat him up? Oh, he wishes.

His mind goes back to you, the way he locked you in the store room. He knows there’s a window in the room, and knowing you, he also knows you definitely escaped from that window.

“No, someone didn’t beat me up,” He says back, his voice losing any edge it may have, taking a completely tender tone. There’s something so soothing about the way she’s talking to him, and it just makes him want to open up to him about anything and everything.

“Someone didn’t beat you up? Then how did you get them?” She asks. God, he thinks. Her concern, her gentleness, her touch… He’s losing himself in it, a little too quickly.

Maybe it’s because he’s been deprived of this gentleness for way too long.

“You won’t believe me if I told you the answer,” he says, his gaze looking down at her to meet her eyes.

“You’re concerning me Rafe, really,” she mutters, her fingers still wrapped around his arm. And Rafe doesn’t want her to let go.

He takes another drag of the cigarette, letting the smoke roll off his lips.

“It’s my girlfriend– but, but I ended things with her today,” he mutters.

He gauges her reaction; her widened eyes, her lips parting twice to say something but no words coming out.

She knows about his girlfriend, well, everyone does, but he didn’t know about this.

“She did this to you?” Amber mutters incredulously. “That’s… that’s kind of crazy,”

“Kind of?” Rafe says amusedly. “It’s very crazy. I was…” he takes a deep breath, looking up from her and back out at the scenery. “I was suffocated with her. I was never able to express myself. She was extremely possessive, always wanting to… mark me as hers a certain way. It was hard to leave her but I did it, I finally did it today,”

Amber’s facial expressions contort to one of slightly relaxed, though the concern is still evident.

“Wow,” she mutters. “I’m very glad you were able to break things off with her, you don’t deserve to be treated this way Rafe, no one does,”

He turns back down to look at her, his eyes sinking into hers. They’re so warm and beautiful, a kind blue just like his. There’s gentleness in her words and the way she’s still holding onto his arm.

“Thank you,” he mumbles, “that… that means a lot to me you know? I’m… I’m just glad I was able to escape her,”

“Yeah,” she says softly, her fingers rubbing small circles on his forearm. It seems more or less like an instinctive movement, as if this is how she always likes to soothe someone.

And damn, is he starved for some gentle loving just like this.

A silence falls over them, Rafe’s eyes not flickering away from hers. She’s looking up at him, her doe eyes wide but extremely comforting, her gentle rubbing on his arm relaxing him to an infinite extent.

As if a gravitation pull exerts it’s force on him, he finds himself leaning closer to her, his eyes now training down over her lips. They’re so soft looking, so full, and he has a very strong urge to taste them.

Amber doesn’t pull back, she’s watching him lean closer, her own body reacting and leaning closer to him. Midway, Rafe’s lips are just a hair’s breadth from hers, and he takes the leap, pressing his lips to hers.

For a moment, no one moves, their lips joined in a gentle press. But then, Amber takes the initiative, gently moving her lips against his.

Rafe responds, his hand which isn’t holding the cigarette coming to gently cup her cheek, his thumb stroking the skin. Her hands reach up to wrap around his neck, the kiss soft, slow and incredibly tender.

Rafe gently pulls back, creating just the slightest distance between him and her. He rests his forehead against hers, his eyes closed as he soaks in the moment.

No words are exchanged between them, but he knows they both feel a mutual understanding.

⊹₊⋆.˚୨୧⋆.˚₊ ⊹

PRESENT

The rain begins to pour down harder, the drops of water on the grassy lawn gleaming under the occasional strike of lightning. Black umbrellas matching the black outfits are put up by almost everyone, covering everyone’s head by the shelter.

Except one.

Rafe is on his knees right next to the coffin, his fingers gripping the edge of it so tightly his knuckles are beginning to turn white. His head bows down to rest on the edge in between his hands, quiet sobs erupting out of his throat. The raindrops trail over his clothes, making him sopping wet, but he doesn’t care – even when he’s been politely asked to get under an umbrella to cover himself.

Everyone knew well about Rafe’s and Amber’s relationship. God, they loved them. Rafe, the Kook prince, and Amber, the Kook princess. Their fathers; bestest of friends. It’s like people could imagine them getting married even when they weren’t of age. The children of the most powerful men of Outer Banks were meant to take over the island together.

But the dreams were shattered like frail glass when Amber’s death was announced. And it wasn’t some untimely death — it was a murder. A clear gash was present at her chest right where she was stabbed.

Police investigations were started, Rafe paid an incessant amount of money to get the best of detectives on the case, but the murderer was good.

Too damn good.

The murderer didn’t leave a single trace of their presence. They were sharp and quick. It was just a flash of lightning, and the knife was driven in Amber’s chest, and she was declared dead.

The investigations started months ago, and even now, any path they take to find out about the murderer is a dead end.

Almost the entire Figure 8 is invited to the funeral; including you.

You stand at the very end of the crowd, black clothes on your body and a black umbrella over your head, protecting you from the rain.

Your eyes scan over the procession, watching the funeral ceremony taking place in the burial ground where Amber’s coffin is meant to be buried. You can hear the quiet sobs from the front, from Amber’s family, her siblings and cousins, her friends, and from Rafe.

Your gaze zeroes on him as a man begins to gently pull Rafe up from his knees and to get him away from the coffin, because it’s time to take the coffin away for the burial. You see Rafe protesting, his hands reaching out to catch a glimpse of Amber; it doesn’t matter if it’s her coffin. He just wants to feel her, one last time, before she leaves his life completely.

His sobs get louder, dry screams erupting from his throat as the coffin gets carried away. Amber’s mother carefully approaches him and takes him in her arms, her own eyes squeezed tightly shut as tears stream down her cheeks.

As time passes, everyone begins to disperse the burial ground, even Amber’s family, except for Rafe. Her family gently pleads with him to leave too, but he refuses. ‘Just five more minutes’ is what he mumbles in his voice hoarse from all his sobbing to Amber’s mother, who squeezes his hand in return and lets him stay.

And now, everyone has left, but you’re still standing in the same position, watching Rafe, who’s sitting on the wet grass, the rain which is now reduced to a drizzle still showering over him.

You carefully make your way over to him and get down on your knees next to him, letting your umbrella cover him too.

He looks up when he realizes he’s not feeling the raindrops fall on him anymore, his teary eyes finding yours. Completely drowned in the whirlpool of his emotions, he didn’t realize you are still there.

It’s silent for a few moments as Rafe sits with him hugging his knees close to his chest, his head resting on them. You sit next to him, making sure to keep him protected from the rain.

“Rafe…” you murmur after a few more moments of utter silence pass over you both. You gently place a hand on his shoulder, and he looks up at you — his bloodshot eyes drooping from tiredness.

Another moment of silence passes by, the space around you filled only with the sound of the raindrops pattering on your umbrella. The rain seems to slow down even more, the gloomy clouds beginning to light up.

You can see Rafe’s facade beginning to crumble, his need to be comforted washing over the need to be alone and away from you, and ever so slowly, he leans closer to you, resting his head on your shoulder.

You let your free arm quickly wrap around his shoulders and you pull him closer, your hand rubbing over his back.

The sobs he had started to bury inside himself start sputtering out, his body squeezing closer to you, every fiber of his being craving comfort as he buries his face in his neck and lets himself go, his tears falling against the skin of your neck.

“Shhh Rafe you’re okay, I’m here, I’m here for you,” you mumble softly in his ear. His hands come to wrap around your frame tightly, as if you’re the only thing keeping him tethered to this world.

You finally have him in your arms again, the only arms he should ever be in, the only arms that should be comforting him, the only arms that should ever hold him.

You lean down and press a soft kiss to his forehead to comfort him more as you repeat soft words to soothe him as much as you can. When Rafe makes no move to pull himself away from you, you slightly tighten your hold around his shoulders and pull him closer to you.

You let him hold you however he desires, and cry how much he wants.

As you keep on rubbing your hand over his back to soothe him, your gaze looks out at the stretch of the burial ground, your eyes following the path along which Amber’s coffin was carried.

You take in a deep breath, closing your eyes for a moment as you let the reality of the situation settle in you.

Amber’s out of Rafe’s life, and he is back where he belongs.

A small satisfied smile quirks the corners of your lips all the while Rafe’s face remains tucked in the crook of your neck, his hands holding onto you as if you’re his last lifeline.

Game over, Amber.

⊹₊⋆.˚୨୧⋆.˚₊ ⊹

taglist: @oxpogues4lifexo / @rafedrewandjjs

specific tags for this fic: @ietss / @mileyraes / @ilyrafe / @runningfrom2am / @congratsloserr

@ladyinbl00d / @zyafics / @karmasloverrr / @rafesgiirl

[toomuchracket]

fourth of july (politician!matty x reader smut)

another summer75 fic. warnings for shibari (light) and breeding kink (HEAVY). bon appetit <3

“you're sure you don't need anything else, ma'am?”

“thanks, claudia, but we're all good,” you smile at your assistant, her eyes flitting between the windows (and the party on the lawn outside) and you. “it's been a busy morning - i think you should go and relax, do some celebrating of your own, yeah?”

her eyes light up. “really?”

you laugh. “of course. just, piece of advice? don't drink anything anyone tries to serve you from a fishbowl tonight,” you grimace, shaking your head. “too many 5th of julys have been ruined for me that way. and for the president, actually, he was so much worse than i was at parties. stupid boy.”

claudia giggles. “noted, ma'am. i'll be sure to have a glass of water after every drink, too.”

“smart girl. well, i'll leave you to it,” you stretch, moving to close the door to the presidential living quarters. “have a good weekend!”

“and you, ma'am!”

closing the door behind you, you wander through towards your bedroom. aside from the sound of your husband humming to himself in there, the place is quiet, only the two of you around.

just how you like it.

you smile as you enter your bedroom, ogling matty as he pulls his shirt over his head. his hands move to his belt, but he stops his undressing in favour of walking towards you with love in his eyes and a grin on his lips; you pretend to sulk, but open your arms anyway. “damn, i was enjoying the show.”

“of course you were,” matty kisses your forehead, pulling back to arm's length to look at you. “i don't look half as good as you do, though. i love that dress, baby.”

“i thought it was pretty,” you clasp your hands behind matty's neck, and his find home on your hips. “it's really uncomfortable, though.”

it's a blatant lie, and you're sure you aren't being very subtle, but matty has the good grace to play along anyway. “is that right, my love?” he coos, hands moving across your back to undo the halter neck “well, we'd better take it off, then.”

“fabulous idea, mr. president,” you snuggle into him, sighing when the fabric of your dress falls to the ground and your bare chests press together. matty's arms wrap tightly around you, and the feeling of home washes over you. the two of you hug in comfortable silence for a second, your fingers gently twisting into your husband's curls, before you speak softly. “m'really proud of you, you know. it was a good morning. and i know you were reluctant to host anything today, but… i'm glad you did. it was fun.”

matty huffs out a laugh into your hair. “was only reluctant because it cut short our usual long weekend plans. and you know how much i love those.”

his hands travel towards your ass, sliding under the waistband of your thong to squeeze it; you giggle softly in response, pressing a long kiss to your husband's neck and enjoying the moan he lets out. “sometimes i wonder if you'll ever get bored of driving to the cabin whenever we get a few days off.”

“if we ever get rid of the shibari rigging hooks, i might.”

“as if we'd do that. be serious, please, matthew.”

matty laughs, scooping you up and dropping you onto the bed. “i love you, my perfect little rope bunny. and wife, obvs.”

“love you too. i also love that you've got your priorities straight,” you bite your lip as you watch matty undo his trousers, leaning up to kiss him messily as he crawls up to hover over you. it's a good kiss, sloppy and passionate, one that goes straight to your underwear and prevents your brain from thinking about anything other than matty inside you. “fuck, baby. tie me up now, please? we still have,” you glance at the alarm clock on the bedside table. “two hours before we need to start driving. pleeeeeeease?”

matty simply raises a brow.

you pout, batting your lashes. “come on, baby, please? just a little design? a little preview for the rest of the weekend?” you wrap your legs around his waist, smiling prettily the way you've done to get whatever you want from matty since you were twenty-two. “because you love me?”

at that, your husband sighs, nodding and trying to keep the smile from his face. sap. “legs only, alright? just because i love you.”

“mhmm,” you take his face in your hands and pull him in for a kiss, smiling at the way he melts against you. “thank you, my love.”

“sweet girl,” matty strokes your cheek, before moving off you and reaching to pull a box from under the bed; inside, you see pink rope neatly arranged in loops of figure eights. your heart leaps and core gushes at the sight, but matty makes a face at it. “not very patriotic colour-wise, is it?”

“pretty sure the amount of time i'm gonna spend on my knees worshipping you this weekend will make up for that, mr. president.”

“fuck. underwear off, now,” your husband quickly takes two separate loops of rope from the box, twisting them into position while you shimmy your thong and lie down, practically vibrating with happy anticipation. “and speaking of knees - bend them for me, darling, that's it. tell me if it's too uncomfortable, yeah?”

“i will.”

“good girl.”

with that, he begins to loop the rope around your left thigh and shin, securing them together with an intricate pattern you hope to god will leave a mark on your skin. you can't remember whether it was you or matty who first suggested trying shibari a decade or so ago, but you both took to it with enthusiasm - since then, every extended private moment you've had together has involved some sort of artistic bondage, exploring new designs and positions and making each other feel good. the rope took a bit of getting used to, initially, but now you love the feeling of it against your bare skin; it's a reminder that, for at least the next few hours in your busy lives, it's just you and matty, alone together, getting to love and appreciate and care for each other at the most primal, most intimate level.

once he's done, matty taps your bound knee. he moves back, smiling at his handiwork. “that feel alright, gorgeous?”

“yeah. thank you, angel.”

he blushes, and your heart flutters. “you're welcome, my darling. gonna do the other one now, yeah?”

“go ahead.”

the two of you settle back into comfortable silence, matty continuing his work while you smile at the way his tongue pokes out of his lips in concentration, one of the things that first endeared him to you when you met at law school. suddenly, those lips part as he speaks. “isn't it funny how many people just, like, handed their babies to us at the garden party this morning?”

your brow furrows slightly. interesting topic of conversation. “happens to me quite a lot, to be honest.”

“yeah, i've noticed. s'happened eighteen times to you in the past week alone.”

your brow furrows further. “you've been counting?”

matty's cheeks go pink again. “well… not deliberately, darling, i just,” he sighs, finishing off the shibari and sitting back on his heels to look at you sheepishly. “i can't help but notice when you're interacting with babies at the minute. like, i really can't.”

oh. how interesting. and, if you're honest, not entirely unwelcome. you smile. “you think it's time?”

his eyes widen. “for… for us to-?” he clears his throat. “for us to… have a baby of our own?”

“yeah, sweetheart,” you reach up to caress his face, smiling softly at the way matty leans into your hand. “do you think now’s the time?”

“well… yeah.”

you smirk, removing your hand from your husband's face so you can use it to pull your bent legs open as wide as possible and expose your glistening cunt. “let's make a baby, then.”

matty blinks. suddenly, your instructions seem to sink in, and he follows, not even bothering to take his boxers off fully before sliding through your wetness and pushing inside you; his lips meet yours as he bottoms out, the two of you sighing into each other's mouths.

home at last.

for a moment, there's nothing but the two of you kissing like teenagers, passionate and messy and desperate, matty throbbing inside you in the most delicious way, and then he moves, pulls his hips back and snaps them forward again, over and over and over, drawing soft moans from your lips every time he slides in. a huge part of the reason matty was elected, everyone says, is because he does everything with focus and conviction - the way he fucks is no different.

he pulls back from your lips, resting your foreheads together in the most tender way and sliding his hands over yours against the pillow; when you intertwine your fingers, he smiles. “sweet girl, taking me so fucking well.”

“your sweet girl.”

“that's right. my girl, all mine,” matty beams. something about the ownership reminder spurs him on, makes him thrust faster and harder and deeper into you. you whimper his name, and he kisses your nose. “what is it, darling? need me to fill you up, is that it? put my baby in you and let everyone know you're mine?”

the words go straight to your cunt, brain too hazy with pleasure to properly take them in. “please.”

“cum for me first, sweetheart, and i will,” he coos, stroking your face and dropping a sweet kiss onto your nose. “touch that pretty clit for me, yeah? and then i'll fill up that needy little pussy of yours. promise.”

“okay,” you exhale, hand sliding down your sweat-shiny chest and between your legs, circling your aching clit the way you know matty would. ecstasy shoots through your body the instant you touch the bundle of nerves, causing you to whine and clench around your husband's dick - which in turn makes him whine - but, somehow, it isn't enough. “matty,” you croak out, blinking up at him. “need you to talk to me. please.”

“oh, my darling,” matty grins, not unkindly. “need me to tell you how good you feel, how much i love how fucking tight your cunt is? even after all this time, after all the pounding i've given you, she's still clenching around me like a fucking vice. could stay inside you forever, you know. wanna do that. i think you want me to, as well, don't you, gorgeous? feels like it, anyway.”

the pleasure's practically blinding you at this point, tightening your muscles and clouding your mind - all you can do is frantically rub your clit, and whimper. “yeah, yeah, want you in me all the time.”

“needy girl,” matty's lips crash onto yours, tongue licking into your mouth before he murmurs against you. “can't fucking wait to fill you up properly, sweetheart. please tell me you're close.”

“i am, oh shit, i am!” you aren't lying, either - your legs are quivering as much as they can within the rope, and the pressure building in your lower stomach feels like it's about to reach breaking point. you're vaguely aware of tears streaming down your face and pooling on your chest, but all you can focus on right now is matty. “gonna cum, please, please let me cum.”

your husband leans forward, cock driving impossibly deep and lips ghosting over your ear. “do it, my darling. cum for me, let me give you a baby. our baby.”

and that's all it takes.

you cling to matty like a liferaft as your orgasm hits, although the more accurate nautical metaphor would be to liken him to an anchor; without him above you, hands digging into the flesh of your legs almost as much as the rope, you're certain you'd float away, buoyant from sheer fucking ecstasy. he cums with a guttural moan of your name as you clench around him, kissing you deeply as his thrusts get more and more shallow, and you don't think you've ever been more full, metaphorically (of love) and literally (of cum, crass as it sounds). once he's done, your husband nuzzles into the crook of your neck, both of you sweaty and breathing heavily.

for a few blissful minutes, you stay like that, weaving a hand into matty's messy curls and scratching his scalp while you exchange murmured “i love you”s. your eyes flick sideways to the alarm clock, and you tap his shoulder in a feeble attempt to get him to move. “sweetheart, we need to get cleaned up before we leave.”

“just give it another minute or two, darling,” matty mumbles into your skin; he pulls himself up just enough to kiss you, looking adoringly into your eyes. “have to make sure the baby sticks, after all.”

you giggle, stroking his flushed face with your thumb. “we'll miss seeing the fireworks from the cabin if we don't get a move on, though.”

“trust me, my love, you'll get your fireworks this weekend no matter when we leave.”

“whatever you say, mr. president.”

[gyukive]

hot damn (f):: mina ashido x male!reader

word count :: 1,024

mina ashido was never one to back down from a challenge, and this time was no different. or so she thought. this challenge was much different than any one she faced. confessing to her crush. [name] was the most attractive boy in class 1-a, at least to her. nobody compared to his looks or personality. 

the first time she ever saw him, the only thing that she could think was 'hot damn' as she looked him up and down multiple times. it had been a while since that day. they were now settled into their dorms, and the pink girl would find any excuse she could to be in his presence. 

movie night, game night, study sessions with the rest of their friend group, you name it, she's done it. but she was tired of the group hangouts. she wanted to finally be alone with him, she just didn't know how to go about it. just walk up to him and go 'hey, i wanna be alone with you because every time i see you my heart drops to my ass.' yea right.

this brings her to today, the group of friends were in the common room, mario kart on the tv as denki and jirou yelled at one another, their overly competitive spirits taking over as the rest of the group watched the close match. 

[name] was sitting next to mina, and they were so close she could feel the warmth radiating off of him, and the skin of his arms brushing against her own. it took everything in her to supress a shiver that wanted to rip through her body, mentally screaming at her nerves to calm the fuck down.

"you good, pinky?" a voice whispered right next to her ear, and she knew that voice. it was the same voice that made her ears burn and heart beat a little faster each time she heard it. 

"yeah, just a little hot." she managed to respond, looking up at the boy next to her, his [e/c] eyes already on her, concern evident in them. he studied her for a second, before looking at the people around them, slipping out of the room and returning a second later with a cold bottle of water, handing it to the pink girl silently.

she mumbled out a thanks, twisting the lid off and taking a big drink, not noticing the way the boy watched her every move, a small smile adorning his features. he would be lying if he said he didn't feel anything for the girl sitting next to him. 

he wasn't afraid to admit his feelings for her, they were obvious to him from the beginning. he enjoyed her presence, laughed at her jokes, enjoyed her reactions to his teasing, and most of all he liked her smile. it filled him with warmth he didn't even know was possible.

the rest of the group decided to take a break from the games they were playing, because after is tenth loss of the night denki got pouty and was sitting in the corner sulking. kirishima wasted no time in teasing the boy, wrapping an arm around his shoulder that got pushed off playfully. 

[name] took this as his opprotunty to have a second alone with mina. he gently grabbed her hand and snuck away from their friends and outside without being noticed. the night air was cool against their skin, but neither of them minded as they sat on the bench in front of the dorms in silence.

"mina." [name] spoke, his voice clear in the night air, causing said girl to look up at him with curious eyes.

"yeah, what's up?" she responded, waiting to hear what they male had to say.

"i like you. i have since the first day of school. i find everything you do to either be super cute or cool, and i think that's what drew me to you. especially when you laugh at something the guys say, or when you get super excited about something." the boy speaks, not looking at her as the words left his lips and lingered in the air. 

"i-you-what?!" she sputters out, looking at him with wide eyes. she could hardly believe what she was hearing. the boy that she was head over heels for felt the same way? she took a second to process everything. once it hit that this was real she all but screamed, wrapping her arms around the boy. 

slightly surprised, [name] hugged her back, a laugh leaving him as he held her tighter. his hand came up to rest on the back of her head as she snuggled into his shoulder. they stayed like that for a minute or so before the girl jolted back.

"wait, so this means this whole time you've liked me back?! and here i was overthinking everything." she says, lightly slapping the shoulder she was just resting on making the male laugh even harder.

"awe, i made you overthink things?" he teased, making the girl flush, slapping his shoulder harder this time.

"s-shut up!" was all the girl could think of saying.

"make me then-" the boy's words were cut off by a pair of lips on his. he relaxed into the kiss, bringing a hand to cup the girl's warm cheek, kissing her back tenderly. letting the action say all the words neither of them could speak. 

the two were interrupted with cheers and laughter coming from their friends, and mina could swear she heard sobbing coming from one of the boys, most likely denki. the two pulled apart, looking at the group who stood at the stairs with goofy smiles on their faces. 

"about damn time." bakugo, the only one who didn't wear a smile said, hands stuffed deep in his pockets as he looked at the pair. although he would never admit it out loud, the blond was happy for his friends, glad that they had one another.

mina and [name] eventually made their way back inside, settling onto the couch once again, though this time mina was in the boy's arms, her head resting on his chest, pink fingers playing with the ones draped around her waist.

[kayleighwinchester]

So, I've really been debating how I want to post my fics, if I wanted to start posting them at all. Kayleigh's been my brain-child for 12 years now - since I was 14! - and the idea of putting her out there is much scarier to me as an adult than it was as a high-schooler. Much love to @zepskies for encouraging me to post some of the less episode-centric bits as one-shots; I don't think anything would ever end up posted otherwise! (And a big shout out to the Pond for the prompts that finally got me to write something substantial again!)

This is the first of (hopefully) many smaller snippets. I'm hoping to get more of the important bits posted soon, and those will have a lot more context for what you see in these! So, here we go: ya'll's first glimpse into my favorite dumpster-fire of a ship! These will be tagged by season.

Dean’s got a stupid grin on his face a mile wide as the familiar chords began to play over the Impala’s speakers - it’s blatantly clear exactly how hard he’s trying not to look at Kayleigh’s face as Night Moves begins to play - and, more importantly, as he leans over to turn the volume dial higher, higher, higher still. Kayleigh leans forward from the backseat, arms crossing over the back of the front seat, her chin against the vinyl beside Sam’s head. “Is it still murder if I give him a heads up?” She stage-whispers to the younger Winchester brother, her own eyes cutting to Dean as she speaks. His grin only widens, his fingers tapping on the steering wheel.

“That’s called a threat, Kay.” Sam informs her, hardly glancing up from his book, but there’s a grin beginning to tug at his lips, too - he glances briefly to Kayleigh, and then to Dean, as Kayleigh hisses out a soft, playfully disappointed ‘damn’. 

“Oh, come on, Leigh, you know you love this song.” Dean taunts, leaning over just slightly to be that little bit closer to her, their heads nearly touching - his eyes remain on the road, but flit to hers now and again. He has to speak up a bit to be heard over the radio, but even so, Sam’s snort of amusement is still audible as the younger of the three shifts to lean against the door, putting a bit of space between himself and the elder two. Even after just over a decade of watching their on-again-off-again romance, it felt just a little like intruding on something private, something secret; but maybe that was just that residual instinct - that unspoken rule from high school to keep things under John Winchester’s radar.

“Do I?” Kayleigh asks sarcastically, but she can’t pretend to be annoyed long - she turns her head just slightly to let her lips press briefly to Dean’s cheek. He scoffs, but that grin stays plastered onto his face like it was painted there, even as his face starts to go faintly red.

“Yeah! You know every word.” He reminds her, finally laying his arm across the back of the seat in front of her. 

“Yeah. Kind’a like I know half the shit that’s gonna come flyin’ outt’a your mouth, Winchester. ‘S called Stockholm Syndrome, or somethin’ like that.” She comments dryly, but she can’t help the grin that’s beginning to curl onto her own lips. 

“Gee, thanks, Sweetheart.” Dean snorts out as Sam begins to laugh. “Really feelin’ the love there. Really.” He rolls his eyes as Kayleigh shifts to sit more directly behind him, her arms draping lazily over his shoulders and her chin resting on his arm. He can’t keep the grin off of his face for long, however, as Kayleigh begins quietly humming along under her breath. Absently, he reaches up, fingers playing with the end of her ponytail, twisting the curls between his fingers, other hand on the wheel. “‘Sides, murder’s not on the agenda for today.” 

“It’s never supposed to be on the agenda, Dean,” Sam reminds him dryly, hardly glancing up from his book - if he could press himself any further against the door, any further away from them, Kayleigh’s sure he would. “‘S on mine,” She offers cheerfully, “just not ‘til tomorrow. We’re gettin’ to the Roadhouse tomorrow, right?” 

Sam's grin widens as Dean groans quietly, hand leaving Kayleigh's hair to scrub over his face.

[byrdtrollsunoreversearchive]

Three Things Casmie Bishop Doesn't Remember, But Only Because She's Dead

The backroom of the Anglerfish looks like a gym locker room. Cubbies line the wall, holding bags, heels, normal clothes that had been changed out of. Often you would find one of the trolls leaning out the backdoor with a cigarette on their fifteen, or giggling with their friends on one of the long benches. There's a tiny little altar by the window, where a worn print picture of Kokoro Kimura sits. These things are everywhere in most places owned by The Falling Moons, littered with candles and half eaten snacks and coins and cigarette butts and anything else deemed a worthy offering to the 300 sweeps dead Mafia founder. The falling apart photo print watches over the room like a strange little saint of lower caste gang members and whores. There are other photos, ones girls at the club had hung up off their lost family members or messiahs. Casmie has put a photo of her still living cat up there, ironically. Sunset is painstakingly unclipping each clip of a tall pair of platform boots with a sigh worthy of a troll at the end of a long shift. The woman next to him is throwing on a black sweater, already feeling the chill of the outside wind. 

“How’d you know I was ex-circus?” He asks her.

“You dance like an acrobat,” Casmie laughs. “All pointy toes. The way you trolls land twists sometimes- you can tell you were trained first for trapeze or something.” 

“Huh,” He says. “I didn’t even realize I was doing it.” He ponders. “How many ex-circus trolls work here for you to notice a thing like that.”

“Too damn many,” She sighs, as she pulls up a pair of patterned sweatpants over her legs. She pauses when she sees the look on his face in response. 

“Sorry- you guys are lovely- not a dig at you, it just, kind of shows how all these people who have been trafficked don’t really have a lot of options. You know. You escape or the tents cut you loose for whatever reason and then you’re just on the streets without a penny to your name nor any other way to make money.” 

“Well congratulations” Sunset replies, peeling four pairs of long opera gloves off his arms. “You have me word for word.” 

“I’m not trying to be superior- my grubhood wasn’t much better.” She flutters nearby him. 

“It doesn’t take much to be better than cages,” Sunset argues, sticking out his tongue. “What hole did you spring from?” 

“An aquarium.” She retorts. 

“That sucks.” He says. 

Casmie laughs. “It does. You know you’re funny, Sunsie.” 

“Sunsie?” He replies. “How am I funny?” 

“You have… a kind of funny way of speaking.” she describes. “So earnest. You take everything… so seriously. Even silly things.” 

“I take silly things sillilily.” 

“Sililily?” She giggles. 

“Yes,” He affirms. 

“You’re always answering rhetorical questions.” Casmie muses. “You wanna hang out sometime?”

“I’d love to” He replies, trying not to betray his eagerness towards such an offer. 

“I live up east- near pier 12. gotta have a lot of roommates but if you come early they’ll both be out for work. Is that too far from where you’re staying?”

“I’ll be honest.” Sunset admits, “I’ve been sleeping in the hotel.” 

Casmie drops her bag down, making a noise of upset and exasperation “Girl,” She says. 

“You don’t sleep in the brothel, that's like step one to getting murdered.” 

He opens his mouth, and then closes it. She takes in the desolation in his expression, pausing. It could not be more evident he has nowhere else to go. 

“Hey” She says. “We can figure something out,” She says. “Sorry, I didn’t mean- not your fault, obviously. But I can help you find someplace.” 

Sunset pulls a t-shirt over himself. 

“You’re too kind” He says carefully, as if not prepared to trust such an offer. 

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A couple days later, the two trolls enter, giggling, into a laundromat. 

“Hey!” Casmie snaps. “You are not putting that pink thing in with my all white lingerie set.” She says, leaning over and trying to separate the clothes in his hands. 

“Cas” Sunset says helplessly. “I’ve only got cash for one wash.” 

“Go talk up the laundromat guy” she jokes, lifting her brasseir. “Get us some free washes.” 

Sunset pauses. “I’m not doing that” 

“Too good for the laundromat troll” she teases, opening a machine, sorting the laundry. 

“No” he pauses, glancing back towards the counter and back. “I just support small business,” he says, bizarrely. 

Casmie stares at him for a second, and laughs. “We're a small business,” she says. “Me n you getting busy in this” she says, holding up another one of the tops she’s washing. 

Sunset covers his face with a hand. 

“Whatever” Casmie decides. “I’ll pay for mine. Don’t worry about it.” She says, taking out her wallet and counting her change. 

“Thanks” the other trolls says gratefully, loading his clothes into the machine with two hands and starting it with his other set. His friend slips coins into the coffee machine. Before hoping up on top of the thing, kicking her feet. 

“Isn’t the other laundry place closer to work?” She says. 

“I guess” Sunset retorts. 

“Like, we coulda saved a couple blocks of walking. Or went to the one by my apartment.” She says. 

“I like this one” sunset says. “They have really good machines” 

“They what?” She says. “Who gives a shit?” 

“No,” Sunset says. “They will really launder your clothes” 

Casmie stares at him,  him for a second, keen enough to pick up this is bullshit somehow but unable to determine exactly why. 

“Hey you!” She calls to the laundromat guy. “What do y’all put in these machines that makes them so good at laundering!” She says. 

Rasley stares at her for a long moment. “Deter…gent?” He says, slowly. “M’am?” He squeaks, staring at the floor, seeming flustered by the litter troll's revealing outfit. 

Casmie laughs again, and Sunset finds himself lost in the melody of the sound. He glances from Rasley back to her, as if caught on a pulled string between two worlds, the past and future. The orange off-caste looks back to him. 

“You are a weirdo, you know,” She says, reaching over and cupping his cheeks. “You are a freak. I love you.” 

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A half sweep later, Sunset wakes up on the bathroom floor of Casmie’s apartment. It’s clearly been attempted to make the spot comfortable. There is a sleeping bag laid out upon it, a quilted blanket. A phone charger. The space would be tight even for a normal troll, but the man has several extra arms. He wakes, stretching, cracking a sore back and wincing at the pain that follows, Sunset starts to roll up the sleeping bag, as someone will surely be in to use the bathroom soon. 

Casmie has seven roommates. They had tried their damn hardest but couldn't find someplace else where he would sleep, so every day, he made and unmade his own little bedroom. The troll splashes some water on his face, before picking up the rolled up bag and exiting the room. He ducks into the hallway, stashing the thing in the closest that was it’s home before entering the kitchen. 

“Hey! Sunsie, you wanna go thrifting?” She says, kicking her feet off the counter, an action way too cute for the alternative outfit she’s wearing, as was typical of the woman. 

“Can’t” He says, arms slinking around her to start microwaving an instant coffee. “I picked up another shift”

“Oh come on,” She says. “Sunday is our off day! We need one day for moirail shit.” 

“That guy offered me a job” Sunset grins. “And you know how he spoils me. Can’t sit on that money.” He defends his choice. 

“G-d. That same purple from friday?” She says. “He’s sooo corny I don’t know how you stand him.” 

The other troll shrugs, pulling his coffee from the microwave. “I dunno, it’s kind of cute, in an annoying sort of way. He keeps telling me he’s gonna pay off my debt to the club and get me out of the business.” 

“Oh wonderful,” She says, crossing her arms. “Your knight in shining armor” 

“He’s earnest,” Sunset says. “And he pays really well” 

“That’s- kind of what puts me off” His moirail rambles, watching Sunset pack up for work. “Where’s he getting like, all that money to drop on you, for real? I mean how many nights has he been coming into the Anglerfish in a row- he’s like obsessed, it's some serial killer shit.” 

“I guess I cannot help but be that irresistible” The taller troll laughs. “You just can’t stand to see me winning. You like having me here on your bathroom floor.” 

“I love having you here on my bathroom floor,” She says. “But I don’t know if you’re ‘winning’ with that guy.”

“He cares about me, he wants to pay all my bills and send me to college like a good little girl~” Sunset jokes. 

“He does not” Casmie insists. “Like, that is the same wishy-washy bullshit every single john pulls when you nut in him” 

Again, her friend laughs. 

“I’m serious!” She retorts. “Stay safe. Guys who wanna ‘save you’ never make good on it. I’m talking to you as a veteran, okay.” 

“I’ll be fine,” Sunset says, sipping his coffee. He lifts Casmie’s hand, and kisses it. “I’ll be careful. I promise.” 

“You owe me a day off.” She complains. “Tell that to your sugar daddy.” 

“I’ll let him know,” Sunset says, rolling his eyes, heading out of the kitchen. 

Casmie rolls her eyes, watching him go. Eventually, as his footsteps pitter patter out into the distance as he heads down the stairs, she turns over to the fridge, only for her head to snap up to attention when there is a sudden, loud thud and clunking noise. 

“Sunset!” She calls, forgoing the nickname in a moment of panic as she rushes out towards the hall. 

She finds him sitting at the very end of the stairway, hand held tight to his chest. 

“Motherfucker” The man wheezes, face contorted, in a voice so quiet she can barely hear it. Casmie rushes down the stairs. 

“What happened!” She says, rushing down. 

“I just-” He wheezes, and then pauses, breathing in, and out, as slowly as he can, as if that will lessen the pain raging through him as his chest rises and falls. 

“Fuck” She says, “are you okay?” She says, but does not wait for an answer. The off-caste seadweller glances up the stairs. “Fuck” She mutters, well familiar with the lung complications that plagued her moirail. Being born with an extra set of arms, there wasn’t really, well, a whole lot of space for Sunset’s lungs in his chest. He had been born with them chronically small, an issue that left him very vulnerable to any kind of respiratory infection. He would get very, very sick at times and lead to many a stressful night in many of the dark, shady hospitals that would take mutants. She is well familiar with it, having taken care of Sunset for a harrowing few months when he had caught pneumonia last winter, and almost died. She debates if it would be worth it to leave him for a second to rush back upstairs and grab the last his anti-inflammatory meds. The tiny woman watches Sunset struggle to breathe for only a moment, before sprinting up the stairs, and coming rushing back down with a pill bottle in hand. 

“I’m good” He wheezes, waving an arm. “I’m- I’ll be fineeee” He manages. “Just- a second” he says, accidentally swallowing the end of the sentence. 

She, panicked, and confused, holds up the pill bottles. 

“I don’t have pneumonia” He wheezes. “Those won’t do shit” 

“Well what else am I supposed to do! What do you have?” She snaps. 

“I don't- know” The purpleblood says again, in between breaths, “overdid stairs” He wheezes. 

“This is clearly more than overdoing the stairs. I’ve seen you overdo stairs! This is something. We should go back to that doctor” 

“I have workkkkk” He complains. “I just need a second” 

“Okay.” She says. “We can take a second, just, breathe, okay. We’ll figure it out. We’ve got to call off your shift.” 

“No” He insists, trying to pull himself up, failing, and curling up into a little ball again. 

“If you kill yourself trying to please that milktoast purple while you can’t fucking breathe, Sunsie I will never forgive you” She says. “You cannot dance right now!” 

She is right, of course, but he doesn’t want to hear it. The man stares up at the ceiling, trying to focus on his laborious breathing. Not today, not today, g-dammnit. Of all the days, why now. But illness can never be convenient. 

“There will be other shifts” Casmie says, running a hand through his hair. 

He leans slightly into her touch as the smaller woman cups his cheek. 

“He- invited me too-” He wheezes. “Whole fancy party- At casino- I have to go- I won’t dance- I’ll just sit with him.” 

“Girl! You should not be having sex either if you can’t handle the stairs!” She snaps. 

“He said he’d give me 20,000$ caegars!” Sunset snaps, the longest sentence he’s managed since he collapsed. 

“Sunsie, where would he even get that money to spend on a stripper.” Casmie says, her brows furrowing.

Sunset gives a long, shaky sigh. “I’m saving up-” He says. “I need to get an appointment with that- surgeon” He pleads. “I need- to get my arms- removed.” 

“Well no shit” She says. 

“I can’t not go” He wheezes. 

Casmie stares at him for a long, long, moment, holding her moirails head in her hands. “Okay” She says. “Here’s what we’ll do,” She says, ever practical. “You’re gonna take these- Just in case it’s pneumonia” She insists, not being a doctor but desperate to help. “I’m gonna wake up Roonst-” She says, naming another of their roommates. “And they’re gonna drive you to that hospital that sees people out the back on the downlow and they’ll sort whatever this is out” She says. 

“And I’ll cover for you, okay?” She promises. “I’ll go to whats-his-face’s casino party and wring the 20,000$ out of his ass, I promise” 

“He said was- special- he’ll want me” Sunset argues. But a part of him relaxes as the plan is laid out, he begrudgingly takes the pills he’s been handed. 

“Think I’m not pretty enough to replace you?” She jokes. “I’ll have him eating out of my hand like a dog, I promise. We’ll get you your surgery.” She says, kissing his forehead, and then run away to wake their friend. He watches her go, mesmerized momentarily by the casual and fragile beauty of his savior rushing up the stairs, the sunset lighting up the orange of her fins, as he holds his hand to his chest and thinks only of his breath, going in, and out, and in, and out. Maybe, somehow, his body knew what was coming. 

Maybe his tiny little lungs folded this specific day on purpose, to save him, to warn him. To shield him. He will never stop hating them for it. She never should have had to take his place. 

I could keep going, but you already know how this story ends, don’t you? 

This was the last time he saw Casmie alive. 

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The next week passed as if in a dream, because, well, he was barely conscious for it. He remembers fragments- a hospital, that roomate at his bedside, tossing and turning as he was constantly awoken by an inability to get enough air, back alleys and doctors and plastic respirators and pain and sorrow. Daymares- the kind that find you only on long nights in uncomfortable hospital beds. When is Casmie gonna come back for me, he finds himself thinking, in the moments where one has nothing to do but lay and think. Surely it has been a day- it has been a night, her shift is over. Eventually, he recovers. Eventually, they toss him back out onto the street with another bill longer than he tall. 

His debts to the Anglerfish, his debts to doctors, his debts to casinos. He will add it to the pile. He finds his way back to pier 12, climbing the long winding stairs to their little three room apartment that houses seven and finds her not there. He goes back to the Anglerfish, and finds her work bag still in it’s locker, still full of casual clothes, keychains hooked up to the side, covered in a week's worth of dust. He is left to pick up the pieces, to try and put it all together, just what exactly happened while he was sick. 

He was always good at playing detective. 

It is surprisingly hard to track down an invitation as vague as a ‘casino party’ in this town, there are many casino’s. He looks through the usual suspects, the ones closest to their pier, talking to staff, asking his coworkers. The trial leads him further uptown, to the bigger piers, the richer accolades, he lingers in corridors, asking questions to staff. 

He makes his way to the top of the hill, and finds a place more palace than casino. And finds it marked with a familiar symbol. You ever see something so many times, you stop thinking about it? Does it ever blend into the background, seamlessly and easily, a tiny little imprint on every chapter of your life. A golden insignia of a falling moon. Of course you have heard of that gang. Everyone has. The Falling Moon’s literally built this city. 

A week into your spiraling, obsessive search for her, you wring the truth out of a simple bartender. He had been there, he tells you. At the party. 

“Sometimes,” he says, “the big guys in the gang will go down to one of the smaller piers, pick up some mutants from one of those seedy clubs, and lure them uphill with promises of cash and comfort and affection and then just jump them and sell them off to traffickers and circuses. You said your friend was an off-caste? That tiny little orangeblood seadweller with the demonias? I remember her all right. Anytroll who was there would. Too smart for her own good. She wised up before all the rest of them. Pulls out a shiv. Just starts putting holes in clowns like it’s nobodies business. She must have killed five of them before she went. By the third, they probably figured out she’d be too much of a hassle to sell. One of them got her right in the head and that was it. Dunno what they did with the body. Probably sold it. They were pissed she killed so many higher ups, they musta lost a lot of money on the whole thing” He says, casually wiping a mug as if he is not ripping apart Sunsets world, piece by piece. 

“Who was in charge of it?” The several armed men says slowly, carefully, “The whole thing?” 

“I told you” The man retorts. “She already killed most of them.” 

“The dead clowns” He insists. “Who did they work for?” 

“Midas” the cerulean bartender replies. “I already told you, they were falling moons.” He quirks an eyebrow at the man in front of him, tracing the look of confusion on his face. 

“Ain’t no way you live in Tes Roven and never heard of Midas.” 

“I know the gang. Humor me” Sunset retorts. “What does he own?” 

“A lot of shit. We’d be here all night” The man dismisses. 

“I want a list.” Sunset insists. 

“Ha ha. What am I, your secretary? You want me to call my coworkers over and tell em you’re buddy buddy with the woman that killed five of their top clowns?” He threatens. 

“You wanna feel what it's like to get stabbed four times at once?” he retorts. “Humor me.” 

The bartender stares at him for a good while, and then pulls out a napkin, scribbling on it. He does this for a good few minutes, pausing every moment or so in contemplation. And then he hands it to him, a comprehensive list as he can sprout off from memory of Midas’s properties. Struggling to keep his hands steady, the purpleblood straightens out the napkin. And then immediately wipes the bartenders mind of the encounter. He walks off, his eyes trailing down the impartial and indifferent list of properties, every so often finding a name on it that slips like a spear into his bent ribcage. 

You ever feel like you’ve spent all your life, in this crushing, giant, oppressive machine, that swallows anyone who touches it? 

You spend so long, trying to keep your head above water. You try to make friends. You try to survive- to carve out a little piece of survival for yourself, for other people. You try to make the world the kind of place you want to live in. And the worst part of it is knowing everyone else wants that better world too. But they don’t have any more time to build it than you do. Everyone else is also too busy being crushed in the machine. 

Too busy trying to outsmart the machine. This machine too big for you to ever fully even comprehend dismantling. 

No one mentions it. But no one can imagine a life where they’re not being held with a boot to their neck. 

It has consumed anyone you have ever loved. 

It is well on its way to consuming you. It was machine, it was machine all the way down. From the pits of the childhoods to the streets of your adolescence to the seedy pole ridden bars of your fragile adulthood. 

It is so ever present you almost forgot it was there at all, just a part of the universe, true to its logo, as large and all destroying as a falling celestial body. Built to do nothing but hurt you and people like you. Imagine living so long in the shadow of that hurt.

And then finding out it has a name. 

And then finding out it’s a person. 

A troll, a name, a thing of flesh blood, just vulnerable enough, that suddenly, you can wrap your mind around dismantling it. Around taking it apart, piece by piece. So slowly and so carefully that it could never hurt another person the way it hurt you. The way it hurt her. 

This man is the connecting thread of hurt that weaves your entire life together, and he doesn’t even know you exist. 

But that won’t be true for long. 

You are certain, in the months that followed this, planning, spiraling, obsessing- You are certain that Casmie started a fight so you could finish it.

[gxbbyhoneybadger]

Richer than Gold

Pairing: !HH!Arthur Morgan x !F!Reader

Summary: Dutch has done it again, finding the jackpot for more money. He tells his gang about a rich man who spoils and loves his only child, hatching the perfect plan to kidnap the child for ransom. He sent his best men out to catch the victim, but what they got in return was something Arthur did not expect to meet, or better yet, fall for. But no one knew yet, just how dark the truth was behind the perfect dollhouse.

Warnings: adult language, guns, angst, tension, over-controlling parents, deception, abuse if you squint, forced arranged marriage, mutual pining, flirting.

This was just a drabble I thought of after I watched one of my favorite Pixar movies (Brave), I also added a twist to it, this was a winner at the polls!

The picture was edited by me.

Part 2, Part 3

Minors DNI 🔞 18 below the cut

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Dutch had called everyone over, Tilly, Susan, Bill, Sean, Micah, Javier, Charles, John, Sadie, Mary-Beth, Molly, Lenny, Karen, Abigail, and the rest. Arthur approached after getting off his horse and listened to what Dutch was saying. "I've got a plan, this'll be our biggest and greatest heist there'll ever be!" Dutch said with a sly grin, "Just over in Saint Denis, a man named Richardson Jones, has just paid a visit to one of his many homes. And what's better than that! He has decided to bring along his greatest possession."

"Money?" Karen suggested. "Nope, his own youth." Dutch said. "A kid?" Bill chuckled. "Now, I know it sounds rather odd, but trust me when I tell you this. His child is his only weak spot, he'd do anything for his young'un to be happy! Spoiled to no end! We get our hands on his child and take it, he'll give us whatever we want! And trust me, Richardson is Richer than Gold itself." Dutch said.

"You want us to kidnap a child for ransom?" John questioned. "You won't even have to force the kid to follow, just use some damn candy." Micah snickered. John rolled his eyes as Jack wandered up to his mom's legs. "Arthur, John, Bill, Javier, Charles, Hosea, and I will leave to find Richardson's heir and bring it here for a day or two, afterwards, we get the money and book it to Tahiti!" Dutch said.

"But a child, Dutch?" Arthur finally said. "Yes, Arthur, a kid. It ain't going to be so terrible, we're not gonna hurt 'em." Hosea rubbed the back of his head as he listened, "It'll be a quick babysitting gig before we return the child, right, Dutch?" Charles questioned. "Yes, my boy." Dutch confirmed.

"He should be arriving pretty soon, we needa go and find out what our target'll look like. C'mon!" Micah yelled as he ran to his horse.

~~~

John, Arthur, Charles, and Javier, were set on catching the child as Dutch, Hosea, and Bill were gonna distract Richardson and his friends. "So he's the one richer than gold?" Javier asked as he looked through the binoculars at a handsome wealthy dressed man with a trimmed beard and silver eyes. The four men were hiding near the building which was close to the docks where the ship had been stationary for a while.

"Guess so." Charles said before looking himself. "You got candy, right?" John whispered to Arthur. "I got the damn candy, now I owe Jack." Arthur muttered. "Look! Look! Someone's coming out!" Javier warned the men. Richardson was speaking to a well dressed Dutch and Hosea.

"Gentleman, please meet my beautiful daughter, Y/n Jones L/n, she has her mother's last name." Richardson introduced as he raised his arm to point to a beautiful lady walking down the plank set on the dock. She had to be in her youthful years, beautiful jewelry, gorgeous dress, her hair done up in a stunning braid.

"Oh shit." Bill muttered, "I don't think he has a child, that has to be his wife."

"Hello, Gentlemen. It's an honor to meet my father's dearest companions." She smiled while bowing her head out of respect. Arthur held his face with on hand as he tried to contemplate a different way to get the girl. "Dammit, what are we gonna do now?" Javier asked. "Y'all keep an eye on her, I'll run to Dutch and Hosea, see what they think and I'll come back to you. Follow her." Bill said before running off.

John and Javier made their way towards an alley in the town while Arthur made his way closer to the docks to listen in on any conversation. "Oh. . . My." Hosea muttered when he and Dutch saw the young girl. "Mr. Matthews." Y/n smiled as she shook his hand, "Pleasure to meet you."

Arthur shook his head as he started to watch the girl, making sure she didn't take off. "Y/N!" A woman screamed as she ran towards her with excitement, holding her dress so she didn't fall and into Y/n's open embrace. "It's been so long!" The woman with red hair said.

"It has indeed, Kimberly! My goodness, look at you!" Y/n gasped as Kimberly spun around to show off her new purple dress. "It's beautiful, ain't it? Just got it yesterday from my daddy!", "Kimberly, my girl, you've grown up!" Richardson greeted as he hugged her. "I have, indeed, Mr!"

The two girls walked towards a small shop and sat down by a table, Arthur had quietly and discreetly made his way towards the corner and hid behind it to listen to the girls. "So! How old are ya, now?" Kimberly asked Y/n. "Can't you guess?", "Twenty-one!", "Nuh uh!", "Twenty-two?", "No.", "I don't know!"

Y/n let out a sigh and shook her head, "I'm twenty-four, Kim. It's only been five years since we last saw each other!" Y/n giggled, "It's strange to be here again, I forgot if it was nice here in Saint Denis?"

"Oh, absolutely! Except for the random robberies and such." Kimberly sighed. ". . . Robberies?" Y/n muttered with am inquisitive tone. Arthur rolled his eyes, already knowing what was going to come. The spoiled daddy's girl was about to complain and whine about the dirty old outlaws who take what they want.

"Where they really outlaws?!" Y/n gasped. Kimberly scoffed and crossed her arms, "I forgot you're a total freak when outlaws come up in a conversation. You don't even act like a lady!" Y/n laughed and pulled off her white gloves, "You know I hate wearing these dumb dresses, wearing this annoyin' heels, having my hair done in this tight and uncomfortable way! I despise it, Kimberly!" She whined.

That's a new one. Thought Arthur as he listened, Kimberly giggled and held Y/n's hands. "Thinking about sneakin' out tonight with me?" Kimberly asked. Y/n gasped and shook her head, "My daddy'll kill me!" Kimberly snickered and slapped Y/n's hand. "Ow-!", "Like you cared if he did. All you gotta do is cry and say that it was a mistake, then he'll just let you go as always. C'mon, I know you wanna. Maybe finally you'll find a man."

Y/n groaned and stood, "C'mon, my daddy already told me where our manor is. Let's go and have some fun before I roll my eyes outta my own skull." Arthur watched where they went and followed along. Soon, he and the two other men found Y/n at the large manor. This time she was wearing an entirely different attire.

She wore jeans with a button up red shirt, a cowgirl hat with some boots and a belt, her hair was down and hung beautifully down her back, and she was riding a large Shire Horse. All black with white cuffs around it's hooves and shins, it's mane was a beautiful raven color that shined off the sun. Y/n looked so small compared to the beast she was on top of. "Oh my goodness! Y/n's he's a big monster!" Kimberly gasped, still wearing her blue dress.

"He ain't no monster. He's big but really he's a big soft boy, ain't you Buckley!" Y/n cooed as she brushed Buckley's mane, his tail swished as he huffed out a thank you. "He likes it when you compliment him! Ugh! I've been waiting to get somewhere big and open for him to run in!" Y/n laughed.

"That a horse or a giant?" Javier asked with wide eyes. "My momma got 'em for me when I was just nine years old! Big boy here was still just a colt!" Y/n smiled as she clicked her tongue, Buckley's ears twitched before he started to walk forward slowly, each step he took, Y/n slightly bounced. "He's beautiful, ain't he?" She asked her friend. "A-Absolutely!", "Mother knows best! I've always wanted a horse and she got me the biggest one, daddy always said I'd never be able to handle one, but look at me now. She'd be proud. . ." Her smile faded as she held onto Buckley's reins.

"What's wrong, Y/n?" Kimberly asked. Y/n covered her eyes with one hand as she started to tear up. "Y/n!", "No, no. . . It's just my mother. . . I miss her. . . Ever since my uncle and my mother's death, daddy has been so different. . . He seems more cold to me, not in front of guests like you of course, but. . . With me, it's like he doesn't care. He sends me to all these classes, fencing, Spanish, French, Dutch, Italian and more but. . . He's never there for me, y'know. He doesn't like it when I take Buckley out, or even wear clothes like this. . . My mother always supported me, and so did Daddy, until she. . ." Y/n let out a stuttering sigh as she relaxed.

"Buckley and my bow are the only things my mother left me before she was taken away. . ." She whispered.

". . . Wait here." Kimberly said before running into the manor and coming out ten minutes later, dressed in a skirt and a shirt before jumping onto her own horse, a brown Thoroughbred with a black mane. "Kimberly!" Y/n said with a small smile. "I wanna see those talents put to work, here!" She said before tossing Y/n her signature bow and a quiver of arrows. She attached the quiver to her saddle and held onto her bow, "You really wanna see?" Y/n giggled while cleaning her tears.

"Course I do, I may be a Lady. But I always wanna see a good time." Kimberly smiled.

The girls laughed before their horses took off running down the large land of grass and towards the trees. "Keep an eye on them both." Javier warned the two before sneaking off to spy on any incoming guests. Arthur and John both found their horses and began to trail after the girls.

That was when the men saw the hidden talent that Y/n was hiding. Buckley ran and jumped over a fallen tree—Y/n had her bowstring pulled back before she released an arrow straight into an apple hanging from a tree. Buckley landed and kept running as Y/n reloaded another shot, she whistled and a flock of birds flew from the trees before she shot two with one arrow.

Buckley was quicker than the men's horses as he continued to pick up his speed. Kimberly was smiling at Y/n's joy as she leapt through the air with Buckley. Her hair flowed as she rode on through the woods, "Throw something!" Y/n shouted to Kimberly. Kim grabbed her old hat and threw it in the air, no longer than two seconds had passed before it was nailed straight into a tree by a sudden arrow.

"You're amazing at this Y/n!" Kimberly laughed. "Thank my momma!" Y/n smiled.

The men remained hidden til the girls rode him. They stayed hiding when a carriage came, carrying Richardson, another man and a woman, Dutch, Hosea, and even Bill who looked more cleaned up. "Gentlemen, let me bring you into our lovely home for a drink!" Y/n and Kimberly saw their parents exit the carriages.

"Oh no." Kimberly muttered before looking at Y/n, "Your dad doesn't like you wearing those clothes, don't he?" Kimberly whispered. ". . . No, no, he doesn't." Y/n hopped off Buckley and tapped his rear, "Go to the barn, boy. Put this back where you found it please, Kim?", "Okay. . ." She whispered.

She approached her father and looked at the men who finally saw her without the beautiful jewelry or the dazzling feminity she once carried in the morning. When Richard laid his eyes on his daughter, he practically gasped. "What do you think you're wearing?" He questioned her. "Daddy, don't get mad. It's just clothing-", "Excuse us, gentlemen, Antonio, please escort these men to the manor. Apparently, I must have a talk with my daughter about mannerisms and proper attire for a young lady." Richardson held her back before leading her to the side of the manor.

Arthur watched and listened nearby as Richard sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "What did I say to you the moment we got on that ship?" Richardson asked her. "Daddy, I-", "Don't you "daddy" me, young lady! You are not to be wearing such demeaning outfits such as this! You look like a street rat or worse, one of them outlaws! I send you to the best of schools, just like you need, I get you your own personal trainer in fencing, a degree, money, everything a woman would want!" He said.

"B-But daddy, I don't want-", "Enough!"

"I am not going to kid around with this. Get those clothes off and put on a proper dress. You look ridiculous. I shouldn't have let you keep that damn horse, he's the reason why you're acting up like this." He snarled to her, she grew tears as she looked down at the ground in shame. Arthur felt sorry for the girl, her fists were clenched as she steadied her breathing.

"I ain't a little girl no more, daddy." She whispered. "What?" Richard scoffed. "You can't control me and tell me what I want or need anymore." Richardson laughed and brushed his hair back. "You ain't gonna leave any time soon. I'm selling Buckley-"

"Daddy!"

"I don't want that damn horse around anymore. Your witch of a mother bought that thing in spite of me." He growled. "Buckley didn't do nothing to deserve this! Mother got him for me as a gift-!" Arthur's eyes grew big when Richard slapped her. His hand slowly snaking down towards his holster as he glared at the rich man

"I am your damn father. If I say I'm going to sell a damn horse, I'm selling it. I'll buy you a pony instead, now, you are going to walk up those steps, change out of your clothes and into a proper outfit. Mr. Jameson is coming over later with his son, Damon, who'll be your fiancee."

Y/n looked straight at her father with wide eyes while she held the side of her face from the pain. "Daddy-", "He has asked for your hand in marriage, and I had agreed. It's about time I find you a husband, we'll receive more money and land afterwards. Don't worry, Damon will treat you well."

Y/n shook her head as she started to back away from her father. "Get up those steps, right now. I'm right behind you." He growled, ". . . You know what." He grabbed her arm and started to pull her into the manor, she didn't fight back but obeyed his directions.

He made her go up the steps and had the maids help her get dressed. She wore a dark teal cotton dress, with white tights then a tight corset underneath it, her hair was braided back into a French braid. She was then sent downstairs, and stood by her father who was laughing with Dutch and Hosea.

"Yes, yes, exactly!" Hosea chuckled, "Your daughter looks lovely, you must adore her." Richardson laughed and covered his mouth. "She's too much to handle, that's why I'm going to marry her off." Hosea was taken by surprise as he looked to Dutch who arched his brow. Y/n simply looked away before breaking out into a run, getting away from the room.

"Y/n!" Richardson shouted.

"Y/n?" Kimberly said when she ran past her. Y/n didn't stop when she ran through the door and towards the barn, unlocking the stall, quickly slipping on the reins, snatching her quiver and bow, before jumping onto Buckley's wide body. She kicked her feet and he took off running. Richardson made it outside only for Buckley to brush past him with such speed—the wind knocked him backwards onto his back. "Y/n!!" He shouted.

Y/n didn't listen, she kept running. Tears falling from her face as she started to cry, holding onto Buckley's mane as he charged forward. Unwilling to stop or rest, even being a horse, he understood her emotions better than any person could. He was indeed a special gift from her mother. He ran and continued to go wherever he intended to go, and he knew just the place.

But what they didn't know was that Arthur was chasing them close behind.

~~~

When Dutch and Hosea ran out after Richard, Y/n had blown by them. Arthur came running with John and Dutch spoke: "Don't worry, Mr. Jones, I'll send my best men to go and fetch your daughter. Callaghan, go and get his daughter! Right now!"

Arthur tipped his head and called his horse before jumping on and chasing after the girl. One hand, after to catch her, and on the other, to comfort the poor thing. He listened to the heavy running from Buckley, he saw her soon enough as the horse zoomed through the trees and branches. For a giant beast, he sure was agile.

~~~

Buckley whined when he approached stone pillars that were placed around in a large circle, grass was everywhere as the forest provided a large open space. Y/n opened her eyes and wiped her tears to see clearly. When she did, she saw the tall stones. "Buckley. . . You. . . You remember this place?" She muttered, slowly she got off her horse, sliding off her shoes and letting her feet touch the bare grass—entering the large circle. Looking at the stones.

She sniffled and stood in the grass, beside one of the pillars, a heavy puff of air was blown into her hair as Buckley slowly and gently knelt down on his knees before slumping against the pillar and lying down. Y/n knew that position he always made, she knelt and sat down. Leaning her back against his hefty shoulders before he rested his large head in her lap. Letting her brush his mane.

Her tears fell as she kissed his head, "He doesn't want me to have you. . ." She whispered with closed eyes, "I want to love him, Buckley, I really do. . . But he just makes things so much more difficult. . . First, he takes away my dreams to become an archer. Then my goal to become a seamstress, now the only two things my mother left me."

Buckley huffed and nudged his face closer into her chest, she hugged his neck and rested her head on his. Before hearing a crunch from afar, she stood and pulled out her bow. Aiming the arrow straight as Arthur who raised his hands.

"Hey now, easy there." He said while slowly walking towards her. Buckley stood and protectively walked up besides Y/n as he watched the strange man approaching. "I'm just here to bring you back home." He said. Y/n shook her head as she pulled the bowstring even tighter, "I'm not going back. . . Not without my horse." She muttered.

"I understand. What if we went somewhere, jus' for a day or two. You and me?" Arthur asked. "Why would I trust a stranger like yourself? You're just gonna be paid off by my father to drag me back!" She accused him, he kept his hands up and reached up for his hat before it was shot clean off his head and pinned into one of the stone pillars.

Arthur looked at her with shock as she instantly grabbed another arrow, "Don't move." She warned him. He simply nodded his head. "Want me to tell you somethin'?" He questioned, "I heard you chattin' with your friend, Kimberly her name? Said you was interested in outlaws robbin' Saint Denis. Lemme show you somethin'." Quicker than a blink of an eye, Arthur shot Y/n's quiver off her hip and placed his gun back in his holster.

She gasped and almost tripped as she jumped to the side. Still holding her bow as arrows spilled on the grass, she looked back at him and growled. "You owe me for that!" She hissed. "You come with me, and I'll pay you back. Buy a whole new case for yer." He offered.

"How do I know that you won't drag me back?" She questioned. "Lady, I'm not the type to force a woman to do what she doesn't want to do, but I am one to listen. And you can trust me when I tell you, I ain't takin' you back to your daddy." Arthur said.

Y/n was hesitant, but she glanced at Buckley who let out a soft huff from his large nostrils. She eased the tension on her bowstring and lowered her weapon, removing the arrow from the string as she let it drop onto the fallen pile of arrows. ". . . You swear?" She asked. "I swear, ma'am."

Y/n rolled her shoulder before strapping her bow into her chest then grabbing the quiver which now had a broken strap. ". . . Where to?" She muttered. "I know a place. Just, take your time getting on that horse." Arthur backed away and let her have alone time with Buckley.

Out of sight for a moment, he walked towards the tree and spotted Javier and John walking towards him. He stopped them before telling them his plan, saying to tell Dutch where he was going to be. "Yer goin' to Horseshoe Overlook?" John muttered. "Hosea said it was a good place to lie low, I'll be there with the girl. Holding her there for 'bout a day or two before I come back-", "About that, Arthur. . ." Javier cut in, "Dutch said we might need to keep her for a week instead."

"What?" Arthur mumbled. "Dutch said that he and Hosea could possibly raise the price to whoever finds her, from money to solid gold bars!" Javier whispered. "Where'd you go, Mr?" Y/n asked. John and Javier both ran off quickly as Arthur turned around, "Just about to grab my horse." He said. Y/n arched her brow and looked at his horse.

". . . She's beautiful." She muttered, Buckley following right behind her. "Thank you." Arthur said as he walked to his ride, he grabbed his hat first before setting it on his head. "Ma'am." He added before jumping into the saddle. Y/n climbed onto Buckley bareback and looked at Arthur. "I never got your name." She said.

"Arthur Callaghan." He replied, "Now, Y/n, follow me."

~~~

"Little brat just ups and decides to run off!" Richardson cursed, Dutch approached him and held his shoulder. "Callaghan is an amazing hunter, although he ain't exactly cheap for his type of service. He expects payment from me, which I can only get from someone else paying me." Dutch sighed.

Richardson groaned as he looked back at Hosea, "How much are you asking for?" Dutch just smirked.

~~~

Y/n rode close beside Arthur, he gave her a small cloak for her to wear and cover her head just in case it started to rain. "May I ask why you ran off so suddenly?" Arthur questioned. ". . . My father was plannin' on marrying me off to some random man I've never met. Selling my horse, and who knows what else." She said, "I wanted an out. . . So I left. I didn't expect this to happen."

Arthur shook his head and looked at Buckley, "What's his name?", "Buckley. . . Sometimes I call him Buck for short." Y/n answered. Buckley bowed his head and kept walking, "I taught him that trick." Y/n smirked.

Arthur chuckled at the small gesture. "C'mon, we needa speed up and get there before dark."

~Y/n pov~

The breeze was gentle, and the crickets chirping from the distance was calming to hear. I set Buckley by a tree and let him eat the grass, I looked over my shoulder and saw Arthur Callaghan fixing up a tent. I don't know where he got it from, but it's something. I've never slept in a tent before, or a cot.

I'm used to a large king sized bed, multiple blankets. Now it was just a small cot, a blanket, and probably campfire, one side of me was excited that I was camping, but another was terrified that I left my home with a stranger and I'm also staying with him. "So what's your plan?" I said. "What plan?" Arthur replied.

"When my father sends his men after me? He's going to send the entire town to find me.", "Trust me, ma'am, I don't plan on bein' caught." His southern drawl sounded rough but also sexy at the same time. I turned away from Buckley and slowly stepped closer as he tied something up, "You've done this before, I see?"

"Plenty of times, ma'am. Sometimes I travel with a group." He said. "Is it always this quiet?" I asked. "Rarely if I'm with a group." I sat on a log and sighed when my dress snagged on a twig, "Dammit." I scowled as I tugged it off. "You alright, there, Ma'am?"

"I'm okay, it's just, excuse my language but, it's my damn dress. It gets stuck on everything!" I sighed. I was looking at the sky when I heard Arthur approaching me, I turned my head and finally saw just how handsome he looked up close. "Do ya wanna buy somethin' else to wear?" He asked me. "I. . . Um, if you don't mind. I don't really care." I stuttered before looking away.

Were men's eyes always that blue? They look like pools of the ocean! "I can stop by a shop." He knelt down and started to stack a few sticks together for a fire later tonight, "I just needa know yer size and I'll be back, y'know, so people won't catch you sneakin' around." I just nodded my head while clenching my dress, I felt something tingling in my stomach but I didn't know what it was.

"Y-Yes, that'll be wonderful, Mr. Callaghan." I muttered, "I'd very much appreciate it." He set a small fire and wrote down my size for shirts and pants. "Thank you, really, Mr. Callaghan."

"No problem, ma'am. All you need to do is stay here. I'll be back." He said, he left soon after and I looked back at Buckley. "You like it here buddy?" I asked him. He flapped his ears and continued to graze the grass as he slowly found his way towards me.

The sun was close to setting, I could see the darkness coming as the crickets started to grow louder. It was beautiful outside, I stood and walked towards the cot and saw the lamps inside the tent. He has done this many times.

It was odd being outside after dark like this. I was used to a curfew; I reached up and undid my hair and let it down, undoing the braids completely as I sighed with relief. The tension was undone. I believe thirty minutes or so had passed before Arthur came back, I looked and saw that he carried a few boxes and set them on a table he left behind. "I don't have much of a fashion sense but. . ." I approached the boxes and lifted the tops off each one, seeing a different outfit in each of them.

Red flannel with jeans, another set with a blue shirt and a beautiful belt, another with a black shirt and two different hats, each one had a spare white shirt to wear underneath, different set of undergarments. "I didn't know which one you'd like, so I bought the best three they had-", "Thank you so much, Mr. Callaghan!" I smiled while hugging him. Never has a man or even a boy bought me clothing that I always wanted to wear and feel comfortable in. "You don't needa thank me, ma'am. Oh, and here. . . Thought you might needa few pairs." He grabbed one more box and placed it in my hands.

When I opened it, I felt my eyes shimmer with joy as I overlooked a beautiful pair of boots. ". . . Arthur. . ." I mumbled as I let my finger trace over the delicate pattern of golden roses that blended beautifully with the rich tan and black color. "I sorta measured your shoe size when I was fixin' the fire." My smile was bigger than ever before when I grabbed the clothing. "Thank you!" I said again before running into the tent with two boxes.

~3rd pov~

Arthur didn't know how to react when she hugged him, or even thanked him for simply buying a few outfits. Never had he had a woman almost tear up over some clothes, even though he had Sadie and Tilly help him with the clothing choices at the shop. He brushed his hair and slipped his hat back on, he kept thinking how he was going to keep a woman inside a camp for an entire week without scaring her off.

He tended to the fire and walked to his horse which carried two hares that he had hunted down on his way back. "You won't last long." He muttered. "Mr. Callaghan?" Y/n said. "Yes?", "Can you help me with something?"

Arthur approached the tent and stood by the flaps, "Anything, ma'am." He replied. Y/n exited the tent and was only wearing her corset with her undergarments covering her legs. "Do you mind undoing this corset for me? I can't reach it, those maids tied it up in a way I couldn't undo it without someone's help." She awkwardly said.

"Oh. . . Of course, here. Turn around." He said, when she did, he felt a small smile tug at the corner of his lips. Her bashful face and her sweet voice made him smile. He pulled the strings loose and undid the different knots and ties before it came undone. "There you go.", "Thank you." She said before entering the tent once more.

"Was your daddy always this. . . Demanding?" Arthur asked her. "Uhm, no actually. When I was nine he wasn't like this at all. He liked it when I wore jeans and boots, supported me about my talents with my bow, but. . . Then his twin brother, or my uncle, and my mother were killed. That's when he changed. Ever since, he's never wanted me to shoot another arrow, dress the same, or even ride Buckley anymore." Y/n answered.

"Wait, how do you know that he was demanding? I never told you all of that." Arthur chuckled and let his thumbs hook onto his belt, "I sorta overheard your conversation by the side of your mansion, I heard him hit you. I was tempted to shoot him right there and then." He confessed.

Y/n was silent, Arthur thought he made her uncomfortable but inside of the tent. She was grinning as she slid the belt into the loops of her jeans. "Well, I appreciate the thought, Mr. Callaghan. Your wife must be lucky to have found such a good man like yourself." She complimented him.

"Nah, I ain't married. I was, but it didn't work out." He said. "Oh, I'm sorry.", "It's alright."

Y/n slid on her boots and sighed when she stretched her arms, she opened the flaps of the tent and walked out. "What do you think?" She asked. Arthur could feel his heart leap out of his chest when he saw her dressed. The jeans brought out her hips, the shirt fitted around her waist and chest so well. The hat on her head and her boots tied it all together along with two regular braids hanging off both her shoulders as she leaned on her leg and crossed her arms.

"Beautiful. . ."

"What was that?" Y/n smiled as she looked at Arthur's dumbfounded expression. "I. . . You look good." He said. Bringing a brighter smile to her lips as she spun around in her new attire, "This feels amazing! It's all brand new! I love these boots, the hat, everything!" She said.

"What do you think we can do tomorrow?" She asked him while looking at the sky. "Whatever you wanna do." He answered. Y/n giggled and took in a deep breath, "I think I like it here." She sighed, "Let's go hunting tomorrow! We can find a deer—oh! Or a bear!"

"A bear?" Arthur said. "I've always wanted to hunt a bear. Especially Mor'du." She muttered. "Who the hell is Mor'du?" Arthur questioned. "You never heard the legend of Mor'du?"

Arthur shook his head and Y/n grinned, "I'll tell you if you take me hunting." She said. Arthur hung his head and sighed, "Sure, we can go hunting tomorrow." He replied

"Yes!" She smiled before hugging him again, "This is going to be the best few days of my life!"

_____________________________________

Part 2 coming soon!

[peeweekey]

salmonberry season

Spring is winding to its end in Remoria Farm—Ambrose likes the tartness of salmonberries, and Milene likes him.

original characters, Milene & Ambrose (!!!) ; farmer/farmhand

Ambrose thrives in the valley.

Milene knows because she watches, always watches him. She knows that he hums to the beat of cheesy love songs while watering parsnip seedlings. That he likes to lie in the chicken coop and cuddle the hens in his arms when he thinks she isn’t looking. The townspeople that laugh brightly when talking to him—they like him, it’s obvious by the way his arms are never empty from a trip to the town, there’s always another pot of soup or a jar of pasta sauce.

Most of all, though he can’t recognize it himself, Milene sees the bright spark in his eyes.

She remembers what they looked like before they moved to the valley, dull and unfocused and so far away. His office job in Joja made him slowly waste away. Now, the green in his eyes shine whenever he wrangles a particularly fussy fish, or when the two of them stand side by side in the kitchen, following televised recipes that leave the house smelling deliciously of caramelized onion and garlic.

Even now, when they sit under a thick branched tree away from the hot midday sun, Ambrose keeps the twinkle in his gaze. Sticking side by side, they share a handful of spring salmonberries—handpicked by Ambrose himself. The berry is sweet and tart, sticky and viscous all over her fingers and lips. She wipes the red stained juice smeared on her fingertips off on the hem of her shorts.

Absentmindedly, Milene reaches to pluck another pea-sized berry from him, but he twists his body away, hiding the salmonberries with a faux frown. She stretches her arm farther, reaching for the berries, resting her other palm on the grassy bed below. She shoots him a puzzled look.

“You had your share,” he says. Milene raises a brow. “The rest are mine.”

Huffing, Milene reaches again, her arm bumping his shoulder. Ambrose, this time, fully turns his back to her and protectively cradling berries to his chest, making the reach unsuccessful. She scoffs at his childishness and pokes him in the side.

“Selfish.”

Ambrose wiggles his eyebrows, aiming a smug smirk at her. “And you’re a leech,” he replies just as fast. “If you joined me in picking berries we’d have more, but you didn’t. You get what you get.”

“Excuse me,” she forcibly rests her weight against his back. Ambrose breathes on a wheeze as she leans over him. “I’d assume you’d be able to do something as simple as that on your own.”

Milene can hear the smile in his voice. “Picking berries is not simple.”

“Putting up with a brat like you isn’t simple either,” she replies dryly, pinching at his ear. “What did I do to deserve this? You’re breaking my heart here, I’ll have to go back to my dingy apartment in Zuzu city to save some face.”

Ambrose stiffens, his back ram-rod straight, his lips pressed into a line when he looks back at her. Milene sits back, the sudden change in atmosphere making her heart rate spike—did she say something wrong?

Milene rests a steadying hand on her chest. Damn this man for making her emotions run all over the place.

His hand flexes and rubs absentmindedly at the denim of his overalls. A nervous tell of his, for what reason he is buzzing with nerves she can’t tell.

“—Ambrose,” she can hear the high pitchy quality in her voice, she cringes inwardly. “You eat a rotten berry or something? What’s up?”

Small steady streams of light filtered through the branches shine on them, Ambrose turns his head back and looks her directly in the eyes.

“Don’t say that,” he says under his breath, Ambrose speaks it like a secret along with a long suffering sigh. Like he’s been hiding the sentiment for a while. “Don’t say that you’ll leave.”

Oh.

Immediately, Milene feels the giddy swing of her stomach, the knotting and unknotting of her gut as giggles slip past her berry-stained lips. Ambrose fixes her with a weak glare, more of a pout if anything.

His posture is significantly more relaxed when he goes to chastise her. “Dude, not funny—”

Milene takes the opportunity to pluck a salmonberry from his hand while his attention is taken away. “Very funny. Hilarious even.”

His frown deepens as she pops the berry in her mouth, but she knows better. The twinkle in his eyes are bright, overwhelmingly so. The sight makes her heart swell and threaten to burst out of her chest. It’s honestly kinda terrifying.

“There’s nothing for me in the city,” she murmurs, pressing her thumb and pointer together, they stick together with berry juice. “I won’t leave, ever.”

Ambrose snorts, bringing two berries into his mouth, his lips stained red along with it. “What if there’s a drought and we lose all our money?”

“Hell no,” Milene entertains his inane imagination. “You wouldn’t survive without me. You’d die of loneliness, or starvation.”

“Gee Milene, you really know how to cheer a guy up.” he deadpans.

“Not trying to cheer you up,” she smirks. “It’s just the plain simple truth.”

He narrows his eyes. “Okay, but what if—”

“No,” she interrupts, waving her hand. Milene tucks her feet closer underneath her, staving off the brunt of the summer heat.

She rests her hand by his side, studying his face intently. The curve of his nose, the slope of his cheeks and the cut of his cheekbones, his eyes—his eyes that glitter and shine like emeralds.

Milene thinks that she can stare into them forever.

“Besides,” she shrugs, “I like to watch you. You’re happy, I’m happy too.”

[blackroseguzzi]

FATE part 2 💙

Colin Zabel x ex fiancé

Summery:Colin and y/n finally encounter each other in a strange twist of fate.

I sat inside my car, lighting a cigarette as I parked in front of my parents driveway. I know my mom was in there wondering why I wasn’t coming up- I just needed a moment before the shit storm was about to start.

My mother had called me that morning to make sure I got the rental car they had sent over alright. Leave it to my parents to treat me like I couldn’t do a damn thing for myself anymore.

I watched as my sister, Janice, opened the front door and walked briskly towards me. I threw the cigarette out the window, even though I knew she could smell the smoke regardless.

“Get your ass inside, what are you doing out here-it’s freezing!” She shivered into her brown coat. I smiled politely, knowing she was about to be the kindest person to me in that house.

‘I’ll be right in, just mentally preparing,” I laughed inwardly but I was really crying inside.

“Moms in a great mood, c’mon it’ll be fine.” I huffed, wanting nothing more than to turn the car back on and drive off- but instead I opened the door and exited the vehicle. My sister met me with open arms. Her hugs were always the best. She was the most amazing big sister in the world. She had the perfect husband, the perfect twin boys, and even the perfect Black lab, Buxley. God, Colin loved Buxley, and when Janice had called to tell me she had puppies last year I wanted nothing more than to have her save one of them for Colin.

She had never asked me why I had called off the wedding - she knew in her heart that I did it for my career and for Colin. She told me once that she thought I’d done a horrible thing to such a sweet man, but that she completely understood. I’m not sure if it made me feel worse or better.

We walked to the front door and I took a big breath before opening. My nephews, Alex and Reid were at the dining room table playing checkers, my dad coaching them both. They were 10 and loved board games more than anything in the world, mostly because they were highly competitive- especially with each other.

“Hey Aunt y/n,” Alex yelled from the table as I entered my childhood home. The smell of Italian food flooded my nostrils. Leave it to my mother to cook a giant Italian meal the day before thanksgiving.

My dad gave me a polite wave, and I smiled back. He sided with my mom for sure, but he also didn’t care as much about appearance as my she did.

Speak of the devil, as soon as my name came out of Alex’s mouth my mother rushed out from the kitchen.

“Finally!” She hugged me quickly and squeezed my shoulders, looking me up and down.

“You look thin- and not in a good way.” She cocks her head to the side and examines me more. “And the bags under your eyes could be designer!” She laughed at her own joke, but I rolled my eyes and shrugged her tiny hands off of me.

“I’m healthy as an ox, and I didn’t wear much makeup since I was traveling today,” I looked over at Janice and gave her the Death glare- moms in a great mood my ass.

“Janice help me in the kitchen while your sister gets settled in!” Mom waltzed back into the kitchen.

I called out that I was going to grab my bags from the car. I walked back out the front door, turned my car on and decided that Instead of getting attacked by my family any longer I was going to the police station to start on my piece on the Erin McMenamin case.

I walked into the station, shivering. I hadn’t bothered putting the heat on during the drive here, mostly because my blood was boiling from my mothers rude comments and clear distaste for me after almost two years of supposedly ruining her life. Wasn’t it my wedding I called off, and my fiancé that I left? God she infuriated me at times.

“Hey, I’m looking to speak with Chief Carter.” I shoved my hands in my jacket pockets and the desk officer looked me over, probably looking at my overall existence like my mother had.

“And you are? Is he expecting you?” The officer gave me a questioning look. I know this small town, and not a lot of random people came in to ask to speak with the chief.

“Yeah my name is Y/n and he’s been waiting for me for a while,” I lied. Years in this work I noticed that telling people that you were showing up without an appointment usually got you a swift kick out the door.

“Alright, I’ll take you right to him.” The officer got up from the desk slowly. You could tell he was annoyed that he couldn’t just sit there and stuff his face with donuts all day. I smiled politely and followed him down the hallway.

“Chief, Mrs….”

“Y/l/n” I called out with a small smile. I inched myself further in front of the door, ready to put up a fight I know was coming. Chief Carter appeared at the door looking between me and the desk officer.

“Mrs. y/l/n is here for you,” he patted me on the back before walking slowly back to his desk. Chief huffed, he was wondering how the hell I’d gotten back to his office since he was clearly not expecting anyone.

“Hi Chief Carter, my name is Y/n, I’ll get right to the point. I’m a reporter for..” before I could finish Chief Carter was already closing the door. I pulled my arms up, stopping the door from slamming in my face.

“With the WASHINGTONN POST, and I think that the Mcmenamin case is the ideal case to have as much media coverage as it can get.” I finished. The door was now open and Carter looked down at me.

“We don’t need more coverage, we have our own paper here in Easttown, but thank you.” He sounded tired, and clearly annoyed with my presence.

“Look, I’ve read the papers’ piece of this case. It’s poor grammar and lack of any sort of police and detective commentary is concerning. To put it lightly, it looks like you’re doing nothing, and by the comments I’ve been hearing around town it seems like people are catching on to that.” I gave my best smile and the Chief sighed heavily.

“Alright, but what will change with this case by writing about it in the post?” Carter questioned me. He let go of the door and crossed his arms- I was getting somewhere.

“It would spread this case far and wide- I’d make sure to add your detectives thoughts and if anyone widespread knows of anything they’ll let your station know. The post is very popular, so it’ll make this case a top priority. Not that I need to say more but I’m a local from the town over- so I promise you I’ll take the best care of reporting only facts and keep Easttown in my best interest.” I wasn’t lying, this case struck a cord in the place I had once held so close to my heart. Chief Carter stared at me. He was deciding on what route to take. He finally decided on trying to slam the door in my face, but yet again I stopped it with my hands and this time pushed it towards him. I was being ballsy, but that was the only way I knew how to do good at my work. Although it wasn’t usually a police chief I was bargaining with.

“You can either point me in the direction of the case detective so I can get information from them, and work WITH you to get the most accurate story, or you’ll have one hell of an annoying reporter that won’t give up and who may or may not shine a generous light towards your police officers and small town station. Your choice chief.” I narrowed my eyes at him and he sighed. He took a few moments before speaking.

“You know, I really have a distaste for big shot reporters around my small town station. You’ve got all eyes on you from here on out. You don’t talk to the town, you speak only with our detectives to gather your information. It’s the only way I’m letting you go down that hallway to Detective Sheehan’s office. Do you understand me?” His voice was smooth, and the way he worded his request seemed like a threat. I nodded slowly and gave him a pearly white smile. I hated who I could be at times when I knew it was the only way I was going to get what I needed. I had just became his biggest pain in the ass, and I’m almost certain this Sheehan character was going to think I was just as big of an ass pain.

“Yes, Sir!” I saluted, and Chief Carter pointed me in the direction of Detective Sheehan’s office.

“There is one detective on this case from our office and a county officer that’s assisting. Marianne Sheehan’s our own, and her office is down the hall to the left - good luck.” He chuckled a bit as if he thought me going to her office was funny. Great, she’s probably an old bitch with zero interest in what I had to say.

I thanked him and confidently strode down the hallway, my dirty white converse squeaking down the hallway. I licked my chap lips and looked down at my attire. The ripped jeans and chunky brown sweater under a very old black puffer jacket was not what I imagined myself in when I took on this job. I probably should have waited until after Thanksgiving, but I couldn’t bare spending any more time than I had to with my family at the moment.

I pulled my hand up to the door, but before I could knock, a woman swings open the door angrily.

“What do you want? I can see you standing in front of the door. Its tempered glass, genius.” I already pissed her off.

“Marianne Sheehan?” I asked quietly.

“In the flesh. What do you want?” She was chewing loudly on a piece of gum. I actually felt quite comfortable in my choice of clothes after seeing what she was in. I could see the coffee stain on her ivory shirt clear as day. Plus the smell of grape vape juice could be detected from a mile away off her old plaid over-shirt.

“Chief Carter send me down here to your office. I’m here with the Washington Post, covering your case on Erin Mcmenamin’s murder.” I dug my hands into my coat pocket.

“You’ve got to be kidding me?” Detective Sheehan closed her eyes and sighed. I could tell she was clenching her teeth as she held the bridge of her nose.

“I don’t know if you’ve read the Easttown Paper’s take on this, but frankly I assure you I will make your department look much more invested than they have. Plus, with the internet- who even gets the paper anymore? The Washington Post will have this case spread all around the Country. I’m not here to be a lice in your hair, I’m here to help,” I knew this woman needed a drink more than she needed my speech about how I was going to help her lead the case to success.

“You can come in, just don’t be annoying and ask me 50 questions right now. Also don’t call me Marianne.” She threw her pen down on the desk and sat down. She put her head in her hands for a moment before looking at me.

“Can I at least ask you what you prefer to be called?” I laughed and sat down in front of her. She didn’t think I was funny.

“Detective Sheehan, and I suppose you’ll be following us this afternoon?” She rolled her eyes as if it was second nature to her. I smiled back, trying to kill her with kindness.

“It depends on what there is for me to write about there?” I questioned her. She sighed and told me that they were looking for the bullet that had been part of their investigation. I pulled out my notes on my phone and typed out this information.

“Any other information you’re willing to give to me right now?” I asked eagerly. She was a bit of an unpleasant and sour broad, but she was pretty informative and clearly knew I was there to do my job as much as she was.

“Look, you’re going to have to work for this information just as much as I am. I’m fucking pissed you’re even here. First a County Detective, now a reporter following me like flies. You feed off people for your own per…” She was cut off by the ringing of her cellphone. She picked it up and quickly answered.

“What?” She was clearly as abrasive to everyone as she was to me, so that gave me a bit of peace. “Okay, yeah I’m held up in my office with some dumb big city reporter. Be there in a second,” She didn’t even bother looking to me to see if I was offended. I just looked down at my phone and smiled. I was just some dumb big city reporter. The best fucking one she was ever going to meet.

“Alright, if you promise to write a piece better than the local paper- and actually spell my fucking name right I can let you come to the scene with me and let you have some information I know the publics been askin for.” I nodded and jotted in my notes ‘SHEEHAN -Can’t fuck that up.’

“I have to head to the scene. You can ride there with Detective Zabel.”

The blood ran cold in my body.

“Detective Zabel…?” I felt like my soul left my body, why did that come out of my mouth, what if I had heard that wrong. I felt so sweaty, is this what having an anxiety attack feels like? He was a country detective now… I had only googled his name every week. I drank yourself into oblivion when I found out he was the one who had cracked a case that had the media buzzing - a missing teen, of course the perfect Colin Zabel found a missing fucking kid.

“Yeah, he’s the county Detective on this case with me. He’s a real… treat.” Mare raised her eyebrows at me as she slid her old gray jacket over her body. I got up somehow, even though my legs felt like they would give out at any moment.

“Speak of the devil,” Mare nodded towards the door, and I felt myself involuntarily turn my whole body to the exit and entrance of the small office. 
His smile instantly fell, his jaw was slightly ajar as if he couldn’t believe he was seeing me as much as I couldn’t believe I was seeing…him.

I felt my eyes widen in horror and I looked at the man I had been dreaming about for almost two years. My ex fiancé.

“You good Zabel?” Sheehan’s voice broke my stare and it clearly did for Colin as well.

“Yeah, hi. It’s been a while,” Colin’s soft voice filled the room. Detective Sheehan scoffed.

“You know her?” She asked looking between the two of us. Yeah we knew each other.

“Um, we uh… we went to high school together actually,” I filled in the blank for Colin as he stood there-white as a ghost. I can’t be doing this to him. I’ll call the post and tell them to reassign me to something fashion related instead. I mean I clearly need to learn something in that field.

“Great, you can catch up on the drive to the scene then. I’m out.” Detective Sheehan walked by us quickly and the room felt heavy as it was just Colin and I left. I swallowed the bile creeping up in my throat.

Colins sat down heavily in the chair I had occupied moments before. He gently placed his coffee on the table and refused to look at me.

“What are you doing here, Y/n?” He said softly, almost a whisper.

“I… I got assigned to write about the Mcmenamin case while on holiday. I’m gone in a week.” I managed to talk, which surprised not only me but Colin as well. He shot me a look of horror.

“A week?” His voice was no longer a whisper.

“You’ve spent a lot more than a week with me, I think you can handle it.” I retorted, annoyed that he was that angry to see me. I had to understand, but the sad sappy girl inside me played this scene VERY differently in my head.

“Yeah, sorry. I’m just.. wow I didn’t ever expect you to be here.” He ran his hands through his hair, and I wanted to grab him in a hug. He was so gentle, and I missed that about him. I suddenly wanted to know if he was seeing anyone. I made a mental note to figure that out during the week I was here. I don’t think I could handle it if he had moved on. I know how bad that sounds, but seriously I couldn’t.

“I have my car parked out front, I’ll just follow you to the scene I.. I know you don’t want me here. I’m so sorry. I never would have taken this case if I knew you were in it as well. You have to trust me on that,” I talked soft and slow. I wanted him to understand that I didn’t mean for this to happen.

“It’s fine, you can ride in the squad car with me. It’s safer that way.” He got up from his seat and let out a breath. He avoided eye contact, but I couldn’t help but need to look into those brown eyes.

“Colin?” My voice seemed to have calmed his nerves and he looked at me, his eyes finally landing on mine. Now they were not as mysterious as they had been for all those years. They were still dark and dreamy, but now they were clearly filled with pain, hurt, and sadness. I did it again, I re-opened a wound he was so desperate to close. I’m so great at fucking everything up for myself, but now I realize I was fucking everything up for the one person in the world who truly didn’t deserve it.

“I am so sorry,” My voice cracked and I realized I wasn’t talking about being here and reporting on his case. I was talking about everything that came before that.

“Yeah…” He stood there, eyes searching mine. “Let’s get going, Mare’s waiting.” He wasted no time, I stood there for a moment in shock. I had to be dreaming this encounter.

“You joining me?” Colin asked at the door. I smiled politely and apologized before following him out the door.

[lucienarcheron]

Around the World - Part 2 [ Elucien ]

Prompt: Prostitute/Client Modern AU with a twist. |

PART ONE 

Genre: Humor/Romance/Fluff Rating: Tis naughty time :) Recommended listen: Tonight by John Legend

The two could barely keep their hands off each other. Her main complaint was that the damn room just had to be on the sixth floor.

But Elain instantly stopped complaining when the elevator door closed and Lucien caged her in the corner of it, lifting her up to wrap her legs around his waist, her skirt to ride up and his lips found hers in a searing kiss. His hands roamed, first on her waist then down her rear and thighs, squeezing as he went. She shuddered in his arms, her body arching into his as he pressed against her, wanting more.

“I’m going to taste every inch of you.” he whispered to her suddenly and Elain let out a shaky breath, her whole body flushing when he kissed below her ear gently, then down her neck, and only stopped kissing her when the elevator finally dinged on their floor.

Elain couldn’t quite remember how they reached the door. It involved a lot of tugging on clothing, inappropriate noises, and more of those kisses he kept giving her, like he was trying to imprint himself on her soul.

It was after the door had been closed, after Lucien had whipped her around and caged her against it with her palms bracing her as his hands squeezed her ass and his lips kissed her exposed neck, after grinding himself against her, eliciting more of those moans out of her and she bucked against him — after they had stumbled deeper in the room and tossed her on the bed, her entire being protesting when he stopped touching her, it was then — when he started unbuttoning his own shirt, that Elain stopped.

She stopped. Froze.

She realized how out of her element she was when Lucien looked too at ease in the situation.

They had only gotten to know each other two hours ago.

“I’ve...never done this before.” Elain blurted, biting down on her lip and shooting him a look. “You know, had a one-night stand. I — yeah.”

Lucien paused and Elain’s cheeks heated when he met her gaze with a soft smile.

“That’s okay. We don’t have to do anything if you’ve changed your mind. Technically you haven’t paid yet. Consultations are on the house.” He said with a wink, his hands moving away from his shirt. Elain laughed softly and her eyes took his features in. His understanding expression, his lean but fit frame, and his very visible erection through his dress pants. She felt herself heat all over again.

She was overthinking it. It was just sex.

The bed dipped next to her and she turned her head to look at Lucien who gave her another reassuring smile.

“Tell me what you’re thinking.”

She paused for a moment then pursed her lips. “It’s just sex.”

Lucien nodded slowly, a finger rubbing against his lips. “Yes. But I’m not going to pretend I’m not insanely attracted to you.” he said with a chuckle. “Not just physically speaking.”

She playfully nudged his shoulder. “Do you say that to all your clients?”

He grinned, nudging her shoulder back. “Only my favorite ones.”

Elain chuckled then gave him a coy smile. “So I’m one of your favorites already?”

“I’ll let you in on a secret.” Lucien replied and leaned closer to her ear. “You’re my only client so that makes you the favorite.”

She turned to face him with a snort, the coy smile from earlier evolving into a genuine one as their gazes locked.

“Little ‘ole me?” Elain said quietly. “Should I be flattered or more concerned at your low number of clientele?”

He chuckled, his hand coming up to curl her hair behind her ear. “I’m reserved for very special types of people. They’re usually one in a million.”

She gasped dramatically. “I’m the one in a million?”

Lucien grinned then leaned in, placing a firm kiss on her lips that had Elain leaning right back into him, especially when his tongue grazed her bottom lip.

“It would seem so.”

Elain bit her lip, still leaning close to him and as she watched him watch her, she knew, knew Lucien would know exactly what to do with her.

“The moment you say stop, we stop, Elain.” he continued, his eyes never leaving her face. “I’ll take you right home...you’d just need to give me a few minutes to sort myself out.”

Elain laughed lightly at that then shook her head. She was completely overthinking this.

“No, no. You basically said I’d get the best sex of my life. I’m holding you to that promise.”

The feral grin that came on his face in response had Elain’s toes curling and the moment his lips came in contact with hers she forgot about everything. She forgot her worries, her doubts, and her horrible breakup. She forgot about anything else other than she was a girl that was spending the night with a boy that she was insanely attracted to.

Elain had forgotten how to breathe at a point and Lucien had to pull back to tease her about it.

But then he stripped, slowly, watching her watch him and she couldn’t take her eyes off him. Off the smirk that was gracing his face. When he stood in nothing but his boxer briefs, Elain had to keep squeezing her thighs together to somewhat contain the extent of her arousal. Though his sly smile told her he knew.

It was when Elain started to pull at her own blouse that his smile faded and he quirked a brow.

“What are you doing?”

She blinked.

“I know I said I never had a one-night stand but I’m pretty sure we both have to be naked for this to work.” she replied slowly and he snorted, leaning over her to gently pry her hands away from her shirt.

“That is very true.” he replied, placing her hands on her sides then slipping his hands to her knees and pulling her closer to him. “But I’ll be the one handling that. Any objections?”

Elain’s mouth parted slightly, her arousal at its peak and she swallowed before shaking her head.

And so with a grin, he stripped her himself. With every piece of clothing he took off, Lucien made sure his lips kissed every inch of skin that was revealed. By the time he got to her soaked lacy little panties, Elain was positive she had ceased to exist. Rather than slip them off, Lucien had smirked at her and dipped his head between her legs, his tongue teasing her through the fabric.

“Please.” she whispered and two fingers replaced his tongue, teasingly pushing against it.

“Please what?” he whispered right back, gently kissing her inner thigh and Elain’s eyes fluttered open.

“Please stop teasing me.”

He chuckled. “I’m getting you ready for me, love.”

The panties had come off instantly after that. Lucien’s tongue worked wonders on her and Elain wondered if this was what it was like to die and go to heaven. Every little noise that slipped from her lips only egged Lucien on, his eyes never leaving her face. She was spread like a feast in front of him and Lucien didn’t stop until she had crumbled from his mouth and fingers alone. His fingers teased her bundle of nerves then replaced his tongue. She let out a breathless moan as he slipped two fingers into her, his mouth traveling up instead, leaving kisses all over her skin, her stomach, the valley between her breasts then her neck. Elain gripped his forearm as he quickened the pace of his fingers and brushed a kiss right below her ears.

“Gods, you are beautiful splayed out like this.” he muttered. “You like what my fingers are doing, don’t you, little dove?”

“Yes.” she whispered, her cheeks burning and he smirked. “But I liked your t-tongue too.”

“You taste as lovely as I imagined.” he continued, leaning closely to place a kiss on the corner of her parted mouth as she let out a soft mewl. “I could’ve spent all day with my head between your legs. Would you have liked that?”

“Yes, please.” she whimpered, her grip tightening on his arm as her hips bucked to the rhythm of his fingers and Lucien chuckled.

“Maybe that’ll be an incentive for next time. There are other ways I want to have you tonight.” he said quietly, his fingers curving to hit the perfect spot to send her over and Elain let out a moan as her back arched, coming undone once more.

Lucien waited, pumping his fingers slowly as she came down from her high then pulled them out, watching her and the way she whimpered for him, his cock straining against his boxer briefs.

Elain swallowed, her chest rising and falling as she watched him. Her eyes darted to his fingers coated with her juices then to his face and Lucien smirked.

“Would you like to show me what that tongue can do, Elain?” he said, his voice low and Elain’s toes curled all over again as she nodded. She slowly sat up, her legs still spread, Lucien still standing between them. Her eyes were firmly locked on his as she grabbed his hand and slowly brought them into her mouth. Her tongue wrapped around his fingers and very delicately, Elain sucked on them, her tongue sliding down his fingers and licking them clean. Lucien desperately fought not to have his eyes roll back at the sensation; his mind had gone to a very different place of where he wanted her tongue to be. She pulled them out and then licked her lips, giving him a small smile.

“Was that good enough of a preview?” she asked, her hands reaching for the waistband of his boxer briefs now but his hands gently gripped hers.

He smirked. “It was perfect but you need to keep your hands to yourself.”

“And what if I can’t?” she asked, attempting an innocent look with a bat of her eyelashes.

Lucien chuckled then leaned to face her directly. “Then I’ll have to tie up those pretty hands.”

Elain’s breath hitched, her nipples hardening and she fought every urge to just throw herself at him. “You want to tie me up?”

He raised a brow, his smirk widening. “Do you want me to tie you up?”

A thousand thoughts flashed through Elain’s mind and every single one of them was of something she wanted him to do to her. Things she had always fantasized about but was too embarrassed to ever bring up with Graysen.

Being tied up by this beautiful man was one of the first.

“I wouldn’t mind.” she said softly.

He straightened and a look of pure male satisfaction bloomed on his face. “Another incentive for next time then.” he said and pulled her in his arms to slide her body further up on the bed and slowly rested himself over her. “But tonight, it’s going to be my job to make you feel good.”

“Spoken like a true hooker.” she replied with a grin that Lucien returned before leaning in to kiss her lips gently.

“I’m going to fuck you so hard, Elain.” he whispered. “You’re going to be feeling me for days.”

And just like that, the air in the room shifted. The primal hunger that had the two of them frantic to reach the room returned and despite it being one article of clothing, Elain couldn’t get Lucien naked and the condom on fast enough.

A small whine left her lips when he pushed her body down, adjusting himself between her legs and his hand teasingly rubbing his shaft against her opening.

“Please —” she barely had to beg when Lucien thrust into her fully and held, a ragged moan replacing anything else she had to say. Elain closed her eyes and bit her lip, letting herself adjust to how he filled her and how his hands felt sliding down her body. She bucked her hips, indicating she was ready but he only chuckled in return.

“We’re going to build it up, Elain, be patient.” he said softly, his lips leaving butterfly kisses on her neck and Elain arched into him, releasing a frustrated whine.

“I don’t want to build it up slow. Just fucken fuck me.” she growled and Lucien grinned.

“Such a filthy mouth on such a pretty girl.” he whispered, pulling out slowly then thrusting back into her hard and Elain gasped.

“Yes.”

“So soft but you like it rough, don’t you, Elain?” he said quietly, slowly pulling out again then thrusting hard into her once more and she dug her nails in his shoulder with another ragged breath.

“Yes.”

“No one’s ever been a little rough with you, have they, love?” Lucien said again as Elain wrapped her legs around his waist, tugging him into her. “But you always wanted it like that, didn’t you?”

“Gods yes.” she whimpered again and Lucien chuckled, then lifted one of her legs to have it rest on his shoulder and pulled out slowly once more.

“We are going to have a lot of fun then.” he said, his hand sliding down her leg and leaning closer to claim her lips as he thrust hard into her once more. Elain almost came then, her fingers digging deep into his arm and shoulder, pouring everything she had into their heated kiss.

Lucien no longer held back, thrusting at a pace that had Elain panting, sinful noises, and swear words that would put anyone else to shame slipping from her lips, her eyes only leaving his when they rolled back.

“Almost, almost, almost —” she panted and whined as he thrust faster, pulling her other leg over her shoulder and Elain arched her back, her body singing more, more, more as Lucien pounded into her, a hand slipping to tease her bundle of nerves. Elain let out a louder moan, a hand fisting the sheets, the other digging into his shoulder and then she shattered, her body taunt as she came undone.

“You should’ve waited for me, love.” he said quietly in her ear, his thrusts slowing down and before Elain could properly register what he meant, Lucien pulled out of her, pecked her on the lips then flipped her over and pulled her body towards him. “This okay?”

Elain looked over her shoulder, her eyes flickering to his erection and then back to his face. He hadn’t finished but Lucien gave her a smirk, reaching to brush loose strands of hair away from her face.

She bit her lip and propped herself on all four of her shaky limbs still reeling from the orgasm she had and arched her body towards him. “Yes.”

Lucien didn’t need to be told twice. Elain let out a broken moan to his low groan when he thrust into her again, filing her. He wrapped his arm around her middle, his chest pressed to her back and Elain could only clench a fist in the sheets and hold onto the arm he was holding around her as Lucien went at a relentless pace again.

He whispered sweet-nothings that turned so filthy, Elain’s flushed cheeks burned but she didn’t care, as long he kept doing and saying what he was doing and saying.

“Lucien please —”

“Almost, love.”

He let go of her middle then, gently pushing her down and bringing his hands to settle on her hips instead and Lucien’s pace went harder. Elain gripped the sheets tightly, her moans and whimpers dancing with his growls and grunts as he claimed her for the night.

So much trust had been given to a practical stranger and yet, Elain’s only thought at this moment was if he could fuck her any harder.

“Lucien.” she could only whimper once more, her walls tightening around him as he thrust in her and the two came undone together.

Lucien held her to him for a moment longer, their bodies coated with sweat before slowly pulling out and Elain’s body trembled as she lay on her stomach, breathing heavily. He watched her close her eyes and took the time to dispose of the condom before returning with a damp washcloth.

Gently turning her over, Elain watched as Lucien’s gaze washed over her, inspecting her before meeting her gaze and smiling gently.

“You alright?” he asked quietly and Elain blinked at him before erupting into a fit of giggles. He quirked a brow.

“Are all one-night stands this nice?” she asked with flushed cheeks, smiling widely and Lucien snorted.

“It depends on the kind of guy you go home with, Elain.” he replied and she giggled again then pointed a finger at him with a playful squint.

“You sure you’re not actually a prostitute?” she asked and he gave her an amused look. “Because this was...you’re...this was good. I...this was good.”

Lucien laughed softly, laying next to her, braced on his hand. “Not a prostitute. Just had a lot of practice.”

“You hoe it up, huh Lucien?” she asked, turning to face him, mimicking his position.

“Sure, Elain. I ‘hoe’ it up.” he replied with a roll of his eyes then pushed her shoulder so she’d fall on her back again with another giggle.

“Well, good for you.” she replied, poking his shoulder then brushing a finger across his collarbone. “It’s worked in your favor.”

“Seems it’s worked in your favor as well.”

Their eyes met and the two fell into each other once more, devouring each other in a heated kiss that earned a pleasant hum from both of them. Lucien pulled her closer, his tongue seeking permission and Elain granted him access, wrapping an arm around his neck to have him resting over her. The forgotten washcloth slipped from his hands and Lucien cupped her face as he deepened the kiss, Elain already arching against him.

He pulled away from the kiss abruptly and a whine of protest left Elain’s lips.

“Are you tired?” he asked quickly and Elain grinned.

“Nope. You?”

Lucien grinned in return. “Nope. I have a few more places around the world I can show you if you’re up for it?”

Elain’s eyes gleamed. “Are you going to charge me extra for the ride?”

“Depends. Are you going to be a good girl or give me a hard time?”

“Mmm.” Elain pursed her lips, pretending to be in thought. “Wouldn’t you want me to be a good girl that also gives you a hard time?”

He burst out laughing and she giggled in return. “I gotta say, Elain...I am very glad I met you tonight.” he said softly and she smiled, averting her gaze for a second then meeting his again.

“Me too...it’s been a fun night with you.”

“Good. ‘Cause there’s a lot more fun coming up.”

[wanderingpages]

‧͙⁺˚･༓☾Gentle Sins AU☽༓･˚⁺‧͙

“Are you going to help me take my clothes off too?” I meant it to sound teasing – I wanted to show him I could play his game too – but I was breathless, I was buzzing with anticipation.

“You know it wouldn’t end there, Jude,” he gave me a wry look. “It's a shame,” he rose and ruffled my hair, “It's a shame you’re my sister,” he murmured, needlessly reminding me. “Because that was some damn fine pussy, baby.”e pussy, baby.”

TFOTA // All Human // AU : Jude and Cardan do things step-siblings shouldn't do.

Trigger Warnings: Crude language, Allusions to Drugs/Alcohol, Debauching Catholicism/Religious Metaphors, Taboo Sex.

Shout out @headcannonxgalore, even though she has nothing to do with this fandom, she kept me in check lol

Jude's POV

When it’s my first year of college, it’s his third. He lives on campus – in a frat house, I think, but as far as I know, Cardan’s not actually in a frat, just an honorary member who’s never been hazed or rushed. He doesn’t play any sports but he’s at all the games, never organizes a party or fundraiser but still the reason people even show up. He doesn’t own a Grecian alphabet dotted ring, but a bomber jacket instead, with ‘Greenbriar’ above the Greek letters. He’s cool, I guess, but I hate that I’m not the only one to notice.

Despite the first day of the semester, when he told me, “Mom and Dad said to watch out for you,” as he plucked the phone in my hand, furrowing his brows as he read through my schedule, I haven’t spoken to him since, and finals were only two weeks away now. I’m not complaining; I’ve lived my whole life without his help, I can surely live out the rest of it the same way, too. It doesn’t help that he plagues a lot of my waking dreams, though. I take a religion class that I constantly debate on dropping because all I can think about is the utter blasphemy that went on in the church our parents got married in. Still, I pull through for the sake of understanding Asha and why all the Jesus paraphernalia she’s added to our home makes my skin crawl. I don’t remember her being so god-fearing prior to the wedding, but if it’s her hobby, I wanted a way to relate.

I lie when I speak to our parents, when they ask how he’s been and how he’s treating me. I tell them he’s great and we’re good, and maybe he lies too because they never point out any inaccuracies. I see Cardan in passing sometimes, when I guess he leaves his first class of the week and I’m heading to my second. Today, the girl on his arm is brunette, last week was a blonde pixie cut. His taste is diverse; I wish I hadn’t been paying enough attention to know that. As they near, Cardan gives me a nod like he always does, but I have to do a double take today. The girl next to him could be my twin if I weren’t an only child.

“Thanks for the notes, Taryn,” Cardan says before separating from her and making a u-turn to me, in a surprising twist of events. “You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Uh…” I glance over to the girl – Taryn, picking out all our differences, trying to make it out-way the similarities. Long auburn hair – more dark and red in hue than my light chestnut color – in tousled waves, framing her heart shaped face, full lips like the ones on my face that I touch tentatively, sun kissed skin like mine, but still easy to see the pink in her cheeks. Her eyes are darker than mine, and freckles dot across her cheeks whereas I just have a single, small, dark one under my eye. Even her curves match mine, however her’s is softer than what I’ve tried to tone all summer long. I feel a little queasy, watching her walk into a room.

“Who’s ass do I have to kick?” He has a pointer finger under my chin, I feel cold metal graze my skin where a lone ring rests today. I asked him at the wedding if they meant anything, but he laughed and told me he just liked how they looked. I like pretty things, little sister. And I like adorning myself with them, too.

He guides my gaze to his, tilting my chin up slightly. My eyes widen just a fraction at his swollen lips. I lean back just a little, taking in the bigger picture. His dark hair is ruffled, more askew than it had been the day of the wedding. Of course, it had rained later that day, matting waves over his face. My fingers twitch now, wanting to fix the mess just as I had tried to fix his damp hair before. Down his neck are a few pink splotches that seem to be disappearing now, and at the collar of his shirt, on the skin peeking through the neckline, I see faint scratches, four equal lines running beneath the cotton. “As your big brother,” he murmurs, leaning closer to me, like we’re sharing secrets. “I think the saying goes that nobody bullies my sister but me, right?” I bat his hand away, shaking my head. I hate when he calls me his sister. I hate when he reminds me that he’s my brother. I hate when he refers to my dad as his dad. I hate that I’m tainted by just being a bystander to his sacrilege. I hate that barely-there glint in his eyes when he knows something I wish he didn’t. He catches my wrist before it falls to the side, his thumb running over the bright red knuckles, uncovered today, looking at them disapproving for a fleeting moment.

I snatch my hand back, giving him an almost petulant look. I’m nervous, I try to tell him with my eyes, hoping he won't ask. It’s not the first time he’s seen my battered fingers and it probably won't be the last either. It’s the end of my first semester and every day feels like I’m closer to impending doom; of course my nervous tick has been amplified. “We barely talk,” I narrow my eyes at him, “let alone do you get the chance to bully me.”

He holds his hands up, palms facing me as if to say he’s surrendered. “You’re right,” he admits. “I’m not taking my role very seriously.” I want to bash my head in because I don’t want him to take his role seriously. I don’t even want him in the role. He’s absolutely not joking, though however teasing he may sound. I’ve played out every interaction we’ve had together, all I can count on one hand, and there’s always something underlying to them. I wonder, belatedly, if Cardan actually hates me. Or maybe it was my dad and he was taking it out on me? Maybe I should have asked during that car ride, or during that dance we shared, or maybe when we were outside right before the storm. Maybe that’s why he’d acted as he had that night, why he had said what he said about our parents.

“Cardan…” I trail off, not knowing what to say, but I suppose I don’t really have to say anything.

“There’s a get together at the house,” he explains, and I know he means his house, the frat house. “Swing by on Saturday. Tell them you’re with me.” He takes hold of my bag and I’m too startled to stop him.

“I’m with you,” I repeat in disbelief.

He shrugs, “Or just tell them your mine.” My heart must have stopped for a moment. “My little sister. It’s all up to you, Jude.” His words have weight I don’t want to hold and it makes me uncomfortable. “Your class is down the hall, right?” He changes the topic so swiftly and it takes me a second to catch up with him. I guess he had remembered my schedule.

“Why are you guys having a party so close to finals?” I finally ask, while I attempt to take my bag back. He holds it out of my reach and brushes my hand away.

“Why not?” he counters, making my brain rattle. Every time we talk, it feels like pulling teeth. I give up and let him hold my bag.

“Sure,” I say, hoping it surprises him that I’d want to attend his party. He only smiles wider.

“So, how’s having Asha as a parent?” he asks, conversely, confusing me with his subject changes. A whole year, and now he decides on small talk?

I frown, and decide to be truthful “She’s great. I’ve had to do my own hair since I was five years old,” I laugh a little, wringing my fingers. “It was nice to have her brush it every once in a while.” My brows crinkle and my lips purse, “Though, I had to go to church a few Sundays. I didn’t know she was that religious,” I admit. “I’m not even Catholic. I don’t think Dad even had me baptized.”

Cardan chuckles in surprise, “Church? Yeah, that does sound just like her.” The way he says it makes me think that this is not like her at all. Maybe it was just a hobby she spontaneously picked up after getting married. Bored housewife syndrome or something.

“Yeah well,” I reach the door of my class and give him a pointed look, “No one warned me.” He holds the door open for me and passes me my bag. He doesn’t respond because maybe he doesn’t have to. I was there that night too, and nothing could have ever prompted me to stop our course of action to talk about my stepmother.

He follows a lock of my hair with his finger, twists the curl and tugs it lightly, childishly. “See you, little sister.” I wait for him to leave before I roll my eyes heavenwards.

I wait a few minutes in class before I excuse myself to the bathroom. The halls are empty now so it’s easier to navigate. I back track to where Cardan usually comes from, confused when I only see a storage room at the end of that specific hall. I feel uneasy as I figure it out. I guess it wasn’t that hard to begin with. “Notes, my ass,” I mutter.

With trepidation, I open the door, more heavy than other doors in this building, but unlocked, nonetheless. There’s a string that dangles from the ceiling, so I pull it, letting the light shine before I shift my weight from the door, and let it slowly shut behind me. It does hold a few cleaning supplies, but it’s mostly empty. I can smell that subtle amber fragrance Cardan always smells like. I grimace, feeling dirty being in here. I lean back against the door, finding myself wondering if the lights are on or off when he’s in here. If she’s leaning against a shelf, grasping at the panels to hold her up, or if she’s facing them instead, her back to him, resting her cheek on the lowest shelf, hands behind her back while he holds on to them, fucking her rough and quiet. In my head, the girl is Taryn, I tell myself.

←Prev Part ∞ Next Part →

Masterlist

Gentle Sins Masterlist

[solrika]

I think I may have to start an AO3 to collect the things I've made in the Prince AU (started by @zebsfloppyears --I'm playing in the sandbox with their permission). This doesn't feature the boys, but I can't help but think of what the Lasan goverment looked like after the invasion.

~

Orebah, the chief finance minister, rubbed at his forehead. “This is a mess.”

Jorn, the newly-appointed minister of agriculture, reached over to refill Orebah’s glass. “That’s an understatement.” 

“Has parliament settled on the new defense minister yet?” Orebah asked, flicking a look at where the late Galliazeh usually sat. 

“No,” replied Paratep, Prime Minister, formally Speaker. “Still in deliberations.”

Sitith, from the customary corner seat of the spymaster, flicked their ears back in irritation. “I doubt we’ll be allowed to appoint one. Officially, at least,” they amended, absently rubbing at the bandages on their side. “The Imperials might put one of their own in the seat.”

“Or leave us with nothing,” Orebah snorted, tossing back his glass. 

Devicep, the new director of commerce, subtly pushed the pitcher away from Jorn’s overly-polite hands. “Sitith, have your little birds heard anything about the blockade? We don’t have much interplanet business, but–”

Sitith shook their head. “It’s damn hard to get anyone where I want them. No nonhumans to speak of in their command structure at all.” They twiddled with their datapad, frowning in thought. “I know the Imperials are going to install a puppet ruler. Some kind of regent… I’ll see if I can install someone on the Guard to keep watch.” 

Jorn snorted. “How? The Guard are traditionalists. There’s no way they’ll let an outsider handle their precious bo-rifles.”

Orebah smiled mirthlessly, and reached past Devicep’s arm to grab the pitcher for himself. “And yet, rumor has it a human won one during the invasion. There’s nothing holy in war. They’ll learn that soon enough.”

“Leave the Guard to me.” Sitith waved a dismissive hand. “Just to check–you still don’t want to crown Miriana? The people would rally around her. We might be able to raise enough of an army to wage open war.”

“She’s sixteen, and a child, not a game piece,” Paratep snapped, ears flattening. When Sitith simply blinked placidly back, she deflated a little, tail curling sheepishly. “Besides. Under normal circumstances, parliament would hold executive power until she comes of age.”

Sitith made a little notation on their pad. “Fine.” Glancing up, they prompted, “Yakka? You have something to say?”

Yakka, the youngest in the room and the environmental director, started in zer seat. “What?”

“You’ve been opening and closing your mouth like a fish.” Sitith gestured with their stylus. “Out with it.” 

“I–well–” Ze shook zerself. “I keep wondering–what does the Empire want from us? They have other agricultural assets within their borders, and they certainly don’t need firepower.” Ze twisted zer fingers around zer glass, frowning down at its bottom. “And I keep thinking of Geonosis.” 

A beat of silence, and then Devicep slammed a hand down on the table. “Karbast!” 

Yakka grimaced. “Indeed.” 

“We are not letting those monsters strip our planet,” Orebah snarled. “Sitith, whatever you need–”

They nodded. “We’ll discuss defense budgets later.” With a pointed look at the pitcher, “When you’re sober.” 

“If you’re going to be talking to the Guard anyway…” Jorn tapped his claws on the table. “We haven’t had a general in centuries.” 

“We haven’t needed a general in centuries,” Orebah growled into his glass. 

Ignoring the finance minister’s grumbles, Jorn continued, “If we truly intend to wage a quiet war–”

“Yes.” Sitith bobbed their head, making another note. “I’ll see what I can do. My first picks all died in the attack. Orrelios is good, but untested. If I have permission to outsource–”

Devicep waved a hand. “I can get your agents on the merchant ships. As soon as the blockade lifts, you can start recruiting in person.” 

“Excellent.”

[amalia-uwu]

“You got what you  deserved!”

Undertale by Toby Fox

Horrortale by Sour Apple Studios @horrortalecomic

Prompts by @a-whispering-echo

It was a prompt meant for Dust but I used Horror Sans 

Fic by me

I don't own undertale or horrortale or the prompts! The rights go to the respective owners! This story is for entertainment purposes only!

Warnings ⚠️ : Death, blood, gore, swearing, cannibalism (among monsters), death, Major character death, graphic description of violence, injury, curse, horror

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Undyne was walking around the halls of her palace. She was unaware of the shadow behind her. As she was walking, the shadow followed her like a predator watching it's prey and waiting for the right moment to strike.

Undyne began feeling uneasy. She didn't show it. She turned abruptly

“SHOW YOURSELF!” she clenched her teeth and held tightly the spear in her hands.

The intruder was only a small mouse.

She sighed in relief and lowered her weapon “you stupid mouse..”

A red eye was glaring at her, from behind. An insane smile on his face.

Two arms grabbed her waist abruptly. She didn't have time to react.

Both disappeared.

Teleported.

They appeared in a cavern.

....Here we are now...

Lovely readers.. Sit back, relax and enjoy the tale.. Im about to tell you....

......

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....

Undyne confronting Sans.

Looking at him she saw that he had snapped so bad.

It's been years.. Years since she last confronted him..

Seeing him again made her feel a twinge of guilt for what she did.. But there was no turning back.

She was leaning on the wall of the cavern. Sans was standing opposite her.

He had so many injuries.. Broken bones, bruises, cracks, fractures, here and there. But he was calm. He was...

Empty.

Empty of any emotion.

Undyne was leaning on the rock, bones piercing her left shoulder and right thigh.

“We could have found another way Undyne... *huff* But no. *puff* You chosed this over anything... You betrayed me...” bitterness in his voice.

“There wasn't another way Sans” she panted. She knew she had lost the battle. She knew what she did was wrong. Unforgivable. But... she did it anyway.

“Hm.. So you thought betraying me.. Killing me.. Was a good idea? Hm? Have you thought of my brother? What would he say?

You called me useless Undyne.. But for a queen... All I have to say is that you are the one who is useless. Using such a cheap technique to save your people..Really ..Undyne.. That was low even for you

Normally.. Queens and Kings sacrifice themselves for their people. You called me useless.. but.. Was I? Or were you just too stupid to understand my way of thinking?

I spent so long in that room trying to fix the core! While you...you...what were you doing exactly?

Your people were dusting from Hunger...

What were you doing?

You know?

Sitting in a throne giving orders and having everything served in a golden plate in from of your damn feet is nice and comfy don't you think? You stupid fucking bitch?”

She remained silent for a while. “I did what I could, what I had to!” she tried to defend herself.

“You did shit! Listening to your fucking girlfriend!”

He was right.

She looked at the floor, then at him and asked

“What are you gonna do Sans? Dust me?”

Sans looked at her and smiled. It was a sickening, twisted smile. He seemed excited hearing her question.

“.. Dust you? No. Ohoho... Oh nonono, I have something much, much better in mind.. You will feel my and everyone's wrath Undyne. I will make sure that you feel the sins crawling all over you! What happened to Alphys is nothing in front of what's gonna happen to you! Pussy face..

Justice will be given one way or another you will get what you deserve” .

Summoning his big thick bone. He walked closer. His shadow over her. He raised his weapon and started hitting her.

“You. Fucking. Stupid. Good. For nothing. Bitch!” her face moved left and right by the force of his hits.

She didn't say anything too shocked to speak. She only looked at him,after each hit.

“It's your fault! It's all your damn fault i can't find peace! You and the damned human are the reasons of our suffering. Some queen are you! You whore!” he slapped her, punched her hit her with all his might.

Years of anger and unanswered questions such as «Why did you do this to me?» tormented him. He had enough. He's been waiting years for this moment.

He hit her again and again. His strength motivated by pure repressed fury, wrath, grief.

Undyne for once in her life.

Emphasis on once.

Felt her sins crawling all over her back.

Eventually she had enough of these hits. Her face a bruised, bloodied mess. She begged him

“Stop!” 

Sans stopped abruptly. He blinked. He grabbed her red hair and brought her face closer to his.

“Excuse me... What was that? My little Fishy?.. Stop? Heh.. Now that sounds familiar...

Stop is what I told you! Spare me! Is what what I TOLD YOU!

DO YOU REMEMBER WHAT YOU TOLD ME? WHAT YOU DID?!” 

She didn't answer.

“AAANSWEEERR MEEEEEE!!!!!”

She closed her eyes tightly. She faced away from him. “I didn't listen to you...I know what I did”

His expression softened and patted her shoulder “self conscious for once... Nice!”

He removed a syringe from his pocket and injected the liquid into her neck.

She shrieked and used a spear that pierced Sans ribs.

“GHK!” his eyes widen.

He spat blood,  stabled backwards and fell down.

*THUD*

He laid motionless.

Whatever he had injected her it burner her. Her eye landed on the letters at the front of the syringe.. DT. Her eyes widen, that asshole had injected (her) Determination mixed with adrenaline...

After a few minutes he twitched and slowly stood up.

->[Amelia speaking : So, Sans is the Undertaker (WWE) of the Underground🤣] <-

He grabbed the spear and removed it slowly.

His blood ran down from the wound.. He grimaced slightly from pain.

“Undyne... Undyne... You naughty fish! I.. Cannot. Die! But you? You Will feel every second of it!”

He threw the spear in front of her feet. She looked at it.

He walked away from her. She heard chains clanging together. A few minutes later he returned holding hooks.

Using  the hooks he pierced her skin and hanged her up. Her blood ran down. She screamed. Sans didn't stop.

He had enough.

Revenge will be served today!

“Let me go you psycho!” she screamed. “What's the matter your majesty? Did it hurt? Are you scared? This is nothing in front of what awaits you!” he mocked.

He removed a piece of paper from his pocket and spoke

“I sans the skeleton curse you Undyne the Undying that you will never find peace!

You will crave it but you will never have it!

LIKE DAY FOLLOWS THE NIGHT! JUST LIKE THAT YOU WILL FOLLOW DESIRE FOR SALVATION , MERCY BUT IT WILL NOT BE GRANTED TO YOU!

I condemn you to suffer and feel every second of it! You will always come back only to relive your death!

Just like Prometheus had his liver eaten by that bird over and over again.. just like that you will have your body eaten for all eternity!

DEATH SHALL BE MERCY! A MERCY THAT WILL NOT BE GIVEN TO YOU! YOU WILL ALWAYS COME BACK AND SUFFER THE SAME WAY! IN THE NAME OF ALL THOSE YOU HURT.. I CURSE YOU!”

Strong wind blew. Magic left from Sans's soul amd hit Undyne's.  

Thunders echoed. Lightings illuminated the darkness of the night. His magic illuminated the entire cave.

Undyne felt fear conquering her soul.

He removed a magic fragrance/liquid from his pocket and threw it all over her.

Then he opened the door.

The hungry residents entered. Slowly walking closer and closer to her.

Undyne gulped. She began shivering. She heard sans speaking.

Reminding her the cruel reality they live.

“A small reminder  for you your  majesty....in this world is..”

“¡  E  A  T   

O  R  B E 

E  A  T  E  N  !„

They walked towards her and one by one  jumped on her. Like wild beasts they began tearing her flesh. Biting onto her.

Can you blame them?

Food is food.

Sans was watching with a sickening smile on his face. Hearing her screams along with the sound of her flesh being torn apart was music in his nonexistent ears. 

She shrieked and gargled. Her blood splashed everywhere. Her blood staining the ground.

Using their sharp claws and teeth they tore her abdomen and chest opened.

They removed her organs and began eating them before her very eye. One monster said in a twisted way mouth full of her flesh

“ YOU

ARE

WHAT

YOU

EAT!„

More blood was spilled and splattered all over the wall. Some of it on Sans's face. They drank her blood. She screamed and begged

“PLEASE! HELP! GET OFF OF  ME YOU PSYCHOS! LET GO!! HELP!”

From among the chaos. She looked at Sans. She remembered how he begged her to stop.

How he begged her not to do what she had in mind. In that moment she understood what he went through.

She understood the feeling of helplessness.

She began feeling dizzy. She vomited blood.

.....

After some hours there was nothing left of her. Nothing but her bones. Broken bones and her armor.

He burned her bones so there will be nothing left of her.

Sans looked at the mess. He looked as the fire ate away her bones and armor.. He felt nothing.  Nothing whatsoever.

“You got what you fucking deserved undyne”

His voice held no emotion.

He walked away the snow crunching beneath his feet. Hands into his pockets.

....

....

........

Undyne was in a dark place. She was in one piece. She sighed in relief.

Only for the place around her to crumble. She was back at that cavern. She attempted to get up and go.

But there were hooks on her hands. She remembered the curse. She heard noises from outside the door.

Undyne gasped. Her breathing frantic. She panicked.

The door opened slowly with a creaking noise and....

.......

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!

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The End! 😘

Thank you for reading! 💙

Please let me know what you think! Have a great day! 💕

XoXo 💋

[sadnesslaughs]

Most magical mascots would usually choose a group of teenage girls to be chosen as magical guardians. However, one mascot, for the sake of efficiency, decides to choose a group of marines to become magical girls instead.

(A response to a writing prompt)

“Ladies and gentlemen, I’ll admit, there was a mix-up when I heard what they call folks like you. See, I’m lovable and cute, so I sometimes get distracted by my reflection. On that day, the windows were extra shiny in the guardian temple, so I misheard what my instructor said.” Pilwa paused, staring at her own reflection in the window of a black pickup truck. How did she look so fluffy? Her pink tail curled to perfection, adding to that harmless fox identity she had. Oh, and the sparkles. How her fur glittered. She would sell millions of copies if she were from some corny video game. Unfortunately for Pilwa, this was real life and her marketable face was only good for motivating her chosen army.

“Pilwa? You ok, you stopped talking.” Gary said, the grizzled veteran sitting on an overturned bucket. He had seen the horrors of war, and this sight disturbed him more than anything he had seen on a battlefield. What was she? He scratched his grey beard, trying to figure that out.

“Huh? So. I did. Thank you, soldier 1,” she said, assigning every soldier a number, not bothering to learn their names. “As I was saying, I thought my instructor said you were a bunch of baby seals. I was thrilled at the prospect of creating an aquatic army of magical baby seal girls. Oh, I would have had to work on the name for that one.” Pilwa paused. “Baby Magic Seals? Seal Magic? Sealed Magic?”

“Ugh. Does she ever shut up? Someone tell me this toy has an off switch. Is this some new form of torture device?” Allie, or Soldier 3 by Pilwa’s rude standards, groaned, unsure why Gary was even indulging this lunacy.

Pilwa’s neck twisted, snapping to Allie. Those purple pupils showing the wrath of one hundred suns, the sort of anger that one could only get from centuries of being mistaken for a toy by small infants. From years of getting her tail pulled and drooled on, that rage culminating into this outburst.

“Shut up? I’ll shut you up. You think you can take me? I’ll rot your teeth out with a candy cane punch. I don’t tolerate disrespect.” Pilwa said, the soldiers all going stiff, not daring to utter a word. “Y-you will…. Waaaaaaah” And like that, the soldiers all breathed again, watching the guardian break down. “I just want to eat snacks and stare at myself. I don’t want to fight magic wars. Why’s everyone so mean? Is it because I’m beautiful and you’re all 4s?”

The group all looked at one another. They were at least a five or six out of ten. Maybe Gary was even a seven. Dad bods were apparently in. James stepped forward, planting a hand on the shoulder of the magical guardian.

“Maybe we should all just work together, right? Think about it. If we don’t do this, who will? I don’t want my daughter fighting some magical war, do you? This is our chance to take a stand and kill the horrible things that plague the world. We won’t only be fighting for our country, we will be fighting for our world.” James hoped his speech went well. He was young — well, young by the squad’s standards, so he hadn’t earned the right to speak out of line. That shaved head of his dripping with sweat before the squad roared with cheers.

“Damn right. I’m not letting my daughter go to war. I signed up to stop that.” Gary stood up, crossing his arms over his chest. “Whose with us?” Soon Pilwa was surrounded by the soldiers, the guardian having her own personal army. With a snap of her fingers, she decorated the squad in her uniform of choice, wearing fluttery pink dresses with darling frills.

The guns they had strapped over their shoulders were covered in marketable Pilwa stickers, with her face being on all of them. Even Allie got a sticker on her gun, although hers had a frowning face, the guardian still not having forgiven her after getting yelled at. With the squad suited up, Pilwa teleported them to their newest mission. Leaving the swampy fields they had been fighting in.

The area they landed in was dark and cold. They heard the dripping of water, as well as the heavy thumping of feet down stone stairs. Gary shushed the squad, finding a lighter in his pocket. While they couldn’t see the target, they could still hear them. With the element of surprise, Gary was confident they could take down anything.

“WOW, ITS DARK IN HERE. ANYONE KNOW WHERE THE VILLAIN IS?” Pilwa shouted, bumping into their legs, making some soldiers flinch. There was a roaring scream as Pilwa spoke. The scream making Pilwa yelp, the mascot accidentally releasing a light spell, creating a disco ball that rotated through the room, giving them the odd circles of light, offering them a way of seeing the monster.

The monster was a corrupted princess. The once beautiful princess was a dream created by a girl named Abigail. This princess set to marry the prince of some neighbouring kingdom because she was the prettiest and everyone liked her before she was super cool. Oh, and she had two hundred horses named Pony. The creativity of children always being a strange thing, however, as she slept that night, the dream turned into a nightmare, and this was the result. A nightmarish creation that would eat the soul of the child if it wasn’t killed.

The princess didn’t look human anymore, limbs covered in thorns, like that of a rose, each one dripping a rotting black liquid that burned the ground it touched. She methodically moved through the room, trying to shift through the brief spots of darkness that she could find. It was almost as if she was dancing, swaying with the disco ball to avoid its direct light.

The soldiers stepped back, Allie grabbing the mascot, dragging her with them. They knew they had to huddle close, not wanting to give the monster a chance to pick them off. If they had to guess, they were in a dungeon. At least, that’s what the miserable bland walls and chains would suggest.

“Formation two. Expect the enemy to try to attack us from the rear. If a person’s grabbed, don’t give chase.” Gary ordered, pointing his gun at the darkness, while his allies did the same, waiting for a glimpse of the creature.

The creature remained idle. Still swaying. While they could see it, its movements were too unpredictable to take a shot. As soon as they fired, it would either attack or flee. They wanted to keep their casualties at zero, which meant they needed a perfect shot.

“THIS IS TAKING SOOOO LONG. COME ON, KILL HER.” Pilwa strutted forward, pointing her finger at the creature, not realizing that monsters loved eating guardians. After all, when a guardian died, the magical girls would lose their powers. The monster lunged, trying to bite the head off Pilwa, only to get hit by a barrage of bullets from Allie. Each bullet making a cute pew pew noise, ripping through the monster’s flesh. When the monster died, it dissolved into the ground, the area lighting up after its passing, reverting to the perfect dream it once had been.

Then they were back at camp, sitting around the fire. It was as if nothing had happened. If it wasn’t for Pilwa, they would have all assumed they had hallucinated the last twenty minutes. Pilwa hugged Allie, refusing to let her go.

“THANK YOU! I thought I was going to die. Why did it want to eat me? Was it jealous? Why am I so adorable?” She sobbed into Allie, letting out all that fear she had felt. “Y-you kno… yo-you aren’t tat bad,” Pilwa said, trying to speak through sobs. The sticker on Allie’s gun changing, now being a giant love heart that covered the entire side of the weapon.

“Ah, yeah? Ew, gross. Don’t wipe your nose on me. You’re covering me in slimy glitter.” Allie said, throwing Pilwa away in disgust.

James only laughed, picking up Pilwa, dusting her off. “So, did we save someone? Honestly, that was kind of scary. I remember having a nightmare like that when I was a kid.”

“Then… a magical girl probably saved your life in the past, too.” Pilwa softly said. “A girl would be dead if it wasn’t for you. So, um. Thanks. Will you keep lending me your support?” Pilwa asked, sheepishly digging her foot into the ground, trying to look extra cute. The group looked at each other, before all nodding. Gary took it upon himself to give their answer, speaking in his gruff voice.

“Yeah, we’ll be your Baby Seals.”

[cursesavior]

Suguru scoffs a bit at her reaction to his unusual way of speaking about non-sorcerers - "We practically live in a zoo, you know. This entire world is overrun with animals." They're everywhere, cursed energy flowing uncontrolled until it creates monsters - monkeys make the damn mess and they're meant to throw away their lives cleaning up after them? What a joke. He could rant about it all day - and he has, on certain occasions - but he won't bore her with that yet. Jumping straight into his deranged rambling would drive her away at this point.

For a moment he watches the black smoke that flows from her hair - her appearance always made her stand out quite a bit amongst their peers. It's truly unique, something special - and something that guaranteed she'd never fit in with monkeys. Even if they couldn't see the plumes of cursed energy that radiate from her, surely they could see that something was different. Surely they could sense their insignificance in her presence, the weak sensing the power of the strong, knowing they could be crushed underfoot, trampled like the insignificant weeds they are. Or maybe his thoughts are getting away from him again and going to that murderous, vengeful place they always tend to go. That's probably it.

He has the audacity to laugh when she questions his motives, something genuine but with a slight edge of mania to it, just of a hint of the madness that's twisted his mind. "Please. What kind of monk would I be if I made you pay for your life? That's not what I have in mind." He waves his hand dismissively, like it's oh so ridiculous. "Forcing someone to work with you just breeds resentment. Someone who doesn't want to be here certainly won't be loyal, and that's the last thing I need, truly. So no, it's not like I'm going to force you to do my dirty work or anything silly like that. I guess you could say I just wanted to get on your good side - because what I'm looking for is strong allies."

There's his chance. Now he can finally go into his spiel. It doesn't feel right to deliver his monologue while sitting down, though, so he brings himself to his feet in one smooth motion and making a grand gesture with open arms. He wasn't always quite this animated, but again, showmanship. "You see, I defected from Jujutsu Tech with a goal. A dream, even: to create a world in which sorcerers can live freely. But isn't that impossible? How can sorcerers live in peace when there are curses rampaging about, preying on the weak? Ha!" Another short laugh, tilting his head back dramatically. "You know how curses are the result of all the cursed energy of humanity building up over time? Because sorcerers can control our cursed energy, we don't leave those same traces of cursed energy everywhere we go... Meaning curses are the sole fault of filthy monkeys who can't control themselves. So of course, in order to create a perfect world, I first have to take care of the pest problem."

His voice calms near the end, back to cold and logical, but still with that seething hatred hidden somewhere in his tone. He settles down, bringing himself back to the floor to be on the same level as his guest. "As you can imagine, that's a dream that takes a lot of work to achieve. Sure, I might be able to do it on my own, but the time it would take to gather enough curses to do so... Well, there's no point in making sorcerers suffer any longer than they need to." He shrugs, as if this were the most casual and mundane topic of conversation. It is for him at this point, he feels like he's explained this a hundred other times. "Like I said, I'm not going to force you to join my side. Beliefs like mine aren't something you can force people to accept. But I figured I'd take my chance and see if you'd hear me out - you'd be of great help, you know." He smiles - he's sure that she'll just think he's crazy, unhinged, a madman for suggesting something so drastic... But hey, nothing ventured, nothing gained. It's not like she's the self-righteous type that would kill him for his intentions. She doesn't seem that way, at least, especially not after he saved her life. "Think about it, the kind of life you could have - that's all I ask."

AT FIRST, PERSEPHONE WONDERS IF THEY MISHEARD HIM. a side effect of the blood loss, or perhaps simply a mistake in auditory processing. but what other word could she have misheard as monkeys? geto glides across the room and sits facing the futon where she lay, red-spotted bandages wrapped tightly around her abdomen where the bite wound sinks deep into her side. persephone doesn't make to shoot upright as their instincts tell them to; they don't cut and run, barrel past the owners of the voices that drift through the closed doorway. they push themself up on one prosthetic arm, the whir and click of the carbon-fiber machinery audible in the silence of the room, the slow pulse of cursed energy lighting up the seams between metal plates in brilliant blue.

thankfully, geto absolves her of her confusion when he continues speaking. so he was saying monkeys — and it doesn't exactly take a rocket scientist to figure out who he speaks of. not when she takes into account what he told her in the alleyway. the reverence with which he spoke of strong sorcerers, the casual objectification in his tone now. his cultists, then: in particular, those who he does not consider strong. those who are expendable, a resource, a commodity. in a way, it reminds her of the way her boss views the majority of the unseen. they aren't nearly this direct about it, but she's been able to surmise over time that they do not consider most people's lives valuable.

when it comes down to it, a religious cult and a crime syndicate aren't all that different. faith is as much a currency as money.

interesting... so the monk getup is a means to an end. working her brain has always been a method of relaxation for persephone: solving puzzles, taking herself through a complicated problem, creating a detailed plan. geto is such a puzzling fucking individual that paradoxically, decoding his strangeness puts her more at ease. a fraction of the tension melts from her frame, pulls away, dissipates into the air with the smoke wisping around her.

at the mention of tea, they shake their head in silent refusal. he may have brought her out of harm's way, but that doesn't make him trustworthy enough to accept food or drink. ❝monkeys, huh. i don't suppose you broke into the fucking zoo. ❞ a pause; absentmindedly, they gather the endless ocean of inky hair over their shoulder, letting the ends pool in their lap. they watch, for a moment, the curls of black smoke that plume up from its ends and rise in front of her in otherworldly coils before dissolving into space as if they were never there.

a side effect of her parents' dark deal with a curse before the twins' birth. persephone's hair is straight from the world of curses, lightweight and cool to the touch; within its deepest pockets of darkness, if the light around you is low enough, you may catch the faint glimmer of stars. her brother got demonic eyes. seph has always thought she got the better end of the stick on that front — at the cost of holding both twins' cursed energy within her body, enhanced by the curse-fragment in her soul, enhanced by the rage, enhanced by an innate technique that may one day kill her. orion got off lucky. the sorcerer world is a goddamn trash fire.

hostility edges into her voice again, dark eyes taken over by the caution of a cornered predator. ❝ okay — cut the shit, geto. what do you want from me? people don't pull acts of kindness without an ulterior motive. just lay out the debt so i can settle it and get out of your damn hair. ❞