#the stone fingers seem like chill guys

[nadvs]

watch and learn (part five)

pairing fratboy! rafe cameron x female reader

rating explicit 18+

content warning drug and alcohol use

summary it takes one conversation with your college dorm neighbor to know you won’t get along. rafe is loud, rude, and short-tempered. after he overhears you talking about a disappointing fling, he loses his confidence in his sexual abilities and suggests you start hooking up to both improve your skills in the bedroom. you can’t stand him, but it’s too good of an offer to turn down.

» masterlist

*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

The moon is bright and the air is brisk as you and Rafe sneak out of the lakehouse and rush towards the dock, still only in your bikini.

The stone steps leading from the porch to the backyard are slackened and a bit slippery, so you instinctually grab his hand to keep yourself steady.

He tenses immediately, his hand closing as your fingers pinch around his. He wriggles out of your grip.

“Rafe, I’m just trying not to fall,” you say, irritated.

“Watch where you’re going then,” he tells you. You scoff. Asshole.

This is just like the other night, when he warned you not to do any couple shit. As if you’d ever consider a relationship with someone so emotionally unavailable.

“You need to chill,” you tell him. “Holding hands for a few seconds doesn’t make us a couple.”

It’s too much for him, being touched by you in an affectionate, non-sexual way. You teased him the other day for cuddling you and he hated that you were sort of right about him liking it.

Rafe sighs and decides to just give in, offering his hand to you. You cup his cool palm and he doesn’t squeeze your fingers back. It’s fine. You only need the stability.

You reach the long, planked dock and let go of his hand immediately, following him towards the boat bobbing in the water.

“How’d you even get the key?” you ask, trying to push away the tension.

“Stole it,” he says.

“Wait, really?”

“No, not really,” Rafe teases, looking back at you.

You roll your eyes and smile. At least when you argue, it doesn’t last for very long. Besides, you’re both here for one reason and there’s no need to complicate things with any sort of petty conflict.

The cruiser boat’s shimmering black planes are sharp and sleek and the only covering is a glossy roof on angled pillars. You thought it’d be more private.

You stand behind Rafe as he begins to unravel the rope tying the boat to the dock.

“What if someone sees us?” you ask.

“Let them,” he grumbles.

“Rafe,” you warn.

“I’ll drive it out far,” he says, motioning towards the boat. “Go.”

You step onto the swaying boat and settle onto one of the two cushioned booths beneath the roof, watching him.

Even in the moonlight, you can see the planes of his biceps bulging beneath his t-shirt sleeves as he works on the rope. He seems to know exactly what he’s doing.

Perks of being rich, you figure. He’s probably lived such a privileged, comfortable life.

When Rafe steps onto the boat, he flips a few switches and turns the key into the ignition. Thankfully, the motor offers only a quiet hum, not alerting anyone in the house upstairs.

He slowly shifts the throttle forward with one hand, holding the steering wheel with the other. He’s so confident, so in control.

You were already turned on from the way he propositioned you upstairs earlier tonight, but watching him is making lust coarse through you even harder.

He may be a jerk most of the time, but he’s hot enough that you can ignore it.

“Do this with other girls,” you tell him. “Trust me.”

“What?” He glances back at you.

“Apparently, a guy driving a boat is hot,” you say. You almost forgot this whole arrangement was supposed to be instructional.

Rafe looks forward again, his lips quirked in a coy smile.

He slows the boat down in the middle of the quiet lake and kills the engine. The water ripples beneath you from the motion of the boat cutting through it.

He loves that you don’t wait for him to come to you. You wedge yourself between the wheel and him, pressing your body up against his, pulling him down to kiss you.

His hands find your waist, and you reach back to push them down to your ass.

“We skipping the foreplay you’re always annoying me about?” he mumbles against your lips, fingers digging into your skin.

“I hate to give you any credit,” you say, “but you already kind of did it. When we were talking upstairs and you said...”

“You can do it,” Rafe teases.

“That you could make me cum in a minute,” you finally say, body flushing with heat. “Foreplay can start hours before we even touch.”

“Damn, so… you been turned on since then?” he teases. It’s so gratifying that the whole time you were another guy, you were thinking about what Rafe would do to you.

“Shut up,” you laugh, pulling him in again, your hands cupping the back of his neck to kiss him.

Your open mouths are hot, tongues tangling together as Rafe grips your ass harder and grinds against you. His body curves into yours as he kisses you deeper, his touches growing rougher.

He pulls his shirt off and his bare chest against your half-naked body is firm and warm. His hand slides up the curve of your spine and finds the knot holding your bikini top together. He pulls the string, brushing down the straps and letting the bikini fall.

Rafe ducks to put one of your breasts in his mouth, sucking and flicking with his tongue, making you throw your head back in pleasure.

You throb with need as he licks you, taking in the sensation of the cold air pressing against your skin, his warm mouth on you, the boat gently rocking in the middle of the dark lake.

He puts his hand on your other breast, squeezing and pinching your nipple and your fingers find their way into Rafe’s soft hair, gently pulling at the roots, enjoying the grunt of pleasure you hear from him.

He eagerly pulls at the hem of your bottoms, mouth losing contact with you as he peels them down your thighs, crouching to get them to your ankles so you can step out of them.

“Damn, baby,” Rafe says huskily, taking the sight in. “Your pussy is so fucking pretty.” Your stomach numbs at his words. He’s been craving another taste of you for so long. Too long.

With his knees on the cold floor, he leans forward and flattens his tongue against your lips, earning a tremble from you. Your knees weaken as he uses his tongue to spread your lips apart, dipping between your folds with urgency.

You spread your legs and hike one up, resting your foot on the cushioned seat you were just sitting on.

“Good girl,” he says. “Spreading yourself open for me.”

You look down, moaning as he laps at you, taking in the way his eyes look in the moonlight, the way his hair is bunched between your fingers.

“Shit, that’s so good,” you purr. “You’re so fucking good at that.”

“I said less than a minute. Start counting,” Rafe says smugly. You giggle, amused and aroused and elated. The numbers sound weak as you start to mumble through them.

He starts to suck harder, slurping and enjoying your taste. Your voice immediately starts to waver and he pulls back.

“Don’t stop counting,” he orders.

“Four… five… six,” you continue breathily. Rafe closes his eyes as he savors you, already addicted to how you taste and how soft you are.

After working your clit, he shifts to shove his tongue inside of you. The sound of you trying to focus on counting while you moan from the pleasure he’s giving you is cosmic, out of this damn world.

Rafe continues to fuck you with his tongue, saliva starting to run down his chin, his nose wet from you. He moves back up to your clit, tongue flicking quickly.

“Thirty-four… oh, fuck…” you say.

“Oh, fuck? Is that a new number?” he mocks, making you smile and bite your lip as you tighten with bliss. You feel his big hand stroke up and down your middle, trapping your clit between his fingers and squeezing.

“Rafe,” you moan. “That’s so… fuck, that feels amazing.”

He smirks and locks his lips around your clit as he shifts to push two fingers into you. You clench around him and he can’t wait to be inside you.

He curls his fingers in and out of you while he sucks your clit, making you start to shake.

“Forty-one… oh, shit… okay, I’m…” you whisper, a wave of satisfaction prickling at your skin. He thrusts his fingers with more force, sucks harder, looking up at you as your mouth goes slack and your eyes squeeze shut.

Making a girl cum was always an ego thing to him. But he realizes that he loves making you orgasm simply because it means you feel good.

You unravel with a rippling rush through your body, fluttering around his fingers, bucking up against his face.

When you slowly come down from the climax, you pull your hips away from him.

“What number did you get to? Forty-one?” he teases. “What’d I tell you? Less than a minute.”

“So cocky,” you say, smiling and blissed out.

“Get on your back,” he orders, taking the condom out of his shorts before stripping the rest of his clothes off.

You settle on the hard boat floor, watching Rafe roll the condom on. You would’ve offered to put it on him, but he’s so rushed to dive into you.

You spread your legs and Rafe settles between them, pushing in with a quick thrust that makes you gasp.

He leans over to kiss you, swallowed by your slick warmth, letting you taste yourself on his lips. You tilt your pelvis up so he can get as deep inside of you as possible.

He pulls back and drives into you even harder, making you jolt from the force.

“Wrap your legs around me,” he orders you. You squeeze his taut torso with your legs, maintaining eye contact like he taught you. He’s gazing down at you, the starry sky shimmering behind him as he plunges in and out of you.

You’re so tight, so wet, so fucking perfect, that he doesn’t even want to cum, he just wants to feel the way you squeeze him.

His pace is fast, his eyes trailing over your face and committing the way you look when he’s fucking you to memory in case this is the last time.

The thought of losing this makes his skin burn.

Rafe’s palm presses at your neck, his fingers tightening around your jaw as he lowers himself and positions your head so that he can speak into your ear.

“You know he’s not gonna make you feel this good, right?” he mutters huskily. “He can’t eat your pussy like I can. He can’t fuck you like I can.”

This show of possession is just dirty talk, you tell yourself. But what if it isn’t?

Rafe props himself up again, gazing at you with his hand on your jaw as he thrusts in and out of you. How’s he supposed to be okay with someone taking you away from him?

You feel a cool drop of water on your arm. Then another on your cheek.

“Shit,” you gasp with a laugh. “I think it’s raining.”

He smiles while he looks down at you, enjoying the sound of your laugh.

“I don’t wanna stop,” he whispers. “Do you?”

You shake your head no and pull him closer so his warm cheek is pressed against yours. This is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. He’s filling you so nicely, both of you moaning and panting and laughing as the rain starts to come down harder.

You’re wrapped around him as he thrusts in and out of you hard and fast. The tension inside him finally snaps and he goes still before dissolving into pleasure, emptying himself into the condom.

He goes limp on top of you, panting against your neck. The rain is torrential and loud now, his back coated in water.

Rafe pulls out of you and you stand, laughing together as you rush to find your bathing suit top and bottom while he dresses himself, the wet clothes plastered to his skin.

You try to find shelter under the boat’s curved roof as Rafe starts the boat, watching him navigate and feeling your heart in your throat.

That didn’t feel like just fucking. The way he smiled at you was something else.

It’s late morning when you wake up, your friends still snoozing. You trudge downstairs and decide to enjoy the view of the lake that you didn’t get a chance to look at when you arrived yesterday.

You step out on the back porch, immediately thinking about how you snuck out with Rafe last night. And how you ran back inside, trying to be quiet, genuinely having fun with him. And everything in between.

You know it’s silly to overthink, but your mind replays what he said. You know he’s not gonna make you feel this good, right? He had to have been talking about Blake.

Was he jealous? The way he was smiling at you while he was inside you makes you think he does have a sweet side to him, that maybe he feels more than just lust for you.

You hear the door open behind you and turn to see Blake, adorably squinting from the sun.

“Early riser?” he gruffs, shutting the door behind him. You grin.

“You consider this early?” you say, checking your phone to see it’s almost 11:00. He chuckles.

Blake comes to stand beside you, leaning over the railing and looking at you with the same kind smile he was wearing last night in the hot tub.

“How’d you sleep?” he asks, his kind eyes softening with concern. “It wasn’t too cold?”

You bite the inside of your cheek, remembering how hot and flushed you were getting into bed after your time with Rafe last night. You wonder if he’ll tell Blake about your time together. And if Blake will care.

“No, I was fine,” you say.

“You sure you wanna leave today?” he asks, his tone sweet. The boys are going back to campus tomorrow, but you and your friends agreed to stay only until this afternoon.

“Yeah,” you say. “Don’t you bros have to bond or something?”

“Don’t tell them I said this, but I’ve bonded with them enough,” he jokes.

After everything you’ve learned about Blake over text and in person, you can tell he’s a good guy. You like the way he remembers things about you, the way he always looks at you like he missed you, the way he’s always polite to you.

Rafe walks into the empty kitchen and the first thing he sees is you and Blake through the window. You’re standing inches away from each other, leaning over the raised porch overlooking the lake.

His stomach turns when he sees you laugh at something Blake said.

“Dude, I’m fucking shattered,” one of his hungover buddies says, dragging his feet into the kitchen. Rafe thinks he is, too, and it’s not from drinking. He grabs some water and heads back upstairs to lie in bed.

You eventually go inside after Blake suggests making breakfast together. Your friends and a few frat guys are ambling around the main floor of the house as you make your way to the kitchen.

As you cook and talk, you find Blake takes every opportunity he can to innocently touch you in some way, unafraid to show you that he likes you. He’s affectionate, unlike Rafe, who stiffened the second you tried to hold his hand last night, who will only touch you right before or during sex.

After eating breakfast with Blake, your friends, and a few of the guys, you finally head upstairs to pack your things and head home.

You round the corner into the hallway and almost collide with another body. You look up to meet Rafe’s blue eyes, his expression sullen.

“Hey,” you say with a smile. “Wow, did you just wake up?”

“No,” he mutters. His lips thin as he steps to the side to walk past you, brushing you off.

You try not to let his moodiness get to you. It’s such a sharp contrast from how Blake treats you. You’re not expecting Rafe to be a sweetheart, but you thought at this point you sort of had a friendship.

You make your way to your room, reminding yourself of how he was the night you met. Rafe is a jerk, unless he’s working on convincing you to sleep with him.

Regardless, the sex is too good. You’ve actually been gaining confidence from hooking up with him. You tell yourself from now on to expect nothing but coldness from him.

Rafe tries to ignore the cloud hanging over his head after you leave the lakehouse. He hates that seeing you with Blake pissed him off so much. He hates that imagining Blake looking down at you the way Rafe did last night makes his blood boil.

A part of him wants to tell Blake you’re still hooking up to prove a point, but if Blake tells him that he did something with you, too, even a kiss, he might just swing at him.

Thankfully, Sam seems like he was too drunk to even remember Rafe asking for the key to the boat. He discreetly returns the key where Sam told him he could find it last night.

Rafe realizes he just needs to fuck another girl. He’s been messing around with you exclusively and that must be what’s been screwing with his mind. He scrolls through his phone and finds the number of a girl he met at a party during orientation week.

The next evening, you’re lying in bed watching a show on your laptop when you start to hear muffled moans. Your brows furrow as you try to make out what you’re hearing.

It’s a girl moaning. And it’s coming through the wall you and Rafe share.

Rafe’s on top of her in his bed, instructing her to be loud, not sure if it’s for his ego or just so you’ll hear. He did everything you taught him, touching her and talking to her how you said he should.

It’s all working and he can tell she’s close and it feels good, so why the fuck is he closing his eyes and imagining it’s you under him?

After she leaves, Rafe gives into the impulse to text you: my bad for the noise lol

You reply: all i can say is you’re welcome.

Rafe: ya you’re kind of a genius

You: i know :)

You try to focus on your tv show. Rafe said you’d keep your arrangement up until you’re both satisfied. He must be satisfied. Maybe the night on the boat was the last time.

You’ll miss it, but whatever. At least it’s ending before your mind has a chance to spiral any further into dangerous territory like it was this past weekend. That man has two settings designated for you: he’s either annoyed or horny. You’re convinced he feels nothing else.

The next day, it’s late afternoon when you get back to your dorm after your classes. As you get closer to your door, you can hear a man yelling. It’s loud. And vicious.

You sigh, wishing they didn’t cheap out on the insulation in this building.

You quickly realize it’s coming from Rafe’s room. Someone’s yelling and Rafe isn’t saying a single word back.

Rafe’s arms are crossed while his father shouts at him. He’s trying to hold it together, telling himself over and over again not to cry.

He got a little carried away with his credit card recently. He picked up the tab for food for his frat brothers quite a few times now. Splurged on beer. Had to pay to tank up his car for the weekend trip.

Apparently that makes him a disappointment who’s not taking school seriously. His father popped by for a surprise visit just to lay into him about his spending.

You quickly put your key in the lock and figure you should just put headphones on when you get in your room.

“Is that what I pay for, Rafe? For you to party? Do you even go to your classes?”

You swallow hard. It must be his dad. You don’t want to pry, but you’re surprised Rafe isn’t fighting back. The quick-tempered man you know always has a retort.

Maybe he hasn’t had as comfortable a life as you thought.

“If you can’t take it seriously-”

“I can,” Rafe finally says, his tone agitated but low. “I am taking it seriously.”

You swing open your door and step into your room, but when you hear his father say “what are you crying for?”, you feel your heart crack.

(part six)

if you want notifications on when i post my fics, follow @xorafe-library and turn on notifications 💘

[velarisdusk]

Breathe in the Quiet

Day 24: Predator / Prey | Azriel x Reader word count: 2.2k author’s note: ok ok listen, there’s no sex in this I KNOW I KNOW IM SORRY BUT i’ve decided that day 28 (dont check what it is yet, it'll spoil this one) is going to be the part 2 to this >:) just gotta wait 4 days guys i believe in yall here’s part 2, Breathe Out Your Sorrows!! be sure to read the content warnings :) ✦ . Kinktober Masterlist . ✦

You had always loved the bustling energy of the Velaris market, especially at dusk when the faelight streetlamps flickered to life, casting a warm glow over the vendors and shoppers. But tonight felt different. The vibrant chatter and laughter faded into a dull roar, the sounds swirling around you as an unsettling chill crept into your bones.

You paused at a stall, your fingers brushing over a delicate necklace adorned with your birthstone—a shimmering gem that seemed to glow in the fading light. The small pendant caught the light, casting tiny glimmers across your palm as you held it up for a closer look. But just as the stone’s beauty caught your eye, a prickling sensation crept up the back of your neck, making your grip falter. You glanced around, trying to shake off the sensation, telling yourself it was just the lingering echoes of the day’s excitement. Yet, the weight of someone’s gaze pressed heavily on you.

As you stepped away from the stall, the crowd began to thin. The familiar stalls and vibrant colors dimmed as shadows stretched longer across the cobblestones. A sense of dread washed over you, an instinctive knowledge that you were no longer alone. You quickened your pace, weaving through the remaining shoppers, but the feeling only grew stronger.

The lanterns flickered ominously, and just as you turned down a side street, darkness enveloped you. The sound of laughter faded, replaced by an eerie silence. Your heart thudded in your chest, pounding a frantic rhythm as you realized you had wandered too far from the main thoroughfare. The shadows loomed around you, and you felt the familiar suffocating sense of being watched return.

“Isn’t this a lovely little spot?” a voice purred from the depths of the darkness, low and smooth. The chill in your spine twisted into something sharper, more primal.

“Who’s there?” you managed to ask, your voice barely above a whisper. Panic clawed at your throat.

A figure stepped into the faint light of a nearby streetlamp, tall and imposing. Azriel. The High Lord’s Shadowsinger. His dark silhouette was framed by the glow of faelight, making him appear almost otherworldly. Yet, the predatory gleam in his eyes was all too real, and your heart raced in response.

“I can smell your fear.” His voice slid through the air like silk, intoxicating yet terrifying. “It’s so sweet.”

Your stomach churned as you took a step back, the alley behind you closing in like a trap. The oppressive darkness seemed to pulse around, thickening as if it were alive, wrapping around your limbs and stealing your breath. “What do you want?” you stammered, eyes darting around for an escape, but the shadows seemed to thicken, pressing against you from all sides, a dark blanket that suffocated any hope of flight. Azriel moved closer, gliding through the darkness with an unsettling grace. His presence was overwhelming, commanding the space around him, and your heart raced in response. 

“I want you,” he said, his voice low and sultry, dripping with something sinister. He paused, allowing the words to hang in the air, watching your reaction, savoring the fear flickering in your eyes like a flame. 

“Why?” you whispered, the question escaping your lips before you could stop yourself. 

His dangerous smile widened, revealing a hint of sharp teeth, and he leaned in closer, invading your personal space. “Why?” he echoed, amusement dancing in his tone. “Ah, sweet girl, that’s the best part.” He straightened, wings unfurling behind him like shadows come to life, their edges almost whispering against the air, as if they were sentient—alive and waiting. He straightened, circling you slowly. His presence was overwhelming, every step deliberate, calculated. You could feel him just behind you, his breath ghosting over your neck.

“I could tell you, but where’s the fun in that?” he teased, his voice a silken whisper that sent shivers racing down your spine. He leaned against the wall, his shadow stretching toward you. “I prefer to play a little first. To bring to your attention just how painfully vulnerable you are.”

Your pulse quickened as he loomed over you, his gaze predatory, calculating. “Do you feel it? The way the darkness wraps around you? It’s thick, isn’t it? Like it’s trying to protect you… or consume you.” He stepped closer again, tilting his head as if he were studying a particularly interesting specimen. “You can’t hide from it. Not from me.”

With a flick of his wrist, shadows seemed to swirl around him, coiling like serpents in the dim light. His smile turned wicked as he continued, “I can sense your heartbeat, quickening with every passing second. It’s...intoxicating.” He paused, his eyes narrowing as he leaned in even closer, his breath ghosting against your ear. “Tell me, how does it feel to know you’re at my mercy? To know that with a single command, I could make you quiver in fear?”

“Get away from me!” The words tumbled out, laced with defiance, but the tremor in your voice betrayed you.

He chuckled softly, the sound low and rich, echoing off the alley walls like a sinister melody. “Oh, angel,” he breathed, amusement dancing in his gaze, “you really don’t understand, do you? You can’t run from me, and you certainly can’t hide.”

“And yet,” he said, straightening and taking a step back to assess you like a fine painting. “I can feel that spark of hope within you, the want to escape.” His smile was feline, and he relished the way you shivered in response. “But hope can be cruel, can’t it?”

And just when you thought you had a moment to gather yourself, he stepped back into the shadows, disappearing from view. Your heart raced, and instinct kicked in; you turned to flee, but before you could take a single step, he was back, mere inches away, his hand snapping over your mouth, silencing the scream that hadn’t yet escaped your throat as he pulled you back against him. 

“Shh, shh. Didn’t I tell you?” he murmured against your ear, his voice a seductive whisper that curled around your mind, tightening like a noose. “You can’t run from me. Not unless I allow it.”

The shadows pooled at your feet, dark and hungry. “But you should—run. Drop your basket and run like your life depends on it. Don’t look back.”

With those words, he released you, and every instinct screamed at you to obey. You dropped your wicker basket and took off, sprinting toward the mouth of the alley, where the streetlamps flickered warmly. The bustling sounds of the market faded back in as you raced forward, heart pounding, legs pumping beneath you. 

Just before you reached the end of the alleyway, you couldn’t resist the urge to look back. And what you saw made your blood run cold.

Azriel stood there, half-male, half-shadow, his silhouette merging with the shadows, his figure shifting as if he were made of darkness itself. The dim, flickering light illuminated his face in sporadic bursts, revealing features that were both haunting and otherworldly. His eyes glowed with a feral intensity, deep and hollow, like endless voids that promised unspeakable horrors. A twisted smile curled on his lips; he reveled in your fear. The shadows danced around him, stretching and curling, giving him the appearance of a creature from your darkest nightmares. 

With every breath you took, the air grew colder. He tilted his head slightly, and in that moment, his features sharpened, the angles of his face becoming more pronounced—a perfect blend of angelic allure and demonic presence.

You tore your gaze away and ran, pushing yourself forward into the well-lit streets, desperately seeking the safety of the crowd. The world blurred around you as you focused on staying near the light, where you could see the faces of strangers, where you felt the faintest semblance of safety.

But then his voice floated through the shadows, whispering in that seductive tone that made your skin prickle. “Didn’t I tell you not to look back? What you saw wasn’t pleasant, was it?”

Goosebumps littered your skin, the fear curling tightly within you. Despite the terror coursing through your veins, you couldn’t deny the spark of something else, something deeper. He was beautiful in a way that made your heart race, and his voice, rich and dark, sent a wave of heat through you. 

You pressed on, struggling to drown out his words, but they lingered like a haunting melody, echoing in your mind. “You’re scared,” he called, the sound slithering through the air like a caress. “But isn’t it exhilarating? The thrill of the chase?”

“Sick bastard,” you cried, your voice strained with panic as you tore through the bustling market.

A few heads turned, people glancing at you with bewilderment, unable to hear the shadowy whispers that haunted your steps. They couldn’t see the danger lurking in the darkness, that which stalked just out of sight. You gritted your teeth, fighting the shiver wanting to run down your spine. The thrill of fear coursed through you, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Desperation propelled your legs as you pushed through the crowd, seeking solace in the sea of strangers.

“Deliciously terrified,” he continued, his words lingering like smoke in the air. “It makes you all the more enticing. You’re practically begging me to catch you.”

You shook your head, trying to block him out, but the chill in his tone pierced through the chaos of the market. “Sick!” you yelled again, louder this time, hoping it would drown out his mocking laughter.

“Do you really think they can help you?” he taunted, the shadows around you pulsing with his presence. “They can’t see me, can’t even hear me. I won’t let them. You’re alone in this, angel. Just imagine what I could do if you let me catch you.”

Your heart pumped hard in your chest, but you pushed yourself faster yet, weaving between the stalls and throngs of shoppers. The crowd felt like a false barrier, flimsy against the darkness that stalked you.

“Such a pretty little thing,” he crooned, his voice a sultry whisper that wrapped around you like a shadowy embrace. “I could have you trembling in my arms, begging for release. Just imagine how beautiful you’d look, completely at my mercy, your body pressed against mine as I take my time with you. You’d fit perfectly against me, wouldn’t you?”

Your skin crawled at his words, but the instinct to flee surged within you. “You’re a freak!” you panted, your voice filled with defiance, but the quiver betrayed your fear.

“Am I?” he purred, amusement drenching his tone. “I’m simply drawn to what I desire. The way your heart races, the scent of your fear—it's intoxicating. Just picture it, my hands tracing every curve of your body, exploring every inch, holding you tightly as you gasp and writhe beneath me. Wouldn’t that be exhilarating?”

You pressed on, pushing through the mass of market-goers, desperately trying to block him out. “Get away from me!” you gasped out, but it felt like a hollow plea against the weight of his presence.

“Soon, I’ll catch you,” he continued, his voice a dark lullaby, wrapping around your mind like tendrils of smoke. “And when I do, I’ll take you somewhere hidden, far away. Somewhere only I know about. No one will ever find you there, my little angel. You’ll be mine, completely—locked away, safe from the world, where I can indulge in every wicked fantasy I have. Just think of the pleasures I could give you in private, the things I could teach you when you surrender to me.”

Your heart raced, terror mixing with an involuntary thrill. “Keep running,” he urged, the threat laced with seduction. “But know this—every step you take only makes me want you more. When I finally catch you, you’ll understand how thrilling the chase can be and how sweet your submission will taste.”

You stumbled into an alleyway that branched off the main street, a shadowy passageway that led nowhere. You skidded to a halt, your breath catching in your throat as reality hit. The alley was a dead end, the walls looming around you like a trap closing in. The darkness felt alive, pulsating with the weight of your fear.

Heart pounding, you turned back toward the market, desperate to return to the safety of the light. You didn’t see him standing at the entrance, but his shadows wrapped around the alley like a noose. But before you could take a single step, a chilling presence enveloped you.

“Found you,” he whispered, his voice dripping with delight as he appeared from the shadows. In one swift motion, he seized you, fingers wrapping around your wrist like iron shackles, pulling you close until his breath ghosted against your ear. Your heart raced, caught between terror and undeniable thrill as his tongue traced the shell of your ear.

The shadows thickened around you, twisting and coiling like living tendrils, and you felt the ground ripped from under your feet. Everything else faded into nothingness, leaving only him—his grip firm and unyielding as he pulled you deeper into the dark.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Taglist <3

@starlightazriel @nvdax @halo-hanging @paleidiot @kismet27

@mellowmusings @gracielacie @d3ad-ins1de @loviseamms @inkedinshadows

@natasha153 @deathdoordoctor @spacebananabud @secretsicanthideanymore @edance2000

@lorosette @alykatv @honethatty12 @hellabizzy @serena-capella

@acoazlove @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @scorpioriesling @hannzoaks @confusedsezure

@elenapri0502 @anneas11 @mrsjna @lilah-asteria @anarchiii

@randomgurl2326 @scarsandallaz @julesvanslutta @fourthwing4ever

[sallowsarchives]

Beneath the Battles (Final)

Part I | Part II | Part III

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader Summary: You and Arthur finally face your true feelings and past grievances, breaking down the barriers that have kept you apart. Word Count: 8.8k  Warnings/Tags: EXPLICIT (18+ ONLY) MINORS DNI. No use of y/n, explicit language, angst with fluff, size difference (Arthur is a big guy), oral (female receiving), fingering, orgasm denial, dirty talk, unprotected p in v, Arthur pulls out, a little roughness, aftercare, SMUT with plot A/N: AHHH, here’s the final part!! I’d like to formally apologize for taking so long to update, I actually ended up scrapping and rewriting it, which took longer than expected. I hope this makes up for it. Once again, thank you to those who read this story and for all your lovely comments!

Read on AO3

The mansion loomed in the distance, its imposing structure partially obscured by the dense trees and underbrush that surrounded it, its windows glimmering faintly under the moonlight, casting a soft glow on the well-kept grounds. 

The night was unnervingly quiet, the kind of stillness that breeds caution. After days of scouting, the mansion was finally dark and silent, just as expected. Its owners were away traveling, leaving only a few guards to patrol the surrounding grounds.

The plan was straightforward: sneak into the mansion, locate the concealed safe, and disappear with the loot before anyone was the wiser. It seemed like a simple enough task—at least, that’s what you told yourself.

You’re crouched behind the mansion's back door, fingers deftly working through the lock. With a final click, the lock gave way, and you quickly slipped inside, closing the door behind you with practiced ease. 

The air inside the mansion was heavy, filled with the scent of polished wood and aged stone. Once your eyes adjusted to the dim light filtering through the curtained windows, you moved swiftly through the shadowed corridors, your footsteps barely making a sound on the ornate rugs that lined the floors.

Just as you rounded the corner, you find yourself coming to a sudden halt.

A man stood before the very door leading to your prize. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and had an air of confidence that immediately put you on edge. He hadn’t noticed you yet, too busy trying to jimmy open the lock. 

You cursed under your breath. Who the hell was this guy? And why was he here?

This man was no bumbling thief; his movements were too precise, too deliberate. Whoever he was, he knew what he was doing, and that realization sent a wave of frustration through you. If he got to the safe first, all your planning, all your risk, would be for nothing.

You stayed hidden behind a wall as you considered your options. Confronting him could blow your cover, but waiting too long could mean losing the item. 

Deciding to take the upper hand, you crept closer, making sure to keep to the shadows with calculated movements to avoid detection.

Once you were close enough, you cleared your throat, the sound slicing through the stillness like a knife just as he managed to break the lock. 

The sudden noise startled him, and he froze, his head snapping toward the source of the disturbance. The look of surprise and irritation on his face was fleeting, quickly replaced by a calculating stare as he took in your presence.

You took a moment to assess him. A rugged, handsome face with piercing blue-green eyes that locked onto yours, their intensity making it clear that he was not easily intimidated. 

“Well, well,” you said, your voice laced with a mix of amusement and irritation. “Looks like we both had the same idea. Didn’t think I'd run into competition tonight. What’s your game, stranger?”

You kept your voice light but there was an edge to it. You had scouted this place for weeks, and you weren’t about to let some stranger steal it out from under you.

He chuckled softly, the sound rich and warm before replying with a low Southern drawl that sent a chill down your spine.

"I reckon I oughta be askin' you that too, miss. Ain't seen you around here when I was scoutin' the place, so I guess you're after the same prize."

“Perhaps. Too bad there’s only one prize in that safe,” you said, eyeing the opened safe behind him. 

He raised an eyebrow, a small, cocky smile playing on his lips. “Guess we’ll see who gets it first.”

You didn’t wait for him to make the first move. 

In a flash, you darted forward, aiming to dodge him and get to the safe. But he was quick—quicker than you expected. He sidestepped your advance, grabbing your arm as you tried to slip past him.

“Not so fast, darlin’,” he said, his grip firm but not painful.

You twisted out of his hold, a breathless laugh escaping you as you spun around to face him again, eyes flashing with determination. “You’re going to have to do better than that.” 

Without warning, both of you drew your weapons in a swift motion, yours a knife and his a pistol. You knew you were at a disadvantage, the cold steel of his gun giving him the upper hand. But you weren’t about to back down.

A game of cat and mouse ensued, each of you circling the other, quips exchanged with a tension neither acknowledged. 

You racked your thoughts for every trick you knew to try and outsmart him but in a moment of distraction, you seized your opportunity as a noise from outside drew both your attention. 

He briefly looked away and you grabbed the nearest object—a heavy, decorative vase—and hurled it in his direction, your sudden movement catching his attention once more.

“Goddammit!” he swore as the vase sailed through the air. 

The unexpected move caught him off guard, and he instinctively raised his arm to shield himself as the vase struck his arm, causing his pistol to slip from his grip and clatter onto the floor. The shattering noise echoed, no doubt alerting the guards outside.

You wasted no time and sprinted towards him, kicking the gun to the other side of the room. Ducking under his arm with practiced agility, you bolted toward the safe, your nimble fingers swiftly retrieving the necklace inside—a beautiful, intricate piece that promised a hefty pay.

The gleaming jewelry caught your eye, but you didn’t let your guard down. You knew he was still behind you, and the potential for danger was ever-present.

Turning around, you found him standing in place, watching you with an unreadable expression. You eyed him warily, adjusting your stance in case he made any sudden moves. 

To your surprise, he let out a low chuckle, shaking his head in a gesture that seemed almost admiring.

"I'll give you that one," he said with a chuckle. "But don’t go thinkin' I’ll let ya off that easy next time."

You met his gaze steadily, with the tone in his voice, you couldn't help a smirk of your own.

“Next time?” you replied, your tone carrying a hint of challenge. “You might want to reconsider how you pick your battles.”

He tilted his head slightly, raising a brow. “Maybe,” he said, his voice low and gravelly, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “But where’s the fun in that?”

You smirk before taking a step back, keeping your eyes on him as you begin to make your exit. 

���Until we meet again, stranger,” you said, voice cool and confident.

His smirk remained, making no move to stop you or follow as you slipped toward the shadows. Once you were sure he wasn’t making any sudden moves, you turned and made your way out. 

The cool night air hits your face as you slip away into the darkness, the necklace secure in your pocket.

Weeks later, you stand before the Van Der Linde gang, newly recruited and eager to prove your worth. As Dutch wraps up your introduction with the gang members, a familiar face catches your eye amidst the crowd—leaning on a wagon, arms crossed, watching you with that same unreadable expression from the night at the mansion.

Arthur Morgan, you’ve come to know from Dutch as he introduced him as one of his most trusted men. You could see the recognition in Arthur’s eyes, and you couldn’t help the smirk that crept onto your face. 

“We’ve met,” you said casually, holding his gaze, making his lips twitch, but he remains silent.

And so it was, a few months into your time with the gang, Dutch pairs the two of you together for a job. From the start, things don’t go smoothly. Arthur’s stubbornness clashes with your determination, turning every decision into a heated argument.

"You're too damn cautious," you snap as you crouch behind a rock, waiting to ambush a carriage.

"And you're too damn reckless," he retorts, his voice low but heated.

The frustration between you simmering, neither willing to back down. 

Though the job was a success, it was clear that your relationship had shifted to something far more complex. 

A rivalry that would become full of sharp words, stolen glances, and the kind of tension that made your heart race whenever Arthur Morgan was near. 

The burning in your lungs is the first sensation that pierces through the fog. 

It feels like your chest is on fire, each breath a painful struggle as your body fights to expel the water that had been forced into your lungs. You cough weakly, the sound raw and strained.

The presence of another person over you is the next thing you sense. Their hand cradling your back as the other presses gently on your cheek, their voice a low, comforting murmur that reaches through the haze of pain.

“C’mon, easy now,” a deep voice rang out, soothing but urgent. “Breathe slow. Just breathe.”

As the pain in your chest begins to ease, you slowly become more aware of your surroundings. The rough ground beneath you feels gritty, the chill in the air seeps through your wet clothes, which cling uncomfortably to your damp skin. A persistent throbbing in your temple adds to the disorienting discomfort.

As your sight finally focuses, you see Arthur standing over you, his rugged features marked by concern and relief. His hair was wet and tousled, with a few strands clinging to his forehead, and his face was streaked with water and mud.

“You alright?” His voice is softer now, though it still carries a note of urgency. 

You try to speak, but your voice comes out as a faint, hoarse whisper. Attempting to sit up, you slump back into his arms, completely drained.

Arthur’s hand remains steady, his hand continuing to support you from your back.“Just take it easy, darlin’,” he insists. “We gotta get that nasty cut of yours fixed up.” 

After a moment, he speaks up again. "You scared the hell outta me, you know that?" he says, his tone softer than you expected. Confusion flickers in your eyes as you try to make sense of his reaction.

Arthur quickly brushes it off with a shrug and a quick, dismissive smile. "You good to stand? We need to find a place to camp."

Though slightly dazed, you nod and he begins helping you to your feet, his grip firm but gentle and begins to lead the way.

You take a chance to glance over at the river, your heart sinking. "There goes everything," you mutter, as you thought of all the loot from the stagecoach robbery now lost in those dark waters, swept away without a trace.

Arthur’s eyes follow your gaze. “Yeah, things went south real quick. Can’t say I’m surprised, though. Ain’t never gone smooth with us.”

A weary sigh escapes you. Arthur gives your shoulder a small squeeze, his voice softening. 

“We’ll figure out another way to make it up so we don’t come back empty-handed.”

As you and Arthur push through the thick underbrush, the sun has long set, leaving the sky almost entirely dark and providing scant light. The air is growing colder, and the fatigue from the ordeal is beginning to weigh heavily. 

After a while, Arthur spots a faint outline against the darkening sky. "There," he says, pointing toward the silhouette of a structure hidden among the trees.

You squint and make out the shape of an old, dilapidated cabin. Its roof is partially caved in, and the wooden walls weathered. Still, it seems like a decent refuge for the night.

Arthur leads the both of you towards it, his steps careful as he surveys the area for any signs of danger. He pushes open the creaky door with a grunt, revealing a dusty, cobweb-covered interior. The air inside is stale, but it’s dry and shielded from the elements.

"Looks like this’ll do for tonight," Arthur says, stepping inside and looking around. 

The main room contains a few pieces of furniture: a worn-out sofa, a small wooden table, and a couple of chairs. There’s a door on the left, which you assume leads to a bedroom. 

A stone fireplace stands against one wall, its hearth empty but still looking functional. To the right, you notice a small kitchen area with cabinets lining the wall, hinting at a space used for simple meals.

Arthur moves with practiced caution, his eyes scanning the room as he checks for any signs of danger. He pauses, pulling his pistol from its holster. It seems he managed to keep hold of his weapon and satchel during your fall into the water—an unexpected stroke of luck. 

Once he’s satisfied that the area is clear and no immediate threat is apparent, he nods and holsters the gun.

“Alright, let’s settle in,” he says, guiding you to a nearby chair. “I’ll get a fire going and check for any supplies. You just sit tight and rest.”

You nod, gratefully sinking into the chair. As Arthur moves around the house, you take a moment to let the exhaustion wash over you. 

You hadn’t noticed the several minutes that had passed by where Arthur managed to set up a fire with the dried wood he had found stacked by the fireplace, the flickering flames casting a warm glow over the room. 

He turns his attention back to you, a determined look on his face and retrieves a cloth from his satchel, pouring a generous amount of whiskey over it that he must have found when rummaging through the cabinets.

He takes a seat across from you, gaze steady and focused as he carefully examines the gash near your temple. 

“This might sting a bit,” he says softly, his voice carrying a reassuring calm. Gently, he dabs the cloth against the cut, the wound stinging from the contact.

Arthur’s movements are careful and deliberate, his brow furrowed in concentration. As he works, his eyes occasionally meet yours, a mix of concern and resolve evident in his expression. 

You watch him closely, the intensity in his expression a stark contrast to the usual deflective bravado he shows, a rare glimpse of the softer side of him that you don’t often see. 

After finishing with your wound, Arthur sets the cloth aside and glances at the both of you, noting the dampness of your clothes. 

“We’d best find us some dry clothes; ain't no good in keepin' us warm when we're soaked to the bone.”

You respond with a nod, feeling slightly uncomfortable from the wet garments clinging tightly to your skin. 

He stands up and motions you to follow, moving towards the door on the left you saw earlier. Inside, the room is dimly lit by the fading light seeping through the grime-streaked windows. Old, moth-eaten drapes hang limply from their rods, and the floorboards creak with each step.

There was a rickety, sagging bed with a threadbare quilt, and a lone wooden chest pushed against the wall. You follow behind him, noticing the layer of dust that covers everything, marking the years of abandonment. 

He heads to a chest, prying it open with a groan as the hinges protest, and begins rummaging through the contents.

As he searches for dry clothes, you start to remove some of your damp garments feeling the need to get more comfortable and ease the weight. 

You’re in the process of slipping off your soaked shirt when Arthur turns around, his eyes widening slightly at the sight of you in your soaked white chemise, and he quickly averts his gaze, his face flushing a deep red.

“Uh—here,” he stammers, his voice suddenly unsteady as he holds out a faded long brown skirt and a low-necked cotton blouse. “Found these. They should fit.” He glances away, clearly flustered.

Seizing the opportunity, you smirk and tease. “What’s the matter, Arthur? Never seen a woman in her underclothes before? I thought you were used to all sorts of rough and tumble.”

Arthur rolls his eyes, his face turning redder, and he clears his throat, clearly struggling to maintain his composure. “Even after gettin' yourself all banged up, you still can’t help but run that smart mouth of yours,” he retorts, trying to mask his embarrassment with a touch of irritation. 

You chuckle at his flustered response, enjoying the rare sight of him so off-balance before taking the clothes from him.

Arthur shifts uncomfortably, casting furtive glances as he takes a change of clothes for himself. He clears his throat again, his usual confidence momentarily eclipsed by awkwardness.

“I’ll, uh, just be outside if you need anything,” he mutters, leaving the room with a hasty step to give you your privacy. 

The door creaks as he pulls it shut, and you can hear him mumbling to himself as he closes it behind him. His grumbling is low and unintelligible, but it brings a faint, amused smile to your lips. You chuckle silently before turning your attention to the garments.

Moments later, you find Arthur standing by the window, now dressed in a fresh set of clothes—worn jeans and a plain gray button up. His silhouette is outlined against the darkness outside. The fire crackles softly in the hearth, its warmth beginning to chase away the chill.

Arthur turns to you, his expression more relaxed now that he's shed his previous discomfort. “Feeling a bit better?” 

You nod. “Yeah, much better. You?”

Arthur gives a small, awkward smile. “I’ll be just fine. Just need to take it easy and let the warmth do its work.” He gestures toward the fire. “Might as well make ourselves comfortable while we can.”

You nod and make your way to sit at the worn out sofa to warm up by the fireplace. After a comfortable silence you finally speak up, your voice soft with gratitude. 

“Thanks for everything, Arthur. I know it’s been a rough day, but I really appreciate you taking care of me.”

Arthur turns to you and nods, his usual gruffness softened by the warmth of the fire and the genuine moment between you. “Don’t mention it. Just doing what needs to be done.”

As the silence settles again, Arthur clears his throat and shifts slightly, his expression thoughtful. “Speaking of rough days… reckon I oughta say somethin’ about that night at the, uh, well, what happened at the Mayor’s party,” he begins, his tone a bit hesitant.

You fold your arms, feeling uncomfortable about bringing it up again, but you know you’ve both put off addressing the issue long enough. You nod, signaling for him to continue.

Arthur looks away for a moment, clearly struggling with how to frame his words. 

“I didn’t mean to make it seem like what happened between us didn’t matter. I guess I thought it’d be better to just… keep things simple and avoid complicatin’ things.”

Your eyes narrow and you let out a sigh. “You already said that but I still don’t know what you mean. If you don’t have anything new to add, then yes, I guess that’s all it was—just a fleeting moment to pass the time while we were stuck in that situation.”

“Godammit, it ain’t like that,” he says, his voice firm but tinged with a hint of vulnerability.

You glare at him, standing up as your  anger and frustration begin to boil over. “Then what, Arthur? I’m done with the guessing games. If you can’t be honest with me, then at least stop pretending you care.”

“Oh, is that so? What do you want me to say, huh? That I’ve been usin’ you? That I don’t give a damn? You think that’s gonna make things better?”

“I’m not askin’ you to lay it all out. I’m askin’ you to quit actin’ like none of this means a damn thing. You’re scared to face the truth, and it’s obvious. If you’ve got something to say, then say it.”

Arthur steps closer, his voice dropping to a low growl. “You don’t know a damn thing about what’s goin’ on with me.”

You meet his gaze, your anger unwavering despite the intensity of his look. “Then why don’t you stop hiding behind your excuses and show me what’s real for once? Or are you too scared to face it yourself?” 

His jaw tightens, eyes narrowing as the silence grows heavy between the two of you. You take a deep breath before continuing, forcing yourself to keep your voice steady. “Everything that happened at that party… it wasn’t just part of the act, was it?”

He looks away, eyes fixed on the ground as his expression hardens. “I was doin’ what we had to,” he says, his voice gruff. “We were pretendin’—had to make it look real.”

“That’s a goddamn lie and you know it,” you retorted. “Everything you did that night, kissing me like it meant something just to suddenly pull away and act like I was something you regretted. Do you have any idea how that felt, Arthur? How it made me feel?”

He flinched at your words, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “You don’t understand—”

“Then help me understand! You shut me out, you push me away, and I’m done pretending like it doesn’t hurt.”

Arthur looked at you then, really looked at you, and you saw the pain in his eyes, the conflict warring within him. 

Your words hang in the air, and for a moment, you thought he might continue ignoring you, that he’d keep his distance just as he always did. But when his eyes met yours again, there was something raw and unguarded in them that made your heart twist before he spoke, voice filled with a vulnerability you had never seen in him before. 

“That night at the party, when I told you it meant nothing and pushed you away—it wasn’t because I didn’t care, but because I did. I didn’t want you seein’ me as more than just part of this damned life I’ve led.”

“Have you not thought that I’m already a part of this life too? I’m not some innocent bystander in this, Arthur. I’m in it just as much as you are, fighting beside you, continuing to risk everything for the gang. Every time you push me away, it feels like you’re saying I don’t belong, that I’m not worthy of being part of this.”

Arthur’s face softened with regret. “I’m sorry if it came across that way. I’ve just been tryin’ to protect you in my own messed-up way. I don’t want you feelin’ like you’re not part of this, ‘cause you are. More than you know.”

You looked at him, searching for honesty in his eyes. “Then be honest with me, Arthur. Don’t shut me out. I need to know where we stand.”

“I ain’t good enough for you,” he confessed, the words coming out like a reluctant admission. “I’ve done things—bad things. And I know you’ve seen some of it, but you don’t know the half of it. You deserve better than some outlaw who’s spent his life takin’ more than he’s given.”

The silence that followed was thick with emotion, as you both tried to come to terms with the weight of his confession. The barriers between you seemed to dissolve, leaving only the truth of your feelings and the painful realities of the life you both led. 

You stared at him, the anger long dissipated from you as his words sank in. This was it—this was what had been driving him to keep you at arm’s length, to push you away whenever you got too close. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel the same way you did; it was that he didn’t think he was worthy of it.

“Arthur,” you said quietly, stepping closer until there was barely any space between you, “I don’t care about what you’ve done, or who you think you are. I care about you. The man who saved me today, who risked everything to make sure I was safe. The man who gives more to the gang than he ever takes for himself—that’s the man I see.”

He shook his head, his expression tortured. “You ain’t seen the worst of me yet.”

“And I don’t care if I do,” you shot back, your voice trembling with emotion. “You don’t get to decide how I feel about you, or what I’m willing to accept. I’ve made my choice, Arthur. I’m not turning back.”

He stared at you, his defenses crumbling as the truth of your words hit him. He’d spent so long believing he didn’t deserve anything good, that any softness or kindness was something he had to push away before it could be taken from him. Hell, that’s why it never worked out with Mary, too.

But here you were, standing in front of him, refusing to let him go, even after everything he’d done to keep you at a distance.

He leaned in closer, his free hand brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, his touch lingering as if he couldn’t bring himself to pull away. 

“I don’t know if I can be the man you deserve,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

You crack a small smile, your voice laced with a sarcastic edge but softened by the warmth in your eyes. 

“Come on, Arthur. Since when did you become an expert in what I deserve? I’ve been putting up with your brooding for far too long to be picky about the details.”

Arthur’s lips curled into a wry smile as he listened to your response. Despite the gravity of the moment, there was a glimmer of amusement and admiration in his eyes. 

“You know,” he said, his voice carrying a hint of his old charm, “you’ve been a right pain in my ass since day one. Guess that’s why it’s so damn complicated with us. But, damn it, you’re still the only one who can make me see the bright side of this mess.”

You raised an eyebrow, giving him a challenging look. 

“Oh, is that your way of saying I’m the best you’ve got? How flattering.”

Arthur chuckled, shaking his head. “Maybe more than you know. You’ve got a knack for makin’ everything seem less bleak, even when you’re makin’ my life hell.”

After a silent moment, Arthur reaches out, his thumb gently tracing the line of your jaw which sends shivers down your spine.

“I’ve been a damn fool,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, “for fightin’ this… for fightin’ you.”

Your heart ached at his words, at the honesty you had never expected from him. 

You had always seen him as a man of few words, someone who hid his true self behind a wall of sarcasm and indifference. But now, as he stood in front of you, you saw the truth in his eyes—the feelings he had tried so hard to deny.

Before you could respond, Arthur closed the distance between you, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was both fierce and tender. 

The kiss was a heady mix of passion and urgency, a kiss full of the unresolved tension and undeniable attraction that had been building between you. 

As the kiss deepens, you feel Arthur’s hand move to tangle in your hair, his fingers gently gripping the strands as he kisses you harder, his body pressing hard against yours.

You respond with equal fervor, your hands fisting in his shirt and pulling him closer before you both pull away for air, breaths labored with his chest rising and falling against yours.

Arthur nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent. He begins to trail soft kisses along your neck, his lips barely grazing your skin as his voice drops to a whisper, full of longing and relief.

“Been powerless against you since the moment you joined the gang. Reckon it all started that night at the mansion when we were both after the same prize.”

A low hum escapes him as your fingers thread through his hair, your touch sending shivers down his spine. He nuzzles further into your neck as he continues to mumble against your skin. 

“Wanted you so bad, and damn if that don’t scare the absolute life out of me.”

Arthur continues to kiss your neck, his lips moving down to your shoulder as his hands tighten their grip on your hips. The intensity of his touch grows as he pulls you even closer, the heat of his body pressing against yours, enveloping you in a wave of warmth and desire. 

You lean in closer, your lips grazing the shell of his ear as you whisper, your voice trembling with the same urgency that you hear in his. “Then stop holding back, Arthur. I want you.”

Your words seem to break whatever last bit of restraint he was clinging to. He lets out a low growl, and before you can even take another breath, his lips crash against yours once more, all fire and desperation. It’s a kiss that sears through you leaving no room for doubt.

Without breaking the kiss, he nudges you back until you feel the edge of the table pressing against the backs of your thighs. In one fluid motion, Arthur’s hands slip from your hips to your waist, lifting you just enough to set you down on the table's surface.

He steps closer, sliding between your legs as his hands grip your hips possessively. You felt his hips pressing insistently against your core, the contact electrifying and intense. 

He was achingly hard, a burning pressure that felt almost unbearable through the fabric of your clothes. The heat radiating from him was overwhelming, every shift of his body against yours sending waves of sensation coursing through you.

His hands, rough and calloused from years of hard living, left your waist and slipped under your shirt to savor the softness of your skin. His skilled fingers traced over your ribs before reaching your breasts. 

You've never been so glad to not be wearing your chemise underneath your clothes.

You inhaled sharply as he took one of your nipples between his fingers and pinched. "So responsive." Arthur murmurs against your mouth before pulling away and breaking the kiss. You chance a glance at his face, his eyes dark with hunger. 

With deliberate slowness, his hands begin their descent, gliding down to your calves, his fingers tracing the curve of your legs. 

He caresses your skin, almost reverently, before sliding up to the hem of your skirt. You shiver at the sensation as he pushes the fabric higher, gathering it around your waist, leaving you completely exposed to him.

Arthur’s eyes drink in the sight of you, his gaze heavy with desire. His hands, still lingering on the edge of your skirt, begin to trail slowly up your thighs, his touch careful and teasing. 

He pauses just as his fingers brush against the most sensitive part of your skin, his eyes flicking up to meet yours, dark and questioning. 

He’s waiting, holding back, as if needing your permission to go further. He doesn't move, his touch achingly close yet frustratingly distant.

"Arthur…" you plead, your voice edged with frustration.

He meets your gaze, lips twitch up in a slight smirk as his eyes gleamed with a mix of amusement and challenge. "You can do better than that, sweetheart," he murmurs, his voice low and teasing.

You scowl, making him smirk wider, the pressure making your frustration boil over. "Arthur, just—"

His fingers remain tantalizingly still, his eyes locked onto yours with a challenging gleam. The irritation fuels your desperation, and you let out a shaky breath, finally conceding.

"Arthur... please, I need you. I can’t stand it anymore," you say, your voice softened by surrender, the depth of your need evident.

Arthur’s lips curl into a satisfied grin as he hears your plea. He hums with approval and without another word, you watch as he leans down, his mouth finding your core with a fervent intensity, enveloping you in a warm, consuming embrace.

You gasped out as pleasure rippled through you, his name tumbling from your lips. Your fingers fly down to his hair, clenching at the strands and pull him closer as you surrender to the waves of sensation that crash over you.

He groans against you, his lips teasing the sensitive bud before his tongue moves with deliberate, savoring strokes, licking up your wetness. The taste of you lingers, smearing over his lips and dripping down his chin.

You feel his hand move between your thighs, his touch igniting another wave of pleasure as his thumb gently grazes your clit. The added sensation heightens your arousal, making your breath come in short, gasping bursts.

Without warning, he slips one of his fingers inside you, the sensation sending a jolt of intense pleasure through you. 

He moves with practiced ease, curling and thrusting as he builds a rhythm that makes you gasp and moan. Each movement is designed to amplify the pleasure he's already delivering, his touch skillfully coaxing you closer to the edge.

“Oh God—Arthur!”

His hands pick up the pace, moving faster and with more pressure, targeting that one sensitive spot inside you while his mouth continues to work on your delicate bud. You tighten around his fingers, feeling your legs start to tremble.

You were at the height of your pleasure, your climax so near it felt like you might explode at any moment. Arthur seems to sense it too, his movements expertly bringing you to the brink. 

But just as you're about to come, he abruptly pulls away, smirking down at you. You let out a frustrated whine, your body still trembling from the near climax. 

"Why—" you gasp, eyes pleading as you look up at him, your voice a mix of annoyance and need. The sudden halt only intensifies your frustration, making your desire for release even more unbearable.

Arthur leans in closer, his breath hot against your ear. "Don’t worry, darlin’, I ain’t finished yet," he murmurs, his voice a low, gritty whisper. "Wanna feel you wrapped around me when you come."

With a firm, decisive moment, his hands wrap beneath your bum, lifting you effortlessly. He carries you toward the worn couch, his strength palpable as he places you gently but firmly onto the cushions before positioning himself above you, his gaze never leaving yours.

Arthur’s hands move to unbutton his jeans with a practiced ease before shedding them, revealing his lengthy member, its impressive size immediately drawing your wide-eyed attention.

You can’t help but stare, your eyes widening with a mix of awe and anticipation as you take in the full extent of his arousal. The sight of him, so well-endowed and commanding, sends a thrill of excitement through you, and your breath catches in your throat. 

Arthur notices your reaction, a grin curling on his lips. He moves closer, his hands firmly cupping your face as he tilts your chin up to meet his gaze, capturing your lips in a deep, urgent kiss. 

While his mouth claims yours, his hands move with purpose, deftly working to remove your blouse. You respond eagerly, your hands sliding over his chest and working at the buttons of his shirt until it falls away. 

The two of you move with a synchrony of urgency and passion, shedding the rest of your clothes with a desperate need. Each article of clothing is discarded in a flurry of movement, leaving you both bare. 

Arthur pauses, his eyes dark and intense as they roam over your bare form with a feral hunger. A low growl escapes his throat, his eyes gleaming with a primal desire. 

“Shit,” he rasps, his voice rough and throaty. “Can’t believe I held myself back for so long.” His gaze lingers on you, filled with a raw, unrestrained hunger, as he savors the sight of you completely bare before him. 

He wraps your legs around his hips, drawing you closer as he positions himself between you. With one hand gripping himself and the other steadying your leg, he lines himself up, his breath coming in ragged bursts as he looks down at you.

“You ready for this?” 

You nod, your eyes locked onto his, filled with a mix of eagerness and anticipation. “Please, Arthur,” you reply, your voice trembling slightly. “I want you.”

Arthur’s lips curl into a fierce, satisfied smile before pressing himself against you and slowly begins to enter you, his gaze never leaving your face as a gasp escapes your lips, your body tensing with the intense sensation. 

You arch against him, your hands gripping his shoulders as you adjust to his size. The stretch and pressure of him inside you sends a wave of pleasure through you, your eyes fluttering closed momentarily as you moan out his name. 

He growls in response, his face contorted with both pleasure and concentration. “Goddamn you’re so tight.” 

His hands tighten on your hips, grip firm and possessive as waits for you to adjust around him. After a moment, you grip his shoulders tighter, your nails digging in as you try to steady yourself.

“Arthur,” you murmur, struggling to control your breath. “I need you to move.”

“You sure, sweetheart?” he asks, his voice dripping with raw desire. His eyes search yours for a sign of hesitation but find only eager need.

“Yes,” you breathe, your voice trembling with urgency. “Please.”

With a satisfied nod, Arthur begins to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate at first, each one bringing a wave of pleasure that makes your body tremble. 

As he finds a rhythm, his movements become more intense and fervent, his eyes never leaving your face. His breathing grows heavier, matching the pace of his thrusts as he drives deeper into you.

“Arthur, please…faster.”

He meets your gaze and with a firm grip, he pushes your leg further back against you, angling himself deeper. 

You gasp at the shift, your body arching and gripping him tighter as waves of pleasure crash over you. Each thrust sends a jolt of ecstasy through you, your breaths coming in quick, sharp bursts as you lose yourself in the mounting sensation.

His thrusts become more urgent, each movement sending a jolt of ecstasy through you. “That’s it,” he murmurs between breaths, “let me hear you, sweetheart.”

You moan in response, the sound escaping in a breathless gasp as his relentless pace overwhelms you, crying out his name as your voice trembles with pleasure. 

Arthur’s eyes darken with desire, and he groans deeply. He takes your face in his hand, his thumb tracing the outline of your lips. his gaze intently fixed on you, taking in every reaction, every flush of pleasure, driving him wild.

He can’t help but be captivated by the way you look at him, your gaze locking onto his with a mix of urgency and raw longing.

He’s not going to last long. Not when you look at him like that.

Arthur pushes your leg further back, nearly folding you in half as his thrusts become rougher and more intense, driving into you with a forceful rhythm. Each thrust relentlessly hits the spot inside you, sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. 

You feel yourself tighten around him, eliciting a deep groan from him. 

His hand slips between your bodies, his fingers finding the sensitive bundle of nerves at your core and begins to apply a firm, rhythmic pressure, his touch syncing with the hard, relentless pace of his thrusts.

“Arthur,” you moan, your voice a mixture of desperation and bliss.

Arthur grits his teeth, the effort to maintain control clear on his face. “Come on, sweetheart, let go for me… Wanna feel ya,” he growls, his voice thick with desire and urgency. 

The combined stimulation of his touch and his relentless thrusting pushes you toward the edge, your body quaking as the waves of pleasure crest and crash over you. His words, laced with raw need, tip you over that edge, breaking the last of your control. 

You let go completely, surrendering to the overwhelming pleasure as you tremble and gasp in his grasp, your body responding to his every command.

“That’s it,” Arthur growls, his voice rough with pleasure. “Good girl. Feels so good squeezing around me… there we go.”

He moves his hands to your hips, his own breathing ragged as he feels you tighten and convulse around him. He continues to drive into you through the waves of pleasure, his thrusts becoming even more urgent and relentless. You cry out, the sensation overwhelming.

Finally, with a groan of his own, he thrusts deep one last time before pulling out, taking his length into his hand. His body shudders, breath coming in rough, uneven gasps as he finds his release, spilling onto your stomach as the tension finally breaks.

He collapses onto you, his breath ragged and heavy, both of you trying to catch your breaths. After a while, you gently pat him, feeling the weight of him pressing down on you, and he lets out a breathy chuckle, his eyes half-lidded with contentment.

Arthur stands up and grabs the shirt he was wearing, using it to wipe the evidence of his release from your stomach and his. His touch is tender despite the intensity of the moment.

Once he’s finished, he lays back down beside you, pulling you into his arms. With a gentle but firm motion, he adjusts to create enough room for both of you on the worn couch. 

He wraps his arms around you, holding you close as you settle against him, the warmth of his body providing a soothing contrast to the earlier intensity.

“You alright there?” he asks, his voice soft and slightly teasing as he runs a hand soothingly along your arm.

You nod, your head resting against his shoulder, feeling a mix of exhaustion and satisfaction. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you reply, your voice a bit breathless. “Just needed a moment.”

Arthur chuckles softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Can’t say I’m sorry we didn’t do this sooner,” he murmurs, his tone filled with genuine warmth. 

You smile, your eyes closing as you let yourself relax into his embrace. “Me neither,” you whisper, feeling the comfort of his presence. “Guess it’s a good thing we finally did.”

A comfortable silence envelops you both, the warmth of the fire crackling softly in the background. As you settle into the quiet, the room is filled with a tranquil intimacy. 

The gentle heat from the fire and the flickering light cast a soft glow over your resting forms, guiding you both into a peaceful rest.

The next morning, the sunlight filtering through the cracks in the curtains gently warms your face, coaxing you awake from your slumber. 

You blink, slightly disoriented, and notice a quilt draped over you—a cozy, unexpected comfort that you don’t remember covering yourself with. 

You stretch out and sit up, searching for Arthur, but find that he’s no longer beside you. The space next to you is empty, leaving only the lingering warmth of his presence and the faint scent of him in the air.

You wrap the quilt around you before making your way to the bedroom, where you begin to get dressed in your now-dry clothes. 

As you finish getting dressed, you head outside, still wondering where Arthur could be. Opening the front door, you’re startled to find him now dressed in his own clothes and standing with both your horses.

He’s feeding his horse calmly, the sight of the horses safe and sound, along with Arthur’s relaxed demeanor, fills you with a mix of relief and surprise. 

He looks up, catching your gaze with a casual, knowing smile, clearly at ease despite the unexpected circumstances.

“Mornin’, sorry I didn’t want to wake ya,” he says, his voice warm and relaxed.

You blink, still processing the sight before you. “Wait, how did you find the horses? They ran off during that chase,” you ask, your voice filled with surprise and confusion.

Arthur grins, a touch of pride in his eyes. “Managed to track ’em down this mornin’. They’d wandered off a ways but were easy enough to follow. Took a bit of patience, but I got ’em back here safe and sound.” He pats one of the horses affectionately.

You let out a relieved laugh, shaking your head in amazement. “Well, I’m definitely grateful. I wasn’t sure how we’d get them back.

Arthur gives you a casual nod, his eyes still carrying a hint of satisfaction. “We should probably think about getting back to camp soon. Can’t say Dutch’ll be too happy about us comin’ back empty-handed.”

You frown slightly, your mind starting to turn over the implications. “Yeah, he might not be too pleased about that.”

Suddenly, something clicks in your mind, your expression brightening with realization. You make your way to your horse, patting her affectionately as you reach her.

You move to the saddlebag and start fishing around inside before pulling out a small pouch. Arthur watches you with curiosity as you open it, revealing the jewelry you had remembered stuffing inside. With a proud smile, you show it to Arthur, the glint of the gems catching the light.

Arthur raises an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Well… that’s a nice surprise. Turns out we’re not comin’ back empty-handed after all.” 

He glances at the jewelry, then back at you. “Good thinking.”

You tuck the pouch back into the saddlebag, feeling a surge of relief. “At least we’ve got something to make up for the trouble.”

Arthur shifts, his expression turning serious. “Listen, uh… everything I said last night—I meant it. I care about you, you know.”

You look at him, a soft smile forming on your lips. “I know.”

He pulls you close, and you share a tender kiss, the warmth and reassurance evident in the moment. When you pull away, you give him a playful nudge. “Now, let’s get back to camp.”

Arthur grins, nodding as he mounts his horse. “Lead the way.”

After a few hours of steady travel, you finally crest through the dense woods and emerge into the open area of Shady Belle. 

As you draw closer, you hear John’s voice call out from his post. “Who’s there?”

Arthur raises a hand in greeting, his tone slightly exasperated. “It’s just us two, you idiot.”

John approaches with a grin, clearly relieved to see familiar faces. “Well, well, look who’s back! Didn’t think you’d make it this time.”

His gaze shifts to you, and he notices the cut on your forehead. “What happened there?” he asks, his tone shifting to one of concern. 

“It’s nothing, just a little mishap,” you reply with a shrug and a small reassuring smile. 

John nods, still eyeing the cut with a concerned look. Before he can respond, the sound of Dutch’s voice cuts through the air. 

“There they are!” Dutch strides forward with Hosea, catching the attention of the other gang members. The atmosphere shifts to one of eager anticipation as they approach to welcome you both back.

Arthur and you quickly hitch your horses, and Dutch’s eyes light up with a mix of relief and curiosity. 

“You two look like you’ve had quite the adventure,” he says with a grin. “Let’s hear what you’ve got for us.”

You and Arthur follow Dutch and Hosea inside the house, nodding to the other members who offer warm welcomes at your arrival. 

Once inside, the four of you make your way outside to the terrace to discuss the details. The afternoon sun casts a warm glow over the camp, and you all settle into a comfortable spot.

Hosea’s eyes shift to the cut on your forehead. “You alright?” he asks, his tone filled with concern.

You give a small nod, trying to brush off the worry. “I’ll be alright. Can’t say about the coach, though.”

Hosea raises an eyebrow, his expression turning thoughtful. “The coach, huh? Did something go wrong?”

“The job went well initially. Arthur and I got what we needed, but then things went sideways on the way back.”

Arthur picks up the story, his voice steady. “We ran into trouble. More guards came in hot on our heels, forcing us into some rough terrain. Lost the coach, and then we ended up falling into a river with it.”

You chime in, “The river swept the coach away, taking all the loot with it. We couldn’t salvage anything.”

Dutch’s expression falls. “So, you lost it all?”

Arthur nods, looking apologetic. “Yeah. We couldn’t recover the goods.”

Dutch’s face reflects a mix of disappointment and frustration. “Well, that’s a shame. We coulda used that haul. Least you two are alright, though.”

Hosea tries to lighten the mood. “We’ll bounce back from this. The important thing is that you made it back safely. We’ll sort out the rest.”

Arthur reaches into his satchel and pulls out the small pouch of jewelry from you and a few clipped bundles of cash. He holds them up with a faint, reassuring smile.

“Well, we didn’t lose everything. Reckon this might help make up for it.” 

Arthur hands Hosea the pouch, and Hosea inspects its contents. “With this and the cash we got, I’d say we’re lookin’ at around 800. That should help us get back on our feet.”

Dutch’s eyes light up with relief as he takes in the sight of the recovered items. “Well, that’s a right bit of luck in the middle of all this mess. Better than nothin’.”

Arthur nods, looking somewhat relieved. “Didn’t want to come back here and leave y’all thinkin’ we came up empty.”

Dutch claps Arthur on the shoulder, his mood lifting a bit. “Appreciate that. Let’s get this sorted and move on. We’ve got plenty of work ahead of us.”

Hosea looks over at you and Arthur with a nod of approval. “I gotta hand it to you both. Despite the rough patch, you came through. Good work out there.”

With that, Dutch and Hosea start discussing plans to distribute the recovered items and strategize the next steps.

Over the next few days, the gang once again begins to notice something distinctly different about you and Arthur. 

It’s not just the absence of shouting and tension, but a new, subtle intimacy that marks a significant shift in how you interact. While the first change was notable, this time it's even more pronounced.

Although you and Arthur have kept your more intimate moments away from the prying eyes of the gang, there’s a palpable difference in the way you connect. 

You’re often seen sharing quiet conversations, laughing together, and engaging in playful banter, with soft touches and exchanged smiles now part of your interactions. The closeness between you is evident, and it piques the gang’s curiosity once more.

Speculation runs rife among the camp members about the nature of your evolving relationship. They observe the affectionate gestures and tender glances, each theory more imaginative than the last. 

Despite the growing curiosity, you and Arthur continue to maintain your privacy. When questioned or approached, you both respond with a mix of amused indifference and casual deflection. 

You shrug off the gossip with lighthearted comments or evasive answers, enjoying the newfound closeness while keeping the details of your relationship to yourselves.

On this particular day, while you were engaged in a chore, you overheard Arthur speaking to Dutch, asking why he kept pairing the two of you together despite your apparent dislike for each other. 

You glance over from your place, noting how Dutch seems genuinely puzzled by the question.

“It wasn’t really my call,” Dutch says with a shrug. “That was all Hosea’s idea. I didn’t rightly agree with him and don’t know why the hell he was so insistent or thought it was a good idea, but I just went along with it.”

Arthur’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Both your attention shifts to Hosea, who is currently sitting nearby, absorbed in reading a newspaper. 

Despite his apparent focus on the paper, you notice a subtle smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. He doesn’t look up or acknowledge you both, but his expression clearly suggests he’s pleased with the outcome of his decision.

The revelation leaves you and Arthur with a mix of emotions, but the smirk on Hosea’s face makes it clear that he knew exactly what he was doing.

[thestarkinternship]

Gorgeous

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader: One Shot (Smut)

Summary: You have a boyfriend, and Bucky knows this. But there's nothing that the two of you hate more than what you can't have.

Word Count: 2.8k (no mention of Y/N)

Warnings: profanity, drinking, unprotected sex, fingering, hair pulling, cheating, praise, slight exhibitionism (communal area of the compound), 18+, minors DNI!

A/N: Okay I'm slowly finding my footing in writing stuff like this, but I'm really happy with how this turned out. Inspired by the song Gorgeous by Taylor Swift - expect a lot more one shots inspired by songs, I have a whole list!

-

"I can't believe your boyfriend let you come here alone tonight."

You turned your head to see Bucky Barnes, with his signature smirk plastered on his face. Great. So much for a chilled night in of drinks with your teammates. Now you'd be spending the whole evening staring at his stupidly smug face. A face that was impossibly good looking. His jawline alone looked like it could've been carved from stone, and his full lips that were only good for sarcastic comments.

Stop it. You have a boyfriend. You scolded yourself.

Instead, you tried to remind yourself of the negatives (not that there were many). Beneath the obvious attraction, you found his arrogant yet charming personality infuriating. And that was before you guys added alcohol into the mix.

Leaning back against the counter to your side, his arm brushed up against yours. The supple leather of his jacket sparked tension and goosebumps as it glided across the exposed skin of your bare arm.

You rolled your eyes at him, shifting to put a little much needed distance between the pair of you for good measure. You wanted to ignore him. To not bite at his obvious flirtatious taunts. But you couldn't resist. "What? You mean I can't hang out with friends without my boyfriend's approval? He doesn't own me, you know. I can do whatever I damn well please."

Bucky's smile twisted into a crooked grin as he raised his mismatched hands in defence. "Alright, alright. You're your own woman and all that. So, if he's not here tonight breathing down your neck, where is he?"

"He's at a club downtown." You told him, reaching for a bottle of liquor. If you were going to have this conversation about your missing boyfriend with the most infuriating member of the team, you definitely needed another drink.

"Oh yeah? And what's so important that he's gotta tear himself away from you?" Bucky asked, cocking his head to one side.

"God knows what." You muttered under your breath. The truth was, your relationship had been rocky for a while. You couldn't seem to agree on anything lately. And spending time together? You'd forgotten what that felt like. More and more, he had been staying out late, every feeble excuse causing deeper cracks in your fragile love life.

But you didn't need to say any of this to his face. It was like Bucky could read your mind. Now, he looked you up and down. "Well, he's really missing out."

Bucky's flirting, whilst harmless most of the time, was really starting to get to you tonight. And he looked so gorgeous doing it that it made you mad.

"Why are you with him anyway? Isn't he a little old for you?" He teased, sipping his drink. The ice cubes bobbed in his whiskey, clinking against the crystal glass.

"He's not that much older than me," you pointed out, "God forbid I dare to like an older man."

"Maybe it's not the fact that you like an older man that I'm questioning." Bucky mumbled under his breath.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Your eyes narrowed. But no sooner had the question left your lips had you started to figure out the intention of his words all by yourself.

Could it be the fact that you were dating an older man that wasn't him?

Not wanting to wait for Bucky to confirm this thought, you downed your glass and walked off to find Natasha. Maybe it was the quick rush of alcohol as it flooded your senses, but your heart was definitely beginning to beat faster.

-

You had managed to avoid Bucky for the rest of the night. Every time you caught his eye, you quickly redirected your gaze elsewhere. You engrossed yourself in gossip with Natasha, in jokes with Sam, and in drinking games with Yelena. But not even the best distraction in the world could take away the thoughts of your earlier conversation with the super soldier. And when your boyfriend text you, saying not to bother waiting up for him, it only got worse. Why were you so concerned with maintaining a relationship with someone who didn't share the same sentiment?

"Hey, I think i'm gonna head to bed." Natasha slurred after a while, nudging you slightly and pulling you from your thoughts into the present. Her eyes seemed weary as her drunken state turned into one of exhaustion.

"It is getting quite late." You sighed and scanned the room. The once full lounge had dwindled into strays as the Avengers slowly retired to bed one by one as the night had gone on. Now, only a couple remained. You finally couldn't resist sneaking a glance at Bucky across the room. Almost immediately, your brain spiralled and you had unwillingly allowed your mind to once again be consumed by him.

Biting your lip, you tried not to admire the way he looked tonight. Maybe it was the drinks taking effect, but even you had to admit Bucky was looking better than ever. His black t-shirt pulled taunt across his chest, looking like it could rip open with even the smallest twitch of his muscles. That particular image lingered in your mind longer than you would've liked, or cared to admit. Lustful thoughts suppressed those of guilt. Granted, simply possessing sinful ideas wasn't cheating. But if you didn't get rid of them soon, who knows what they might cause you to do?

Natasha hopped off the bar stool, her feet wobbling as she reached the ground. "You coming?"

As you looked into her eyes, it was clear that she knew something was up with you. But she couldn't quite put her finger on what. Maybe that was for the best.

"I think I might hang out here for a little longer." You said slowly, trying to keep your voice light and casual.

"You sure?" Natasha pushed, her eyes narrowing slightly in suspicion.

"Yeah, I'm not really tired." You shrugged, giving her a small smile in an attempt to appease her curiosity.

After a long minute, Natasha relaxed. "Okay. If you insist."

You exhaled a small sigh of relief. "Goodnight, Nat. See you at training tomorrow."

The red head squeeze your arm gently as she left. Sat there alone, you realised how quiet the large room had become. You nursed your empty glass for a moment longer before setting it down on the counter top. In the absence of the party music, the clink it made against the marble surface was deafening in the newfound silence. You swore you actually saw Bucky flinch a little bit from the opposite side of the room.

"What are you still doing up? You waiting for your boyfriend or something?" He asked quietly.

"He's… he's not coming back tonight," you mumbled, "apparently going out with people he doesn’t even know is more important than my feelings."

Bucky's eyes filled with pity as he looked at you. "Oh, that's- i'm sorry…"

"Don't be. It's not your fault that my relationship's on the rocks." You mumbled, even though deep down, you knew that wasn't exactly the truth.

"It is?" He asked. Curiosity got the better of him, and Bucky closed the distance between the two of you as he walked over.

You nodded, not trusting your words until you gave yourself time to think.

"Am I allowed to ask why? Or are you going to ignore me again like you have for the whole night?" His tone was mocking, but underneath there was a softer edge. Bucky had been hurt by your ignorance.

You sighed, feeling bad about how you were acting towards him. It wasn't fair, but what could you say? You hesitated a little, but decided to be honest. "You should take it as a compliment that i'm talking to everyone here but you."

Bucky's face twisted in confusion. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

It was now or never.

"Every time I look into your eyes, I feel like I might sink and drown and die." You whispered. You had never meant it more than you did in that moment. Right now, they were flashing deep blue, a vast ocean as he studied you.

But the truth was finally out there, and Bucky was just as surprised as you were that you had finally come out with it. He stayed quiet, and you took the opportunity to continue.

"I can't stop myself from being attracted to you."

"You have a boyfriend." He muttered, looking away.

"I know. And there's nothing I hate more than what I can't have. That's why i'm so furious at you for making me feel this way."

Bucky's jaw clicked as his eyes flickered up and down your face, waiting for you to say you were messing with him. When you didn't, he groaned at the position you were putting him in. Finally, his flirtatious comments had wormed their way into your head, and he didn't know how to behave anymore. He wanted you. He had been wanting you ever since he'd laid eyes on you.

With the increasing urge to act on his heart rather than his head, Bucky's resilience weakened. As you stood in front of him, cheeks flushed rosy with nerves and eyes bright with what could only be described as hope, his heart pounded in his chest.

Then, he decided to hell with it - if you could be honest, so could he. "You're ruining my life by not being mine, doll."

Fuck it.

Your lips were on his in a second, taking his breath away and keeping it for yourself. Curling your hands through his hair, you pulled his head closer as your nails scratched lightly at the nape of his neck. He hissed into your mouth slightly, and the sound faded into a soft moan. His hands ran down your back to your hips, digging into the soft flesh. Tracing the waistband of your skirt, Bucky smirked as he heard your delicate breathing hitch. He pulled back an inch, equally as flustered.

"Tell me what you want."

"I want you." You whispered.

His lips sucked at the sweet spot on your neck before leaning into your ear. "Mm, is that so? What about-"

"Don't say his name. Not now." You whispered.

His wrists jerked violently, spinning you around in his arms. His chest pressed up against your back, his heart beating fast. Bucky's lips met your neck in gentle kisses, and your head fell slack back against his shoulder. Goosebumps arose as he gently teased your skin. Pulling your hips back with his left hand, he pushed your back forwards with his right. You barely had enough time to brace yourself before your front sprawled out across the marble. The cold from his vibranium fingertips spread like a chill up your spine.

Before you could protest, you felt his hand slide up the inside of your thighs. He lifted the hem of your skirt up, deliberating taking his time as he marvelled at the slow reveal of your bare skin. Shivering, your hips pushed back needily against his. He groaned under his breath as he felt your desperation. Through his tight jeans, you could feel his hardening cock straining in the denim.

His fingertips brushed the edge of your panties, already slick with your arousal. He toyed with the damp fabric, moving it aside before pushing one finger gently into you. That first moment of intimate contact between the two of you was heavenly. As Bucky's finger stroked upwards against that sweet spot, you bit your lip to suppress a moan.

"Don't be shy, princess. It's okay, I know how much you want this," Bucky murmured, daring to add another finger, "let me hear those pretty sounds."

When he added that second finger, you were done for. Your mouth fell open and you couldn't hold back any more. They curled inside of you, brushing that sensitive spot over and over again. With your eyes rolling back into your head, you finally gave in to him and let out every single noise you'd been holding back. The soft cries fell from your lips as he pushed you so close to the edge with his fingers alone.

"That's it, baby. God, you sound like heaven. Can't wait to hear what noise you make when I finally take you."

Just as you teetered the edge of your orgasm, he snapped you back from that ledge with the sudden loss of his touch. You opened your mouth to complain when you heard the metal buckle of his belt clatter as he undid it. Bucky stepped closer, and you felt the head of his cock push between your folds. Nudging your legs slightly further apart, Bucky leaned against you. He rubbed back and forth slowly, every second feeling like an hour.

"Are you sure you want this?" He asked in a hushed voice. It was a sharp contrast to how his previous behaviour, but his need for your consent on actually going through with cheating on your boyfriend outweighed his desire for you.

You hesitated, the reality of what was about to happen finally settling in your brain. As guilty as you felt, this was what you wanted. For so long, you had felt so much shame in your pining. But Bucky wasn't judging you for it. He was more than willing to comply, if it was what you truly wanted. And in that moment with one simply nod, you decided that it was.

With that, his hands trailed up to your hips, gripping slightly as he eased into you. Your breathing hitched at the stretch as your body adjusted to his size. It wasn't like your boyfriend was small, but damn - Bucky was something else entirely.

He didn't stop until he was fully seated in you, his hips meeting yours. The sensation was everything you imagined and more. Filled to the brim with the breath knocked out of you, your eyelids fluttered shut.

"Fuck, doll. Look at you, taking it all so well." His sweet murmurs fell from his lips as he breathed heavily.

He drew his hips back slowly, before moving back in. Bucky listened to your quiet purrs, carefully increasing his pace the more he sensed you relaxed. Before long, he was pounding into you as fast as his body would allow. He kept his focus on the sight of you in front of him, back arched across the counter top taking every inch of him that he had to give you. His hand slid up your back, reaching for your hair and grasping it in his fist. You whimpered as he tugged on your hair, forcing your head upwards. It was something you'd never done before and by the way your walls clenched around him, Bucky could tell you were enjoying it.

"Feel so good around me…" Bucky breathed, his grip on your hips getting tighter with every thrust.

Every sharp thrust from him pushed you closer to the edge that he had previously kept you from. But this time, Bucky had no intention of stopping. Your body jerked underneath him, feet leaving the ground with every swift snap of his hips. Tiny stars clouded your vision, and you reached out to grasp the counter top to steady yourself from his relentless rhythm. Your jaw fell slack open, struggling to get any noise out besides heavy pants.

"Bucky, I-" You eventually managed to choke out.

"I know, doll. I know. Let go." He moaned.

With his permission, you finally allowed yourself to reach your climax. Tiny gasps and whimpers slipped out from you as you squeezed around his cock one final time. The pulsing sensation was all it took to send Bucky spiralling after you. He let out a string of curse words through gritted teeth as he spilled deep inside of you. Bucky stayed where he was for a moment, allowing you both a minute to catch your breath before pulling out. You winced at the sudden empty feeling, a dull ache from the absent presence of him already settling between your thighs. Bucky pulled your soaked panties back into place and readjusted your skirt back to its original position. Slowly, you eased yourself up from the counter top he had had you pressed firmly against. Turning to look at him, you saw that his cheeks were just as red as yours. The corners of his lips turned into a smile as he saw your face again, and you couldn't help but match it.

"So," he chuckled, "about you not being mine…"

Glancing down at the ground, your blush deepened. The last few minutes had cemented everything you had been wondering for weeks. The feelings in your heart had always belonged to Bucky, even if the common sense in your brain had not. Yeah. You and your boyfriend were definitely over after this.

[a-coffee-addict-613]

Cold hands - Simon "Ghost" Riley x reader, a short fic

Summary : reader's hands are cold and Ghost is tired of hearing her complain about it, so he offers to warm them up for her so she will shut up; except he gets more than he expected...

CW: smut, that's it; oh and bad language

"It's cold as hell," she whispered into the night. Ghost stood beside her; they were both keeping watch while the others slept in their tents a bit farther behind them.

"Freaking hell, my hands are like ice blocks, I'm freezing," she said shortly after her last comment. This had been going on for a while; she had been constantly complaining about being cold, or at least that was how Ghost was experiencing it.

"Stop complaining," he said, short and cold, almost like an order, cutting through the air.

"I'm sorry, but I'm not trained for this stuff like you guys, so I have the right to complain," she huffed, trying to bury her nose underneath her scarf.

"That's not how it works," he replied with a sigh.

After that, she did not say anything more, but she was still getting on Ghost's nerves because she couldn't keep still, rocking up and down on her heels, pacing around, and constantly blowing on her hands to try to warm them up.

Ghost let out an inaudible groan and begrudgingly said, "If I find a way to warm you up a bit, will you shut up and stop moving?" He didn't even deign himself to look at her.

"Dude, if you do that, I think I'd marry you," she laughed, blowing on her hands for what seemed like the hundredth time.

"Just stop," he said, and with that, he grabbed one of her wrists and guided it to his abdomen where he had lifted up his shirt. After all, body heat is the most efficient way to warm up.

She hesitated, even if she was yearning to put her hands on Ghost's perfect abs. "Are you sure...?" she mumbled, looking up at Ghost. They were so close now; she had never stood so close to Ghost in a non-combat way.

He did not answer, only hummed and tugged on her wrist again, still in his grasp, to bring it even closer to his bare skin. She did not hesitate this time; she splayed both hands on his hot skin, and she could not contain herself; his warmth thawed out her fingers almost instantly, and a small sigh of relief escaped her mouth.

He couldn't help but smile at the way she sighed when his warmth reached her hands, despite the shiver that coursed through his body. He was glad the mask hid his smile; he couldn't afford a distraction like her, even if she *was* a pretty distraction.

"Hurry," he huffed out instead, the sooner she was done, the sooner he would be rid of her hold on him, one he couldn't seem to shake off.

"Fine, fine," she all but brushed him off. She moved her hands further up, grazing his ribs, searching for warmer skin. This time, she felt the chill that crossed his skin. Little did she know that it was not the cold that made him shiver.

"Careful," his voice cut through the air; it had a dangerous undertone that made her look up and look into his eyes for the first time since they started this whole thing.

This time, it was she who did not answer; she simply decided to head in the opposite direction. And so, ever so slowly, she slid her hand back down to their starting place, but she did not stop there; she continued further down, over his V. She did all this while maintaining eye contact with Ghost, a bold move because, honestly, he could be quite intimidating.

She kept going, allowing her hand to fall to his belt. After two beats of hesitation and due to the fact that Ghost remained unmoving, she unbuckled his belt, popped open his pants, and slithered her hands inside. Inside his boxers, not his pants.

Upon her still freezing hands making contact with his soft cock and balls, which she cupped with both hands, it broke Ghost's stone-cold demeanor. He hissed loudly and let out, "That's freezing, Doc," his British accent thicker than usual.

"I'm just following your orders, Lieutenant," she answered cheekily, her eyes holding a mischievous smile. She used one of her now warm hands to cup his balls while the other traveled to wrap around his cock, which was now not so soft. She began stroking it leisurely, slowly making it harder by the second, her hand squeezing his head each time her fist traveled up, her thumb stroking it every time.

"You are playing a dangerous game," Ghost whispered, but despite his words, he brought both hands up to rest on her hips.

"My hands are warm now, but.... I think that my lips are cold; maybe you could help me with that too..." she murmured, a small smile on her face, as if she wasn't asking permission to do such an obscene thing.

There was a small silence, one where Ghost was having an inner struggle, but eventually his non-logical brain won, and with a groan, he said, "Be quick about it."

She did not need him to say it twice; she dropped to her knees, no longer caring about the cold ground hitting her knees. All she cared about was finally doing something that she had fantasized about for so long.

A/N : part 2 is posted !

[pocketjoong]

❥𓂃𓏧WHAT IS A SOULMATE?

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (SYNOPSIS): You and Seonghwa go on a trip across Europe and you use this as an excuse to make a little birthday video for him. But on the day of his birthday, Seonghwa feels nothing but grief as he watches the video you made for him.

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (PAIRING) idol!Seonghwa x fem!reader

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (GENRE AND AU/TROPE): fluff. angst. meet-cute. nsfw.

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (WARNINGS) NSFW! MINORS DNI. oral. fingering. unprotected sex (it’s a big no guys, please use protection and stay safe). pet names (mc is called dove). mentions of food. allusions to and mentions of a serious accident. angst. fluff.

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (WORD COUNT) 4.3k

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (NOTES) @pyeonghongrie-main :) Here's the promised reupload hehehe

────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────────

London

Outside the confines of your hotel room, silence blankets the city much like the fog that hangs overhead. The first light of dawn is yet to break through the ink-black sky as the metropolis cradles its inhabitants in the silence of the night. This part of the city is still asleep, each soul embraced by the arms of Morpheus, awaiting daybreak to rouse them from their slumber.

Your gaze fixates on the horizon from between the sheer curtains. A pang of anticipation stirs within you, for out of all the alluring sights of nature, sunrise has always been your favourite. After all, regardless of wherever you are in the world, the sunrise is the only constant in the transient nature of life.

Today, however, as the dark black of the night fades to inky blue and splashes of pinks and purples bloom in the east, the only sight you focus on are his eyes. Seonghwa’s eyes are brighter than any galaxy and softer than the cherry blossoms that have begun blossoming on the tree just beyond the terrace. In that moment, you are happy to forego the sight of the beautiful sunrise to watch the coffee and hazel in his eyes melt to form the most gorgeous shade of brown you’ve ever seen.

It won’t be an exaggeration to say that sometimes, you feel like all of your life—each second, each breath, and each step—amounts to Seonghwa. Every decision you have ever made has been a stepping stone in your journey to meet him that one day six years ago when he was only a trainee.

Close to dawn, you had been wandering through the streets of Seoul to find a spark of inspiration for your first-ever project as a photography major. You knew  you wanted to play with the idea of light and dark meeting together to form the most beautiful of sights, and what was a better time to do so than twilight?

So there you were, braving the winter chill for a decent grade while your friends were sleeping soundly, snuggled up in their warm beds.

But it seemed that fate had other plans for you that morning. You took a sip of the coffee you’d bought from the only cafe open at this ungodly hour, forgetting for a moment that it was piping hot. With a wince, you glared at the beige paper cup as if the liquid energy had personally done something to spite you.

A snicker caught your attention, and you turned around to narrow your eyes at the person, only to freeze in your tracks. Wearing a brown, fuzzy coat coupled with dark skinny jeans, the male looked like an angel sent from heaven. The thought that he was a hallucination of your sleep-deprived and cold body crossed your mind, but you discarded the thought when he realised that you’d heard him, and he scrambled to apologise for laughing.

You didn’t know then, but your life was for him. And, it won’t be an exaggeration to say that your life is all him. As winter melted into spring and spring made way for summer, you fell in love with the colour brown: the lush cocoa of Seonghwa’s eyes, sweeter than any hot chocolate you could find, and the tan of his skin, reminiscent of the buttery sweetness of roasted chestnuts. As the weather became humid and the days turned longer, you didn’t even register the beginnings of love taking root in your heart.

It began slowly, like the dripping of water from a tap. Drop by drop, your heart filled with adoration for him. Starting with an appreciation for the awe with which he experienced the world as if doing so for the first time. Then, it became more serious: you found yourself yearning to be around him, to listen to him talk about anything and everything, to be the only one he’d think of as being worthy of his heart.

And then, as if that wasn’t enough, you fell for his voice, a deep baritone with the consistency of honey that you couldn’t get enough of. And the best part? You got to hear it every day before sunrise, for that was his designated time for you in his busy schedule as a trainee and then later as an idol. Dawn was yours, had always been yours, and would always be yours as long as Seonghwa was beside you.

And so, without your knowledge, you fell in love with him bit by bit. You fell as if falling under a spell you couldn’t find a counter for. Not that you wanted to anyway, not when he was there to catch you.

A year later when spring arrived, love and hope sprouted in your heart when Seonghwa’s lips pressed against yours for the first time under the cherry blossoms. He etched himself into the deepest crevices of your soul and your heart. His touch was like that of the sun against your skin after a dark night, igniting your soul in a way that reminded you of fireworks. Under the light of dawn, as he kissed you, you learned a truth. Like the sunrise, Seonghwa is the only constant in your life.

“What are you thinking about?” His soft whisper pulls you out of your reminiscing, and you find yourself gazing into his wide eyes that are brimming with affection and curiosity.

Even after years of being with Seonghwa, the way he looks at you as if you are the one who hung the moon in the sky always floors you. Your skin tingles at the warmth and adoration in his gaze.

“You,” lost in way his thumb grazes against your waist, the word slips out of your lips without a second thought. You almost curse at yourself for being so taken with him when you see a devilish smirk pull at his lips.

“Is that so, my dove?” Chuckling, he lets himself get closer to you, if that’s even possible, considering how you’re basically pressed against him. His hands rise to cup your face, drawing you to his lips.

You lose yourself in the warmth of his mouth. His kisses are softer at first, but soon, his lips are moving insistently against yours. His teeth sink gently into your bottom lip, and he swallows the moan that leaves you almost hungrily. Seonghwa’s hand slides up the side of your body to slide your nightgown off you, exposing you to the chilly morning air.

He pulls back from you momentarily, the loss making you whine, but the protest dies in your throat when he gazes at you with nothing but love and adoration. In what little light filters through the sheer curtains, he looks ethereal with his glowing bronze skin. His dark hair is messy, and yet he manages to look as if he’d just stepped out of the pages of a manhwa. As if knowing what’s going through your head, a soft smile pulls at his lips.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he breathes, voice thick with sleep and desire.

“Like what?” You ask, your own hands finding purchase against his shoulders.

“Like I’m the damn sunrise.”

“You’re more breathtaking than any sunrise I’ve ever seen, Hwa,” you cradle his cheek in your palm, words ringing with sincerity as you gaze at your boyfriend.

Seonghwa ducks down at your words, hiding his face in your neck as you chuckle at the way he reacts to your compliment. Your amusement doesn’t last long, however, when he leans down further to lave his tongue against the marks his teeth had left against the column of your neck the night before. His teeth sink into your skin, cutting you off mid-laughter, while his palms come to cup your exposed breasts, and you find yourself arching into his touch. 

You watch Seonghwa descend the length of your body, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses wherever his lips can reach. His hands slither downwards, fingers digging into your thighs to spread your legs open for him. Bringing his mouth to your core, he smirks when you let out a broken moan, bucking into his mouth. Seoghwa keeps his eyes on you as he devours you.

“Hwa—” you choke back a moan, reaching for him with a trembling hand. You pull him to your lips, tasting yourself on his tongue. “Want you. Please.”

“My beautiful dove.” Seonghwa breathes reverently. His hands are gentle against your waist, cradling you close to him while his lips trace their way up your jaw to meet yours in a sloppy kiss. 

As the sun rises over the Thames River, he ravishes you with a gentleness that feels like the first touch of warmth of the morning light.

────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────────

Madrid

“Are you recording me?” Seonghwa laughs, walking backwards on the sidewalk as you fumble with the camera—it’s heavier than what you’re used to—but you don’t mind because you’re more concerned about the quality of the video than anything else.

You can’t help but grin at the sight in front of you: Seonghwa in a beret and a long, dark coat that he has paired with jeans contrasts so well with the potted geraniums in front of the restaurant you had stopped to get breakfast at. The flowers herald the happiness blossoming in your chest at the sight of your lover glowing like the sun while surrounded by the the tell-tale signs of the approaching spring.

Seonghwa jokes that these flowers are blooming because it is his first time visiting Europe with you. You laugh off his silly comment, but in your heart of hearts, you can’t help but agree with him. It’s almost as if nature wants you to document the most beautiful sights while you record Seonghwa in the cities you are visiting.

Before you can answer him, something catches his eyes, and before you know it, he is dragging you to a toy store he has spotted on the other side of the road. His smile as he eagerly scours the store for something to buy reminds you of sunlight upon the tides, bright and blinding as the sun itself on the waves that lap gently at the shore.

Seonghwa makes his way to the sunglasses, trying on the goofiest ones, making you giggle. Encouraged by your laughter, he continues to make a fool of himself, pulling funny expressions for the camera and not caring if people are giving him funny looks. At one point, he tries the poison green alien sunglasses, and despite you laughing at how atrocious the design is, you can’t help but think how easily he can pull off even the most ridiculous of accessories with grace.

Behind him, you spot something that makes you gasp, and you rush to the shelves to grab one of the Toothless plushies. Turning around with purpose, you’re caught off guard by how close Seonghwa is, but you don’t let it faze you.

“Look, Hwa! I found you on the shelf,” you giggle at him, holding the plushie up so that it lines up with his face.

He rolls his eyes fondly, used to such jokes by the rest of ATEEZ and his fans. Despite that, he takes the plushie from your hands and puts it on his head, allowing you to capture him with ease. His touch is careful as he holds the plushie, similar to how he handles everything he lays his hands on. Delicate and light, he touches everything he comes across with care, and that’s one of the reasons you find him endearing—for he’s one of the few people who truly take the time to appreciate the beauty the world has to offer.

“If I’m Toothless, doesn’t that mean you’re my Light Fury?” You watch the way his eyes scan the shelves for something.

“I guess,” you shrug, chuckling as you help him in his search for a plushie of the said dragon.

“Do you think we should buy these?” Seonghwa asks, interrupting your search, and you turn to find him holding up the two plushies. He glances at the two stuffed toys—Toothless and the Light Fury—with his eyes furrowed as he weighs the pros and cons of buying both.

“You have multitudes of these back home, Hwa.” You remind him, in fact, he has so many plushies and figurines that he had to store some in your apartment because his manager had threatened that he would throw them out if he saw one more of the HTTYD-themed merch.

“But—”

“Hwa.”

“Fine, break my heart, why don’t you?” And with a pout, he places them back on the shelf reluctantly. You know he’s joking because when you gesture towards the plushies later on, he shakes his head with a smile.

Throughout the day, you explore the city with him, telling him everything you had learned about the places from the little tourist booklet you had snagged from the hotel that morning. He listens to you earnestly, watching you talk with a smile as admiration settles under his skin.

Later in the night, you find yourself in a cafe. Taking a deep breath, you inhale the scent of coffee that permeates your immediate surroundings. Since the cafe is basically empty at this time of the night, a sense of tranquillity surrounds you, much like the warm coat Seonghwa has draped over you. You watch late stragglers making their way home from their jobs through the window you’re seated against, hands curled against a warm cup of hazelnut latte.

“Dove,” Seonghwa’s quiet voice comes from next to you, causing you to snuggle into his shoulder, humming for him to continue. “Don’t fall asleep. We have to walk back to the hotel.”

“Shall we leave, then?” Stifling a yawn, you ask, causing him to nod.

He leads you out of the cafe, keeping his hand on your lower back as you walk through the sparsely populated streets. The very next moment, however, it begins to rain out of nowhere, and before you know it, you are being drenched in the downpour.

Seonghwa laughs in surprise but turns his face upwards to allow the raindrops to kiss his cheeks. Even though the world is blurred around you and your vision is warped by the drops in your eyes, you can still see him clearly. He basks in the rain, lets himself get drenched by the droplets cascading down his face, neck, and shoulders. The rain is so heavy that the raindrops make streams as they make their way down his body.

Watching him like this, you find yourself reaching out for him. As if on the same wavelength as you, Seonghwa takes your hand in his, lips curling up in a smile when you entangle your fingers with his. Reaching out, he cups your face gently, and it seems as if the world stops around you, your senses failing to register anything beyond his touch. Seonghwa trails his thumb along your lips, wiping the raindrops that have settled across your skin.

Drenched in the downpour with him, it’s easy to think of Seonghwa as the rain and yourself as the earth that craves rain after a dry spell.

────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────────

Seoul

The wallpaper drips with grief, mimicking the gloom that has taken root in his heart and doesn’t seem to want to leave. The glow of the streetlights filters through the windows and is the only source of light in his dark room. In the centre of the whirlpool of dread and darkness lies Seonghwa, curled up against the messy sheets he can’t bother to straighten.

The silence is uncanny. He’s not used to it—for years, he has shared a room with Hongjoong, and even though, more often than not, the younger male wasn’t actually there because he preferred the studio or the living room couch to the bedroom, the mere idea of sharing a room with someone always made him feel at ease. Hongjoong has been Seonghwa’s anchor in the years he roomed with him, but now alone in his room, the walls seem to press in around him like waves trying to drown him, leaving him breathless.

If Hongjoong is his anchor, you are his beacon, his guiding light, his polestar. And tonight, as his ship is battered by the biggest storm he’s ever faced, you aren’t here either. Desperately, he searches for something to ground him, but too many days and nights filled with sorrow and false optimism have built up and around him, crushing him with a weight he can’t handle anymore. When love wasn’t enough to save you, how can it be enough to help him stay afloat in the rough seas?

Outside of his room, spring touches everything with its delicate hands. For Seonghwa, however, winter still lingers, and the beautiful weather outside just irks him further. He hasn’t been in love for the last week, and even nature cannot revive him this time around. Without love in his heart, the only thing he feels is despair.

Even now, he can’t forget the way red painted his hands as you lay in his arms. Sometimes, when he squeezes his eyes shut hard enough, he can see your smile. In the very same moment, his heart opens and breaks when the image of you in his arms dances across his vision, and he dies again and again, bleeds until there’s only a shell left behind.

The beeping of his digital clock startles him. The digits read 00:00, distorted from the tears that line his lashes but never seem to fall. For a long time, he had thought today would make the pain bearable, but it persists, lingering in his heart and his room like stubborn rain clouds that linger even after the storm has passed. It is possible that you may not return to him, but he tries to remain optimistic. If he doesn’t believe you to be strong enough to fight for him, for your love, then who will? 

His phone dings, and he looks at the device for a moment. Each beep of his phone has, till now, started him into a sitting position, and every time, it has not what he expected. But foolishly, he still hopes for a miracle.

His phone dinging again with the custom notification he had set for you has Seonghwa scrambling to check his phone. It’s a scheduled email, but your name lighting up the screen renders him breathless. At the sight of your name, the storm raging around him quietens down, leaving him in calm seas. There’s a video attached with the email, and he clicks it open.

[Exterior. Mid-morning. Shots of the streets of London from a car. In the foreground, the text reads Happy Birthday, Seonghwa! A female’s voice is heard speaking in the voiceover.]

Y/N: What’s a soulmate?

[The camera pans and focuses on Seonghwa as he looks out of the window, pointing at all the things he remembers from the few times he has been there with ATEEZ for concerts.]

SH: And that’s the cafe Jongho liked a lot. He said the coffee there was amazing. We should definitely visit it after we’ve settled in hotel room, you look like you could do with some caffeine in your system.

Y/N: [laughing] Not everyone is used to sleeping in aeroplanes.

SH: [shaking his head, he sniffs as if wounded by your comments] Well, if you toured with me, you’d be used to it. You’re the only one who keeps declining when I ask you to come with me! My poor self has to live without you for months just because you won’t agree.

Y/N: Your idea of bringing me along includes you stuffing me into your suitcase. Sorry if I don’t want to be thrown around with the other luggage.

SH: [snorting] It’s your fault for being so small.

Y/N: [sighing] Whatever, Hwa.

[Midday. The video cuts to a shot of Seonghwa walking along the Thames river. He has his arms wrapped around himself. The sky is covered with fluffy clouds, and one can tell that spring is fast approaching with the way little green buds are seen on the trees in the background.]

Y/N: It’s a… Well, it’s like a best friend, but more.

SH: It’s so cold!

Y/N: Should we go and get something to warm us up from the cafe you pointed out earlier? I think it’s close to where we are right now.

[The video cuts to the two of you inside the cafe. The camera is placed on one side, allowing it to capture both Seonghwa and you. You’re laughing at Seonghwa, who took a sip from your iced americano and immediately made a face at the taste. The video skips a bit and Seonghwa can be seen humming along to the music from the speakers while you watch him, enraptured by his vocals.]

Y/N: It’s the one person in the world who knows you better than anyone else.

[The video cuts again. This time, Seonghwa is in a hotel room, standing against the backdrop of the Eiffel Tower and posing goofily while you are laughing in the background. He waddles over to the camera, forcing you to put it on the table as he twirls you around, dancing to a song he’s humming.]

Y/N: It’s someone who makes you a better person.

[The video cuts to a closeup of Seonghwa’s head in your lap as you sit on the couch. He’s sleeping soundly while you run your fingers through his soft hair. His lips quirk upwards in a smile, causing you to halt your motions, but a whine from him has you resuming your actions.]

Y/N: [soft whisper] Did I wake you up?

SH: [hums and shakes his head] Not really… [yawns] I wasn’t fully asleep.

[There’s silence for a while as Seonghwa shifts around to get comfortable.]

SH: I love you.

Y/N: That was so random, Hwa.

SH: Hey! You’re supposed to say you love me too!

Y/N: [snorting] I love you, you overgrown child.

SH: I’ll have you know that’s Wooyoung.

Y/N: Don’t let him hear you say that. He’ll bite your arm off or something.

SH: [laughing hard]

Y/N: Actually, they don’t make you a better person, you do that yourself… because they inspire you.

[The video cuts to Seonghwa amidst the geraniums in Madrid before he drags you to the MINISO. His shenanigans from the store can be seen, with him wearing goofy sunglasses and playing with the Night Fury plushie.]

Y/N: A soulmate is someone who you can carry with you forever.

[Seonghwa can be seen busking with a guy playing the guitar. He sings Angel Baby by Troye Sivan, smiling wide when you start swaying one of your hands in beat with the music, causing people to follow your actions. When he’s done, people come up to him, telling him that he’s an amazing singer, and he thanks everyone with a bashful smile while watching you look at him with a look of pride on your face.]

Y/N: It’s the one person who knew you and accepted you… Believed in you before anyone else did or when no one else would. 

[Seonghwa excuses himself from the crowd and makes his way towards you, wrapping his arms around your frame and sways the two of you as the busker starts crooning a song in Danish.]

SH: Thank you for always believing in me, dove. Especially when I didn’t believe in myself.

Y/N: [smiling] I love you, and I’ll cheer you on, especially during the darkest days.

Y/N: And no matter what happens, you will always love them. 

[The camera pans to you in your editing studio, and you wave at the camera with a smile on your face.]

Y/N: It’s quite late [glancing at the clock on your desk], 3 a.m. to be precise, and I’m working on your birthday video. [Laughs] I hope you like this little video I put together with clips from our trip to Europe. Give me a call once you’re done watching this. I love you so much, Hwa! Happy Birthday, my star!

Y/N: Nothing can ever change that.

Seonghwa wipes his tears, sniffing as he gets up from the bed. With a meticulousness characteristic of him, he goes through the motions of dressing up to pay you a visit. That’s the only thing that seems to make sense, so with bleary eyes and heavy feet, he walks through the deserted streets of Seoul.

The staff members at the hospital allow him to see you, used to his untimely visits. The nurse watching over you gives him a sad smile and leaves him alone with you when he enters your room. He notes that the pallor that had settled beneath your skin is now fading, albeit slowly. 

Maybe you’re getting better? But you still haven’t woken up, and seeing your face, he finds himself falling, falling through the memories of the day of the accident. His eyes close of their own accord, and he sighs, trying to get those images out of his mind. Unable to stop his thoughts, he relives the day all over again.

Logically, he knows the accident isn’t his fault but of the person who was behind the wheel.

Or maybe it was, the voice in his mind tells him.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he can’t forgive himself for the events that led up to the accident. If he hadn’t called you to pick him up from the company that night when it was raining, you’d be safe in his arms, celebrating his birthday with him.

No, it wasn’t. Seonghwa desperately wants to believe his own words. But there’s still that small voice of doubt that rears its ugly head, and before he knows it, fresh tears are rolling down his cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. Seonghwa is too emotionally exhausted and too choked to speak any louder. “My dove, I’m so sorry for this whole mess. I’m sorry. Please wake up soon. I can’t do this alone—I can’t live without you. Please. I love you.”

[alyrasturnz]

ONE STEP FORWARD THREE STEPS BACK? WITH ANYONE BTW

ONE STEP FORWARD, THREE STEPS BACK

❐ summary » in the tumultuous world of matt and y/n, nothing is ever straightforward. matt is a confusing guy, perpetually oscillating between cold detachment and fleeting moments of warmth. his unpredictable nature turns their relationship into a relentless rollercoaster ride, where every step forward is met with three steps back. y/n finds herself in a constant state of uncertainty, never knowing which version of matt she'll encounter each day, making their connection both exhilarating and exhausting.

❐ pairings » toxic!matt x fem!reader

❐ warnings » toxic!matt , sleeping with makeup on…

❐ a/n && w/c » this took a weird amount of time for me to write (4 hours.) • 3.44k

you glanced at your phone, the screen glowing ominously with matt's contact information. the weight of the moment settled on your shoulders as you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what was to come.

with a trembling finger, you pressed the call button, the sound of the dial tone echoing in the quiet room. hope flickered within you, a fragile flame yearning for a warm conversation amidst the storm of uncertainty.

"hey, matt," you began, your voice gentle, as you carefully adjusted your grip on the phone, your fingers tracing the edges of the device. you took a moment to steady your breath, feeling the rise and fall of your chest, before continuing, "how are you?"

there was a pause on the other end, a silence that felt heavy and foreboding. the seconds stretched into an eternity, each one amplifying the tension that hung in the air like a storm cloud. “i’m fine, what about it?" matt's voice finally broke the silence, clipped and almost indifferent, as if he were brushing off an insignificant detail.

a pang of confusion and hurt shot through you, like an icy dagger piercing your heart. you furrowed your brows, the lines deepening as you tried to decipher the sudden chill in his tone. "are you okay? you seem upset," you asked, your voice laced with concern and uncertainty.

matt sighed, the sound crackling through the phone like a distant storm rolling over the horizon. "i'm fine. why do you always have to make a big deal out of everything?" he retorted, his words sharp and laced with an undercurrent of frustration.

your heart ached at his words, a dull throb of pain that resonated deep within. you struggled to keep your voice steady, fighting against the tide of emotions threatening to overwhelm you. "i was just asking because i care about you," you managed to say, each word a testament to your enduring concern and affection.

"well, don't," he snapped, cutting you off with the precision of a knife. "i don't need you checking up on me all the time," he continued, his words slicing through the fragile thread of connection between you, leaving behind an echo of cold detachment.

you bit your lip, feeling a lump form in your throat, as if the weight of unspoken words was choking you. the warmth of the conversation you had hoped for was slipping away, replaced by an icy barrier that seemed insurmountable.

"matt, it's not about checking up. i just want to make sure you're okay. is something bothering you?" you asked, your voice trembling with a mix of concern and desperation, hoping to pierce through the coldness that had enveloped him.

"just leave it," he said, his voice now a mix of frustration and exhaustion, like the final crack of a weary branch under the weight of snow. "i don't want to talk about it," he continued, each word laden with a heavy finality that seemed to close the door on any further attempts at understanding.

the river of your relationship had encountered a stone, and you couldn't help but wonder how long it would take to smooth it over, if at all. you took a deep breath, trying to keep your own emotions in check, like a dam holding back a flood.

"alright, matt. i'll give you some space. but remember, i'm here if you need to talk," you said, your words a gentle current, offering solace and a lifeline amidst the turbulent waters.

"yeah, whatever," he muttered, his voice a mere whisper of resignation before the line went dead, leaving behind an echo of unresolved tension and unanswered questions.

as you ended the call, you felt a mixture of confusion and sadness, like a fog that clouded your thoughts. the conversation replayed in your mind, each word a puzzle piece that didn't quite fit, an enigma wrapped in layers of unspoken truths. you couldn't shake the feeling that something deeper was at play, something matt wasn't ready to share, a hidden current beneath the surface of his words.

you know that matt's got you wrapped around his finger, twisting your thoughts and emotions like a marionette on tangled strings. he's got you so fucked up in the head that your mind feels like a labyrinth with no clear way out.

each step you take seems to lead you further into a maze of confusion and heartache, where his influence looms like an ever-present shadow. you're caught in a web of his making, struggling to find clarity amidst the chaos he's sown in your heart and mind.

he could utter the slightest things, mere whispers in the wind, and they would still echo in your head for the rest of the day, reverberating like a haunting refrain.

you know that you've never doubted yourself this much, each word he speaks planting seeds of uncertainty that grow into a tangled forest of self-doubt and confusion. his influence lingers, a spectral presence that shadows your every thought, leaving you questioning your own worth and reality.

you love him deeply, with a fervor that consumes you, but you hate how you've surrendered so much power over your emotions to him. you desperately wish you didn't, but this tumultuous rollercoaster is all you've ever known.

he was your first love, the one who etched his name into the very fabric of your being, and now you're caught in a cycle of passion and pain, unable to break free from the hold he has over your heart.

people often say that your first love is the one love you'll never get over, suggesting that their profound affection leaves an indelible mark on your soul. some might mean that in the way they loved you so deeply, their memory becomes an inextricable part of you. but that isn't the case for you.

you know you'll never get over the pain he punctured through your heart, each wound a reminder of the emotional scars that linger, a testament to the anguish that continues to haunt you.

it was toxic. one day, he was fine, showering you with affection and attention, and the next, he would turn cold, retreating into silence and ignoring you as if you didn't exist.

this unpredictable oscillation between warmth and indifference left you in a constant state of uncertainty, never knowing where you stood, and further entangling you in the web of emotional turmoil he spun around you.

and maybe, in some masochistic way, you find it all exhilarating, like a twisted game of chance.

which lover are you getting today? the affectionate boy who showers you with warmth, or the distant stranger who leaves you in the cold? the unpredictability adds a perverse thrill to the tumult, a dark allure that keeps you tethered to the chaos.

»--•--«

you know that you probably shouldn't be doing this, especially after he already snapped at you, but here you are, standing at his front door. despite the rational voice in your head urging you to turn back, the pull of unresolved emotions and the hope for a different outcome have led you to this very threshold, a testament to the complex dance of love and longing that continues to ensnare your heart.

you pressed your lips together, a silent battle waging within you as you debated whether to knock. the hesitation in your heart mirrored the turmoil in your mind, each moment stretching into an eternity as you stood there, caught between the desire to reach out and the fear of further rejection.

this was a bad idea, and deep down, you were acutely aware of it. perhaps it would be wiser to postpone this endeavor until tomorrow, allowing emotions to settle and reason to prevail?

but just as you were about to leave, the heavens opened up, and a torrential downpour began to cascade from the sky, as if the universe itself sought to mirror the tumultuous storm within your heart. each raindrop seemed to echo the unresolved emotions and unspoken words, creating a symphony of melancholy that enveloped the moment.

of course.

you found yourself with no alternative but to rap upon his door, and soon enough, matt appeared, his visage darkening with a shadow of irritation.

"why are you here?" he inquired, his arms crossing defensively, a barrier to the tumultuous emotions swirling within.

“can i come in?" you inquired softly, your voice barely above a whisper. matt, unable to meet your gaze, turned his eyes toward the relentless rain outside, seeking solace in the storm's embrace.

he wasn't entirely devoid of compassion. "yeah, come in," he responded with a frosty detachment, stepping aside to allow you entry, his demeanor as cold as the rain-soaked night.

he closed the door with a soft click that seemed to echo in the silence between you. “okay, what is it?” he queried, leaning against the door, his posture a mix of curiosity and guardedness.

"what's going on, matt?" you inquired directly, your voice slicing through the tension like a finely honed blade.

"what do you mean?" he responded, furrowing his eyebrows in a perplexed manner, his confusion evident in the deep lines etched across his forehead.

"i mean, what’s going on with you?" you pressed, crossing your arms defensively, your eyes searching his for any flicker of the person you once knew. "i know you, matt. this isn't you. this isn't the matt i committed to. the matt i knew was strong, dependable, and honest. but now, it feels like you're a shadow of your former self, and i can't help but wonder what's changed. please, just talk to me."

matt rolls his eyes, a gesture heavy with exasperation, before he begins pacing back and forth in the living room. his hands run through his hair in frustration, each pass through his locks a testament to the turmoil brewing within him. "why do you always have to make everything so dramatic? it's like you're looking for reasons to be upset."

you stand by the door, arms crossed tightly across your chest, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and determination. "i'm not making things dramatic, matt. i'm just trying to understand why one moment you're sweet and the next you're cold. it's like i'm always walking on eggshells around you."

matt halts abruptly and pivots to face you, his eyes narrowing into slits, a storm of emotions brewing just beneath the surface. "oh, here we go again. you always turn things around to make me the bad guy. maybe if you weren't so sensitive, we wouldn't have these problems."

you take a deep breath, your chest rising and falling with the effort, as tears begin to well up in your eyes, shimmering like fragile crystals on the verge of breaking. "sensitive? matt, you never take responsibility for how you treat me. it's always my fault somehow. i feel like i'm taking one step forward and then three steps back with you. it's exhausting."

matt rolls his eyes, a gesture laden with disdain, before throwing his hands up in exasperation, the motion a dramatic display of his mounting frustration. "well, maybe if you stopped overthinking everything, we'd be fine. i can't deal with your constant need for reassurance."

you move closer, each step heavy with emotion, your voice breaking like fragile glass under the weight of unspoken words. "i just want to feel loved and secure, matt. but with you, it's like i'm constantly guessing where i stand. one day you love me, the next day you push me away. it's breaking my heart."

matt scoffs, a derisive sound escaping his lips, as he shakes his head, the gesture filled with a blend of disbelief and contempt. "you're being ridiculous. if you can't handle me at my worst, maybe you don't deserve me at my best."

you wipe a tear from your cheek, the delicate motion betraying your vulnerability, as your voice emerges, barely a whisper, fragile and laden with unspoken sorrow. "i just wish you could see how much this is hurting me. i don't know how much more of this back and forth i can take."

matt crosses his arms, a barrier of defiance, and looks away, his voice cutting through the air with a frigid detachment. "maybe you should think about that."

you feel your heart shatter into a thousand irreparable fragments, the weight of his words sinking in like stones dragging you into the depths of despair. "is that what you really want? for me to leave?"

matt shrugs with an air of indifference, his eyes deliberately avoiding your gaze, as if the very act of looking at you would acknowledge the gravity of the moment. "i don't know. maybe it's for the best."

you take a step back, the ground beneath you feeling unsteady, as the room swirls around you in a dizzying maelstrom of confusion and disorientation. "i can't believe you would say that. after everything we've been through..."

matt finally turns his gaze towards you, his eyes a labyrinth of emotions, his expression an enigmatic mask that conceals the depths of his true feelings. "maybe it's time we both move on."

you turn and walk toward the door, each step weighed down by an unbearable sorrow, your heart a leaden anchor dragging through the sea of your despair. "i never thought it would end like this, matt. i loved you more than anything."

matt watches as you leave, a fleeting shadow of regret flickering across his face like a ghost of unspoken words. yet, he remains silent, his lips sealed by the weight of his own inaction, allowing you to slip away without a struggle.

you slam the door behind you with a resounding finality that reverberates through the empty corridors, each echo a testament to the storm brewing within. without even a flicker of awareness, you step into the relentless downpour, the cold rain mingling with the heat of your unresolved emotions, as if the heavens themselves weep in harmony with the tempest of your soul.

the raindrops, like silent witnesses to your sorrow, mingle with your tears, creating a symphony of despair. your hair, drenched and tangled, clings to your face, while your clothes, heavy with the weight of the storm, adhere to your skin, as if the very elements conspire to mirror the turmoil within.

»--•--«

the morning after was a wretched affair. you had barely crossed the threshold of your sanctuary before succumbing to the weight of your exhaustion, collapsing onto your bed as if the very essence of your being had been drained.

you lifted your head, the pillow bearing the telltale signs of your turmoil—mascara and tear stains mingling in a somber tapestry. with a groan, you came to the disheartening realization that you had succumbed to sleep with your makeup still on, the remnants of yesterday's trials etched upon your face.

you sat up, your feet meeting the unforgiving chill of the floor as you made your way to the bathroom. there, under the dim light, you meticulously rinsed away the remnants of your makeup, each stroke a small act of reclamation. finally, you brushed your teeth, the rhythmic motion offering a semblance of normalcy amidst the chaos.

you walked back over to your bed, sinking into its embrace as you reached for your phone. with a weary sigh, you began to scroll through it, the soft glow of the screen casting fleeting shadows on your face as you sought a momentary escape in its digital realm.

but then, the tranquility was abruptly shattered by the resonant chime of your doorbell, echoing through the stillness and pulling you back to reality.

you placed your phone gently on the bedside table, rising from your sanctuary and making your way towards the front door, each step a deliberate movement through the quietude of your home.

your fingertips grazed against the cold metal of the door handle, the chill seeping into your skin as you clicked it open, revealing matt standing outside, his presence stirring a whirlwind of emotions.

anger and fury surged through your veins, propelling you to slam the door shut with a forceful resolve, but in a swift motion, matt's hand intercepted it, halting its closure and igniting a silent, yet palpable, confrontation.

"wait, i just wanna talk," he uttered, his voice laced with a desperate urgency, each word a fragile plea hanging in the air between you, seeking to bridge the chasm of misunderstanding and hurt.

you stepped aside, granting him passage, and with a hesitant breath, he crossed the threshold, his presence altering the atmosphere with unspoken tension and unresolved emotions.

you both made your way to the living room, each step laden with the weight of unspoken words and simmering tension, the air thick with the anticipation of the conversation to come.

the morning light filters through the curtains, casting a soft, ethereal glow across the living room, illuminating the dust motes that dance in the still air. matt sits on the edge of the couch, his shoulders hunched and his head cradled in his hands, a picture of silent despair.

as you cross your arms and step into the light, he looks up, his eyes brimming with a rare vulnerability, a silent plea for understanding and connection, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavily between you.

“okay,” he begins, his voice softer than usual. he shifts slightly, the tension in his shoulders visible as he takes a deep breath. "i’ve been thinking a lot about what you said last night. i know i can be cold and push you away, and that's not fair to you. i guess i’ve been scared to let you in completely, but that’s no excuse for how i’ve treated you."

he stands, his movements slow and deliberate, as if each step is weighed down by the gravity of his words. he takes a hesitant step towards you, his gaze earnest and unwavering. "i’m sorry for making you feel like you’re walking on eggshells. you deserve to feel loved and secure, not constantly guessing where you stand. i’ve been selfish, and i see that now."

matt’s eyes meet yours, and for the first time, there’s a glimmer of genuine regret. he takes a deep breath, his chest rising and falling slowly, as if gathering the courage to speak. "i don't want to lose you. i promise to work on being more consistent and taking responsibility for my actions. you mean too much to me to keep hurting you like this."

his voice breaks slightly as he continues, his hands trembling ever so slightly. "please, give me another chance to show you that i can be the partner you deserve. i love you, and i’m willing to do whatever it takes to make things right."

he takes another step closer, his hand reaching out tentatively, fingers trembling as if afraid you might pull away. his eyes, brimming with unshed tears, lock onto yours with an intensity that speaks volumes. "i know words are not enough, and trust must be rebuilt. but i am ready to put in the effort, to prove to you that i can change. every day, i will strive to be better, not just for you, but for us."

matt’s voice trembles with emotion, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "i’ve realized that pushing you away was my way of protecting myself, but in doing so, i’ve hurt the person i care about the most. i can’t bear the thought of a life without you. please, let me show you that i can be the man you fell in love with, the one who cherishes every moment with you."

he pauses, taking a deep breath, his chest rising and falling as if he’s trying to steady the storm of emotions within him, "i understand if you need time to think about this, and i will respect whatever decision you make. just know that i am here, ready to fight for us, ready to love you the way you deserve to be loved."

matt’s eyes are now brimming with unshed tears, his vulnerability laid bare before you, like an open book revealing its most fragile pages. "i love you more than words can express, and i am willing to do whatever it takes to make things right. please, give me another chance."

you connect your lips with his, and for once, it feels as though you’ve taken a monumental step forward without the burden of retreating several steps back. in that fleeting yet profound moment, the weight of past missteps and hesitations seems to dissolve, leaving only the pure, unadulterated connection between your souls.

[azzibuckets]

rollercoaster [pazzi]

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

summary: the team is at an amusement park and kk decided to have some fun with azzi

a/n: next pazzi fic will be on monday or tuesday!

word count: 1k

masterlist

“I hate the entire fucking team.”

Paige smoothed her thumb against the crease of Azzi’s wrinkled eyebrow. “They’re the worst,” she hummed in agreement.

“How could they even ever do that to me?” Azzi seethed, arms now crossed. “The most innocent person on the team.”

“So innocent,” Paige emphasized, wrapping her arms protectively around the younger girl when she buried her face into Paige’s chest.

Azzi continued ranting, her tirade muffled by Paige’s shirt, all while the blonde stifled her laugh. When Paige stopped making noises of agreement, Azzi looked up, a soft pout on her lips. “You think I’m being dramatic,” she complained.

“No, I don’t.” Paige gazed fondly at the dark haired girl, letting their noses brush.

“You better go give them a talking to,” Azzi grumbled, jabbing her finger into Paige’s chest. “Stand up for me like a good girlfriend.”

Paige only laughed, thinking the younger girl was joking, but when she received a stone-cold glare from Azzi, she quickly straightened up and made a beeline to where the rest of the team was lounging on some benches and eating popcorn.

“You guys really think you’re funny, huh,” Paige said, getting everyone’s attention.

KK started giggling, but once she made eye contact with a glowering Azzi over Paige’s shoulder, she immediately shut up, her face now somber. “You should’ve been there,” KK sighed. “The scream Azzi let out was ungodly.”

Paige scowled. “Well now I have to deal with the consequences of your actions.”

“She sent you over here to lecture us, didn’t she?” Nika mused. “Princess has you whipped.”

Paige ducked her head, trying to hide the light blush now covering her cheeks but ultimately failing. “Shut up,” she mumbled. “Just stop playing around with my girlfriend. What has she ever done to you?”

“Nothing,” KK cackled. “But it pisses you off, which makes it even funnier.”

Paige flipped the girls off, all of who were now laughing at the memory from moments earlier, before returning to pacify Azzi. “Was it really that bad?” Paige asked with raised eyebrows.

Azzi’s face darkened.

••••••••••••••

“You promise it’s not scary?”

KK’s eyes followed Paige as she faded into the crowds and finally disappeared into the bathroom. “Promise.”

Azzi looked around nervously, her knee jittering against the cold metal of the bar across her lap. “Are you sure? The top looks kinda high. And I could’ve sworn Paige said this was the one that dropped all the way down.”

KK bit down hard on her bottom lip, trying to hide the laughter that threatened to howl its away out of her body. “Paige got the rides mixed up,” she explained. “This one’s super chill. Look at all the kids.” She gestured at a group of 11 year olds in the seats across from them, which seemed to help relax the tension in Azzi’s shoulders.

“Still,” Azzi muttered, biting her fingernails.

KK felt a tiny prick of guilt as she observed Azzi’s nervousness, but she had a bet that she needed to fulfill. Azzi was famous for being way too pussy to go on any rides at amusement parks that were for people above the age of 8, so Ice had been cocky when she’d promised KK a hefty $100 if she managed to get Azzi to go on the infamous drop tower.

It had been damn near impossible the entire day, with Azzi clinging onto Paige, who would patiently wait with her while the rest of the team went on all the big rollercoasters. But finally, KK had managed to separate the two when Paige had said to needed to pee, and this was the moment - the moment she’d be $100 richer. AKA 14 bags of TruFu, she reminded herself in order to stave off any guilt.

As the ride started and they slowly got lifted up into the air, Azzi grew increasingly paranoid with each foot in elevation gained. “KK?” She asked nervously. “Are you sure this isn’t a drop tower?”They were now at the very top of the ride, with the city sprawled out beneath them, and when KK only smiled, it hit Azzi. “Kamorea Arnold!” she shrieked, betrayal in her eyes.

And then they dropped.

••••••••••••••

“Yeah, it was that bad.”

“Alright.” Paige tugged Azzi’s fingers, motioning for her to follow as she walked. “I know what’ll make you feel better.” Paige dragged them along until they found themselves in front of a bright carnival game stand, with music blaring painfully loud through the speakers. A line of netted hoops faced them, clearly rigged but still tempting to two girls who loved basketball.

“You’re right,” Azzi picked up a basketball and twirled it on one finger. “Beating your ass will make me feel a lot better.”

“Game on.”

If Paige and Azzi were one thing, they were competitive. As soon as they started shooting, the man running the game took a couple of nervous steps back. Paige aggressively nudged Azzi to try and throw her game off, while an incessant stream of trash talking came from Azzi’s mouth. He seemed almost relieved when the game ended and the girls stopped furiously chucking balls at the net, with Paige scoring 47 points and Azzi 46.

“That was so unfair,” Azzi fumed. “You’re such a cheater.”

“Hey, playing comes with pressure,” Paige bragged cockily as she scanned the shelves for a toy. When her eyes landed on a huge Olaf plushie, she knew she’d found the perfect one. “That one, please,” she requested, not noticing the corner of Azzi’s lips turning upwards at her selection.

Paige presented the stuffed Olaf to Azzi with a proud grin, getting an affectionate roll of an eyes and smile from her girlfriend. “I could’ve won this myself,” Azzi mumbled.

“Sure you could’ve,” Paige teased, pulling the younger girl in to press a chaste kiss to her temple. She tried to suppress a laugh as Azzi wrapped her arms around the Olaf and squeezed, burrowing her chin against the soft material.

Hooking an arm around Azzi’s neck, Paige led Azzi back to where the girls were. “Feel better now?” she whispered against the baby hairs of Azzi’s neck.

“I guess,” Azzi whispered back. And although she gave KK the silent treatment for the rest of the day, a grumpy look overtaking her face, to Paige she still looked adorable, tightly holding the Olaf her girlfriend had won for her and not putting it down once.

[frodo-with-glasses]

More Reading Thoughts: Fog on the Barrow-Downs

At long last, our journey resumes!! And ohoho what a chapter to start off with X-D

Oh my word THIS is where the “far green country under a swift sunrise” line comes from. I might cry.

There’s something about getting ready to leave early in the morning, when the air still smells cool and clear, that’s just nearly magical. I love that Tolkien leaned into that vibe here.

Frodo being distressed that they didn’t say goodbye to “my fair lady Goldberry” is so darling of him X-D

GOLDBERRY SPARKLES WHEN SHE DANCES

Once again, Tolkien’s descriptions of the country they traverse are beautiful at atmospheric.

Oh yes. One singular cold rock, standing upright all by itself, like a finger pointing towards the sky, in an area where you KNOW there are ancient graves nearby. That’s not worrying at all. Let’s just use it as a cooling pad. Great idea.

And now they took a too-long afternoon nap and are surrounded by fog. Great job, guys.

In which Tolkien reminds us that he ABSOLUTELY can write horror…

“‘Where are you?’ he cried out miserably.” Oh poor Frodo 😭

The Wight answering “HERE! I AM WAITING FOR YOU!” is NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE

Oh sure just leave it until the end of the paragraph to mention that the hobbits are lying surrounded in treasures with a SWORD ACROSS THEIR NECKS

Bruh reading the Wight’s incantation actually gave me chills oh my word

FRODO HACKED THE HAND OFF THE WIGHT’S ARM LET’S GOOOOO

The fact that Frodo falls on top of Merry specifically is making the Cousin Feels part of my brain go brrr

I cannot WAIT to draw this ahahaha >8-D

SUDDENLY: TOMBADIL

The severed hand is still WRIGGLING EUGH 🤮

Did Tom stomp on the hand like a spider??!? That’s hilarious LOL

THEY’RE ALIVE!!!

Sam being annoyed with the burial clothes is PEAK 🤣

The ponies are okay!!

Tom like “seems I’m gonna have to babysit you boys until you get to the Road so you don’t get freaking lost again” 🤣

Tom choosing a brooch from the treasure pile for Goldberry is adorable actually

THE DAGGERS LET’S GOOOO

One of those is gonna kill a troll, and the other is gonna stab the Witch King in the knee >:-D

A vision of a Man with a star on his forehead?? Aragorn foreshadowing?? 👀

The two stones Frodo rode between earlier have mysteriously disappeared. Thanks I hate it.

Turns out the line of “trees” they saw in the distance was actually a line of bushes that marked off the boundary of an ancient kingdom. But we don’t get to learn anything else about it, except that the memory of it makes Tom sad. Yet another example of Middle Earth being SO FREAKING OLD.

THEY FOUND THE ROAD 🥳

The hobbits like OH RIGHT, CRAP, THE BLACK RIDERS

Bye Tom!

Sam like “welp, I suppose he’s the nicest and weirdest person we’ll come across” 😂

Of course the Brandybucks visit the Prancing Pony every now and then!!

Frodo like “if you tell anyone my name is Baggins then SO HELP ME—”

[radioactivepeasant]

Free Day Thursday

(Per the poll) Eldritch Dad versus Jak versus Cultists

(Featuring characters from The Disowned Game 😅)

For context: the antagonists are trying to unlock an ancient seal to conjure the patron of dark eco, to basically turn the whole population into dark eco warlocks.

Their sage insists that they must spill the blood of a prism channeler to "appease the gods."

"You don't know what you're doing!" Phoenix shouted, straining against Skyheed's soldiers. He managed to get a good kick in, but there were too many to take in one fight. "Skyheed, stop!"

Keira lunged for the ceremonial dagger, a snarl on her lips.

"You so much as scratch him, and the gods will be the least of your worries!"

The blade slammed into the altar as Keira cracked the priest's arm against the stones. He cried out in pain, releasing the knife.

"The madness of the Light will not save the hero!" he gasped, struggling in vain against an enraged sage-in-training.

Jak strained his fingers towards the knife, just out of reach of the triple shackles. So close. He was so close! But he was going to need help.

"Keira! You have to cut me!"

"Are you nuts?!"

"No no, I recognize that glyph! It's gonna be fine!"

The glyph was familiar. Studying with Sister Merci at the temple, Keira had come across many pictograms older than the writing she and Jak and Daxter had employed as children. She could read one or two, but most still mystified her. This one's meaning escaped her memory, but she was certain she had seen it before. Which meant that unfortunately, Jak probably knew what he was talking about.

Reluctantly, Keira pressed the tip of the blade to Jak’s finger. Two small drops of blood slid down into the channels carved into the stone as Phoenix cried out in horror.

"Keira, no! What have you done?!"

Darkness took them.

Out of the blackness, the sounds of scuttling filled the room. Hundreds, thousands of tiny legs across metal and stone. Spiders began to creep down the walls, congregating on the twelve iron cuffs. Thousands of tiny, hairy, bodies pushed between metal and flesh, heedless of the crush until Jak could slide his wrists and one of his ankles out.

"Phoenix! Get everybody out!" he warned, "We don't have a lot of time before-"

"Who is misusing my gift?"

a voice like dry leaves, like the creak of timbers, like bells, filled the chamber.

The darkness drew close, twisting and writhing around itself to form the shape of a woman so tall her masses of curls brushed the ceiling. She took in the prostrated forms of the cultists below her with glowing eyes and curled her lip.

"And what, pray tell, is this?"

The question seemed to shock the onlookers out of their stupor.

"Oh great lady of darkness!" Skyheed bowed from the waist. "We, your humble devotees, come before you to ask your blessing on-"

The woman turned her head to see Jak still struggling to free himself. He'd taken hold of the obsidian dagger to pry off the ankle bands.

"Agh-! Mi'jo, no!"

the goddess snatched the blade from his hands in an instant.

"That's a knife!"

It was as if she hadn't even seen the cultists. Micteca held the hilt between thumb and forefinger, scowling.

"Foul thing. Ugh! How did you even- Nevermind. I'm calling your father."

Jak cringed. "No-! It's not even that bad!"

He and Keira broke the last shackle together as he continued to babble protests.

"He-! He's busy! You don't need to tell him, i can handle this-"

"DAMAS! LOOK WHAT YOUR SON GOT INTO!"

the shout shook the room, sending curtains of dust raining down on them.

"Dude, your mom's a snitch," Daxter snickered.

There was a clap of thunder, and the chamber filled with a blinding light. A biting chill curled around them, contrasting sharply with the warm voice emanating from the center of the light.

"Why is it always "my son" when he's gotten into something he shouldn't?"

Jak groaned. "Guys, I'm right here."

That wouldn't help him and he knew it. But he had to save a little face in front of Daxter and Keira.

Incrementally, a face appeared in the light, then a muscular body, held aloft between wings more like an anemone's tentacles, formed of living sand. Stars wheeled across dark skin like a piece of the sky had come to personally judge them all. The giant gazed down at Jak and narrowed his eyes.

"Hello, son."

He sounded amused.

Ignoring the choked off curses and whispered questions around him, Jak dropped his face into his palm.

"Hello, Father."

"Got yourself into a Situation again, haven't you?"

"It wasn't my fault this time!" Jak protested. He pointed at Skyheed, and decided that whatever followed was on the duke's own head. "That guy made Dark Warriors out of his whole city! He was going to sacrifice me so he could control them all!"

"Ohhhh crap." Keira cringed.

Micteca's eyes flashed. In a much too calm voice she said,

"Kids, would you step outside for a second?"

"Yep! No problem!" Daxter said hastily, leaping off the altar, "No problem at all!"

Keira ducked the priest and Skyheed to grab Phoenix by the sleeve. "Let’s go, let's go! Trust me, you don't want to be anywhere near this room."

"Uh....maybe...don't kill all of them?" Jak offered, pausing at the door.

"The pale ones didn't choose this."

"Jakkkk-"

Micteca frowned.

Jak glanced at the bewildered soldiers, all completely disoriented by the mass influx of dark eco.

"Mamá, please?"

"...you're as bad as your father."

Burning eyes narrowed down at Jak, and long black talons drummed impatiently on the goddess's folded arms.

Damas left off prodding at a smaller Dark Warrior to smirk.

"I think that's the nicest thing you've said about me all year!"

"Oh don't you start-! Alright! We'll see."

Micteca glared at both Jak and Damas.

"The things I do for you two troublemakers..."

"Appreciated, my love."

Damas -- or Deimos or Xenodamas, the monks could never agree on whether his name ought to be more "formal" now -- tucked a lock of hair behind Micteca's ear and began idly braiding it.

"There. That ought to keep the blood out of it."

Jak met Klout's flummoxed and slightly horrified gaze. He, unfortunately, could relate.

"Ugh. There's a time and a place, Father," he muttered under his breath.

A nearly prehensile wing tip snaked out to cuff Jak across the back of the head.

"Be glad your mother has more restraint than I usually do. Relocate, offspring."

Jak shoved the wing away and grinned. "Yeah yeah. Thanks, Ma! Okay, eviscerate away!"

"OUT."

The great stone doors slammed into place behind Jak, and he rolled his eyes at his honorary siblings' unimpressed expressions.

"Well did you want to wade through pureed soldier bits?" he asked indignantly.

Phoenix stared straight ahead, wide eyes focused on nothing.

"What," he finally choked, "just happened?"

[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: When I say I have loved every single one of your theories, I mean it. Its actually so amazing how much you guys like this and honestly never thought I would get this much love?? CRAZY! Anyway, now we have 7 to go.... Good lord, here we go my babies! Enjoy! <3

Chapter 103: Without Reason 

The sun had begun to fall beyond the horizon; a low and crawling pace it took as the realm was cast in an orange hue, the warmth of its rays bleeding from the air, and an icy chill settling across the land and into your bones. 

Aemond sat at the end of the council table, both hands on the surface of the wood, clenching and unclenching intermittently. His sharp jaw was set in a firm line, clenched as he looked at his council men, singular eye flicking to the chamber doors and then back again.

“They should have returned by now.” Aemond said quietly, brows furrowed in a way that seemed to be almost permanent.

“The tides pull away from shore, Your Grace.” Larys Strong informed the King, “And a storm seems to be making its way to Kings Landing.”

A storm indeed. 

The envoys of the King, Ser Otto Hightower and Ser Criston Cole had not returned with their men from their voyage to Dragonstone, nor had a raven been sent to inform them of a possible danger, or their incoming arrival/agreeance. 

“We must be ready for anything.” Lord Jasper Wylde began, “Daemon could be out for blood and on his way to Kings Landing as we speak. We must be ready for their arrival from both the skies and sea.” He spoke with urgency.

You sat forward, hand on your stone, “We have not heard word from them yet. My father would not attack the Keep blindly with me inside. I asked them to see reason and told them to bend the knee.” You argued, turning to Jasper to scowl at him.

“Your father is rogue. Not even your mother could keep him in line.”

You bit down on your cheeks as you stared daggers at the man, “He would not put me in harms way. And I asked them, if they are to declare war, that they need tell us first, give warning. They would not risk my life on the gamble of coming here in secrecy.” You sneered.

Maester Orwyle scoffed, “Your parents have not set foot in the Keep to see you since your coming here.”

“Not for a lack of trying, Maester Orwyle.” You snapped, “I have faith that we will receive word shortly, and Ser Otto and Ser Cole will return to us with said word from my mother.”

“You are blinded by your love-“

“-I am blinded by nothing." You snapped, "I speak only of what I know. And I know that we shall receive word for if they will bend the knee, or if they have declared war.”

Alicent picked at her fingers atop the table, her auburn hair pulled back against her head in a large and tight braid, “Rhaenyra would not harm her only daughter. Not even her thirst for the Iron Throne would push her to do that. I believe we should receive word on the morrow.”

Alicent had agreed.

You blinked in surprise, but nodded, inhaling deeply.

Aemond hummed, “My uncle is to be feared, yes, but I have faith in what my Lady wife says. We shall wait for word on the morrow. If we have not received it by the suns peak, we send twenty of our fleet to Dragonstone, ten to Driftmark, and send fifteen battalions to the Red Fork to be readied for any retaliation. Have these ships and men be readied tonight.”

The Lords nodded in agreement, though anxiety filled the chamber rooms.

Your own was stifling.

“And then I shall fly to meet with my half-sister myself.”

Your head snapped to Aemond, and his eye was already on you.

Dread trickled down your spine.

“I shall go with you.” You insisted, fingers rolling your sphere atop the table, “That way-“

“-No.”

Your brows furrowed, and you felt a simmering sense of urgency curl inside your gut.

“If you fly to Dragonstone atop Vhagar, they will see it as a threat, especially now. They will meet you in the skies. You’ll be outnumbered.”

King Aemond’s lips pursed as he looked at you, “Vhagar is larger than any of their dragons combined. She has seen war, and won it. And she will win it again.”

Your breath rattled in your chest, fingers going numb. It was as though your mind had been dunked into fog. Everything around you felt slow, sluggish, unclear. Your throat felt tight, and no matter how many times you swallowed, the lump would not move. 

The muffled sound of voices moved around you as you stared at your husband. 

Your uncle.

Your lover.

The father of your child.

He was going to kill them all.

Your ears rang, and the walls closed in on you.

All this time. 

All this time you had to prepare for this moment.

All this time you had been waiting for it.

And now that it was finally here, you were terrified. 

“Zaldrītsos.”

You blinked, coming back to the room to find it empty, Aemond standing before you, looking down at you in concern. Your mouth opened and closed, and yet no words came out, not even a breath.

“Paghagon.” Breathe, He whispered, a hand cupping your cheek.

You sucked in a large breath as you looked up at him, head spinning. Another shaky inhale rattled in your chest, his thumb swiping against the edge of your lips.

"Iksā ȳgha kesīr.” You are safe here, He cooed.

“Yn skoros nūmāzma ao?” But what about you? Your voice came out so quiet it was like a breeze.

Aemond helped you to stand, and guided you back to the chamber, not answering your question, holding one of your hands in both of his in front of his chest, as though he was keeping you from running, or that he had a fear that you would slip away.

There was a small scratching in the back of your mind as you walked. A tingling that clawed in the back of your skull, inching closer with every step you took. A continual and irksome thing, like a buzzing of a fly, or the hum of a mosquito in the summer. And it was most difficult to ignore. 

For every step you took closer, the more familiar that scratching became. Like fingers that clawed against the bone, it’s scratching becoming louder and louder, until it wasn’t just a hum or clawing noise, and soon it was a whisper.

A familiar whisper, of an all too familiar word, from an all too familiar voice. 

And it grew louder, and louder, and louder.

Dracarys.

Aemond had sat you down gently before the fire, a subtle glance thrown back at you as he moved across the chambers to fill a goblet of wine for you to help settle your nerves. But there was no settling them, not when a small and wet, brunette boy stood in front of the fire, dripping atop the hearth.

Not when he kept whispering over, and over, and over again. 

Dracarys.

Dracarys.

Dracarys.

Not when the distant rumbling of a storm began to roll in from the sea. Not when the breeze began to pick up outside, and the temperature within your chambers dropped. Not when you finished your goblet, and then another, and the maids had rushed into the room to close all the windows and balconies as a downpour of rain descended upon Kings Landing. 

Not even then, when you sat opposite Aemond, merely picking at your food could you settle your own storm that raged within you. 

The anxiety.

The terror.

The anger.

The sorrow.

The grief.

And that all too familiar tide of rage.

“I fear war is coming for us after all.” You whispered to Aemond across the table, voice almost drowned out by the rain outside.

The King placed his cutlery down upon the table as he looked at you, “If it is to come to that, then it is by your mothers doing.”

You shook your head, the tide rising within. 

Why couldn’t he see?

Why couldn’t he see what you saw?

“It is your doing. You will not see reason. You would not even give the treaty a chance. Could we have not asked for me to be the next in line for succession? You be my King Consort after my mother has ruled? There must be some other way.”

Aemond sighed, “There is no other way. They either bend, or we war.”

A pit settled into the bottom of your stomach sharply, “And what of me? What will happen to me?”

Aemond reached forward to grasp his goblet, sipping it softly.

“What will happen when we war, Aemond? Will you keep me locked away in this castle like the prisoner I am?”

The King placed the goblet upon the table with more force than was needed, “You are not a prisoner here.”

You scoffed loudly, “I have not been permitted to leave this damned Keep in months! I have not even been permitted to see my dragon. I have been kept here like a brood mare for you to fuck your seed into.”

The silver haired man breathed heavily through his nose, jaw ticking, “You may leave after the war is won.”

“After?”

Aemond did not respond.

“So you expect me to sit here on my thumbs whilst you wage a war against my family?”

“I expect you to keep yourself and the babe safe.”

“Keeping me trapped in this Keep is no safer than letting me be out there! I will not lose you, Aemond, and I will not lose my family either. I have lost too much already!”

A fist beat against the table, the cutlery and china clinking loudly against each other, “And I will not lose you! Not again.” Aemond growled, his eye dark in the chambers, “I will not have you risk the life of our child. Our heir.”

You frowned, hands flat on the table as you leant forward and sneered, “You already put us at risk by declaring war and not seeing reason!”

Aemond shot up from his chair, fingers stretched across the wood of the table as he looked down at you, his chest heaving, “I have declared nothing! This is war! The very moment you agreed to step into this Keep; they declared war! The very moment they took my eye; they declared war against me and against you! For too long have they kept us apart. Do you think that if Rhaenyra takes the throne that they for one second will allow us to stay wed? Have you thought again on this question, I ponder. Do you think that your father will not cast the first stone to condemn me?”

Aemond’s large hands curled into fists, stepping away from the table, “I will not have you taken from me again, Y/n/n. I will kill anyone that attempts to do so. I will raze the Keep to the ground if I must. The realm, if I must. There is nothing in this world that will keep you from me. Not anymore.”

Your husband turned to face you, his eye crazed and lips pulled downwards into an angry scowl. His posture was stiff, readied, prepped to fight, to lurch forward, jaw tensed and and arms locked.

But it was the look in his eye that scared you most.

And then, his words finally sunk in, like claws in your flesh, tearing at your chest painfully as blood rushed to the surface. As though he had struck you with a thousand blades.

It was painful.

But he was right. 

They would never let you stay wed to him. Your mother would be swift to put him to death for the killing of Lucerys, and no doubt the crimes he committed against you if they knew the truth of it. But they didn’t know him now. 

They didn’t know him as he was the man today. 

Who had helped you. Who had saved you.

Who loved you.

Who you loved.

“I can’t lose you, Aem. I will break.” Your voice crackled, and Aemond came towards you, pulling you up from the table as he looked at you intently, his eye roving over your face. He cupped your cheeks in his hands, fingers stroking the skin. 

“I will kill them all if I must. For you.” He whispered.

The pit in your stomach grew larger, and the lump in your throat, calcified. You opened your mouth to argue, to beg, to plead, but Aemond pulled you forward and crashed his lips to yours, silencing you.

At first, you were shocked, gasping into his mouth, but Aemond’s touch was familiar, calming, and it distracted you from the constant whispers of Lucerys in the background and the thundering rain outside. And so you kissed him back, trying to push down the grief, and fear, and horror that had begun to swallow you whole. 

He was going to kill them all.

You wanted to feel anything but that pain. 

You wanted to feel loved. Feel safe. Feel sure and secure and cherished and above all, you. And Aemond gave that to you. He held you. He made you feel safe. He loved you. And he would protect you from the war that was to come if your mother did not bend the knee.

Aemond pulled apart from you, breathing heavily, his eye still on your lips as his pupil was blown wide with lust, the violet of his eye swallowed into the black abyss. His hand slid from your cheek, down over your chest, cupping one breast through the silk of your gown, a soft moan falling from your lips as he squeezed. 

And then it carried on, making its descent to press against the front of your stomach, holding his palm hotly atop where your womb was, the heat of his hand radiating through the dress and into your skin.

Aemond pressed promises into you with his hand, of reassurance, his love, adoration, and that warmth creeped across your chest and up your throat. 

You smiled warmly at him, holding his hand against you with your own, beneath it, something you had both created. Something the Gods had given to you.

A child.

His child.

Yours.

And this time, you would not lose it. 

This time, it would be perfect. 

And then there was the other warmth, another one that was all too familiar that had begun to settle into your core as he held his hand there, while his other held your cheek as though you were made of glass. And so you dragged his hand down further from your womb, gathering the skirts of your gown with it, his large fingers slowly making their way under your dress as he kept his eye on you.

His fingers grazed the hair atop your mound, and you thrust your hips forward, a soft sigh falling from your lips.

“Please, show me you love me.” You whispered to him.

His eye was hooded as he looked at you lustfully, fingers diving between your thighs to part your folds, finding you already slick with want. 

Aemond’s plump lips parted, inhaling deeply as he gathered your arousal to drag it back towards your bud, rubbing small circles over the sensitive bundle of nerves, dragging mewl after mewl from you.

It was a heat that spread through your entire body, not just the pleasure, but the love and care he was giving you, the proof of his love, the promise of his violence, and although the latter frightened you, you pushed away the thought to give in to the simple pleasures of flesh.

A singular moment for you to escape the whispers and presence of your brother, to escape the anguish that pulled at your veins, or the sorrow that had begun to burrow its way into your chest. 

For now, you just wanted to feel him. 

Two large fingers pushed into your heat and you moaned, pulling Aemond into a searing kiss where you nipped and sucked at his lips, tasting the wine on his tongue, and feeling the softness of his kiss. He curled his fingers inside you, teasingly rubbing the sensitive patch within you before he pulled back to look at your face. 

“Sīr gevie.” So beautiful, He uttered.

Aemond pulled his fingers from your core, a soft whine falling from your lips as you chased his mouth, the King moving back to escape it, before leading you towards the bed. 

It was a race to undress each other, the seams at the back of your dress ripping as Aemond tore at the ties until the gown fell heavily at your feet.

Then it was his boots, your own, his tunic, your chemise, his breeches, and soon enough, you fell against the bed, pushed down by his two large hands before he pulled you down the edge of the bed by your ankles, a short squeal of delight falling from your lips as he knelt on the stone floor before you. 

You leant up on your elbows looking down at him as he watched you with a hooded eye, tongue darting out to wet his lips before a cheeky smirk lifted upon his face. His hand brushed up your thigh, parting your legs before it continued to travel up, hand spread across your stomach. 

“Ñuha Dāria.” My Queen, Aemond purred, before nipping sharply at your inner thighs with his teeth. 

You gasped as you continued to watch him slowly make his way to where you needed him most. He nipped and kissed at your flesh, soothing the bites with his tongue, lathing at it hotly before he pressed a barely there kiss atop your pearl. 

Your hips thrust up towards him, another gasp falling from your lips as you tried to seek out his mouth again. To seek out the pleasure he always brought you.

The joy and love he showered you with.

Aemond chuckled from where he knelt at the foot of the bed before he placed another kiss there with more pressure, lingering until he opened his mouth and his tongue swiped through your folds hotly. 

You cried out, elbows giving under you as you fell back onto the mattress, hands gripping the sheets as your uncle suckled at your pearl and swirled his tongue around it expertly in the way that you liked it best. 

“Fuck.” You moaned, back arching as sparks of pleasure shot through your core. 

The King hummed into your folds, lapping at it loudly and wetly, messily as he always did in a way that would surely bring you to your peak shortly. His fingers met your core again, swiping between your folds as he continued to focus on your bud, until he pressed them inside of you, immediately curling them upwards.

Aemond fucked you with his hand and tongue, bringing you to your peak with a cry, pleasure coursing through your veins like molten lava. You writhed on the bed below him as he crawled up towards you, kissing a wet and sticky trail from your cunt, all the way up to your breasts.

He kneaded them roughly, sucking a nipple into his mouth greedily which he lapped at with his tongue, teeth grazing the stiffened peak as pleasure rippled across your chest.

“Kesā hōzigon aderī, se kessi nehugon.” You will swell soon, and they will leak, He groaned, swapping to the other breast, showing it the same amount of attention as the other. 

You moaned loudly, pulling him closer to your chest, hand gripping his hair tightly.

“Fuck.” You whined, hips rolling up against him, feeling his heavy length rest against your thigh, a drop of his arousal sticking to your skin. 

Aemond groaned, nipping the flesh of your breast sharply before capturing your lips in a passionate kiss.

"Going to watch you swell with my child. Then I’ll fuck another into you. Going to keep you full of my seed.”

Your heart soared at the thought of having many children with him, adding to your lust. The image of you and your husband surrounded by small little heads of silver.

You lifted your hips, wrapping a leg around him as you tried to pull him closer to you, “Please, Aemond.”

Grasping his length in his hand, he rubbed it through your folds, coating himself in your slick before lining himself up. With one long thrust, Aemond seated himself fully within you, stretching you apart on his cock as your walls gripped him tightly.

“Fuck. Such a perfect cunny.” The King hissed, pulling out of your warmth before thrusting back inside. 

You bit your lip, pleasure blooming within your walls, “Yes. Please. Fuck, Aemond.”

His hips snapped against yours, cock drilling into your cunt sharply as the tip of his length brushed over your spongey spot within, the coil within you beginning to tighten. The sound of your arousal filled the air around you as he plunged inside.

“Sīr qogralbar lōz syt nyke. Va moriot sīr lōz.” So fuck wet for me. Always so wet, He grunted, and you could feel the sheets below you soaked and clinging to the skin of your ass.

“Īlē vēttan syt nyke. Īlen vēttan syt ao. Jaes' nyke jorrāelagon bisa orvorta.” You were made for me. I was made for you. Gods I love this cunt.

You nodded as you whined, wrapping both legs around his hips, allowing for him to reach deeper within you, “Yes, Aemond, only for you. ‘m yours.” The angle brought you closer to your peak, your walls clenched around him in a vice grip.

Aemond hissed, feeling you begin to near your second release, and dragged a hand down your body, pulling back to spit wetly atop your core. 

You felt his spit land atop your pearl and dribble down and around his shaft, where it was fucked back inside of you. His fingers moved to your pearl, sitting back on his haunches to rut into you at sharper angle so he could watch you come undone from above. 

Aemond’s fingers swirled around your bud, drawing the coil within you tighter, and tighter.

“So close. Fuck, so good Aemond. Always so good. Fuck. I love you.” You whimpered, keeping your eyes locked on your husbands face, who looked down at you with determination.

“Want you to spill on my cock. Come on, give it to me.”

You bit down on your lip hard as the shifting of his hips brought a deeper pleasure, something that settled much deeper in your gut than before. It built rapidly, and hotly and Aemond continued to swirl his hand in the tempo of his hips which he thrust upwards into your core. 

It washed over you in an instant, no warning of its arrival nor telling of its destination. But it filled your limbs with flames, your entire body clenching as it crashed over your head. Your eyes were scrunched shut as you threw your head back, a long whimpering whine pealing from your lips as you reached your peak. 

Wet coated Aemond’s cock and thighs, dripping down onto the bed below as he cooed and praised you.

“Konīr jā. Konīr iksi. Sȳz riña. Ao gōntan sīr sȳz syt nyke. Sȳz riña.” There you go. There we are. Good girl. You did so good for me. Good girl.

You whimpered beneath him, almost in a daze as your core continued to spasm around him, Aemond not once letting up. His hand left your pearl to give you some reprieve, but his thrusts sped up, hips clapping against yours wetly as you were jolted up the bed. 

Aemond chased his release, hands gripping your hips tightly as he pulled you back down onto his length, using your body to fuck him like a limp doll. His thrusts became erratic, and he jerked one final time inside of you as deep as he could go, the warmth of his seed filling your walls with each erratic spurt. 

He moaned lowly, followed by a small whine.

You watched him from below, his chest rising and falling, a sheen of sweat over his body, head thrown back with his eye shut, plump mouth hung open inhaling deeply.

The low light of the chambers shone on his body and accentuated the muscles of his form. Your eyes roamed his pale skin, from the scar atop his shoulder where you had plunged the shard of mirror into the flesh, to the countless others that littered his body.

His hair seemed to glow in the moonlight and light of the candles, long and straight down his back, two smaller braids which had come undone from your hands, pulled apart strand by strand with the desire to devour each other in your matrimonial bed.

His jaw was so much sharper than what it used to be, so harsh and angled. Strengthened by the constant clenching of his teeth, the biting of his tongue, grown handsome by time. His nose, much the same, sharp and long to match the rest, but his lips were different. They were soft, and plump, and alluring if you were given the opportunity to get close enough, but even they could be sharp with his sneers or scowls, or the words that he hissed through clenched teeth. 

Aemond puffed out another breath of air, his chest slowly evening, thumbs rubbing soothing circles against your hips as he kept himself deep inside. His head dropped to look down at you, and you were met with the whole of his face, much softer now at this angle, but still razor sharp. 

But it was his eye that was the softest of all.

Not the one scarred by loss, its cruel jagged line that cut through his cheek and brow, causing pain still to this day from an injury that happened many years before. Not the darkened skin and empty socket which he filled with a large sapphire in its stead. 

His seeing eye.

Violet like lavender, lilac, or petunias in spring. Violet like the skies in summer when the sun had begun to set, and night began to creep across the realm, casting a blanket of darkness over all, until the sun would rise to meet it once again. 

Not like Helaena, or Aegon’s eyes. 

Not like your mother or fathers. 

But his. 

Just his.

Just him.

Your Aemond.

His own unique colour that you had grown more, and more fond of. A colour you had adored and loved as a child. A colour which you had looked forward to gazing into as you hid amongst the shadows, or played amongst the flowers of the Gardens. 

Your heart raced in your chest as you looked at him, watching as a small smile pulled onto his lips, a rarest of sights, as he dipped down, pressing the softest of kisses, a kiss to match the way his eye had looked into yours, upon your lips with ease.

It was love.

When you were both settled into the sheets once more, pressed and curled against his chest, feeling the glow of your peak slowly seep away from your body, you felt him drift to sleep beside you, leaving you awake in his arms.

And as you lay in bed with him, dread settled into your chest.

Hope was a fools ally, and you found that you had none left.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

Tag List:

@izzicle @ej-shitchats @may-machin @alegria1580 @witchy-jadda @videovampire @inkdelicious @queteimporta39 @virtualsweetsqueen @fo-cus @auratiqs @feyres-fireheart @queenofshinigamis @asoiafwh8re @teasandcrumpets @shesjustanothergeek @grungegrrrl@queenofsarcazm @marihoneywk @curlszx88 @virgogaia @loser-keiji @asoiafwh8re @whore-of-many-hot-men @vipervixxen @theonewiththeimaginaryboyfriends @watercolorskyy @lavendervisions @mazmack666 @chokefrog @orangejump-suit @nik2blog @serrhaewinin @ohemgeewhat @winxschester @cryptidsrcool @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @celestedonut @bloodyvelvet777 @iamapersonthatsalive @av-sos @yentroucnagol @sanzu-s @opheliaas-stuff @bellameshipper @maviee @persephonerinyes @neytiri-09 @ensnaredinwonderland @xbluegracex @sotragedynut @nattieot7 @shesawaywiththefairies-blog @coffedraven @prettycutebunny @celestedonut @the-jess-life @ssulfurr @out-of-life @madislayyy @crazylokonugget @cicaspair418 @katwmk @relminnie @milovart @teagrex @visenyaverse @bellameshipper @toodlesxcuddles @tempt-ress @dontmindmereading7 @qyburnsghost @55gyi53vtnquwziq5 @notnormalthings-blog @maidmerrymint @qyburnsghost @madislayyy @chelseaouat

Bold is who I cannot tag!

[zeroible]

Outsiders Week Day Two - “Five on Two” or Cherry Visits The Fountain Where Bob Died

TW: Angst (there’s comfort dw), mention of character death, mention of violence, and blood (all of these pertain to Bob’s death)

The stone of the fountain was cold to Cherry’s touch. Wind whispered through her hair and the pink pleats of her dress. Bob’s varsity jacket was draped around her shoulders, but it did little to keep out the evening chill. It still smelled like him. But, the scent of leather and shaving cream made her more sad than anything.

Why did it have to be him? There were other guys there besides Bob that fateful night. They were all drunk. They were all looking for a fight. So why did it have to be him?

Something crooned in the back of her mind. He was asking for it.

“No. Stop,” Cherry muttered out loud. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes. 

It had been about a week since the incident at the fountain. Everyone in Tulsa was on high alert. The police were searching high and low for the culprits. Paul tried to make her testify to the cops, but she wasn’t even there when it happened. Ponyboy and Johnny were still on the run. Everything was just a mess.

She didn’t believe it when Beverly told her that Johnny had stabbed Bob. She had just seen him and Ponyboy at the drive-in a few hours before. They seemed friendly enough. To add insult to injury, she had also broken up with Bob that night at the drive-in. She was angry, but still cared about him. Now, her ex-boyfriend was dead, and the two of them were still on the run. I guess that’s what happens when you back someone into a corner.

Cherry was fully crying now. She didn’t even have it in her to pretend she was okay anymore. She swiped a thumb over the blood-stained stone, her tears dripping down her face.

Then, someone put their hand over hers.

“Mind if I join you?” they asked softly.

Cherry’s eyes were blurry from the tears, but she could still make out clear as day who was there. It was Marcia. Good-ol’ Marcia. She sat beside her on the edge of the fountain, donning her signature checkered green dress and cardigan.

Cherry brushed the tears out of her eyes. Marcia reached into her sweater pocket and offered her a handkerchief.

“Thanks,” Cherry offered meekly. Marcia just nodded.

“I saw you out here, and I didn’t want you to be alone in the East Side,” Marcia added cautiously. “It is awfully dark out.”

She was right. Their only sources of light were the moon and a handful of dim streetlights. Cherry sighed.

“So…” Marcia twiddled her thumbs together. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I-” Cherry got choked up.

“He killed him,” she whispered. “He took a switchblade knife and ran it through his gut. I was so angry at Bob that night, but I never wanted it to end like this,” her voice cracked.

“The boys were drunk, and it was a five on two fight. What were they thinking? That boy was probably scared out of his mind!” Cherry bit her lip.

“Everything seems like it’s my fault. I broke up with Bob that night. I convinced him to go to the drive-in. I was the one who got him angry,” Cherry looked away.

“Why did it have to end like this?” She twisted her promise ring anxiously on her finger.

The two of them let her words hang in the air. The chirps of crickets filled the silence.

“Cherry, it’s not your fault,” Marcia said calmly, but firmly.

“You were standing up for yourself. You knew how he got when he was drunk. He got violent. No one knew what was going to happen after we left the drive-in that night. They were just at the wrong place at the wrong time. You can’t blame any of this on yourself.”

“Come here,” Marcia pulled Cherry into a tight embrace.

“You are the strongest person I know,” she whispered into her ear. They stood there for a good minute before parting.

“I got snot all over your cardigan,” Cherry laughed dryly.

“Never mind that. Let’s go get a Coke on me,” Marcia squeezed her hand.

And off they went into the night.

[tacomedli]

Tainted Hero - Chapter 2

It actually happened?!?!? I actually wrote chapter 2?!?!?! genuinely did not expect to have that in me and honestly it's all thanks to the support i got from you guys when posting about it tysm

Link to the fic is here but if you don't want to read it on ao3 then chapter 2 is under the cut :)

Please leave comments/tags! Genuinely makes me so happy you have no idea

The air felt solemn as they set up camp that night. 

Wind’s stomach felt sick. He hated how familiar he was with kidnappings—how familiar they all were with kidnappings. Why did it have to happen again? And to two of them at once?!

As much as he wanted to help strategize and come up with a plan to rescue Legend and Warriors, he had to admit that there wasn’t really anything he could do. To be completely honest, there wasn’t anything any of them could do. They had no way of knowing where the Shadow had disappeared to—that had been a mystery even before Legend and Warriors were captured, and they sure as hell weren’t any closer to figuring it out now. Wolfie tried digging at the spot in the ground where Leg and Wars had vanished, but found nothing. Time pulled out a strange looking spyglass and examined the area, but with the same result. Wind was disappointed, but not surprised. It was probably magic related—the Shadow seemed to be well versed in things like that.

Wind shifted, absently stirring his bowl of soup. He was sure on a normal night it would have been delicious, but tonight he just couldn’t seem to taste anything. He had no appetite, which was a shame since Wild had made more than enough—he tended to do that when he was anxious.

All they could do was scout the area during the day, and keep an ever-vigilant watch by night. Surely there was something the Shadow wanted from them. A ransom of some kind? Their surrender? Whatever it was, it would have to make the next move. Another appearance, or some kind of sign, anything.

They just had to be ready for it.

* * *

“Legend? Leg!!” Warriors whispered, not-so-gently grabbing Legend’s shoulder and shaking it. Legend groaned, but didn’t wake up. 

At least he was alive.

They were both in a small, dark cell. The temperature was freezing, and the air was stale and smelled of something foul. His sword was gone, as were all his items. Legend’s, too. He felt distinctly bare without a weapon at the ready. It made him vulnerable. He couldn’t afford to be vulnerable.

But what unnerved him the most was the fact that they were seemingly alone. It was unsettling.

The last thing Warriors remembered was reaching out for Legend, his fingers barely grazing the boy’s shoulder, when his vision went dark and a feeling of nausea overwhelmed him. He must have passed out, because his eyes opened to find him and Legend on the floor of this cell, their weapons and items gone.

Warriors rolled Legend over so he was at least laying on his back instead of the awkward position he’d been in before. As far as he could tell, the boy was uninjured. All traces of the strange black sludge that had enveloped him before were gone.

He frowned. He’d never encountered anything like that before. What was it made of? What were its properties? Legend had said it didn’t hurt, but it held him in place quite firmly. It was obviously some sort of dark magic…

Vaguely, he remembered Sky raising his sword, the blade glowing with a Skyward Strike. Light magic against dark—typically successful, no? But had it ever landed? Warriors couldn’t remember. 

“Two birds with one stone, hm?” a voice murmured, cold and sharp, like poison. 

It sent a chill down Warriors’ spine, the hair rising on the back of his neck. His eyes flitted to the front of the prison cell, looking past the iron bars that trapped them there.

Dark Link stood there, his hands folded behind his back. A faint crimson glow illuminated his eyes, which stared unblinkingly back at the hero. “I only meant to bring one of you, but I suppose I’m not complaining,” he said. “After all, it just makes one less thing to take care of later, doesn’t it, dear hero?”

“What do you want?” Warriors bit out, rising to his feet. Goddess, he was about to snap just by looking at the Shadow for more than a second.

Dark Link smiled. “To see you suffer,” he said simply. The temperature dropped at least ten degrees when one of his hands moved from behind his back to reveal a small, thin blade no longer than Warriors’ hand. “One. By. One.”

Warriors’ hand curled into a fist. He glanced down subtly at Legend, feeling a surge of protectiveness come over him at the sight of his companion still unconscious and vulnerable. His thoughts jumbled together as he tried to come up with some kind of plan. He didn’t have a lot to work with here - his weapons were gone, he had someone to protect, and the extent of Dark Link’s abilities was still a mystery. Then again, when had he ever let the odds hold him back before?

“That’ll be a bit difficult when you’re hiding behind that wall like a coward,” Warriors scoffed.

Dark Link had no visible reaction, other than a slow tilt of his head. He studied Warriors for a long moment, making the hero force himself to remain still. He wouldn’t give the bastard the satisfaction of seeing him squirm.

Then Dark Link’s form seemed to shudder, and his body twisted as he morphed into a silhouette made up of a familiar black sludge. The grotesque blob bubbled, squished, and descended to the ground, sending ripples across its form as it gripped ahold of the metal bars of the cell and pulled itself through. Warriors took a step back, feeling sick to his stomach as he watched. Now in the center of the room, the blob stretched and grew again until it was hylian-sized again, transforming into Dark Link once more.

“You seem eager to meet your fate, darling,” Dark Link said, his tone amused. “But you’ll have to wait your turn.”

Warriors blinked. “What?”

Suddenly, an invisible force gripped his body and threw him across the room, sending him crashing into the stone wall. Warriors cried out upon impact, falling to the floor and cradling his head, which had taken the brunt of it all. The effect was immediate, his head pounding with a headache and his vision somewhat blurry. The unseen force pressed him up against the wall again, less painfully this time since he was already there, but still a problem nonetheless. It was like a giant hand holding him in place, rendering him unable to move. Warriors forced his eyes open, trying to see what was going on.

Dark Link held a single arm outstretched, his hand glowing with a red light as he used what must be some sort of dark magic to hold Warriors in place. Not lowering his arm, he stepped forward, closer to Legend.

“--rgh, no!” Warriors grunted, fighting against the hold. His efforts did nothing.

“I told you, you need to wait your turn,” Dark Link smiled. “One at a time, hero. Just because you decided to tag along at the last second doesn’t mean you get to have all the fun.”

Warriors’ head spun. Dark Link had one hand occupied by trapping Wars, but what was he going to be able to do to Legend one-armed? Why hadn’t he used the red hand on Legend as well?

“Or maybe I should let him decide!” Dark Link laughed. “We have all the time in the world.”

Maybe he could only focus on one person at a time. Warriors was the only one awake, so of course he was the more pressing issue. So why was Dark Link focusing on Legend first? What did he mean by “wait your turn”?! Was this some sort of game to him? He struggled anew, desperately trying to free himself. 

Surprisingly, Dark Link turned to glare at him. Did…that mean it was doing something? Was the magic harder to control when he worked against it? He choked as the invisible hand shifted to press against his throat.

Legend’s left hand twitched. 

Warriors’ eyes widened, biting the inside of his cheek. He had to keep the enemy distracted long enough for Legend to hopefully wake up.

“Y-you’re…” he struggled to force the words out of his lungs.

Dark Link’s eyes narrowed, even as a sadistic smile crept onto his face. “Yes? Speak up, dear, I can’t hear you very well.”

Warriors pretended to glare, which wasn’t very hard. “You’re such--such a coward.”

Legend’s eyelids fluttered. They cracked open ever so slightly, blinking a few times.

Dark Link’s smile faded. “I believe you said that already, just a moment ago.” he sniffed. “Can’t you get any more creative than that, oh Hero of Warriors?”

“You know you wouldn’t--argh! You wouldn’t last in a real fight against us,” Wars insisted. “So you…you take away our weapons, separate us from the group…you only stand a chance when we’re not even awake to defend ourselves.”

“HA!” Dark Link laughed, flexing his glowing hand and causing his grip to get ever tighter. Warriors coughed, fighting for air. “What a joke,” the shade sneered. “I’ve beaten all of you at once, countless times. Or did you forget that you and your little friends have yet to catch me?”

“My point--” he choked again, unable to finish. Dark Link’s expression was unreadable, but he lessened his hold slightly, allowing Warriors to gasp as blessed air filled his lungs. “My point exactly. You’ve never won because you retreat as soon as you know we have the advantage. You’re a coward, a cheater, always running away to save yourself the embarrassment--”

“You think I care whether you think I cheat or not?” Dark Link snapped. “You’re an idiot. You’re all idiots. The fact that you’ve been running around in circles all this time trying to chase me is a victory in itself.” He leaned closer, his eyes burning with fury. “I suggest you watch your tongue, hero, before I snap each individual bone in your body until you can’t even scream for--”

Dark Link tumbled to the ground with an alarmed “Oof!” as Legend kicked his feet out from under him. Warriors felt the magic that held him captive suddenly dissipate, and he gave himself but a moment to recover before struggling to his feet.

Legend wasted no time in tackling Dark Link, giving him no chance to react before he swung his fist into the man’s face.

Dark Link growled in pain and frustration before shoving the boy off of him, then did that same stupid red hand move and threw Legend backwards. He didn’t have time to throw him very far, though, because a split second later he had to roll out of the way of an attack from Wars.

“Now this is getting interesting!” Dark Link laughed breathlessly, chest heaving. He grinned at Legend, a manic look in his eye. “You caught me while I was distracted, congratulations. It won’t happen again.” He snapped his fingers, and a long black sword appeared in the air next to him, which he caught.

Warriors was shoved to the floor by the magic force again, but this time he felt Dark Link’s boot press roughly against his spine and the tingling cold of steel barely graze across his throat.

Legend froze, also breathing heavily. He still had one knee on the ground, having been in the process of standing up after he was thrown.

“How do you feel, Hero of Legend?” Dark Link asked calmly, like he wasn’t holding Legend’s friend at swordpoint. “You were out for quite a while there.”

Legend glared at him. “I feel fine,” he replied, sparing a glance at Warriors. For a brief moment, Wars saw concern in Legend’s gaze. Then he swallowed and the mask was back.

“Good!” Dark Link smiled brightly. “Then why don’t we have a little chat?”

Legend’s frown deepened. “The hell do you mean?” he demanded.

“Let’s play a game, hero,” the shade had a dangerous look in his eye. “Who should play first, you or your friend here? It’s your choice.”

[spookyscarydemonbabe]

ok, picture this: chilling with eddie at his trailer and like maybe you guys are just watching the price is right on tv and you start making jokes and eddie out of nowhere spits out “marry me”

the thought that sits rent free in my brain atm omg

STOP IT THIS IS SO CUTE 🥹

You guys will just be having another lazy sunday together

Laying out under a throw blanket on the couch, some snacks, and the GSN is on all day long

Every show that comes on, you and Eddie will play along with them, guessing the closest prices for The Price is Right or seeing who can figure out the puzzle first on Wheel of Fortune

Eddie likes to say he lets you win every time but he just doesn’t want to admit you’re better at guessing games

It’ll be a bit later in the day, the two of you decided on chinese takeout over a game of rock paper scissors and you’ll be waiting quite a while for it

You two are still playing your guessing games and of course you win again, and in response Eddie tackles you into the couch and starts bombarding you with kisses and tickles

You’re a mess of giggles beneath him, and though you try to push him off it’s just no use

The tickles stop when he makes it to your lips and he’ll kiss you deeply, giving you enough time to move your hands up and hold his cheeks

He’ll slowly pull away and smile down at you for a moment, moving his hand up to move the hair away from your face and give you one more kiss before he just blurts it out

“I can’t wait to marry you.”

And it catches you completely off guard

You’ll look at him for a moment, shock all over your face, and he seems confused at your response until it clicks for him

“FUCK I FORGOT TO ASK”

He’ll quickly get up and run into his bedroom, rummaging through a few drawers before running back out with a little black box in his hand

You’ll sit up on the couch as he runs out and he’ll get down on one knee and take one of your hands before asking you with all sincerity in his voice

“(y/n), i feel like i’m asking you this way too late, but i love you. Will you marry me?”

By this point there’s already tears in your eyes but you wipe them away and give him a simple nod before he slides the ring onto your finger and started running around and jumping like he just won the lottery

And technically he did

The ring he got you was GORGEOUS

It was small and simple, but it was so Eddie and you adored it

Just a silver band with a small black stone in the middle, but it looked so perfect on your finger you couldn’t stop looking at it

He’ll stop his cheering and come back to you, holding you close and kissing you nonstop in the thrill of his excitement and you ask him

“Did you just forget that you didn’t propose to me?”

He’ll admit how nervous he was to do it and he had a plan figured out where he was going to make it a big thing with all your friends there but that wasn’t him

He wanted it to be something small and simple, not a huge event with a million eyes on you expecting you to say yes

So he kept the ring in his bedside drawer, hidden away, waiting for the right moment and it just completely slipped his mind

And that doesn’t surprise you one bit

Your food will finally arrive and the two of you will go back to what you we’re doing before, watching your game shows and spending time with one another

He’ll kiss your forehead and tell you what an amazing girlfriend you are before you shake your head and show him the ring on your finger

“You mean fiancé?”

[eddies-puppet]

Those Eyes!

(Joseph Quinn x Female Reader)

Summary: You meet Joe in a bar and the end of the night doesn’t go exactly as expected!

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: Real person fic, so if you don’t like RPF please keep scrolling! NSFW, vaginal fingering, dirty talk. Tiny bit of angst if you squint!

Notes: My first RPF, so please be gentle!

———————————————————————

“This is so needed, what a shitty week,” you sighed as you dropped the empty shot glass on to the table with a thump, your throat burning. You weren’t sure how a week had felt about a month long, but it just seemed to have been one thing after another recently, and this night out with your friends was long overdue!

After a few pre-drinks whilst getting ready, we’d made our way in to central London and had stumbled in to the first lively looking bar we’d come across when we stepped out of the underground station. The bar was packed, the music pounding as bodies moved in tandem on the dance floor, the usual line of creepy guys crowded around the edges searching out the drunkest girls.

“I’m just going to the bathroom and then I’m gonna go out for a cigarette,” you told your friends as you rose from your seat, your friends nodding before carrying on with their conversation.

You were feeling distracted tonight, the usually easily-flowing conversation feeling forced as you struggled to join in. You had nights like these, and would usually be better cuddled up under your blanket watching a movie, but you’d forced yourself out tonight, hoping that a drink and some music would bring you out of your slump.

After using the bathroom, you paused at the mirror on the wall, running your fingers underneath your eyes, checking your make-up was still where it should be and checking yourself over. You’d bought a new dress for tonight, a figure-hugging dress, deep brown in colour and falling just above your knees. Smoothing over the soft chiffon, you took a deep breath, flicking your hair back over your shoulder as you turned and made your way out to the beer garden.

Even that was busy, despite the chill in the spring air. Finding an empty spot and leaning back against the cold stone wall, you pulled your phone from your bag and lit a cigarette, taking a long, deep drag as you unlocked her phone, scrolling through your social media feed.

“Excuse me, could I borrow that?” You turned to look at the stranger standing beside you, your breath catching in your throat as your eyes locked with his.

You were sure you recognised him, but just couldn’t figure out where from. He was tall, dressed in loose light blue jeans and a light blue shirt, unbuttoned and sitting loosely over a plain white t-shirt, his hair covered by a baseball cap. But the cap couldn’t cover those eyes.

Fuck, those eyes!

You must have stared for a split second too long, as his deep voice pulled you out of her haze. “No matter how many I buy, I always seem to lose them,” he laughed.

“Sorry! Yeah, sure,” you stuttered, holding your hand out to him, your heart skipping a beat as his fingertips brushed yours and he smiled down at you.

“Thank you love,” he sighed softly before lighting his cigarette, slowly exhaling a cloud of smoke as he handed the lighter back. “I’m Joe, it’s nice to meet you,” he smiled. You nodded, your stomach flipping as the gears in your head finally clicked.

“Joe Quinn, right? I knew you looked familiar,” you grinned. He chuckled as he took another drag of his cigarette. “You know, the cap isn’t a very good disguise if you don’t want people to recognise you,” you laughed as he took another drag of his cigarette, shaking his head in amusement as he removed his cap, pushing it hard into his pocket and running his hand through his dark, messy curls.

“You’re not the first to tell me that,” he chuckled. “I should try harder. What’s your name?”

“Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you Y/N,” he said quietly, his deep brown eyes sparkling brightly despite the low lighting outside.

“Nice to meet you too Joe.”

———————————

Once again, you found yourself checking your reflection in the mirror of the bar bathroom.

It was getting late now, and the number of shots you’d drunk had certainly gone to your head, as well as your bladder!

After sharing a cigarette with Joe, you’d gone back to your friends, and had eventually waved Joe and his friends over to join you all. Your friends didn’t have any idea who Joe was, they weren’t exactly Stranger Things fans, so apart from his own friends teasing, Joe had got away without too much attention.

You were surprised at how ‘normal’ he was. Sure, he spoke with a posh boy accent and name-dropped his co-stars more than once, but he seemed to be just a usual south London boy. Funny, confident (maybe bordering on cocky), charming. Flirty, you smiled to yourself as you locked eyes with yourself in the mirror.

You’d had butterflies fluttering in your stomach most of the night, your heart stuttering every time his soft eyes met yours. Were you imagining the spark between the two of you? Probably, you thought, but hell, you were going to make the most of the time you were able to spend with him, whether the flirting was real or just in your head.

You ran your fingers through your hair, smoothing the flyaways and straightening your parting before making your way back toward the bar.

As you moved through the crowd, the smell of sweat and alcohol finally beginning to overwhelm your senses, you noticed that the table where your friends had been was now sat empty, the drained glasses littering the surface.

You looked around, confused, jumping with a start as a hand wrapped gently around your arm.

“Where did everyone go?” You asked.

“Y/F/N was hungry so Wes has taken them to the kebab shop around the corner,” Joe explained. “I said I’d walk you around,” he smiled.

“Such a gentleman,” you teased as he reached out, taking your hand in his and leading you out of the bar.

You hadn’t realised how cold it had got and wrapped your free arm around yourself in an attempt to shield yourself from the biting wind.

“You ok?” You nodded, smiling up at him. He let go of your hand and slipped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you tight against him. “Better?” You nodded again, giggling to yourself. “What’s funny?”

“The fact that I have superstar Joseph Quinn’s arm around me,” you laughed dramatically. “Wasn’t how I was expecting to end the night.”

As you walked together along the busy street, you started to notice people staring as you passed, girls whispering excitedly to their friends, some shouting at him from across the street. He glanced across at them smiling reluctantly.

“You sure you wanna be seen with your arm around a random stranger?”

“To be honest, even without my arm around you, that’ll still happen, so I might as well roll with it,” he said quietly. You gazed up at him, his face now clouded with something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Sadness?

“That must get annoying.” He nodded, the movement almost imperceptible. “I saw your award speech. Do they really scare you?”

“No,” he sighed. “It’s all just been a bit overwhelming. There are some who are, um, a bit over the top,” he chuckled. “But the vast majority of my fans are amazing. Let’s face it, without them, I wouldn’t be where I am. I’m going to be in a Ridley Scott film for gods sake,” he laughed loudly. “It would just be nice to have some peace sometimes, that’s all.”

Suddenly the heel of your shoe hit a stone and you stumbled dramatically. Joe’s arm slipped from your shoulders but he quickly grabbed your arm and steadied you, pulling you tight against him as he gazed down at you, taking his lip between his teeth as if trying to silence himself. For a few seconds, the world seemed to stop. His eyes wandered your face, his thumb gently stroking the skin of your wrist. “You think you should have worn flatter shoes?” He smirked. A loud laugh escaped from your mouth.

“Oh no, absolutely not hun. You do not get to take the piss out of my shoes when you’re wearing THOSE,” you giggled, motioning to his feet with your free hand. He dropped your arm, grabbing dramatically at his chest.

“Oh sweetheart, you wound me,” he gasped in mock offence. “What’s wrong with my shoes?!”

“Absolutely nothing grandpa,” you laughed. Joe stopped, his mouth falling open in shock. “Come on, we better catch up with the others,” you grinned as you began to walk away from him.

You squealed loudly as you felt fingers wrap themselves tightly around your arm, pulling you down a dark alleyway between two buildings.

“What are you doing?” You laughed as you followed him, struggling to keep up on your heels.

“Just trust me,” he said over his shoulder.

Eventually the alleyway opened up into a small courtyard with what looked to be the back doors to the shops on the main street.

Before you knew what was happening, Joe’s hands were around your waist, pulling you flush against him as he walked you backwards, the back of your legs hitting a low wall.

“I’ve been waiting all night to get my hands on you,” he whispered, his voice deeper, darker than a moment before. His tongue flicked across his lips, moistening them as his eyes roamed your face, settling momentarily on your lips before locking eyes with you once more. “Is this ok?” He asked.

Your heart was racing, pounding so hard in your chest that you were sure he must be able to hear it. Looping your fingers into his belt loops and pulling him even tighter to you, you nodded silently, not trusting yourself to speak.

He smiled, lifting you off your feet and sitting you on the wall. Using his knee to push your legs apart, he settled between your thighs, his hands now in your hair. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?” He breathed, lowering his forehead to rest against yours, his eyes falling closed as the tip of his nose brushed gently against yours.

“Joe?” You said softly. He opened his eyes slowly, his pupils so blown that the chocolate shades were now pitch black. “Just shut up,” you whispered with a sigh, leaning forward to finally capture his lips with your own.

His hands tightened in your hair, a soft moan falling from your lips as he pulled gently, angling your head up towards him as his tongue swiped gently against your lips, begging for entrance, which you gladly granted.

Your head was spinning, but not from the alcohol. From him. From the taste of alcohol and cigarettes on his tongue, the smell of the cologne he wore, the softness of his fingertips as they ghosted across your neck.

Your lips chased his with a quiet whimper as he broke the kiss, chuckling as he lowered his lips to your neck, leaving desperate open-mouthed kisses as you wrapped your legs around his thighs, gasping aloud as he rolled his hips against you. You pushed back against him, a shock running through your body as you felt his hard cock against your heat.

His hands were on your thighs now, his mouth leaving a trail of kisses along your collarbone, the feeling of his teeth gently dragging across your skin sending shivers down your spine. His hands reached the hem of your dress and he paused, lifting his head to look at you.

“Still ok?” He whispered breathlessly, and you nodded eagerly.

“More than ok,” you gasped. “Joe, please…”

“Shh, it’s ok love,” he assured you. “I’ve got you.”

His lips met yours again, more intensely this time, his tongue licking in to your mouth. His hands moved swiftly upwards until they met the seam of your panties, and your lips faltered for a moment as he pushed them aside, his fingers moving against your heat.

“So wet for me already,” he smirked as his fingers found your clit, drawing a loud moan from deep within your chest, your back arching, pushing your body hard against him. “You like that, huh?” He said, his lips so close to yours that you could feel his breath.

You nodded desperately, your hands gripping tightly to his strong arms, feeling the muscles flexing beneath your touch as his fingers began to rub small circles against your most sensitive spot. Your body betrayed your attempts to stay quiet as a pathetic whimper slipped from your lips. “Uh uh, don’t go quiet on me now love, let me hear you.”

Joe’s hand stilled, his hips shifting as he moved himself, his thumb now pressed against your clit as two of his fingers teased tantalisingly at your entrance. “Tell me what you need,” he breathed.

“You,” you gasped as his fingers gently eased just slightly inside of you. “Please,” you begged again, your body squirming beneath his touch.

He lifted his head, watching your face as he pushed his fingers further into you, a cocky smirk spreading across his lips as your eyes squeezed shut, your mouth falling open as you gasped for air. His thumb began to rub small circles against your clit, his fingers curling inside you, almost instantly finding the spot that made your body tighten around him.

Your head fell forward, resting against his shoulder as your hands slipped under his shirt, your fingernails scratching hard against his stomach as they made their way downwards. Your fingers closed around his jeans button, but his free hand grabbed yours roughly, pushing it behind your back, your fingers laced with his. “Uh uh,” he shook his head.

“I wanna feel you,” you sighed.

You realised how pathetic you must sound, but you just couldn’t find it within yourself to care.

“And you will,” he promised. “But not yet,” he added with a smirk as he lowered his lips back to your neck, his tongue flicking gently at the soft spot just below your ear. “Fuck, you feel so good baby,” he groaned, his fingers curling just right inside you again, a strangled moan slipping from your lips again as your free hand grabbed hard at his wrist between your legs, silently pleading him not to stop as the tension inside you intensified.

“Are you close?” He whispered, his lips ghosting against your skin as you nodded desperately. “Come on baby, let go for me.”

As if your body had been waiting for his permission, your orgasm ripped through you, your vision turning white, every nerve in your body firing at once, his name falling from your lips like a prayer. “That’s it,” he mumbled, letting go of the hand he had held behind your back, grabbing hard at your hair again, kissing you hard as his fingers worked you through your peak. As the waves of ecstacy subsided, your kiss grew softer, gentler, and he pulled his hand from under your dress, slipping it around your waist and holding you tightly. “You good?” He asked quietly, lifting his head to gaze down at you.

“Hmm,” you nodded, your tongue flicking out to wet your lips as you tightened your legs around him, a guttural growl rumbling in his chest as your hand ran down his body, palming at his hard cock through his jeans.

“Have you got anywhere you need to be?” He asked.

“No, why?” You asked with a cheeky smile.

“You’re coming home with me,” he said firmly as he pulled you to your feet. “I’m gonna fucking ruin you.”

————————————————————————

Part two?

[foxcort]

“Tragic, for him to die so young and so . . . bloody.”

written for day 5: shapeshifter of @tamlinweek.💚🌷/ one moonlit, eerie night, two monsters strike a bargain. / (SW)

a/n: this is a little fic based off of an edit i did a while back of a concept of werewolf!tamlin and vampire!nesta but put them in a guy ritchie's sherlock holmes backdrop (or late victorian/early edwardian), because why not.

tw: none.

He caught her in the gardens, looking as innocent as a thorn on a rose, her crimson dress fluttering around her when she whipped around to face him. As soon as he’d seen her slinking away from the overzealous crowd of guests, he’d followed after her, his steps not quite as silent as hers.

“Are the festivities not to your liking, my lady?” Tamlin gestured a ways behind him, where warm light illuminated the high windows of Greenwood Manor and the sounds of merriment rose and fell to the tune of the small orchestra. “I told my emissary a circus would’ve been more lively this year.”

She didn’t titter or blush at his jest, didn’t flush at being found in an odd position. Instead she glanced him once up and down, a slow perusal not unlike a predator sizing up an adversary. Her heels clicked against the stone pavement as she strode closer to him, still a smile absent from her red painted lips.

Lady Nesta Mandray was more formidable in person than he imagined she would be. Recently widowed and thought to be a recluse, he'd sent her an invitation to his annual Spring Equinox ball anyway and was mildly pleased she'd taken the bait and made an appearance.

Even if her state of dress was not what he was expecting.

The gown that adorned her body was still modest in fashion, as all dresses worn by genteel women of high status tended to be, but the vibrant red was a stark contrast to the lilacs and tangerines and yellows swirling around the ballroom right now.

At last, she gave him a smile, though it was too sharp and too fleeting. "I wasn't aware all your guests were to be kept prisoner in that stuffy old ballroom." She threw a dismissive look at the manor behind him and Tamlin found himself growing more fond of her for it. "Am I not allowed anywhere else on the grounds?"

He chuckled softly, head bowing as he closed a few more steps between them, “Forgive me, I've been a horrendous host." Tamlin paused, taking his turn to study her, and understood that perhaps he was the prey. "Would you care for a tour of the grounds, Lady Mandray?” 

“Lady Archeron,” she corrected. “I’m afraid Tomas’ name died along with him.” Her sharp gaze seemed to say good riddance.

He smiled. The first real one he’d permitted to show her. “Would you care for a tour of the grounds, Lady Archeron?” 

She regarded his offered arm with unconcealed hesitance, her silver eyes flicking up to meet his as she spoke her next words slowly, carefully.

“Should I be frightened of you, Lord Greenwood?” 

“No.” He was not the kind of monster he suspected Lord Mandray had been. “Not as I am now.”

She arched a brow, and he could almost see the cogs in her brain turning, trying to piece together what he meant. Not as he was now. Not when the moon was only half-full.

It was a tentative, deliberate action but after a few moments of silence, Nesta relented, her fingers curling lightly over his upper arm. Even through the layers of his expensive coat jacket and shirt, he could feel the unnatural chill of her touch.

Without meaning to, Tamlin shivered at that touch and she gave him another one of her rare smiles. “My apologies.” She sounded anything but, and he swore an undertone of delight colored her voice. “I haven’t seen much sunlight since Tomas’ death.” A hunting accident of sorts, he’d heard, though Tamlin didn’t doubt he had help reaching his end.

He struck an easy pace through the gardens and the vineyard, moonlight illuminating their path. “I would offer my condolences, but it would be a lie to say I’m not pleased you no longer have a husband.”

Nesta laughed, a cold and lovely sound. “If you’re attempting to court me, you’ll have to do a lot better than that.”

“Without a chaperone? I wouldn’t dare besmirch your reputation.”

She waved a hand in the direction of the revelry, her nose crinkling in distaste. “If I cared for a moment what those peacocks and pigeons thought of me, I wouldn’t risk being caught in the shadows with you.”

They were almost upon the winery now, a more modest building in comparison, but still sturdily built. And conveniently vacant.

Tamlin slowed their pace, coming to a halt before the padlocked front door. “Something tells me you accepted my invitation and came all this way to risk something else entirely.” He felt her grip on his arm tighten almost imperceptibly. “Your late husband was quite a paranoid man, last I remember.”

The shift in conversation seemed to ruffle her feathers a little and Nesta gently pulled away from him, her fingers digging into the folds of her dress. “And when do you remember him last?”

“I believe it was right before his death.” He said it matter-of-factly, his eyes tracking her movements with quiet interest. “Tragic, for him to die so young and so . . . bloody.”

She shrugged, and he had the impression that both of their masks were rapidly slipping. “He wasn’t a very smart man.” Nesta began to walk, circling him slowly, her eyes half-lidded yet somehow more aware. “I always did tell him to pick his marks carefully, and he always did aim a little higher than he should have.” The tips of her fingers grazed over her exposed collar bone, where he could faintly make out the remnants of a scar. Puckered but fading. Almost as if there’d once been a bullet wound there. “I wonder, Lord Greenwood,” her eyes sharpened and she stilled in front of him, “do you consider yourself a smart man?”

“Oh, only the smartest,” he admitted calmly, an amused smile curving over his mouth. “Though I prefer you be the judge of that.” With that, he strode to the door and removed the padlock, quickly pocketing the small key afterward. Tamlin swung the door open and tilted his head towards it in invitation.

Nesta threw him a suspicious, narrow-eyed look but otherwise strode into the dimly lit winery without another word. He guided them once more, walking deeper and deeper into the barrel-filled building with complete confidence that they would run into no one. Other than the fact that his guests and staff were too drunk on spirits and levity to be roaming so far from the manor, Tamlin had strict rules imposed on the security of this particular building. The most prominent being that no one was to step foot in the building after dark and the door was to always be locked. The key was either always on his person or given to his emissary, Lucien, on the nights he needed someone to lock him in.

His staff was more than willing to believe the lord of Greenwood Manor had a haughty opinion of his stock, that perhaps he took certain measures because the secret to his winemaking was something he coveted greatly. And Tamlin let them believe as such. For the alternative — the truth — would see him in bedlam.

They finally halted before a set of cells. Two large, cold imprisonments hidden deep in the winery’s basement, the turn almost blocked by yet another high-stacked row of barrels. Understanding dawned on her face when Nesta took in the contents of the cells. Long, sturdy chains hammered into enforced concrete walls, the ends of them finished with shackles too big for anything human.

“Shackles? In a wine cellar?” She stood at the threshold of one of the open cell doors, a hint of amusement glinting at her eyes when she flicked them up to meet his. “Hardly a proper thing to reveal to a lady, your nighttime . . . activities?”

“Ah.” His mouth curved into a slow grin as he leaned against the iron bars, and when he spoke again his voice had gone rough. “But you’re no lady, are you?”

She turned, her smile unbidden now, as if all the pretense of propriety had been lifted. “No. But you’ve known that for some time now.”

“Ever since Tomas confided in me that he believed his wife would kill him, I admit, I’ve been suspiciously curious.” Nesta’s smile faltered, but he continued on. “He thought my connections with the Yard would be enough to condemn you to a madhouse. I, of course, refused him any help.”

“How chivalrous of you,” she drawled, “Unfortunately, I have no need of a white knight.”

“Good,” he smiled, letting a bit of the contained ferality peek through his expression. “I would hate to disappoint you.”

“Then tell me, Lord Greenwood—” Nesta paused, stepping closer to him, a serious and impatient tone settling over her features, “Why do any of this? What do you want with me?”

“I have a . . . proposition, of sorts.”

“Go on.”

He laughed nervously, taking a moment to admire her straightforward demand, before asking, “Will you marry me, Lady Archeron?”

Those silver eyes narrowed again, and she gave a lazy perusal of him once more, only this time he had the feeling she was sizing him up for entirely different reasons. “Are you so eager to meet an end similar to Tomas?”

He pushed away from the bars to move closer to her, that gruff undertone returning to his speech. “If it were by your hands, I would die a happy man.”

Her eyes widened a fraction and he saw a faint flush of color rise over her cheeks. Before she could indeed make the decision to gut him right then and there, Tamlin said, “I believe a marriage would be beneficial to us both. To the secrets we want to hide and the habits we cannot break.”

Nesta regarded him quietly for a long moment, and he imagined she could see the advantages of his proposal. Of sharing the burdens of their secrets with one another. Of hiding the suspicions that would start to rise for the both of them as the years went on.

Finally, she tipped her chin and gave him another sharp, little smile. “I accept, Lord Greenwood.” Tamlin felt his heart jump at her words, a reaction he hadn’t anticipated when he’d set out to strike a bargain with Nesta Archeron. “Although I wouldn’t entirely rule out the possibility of mariticide, if I were you.”

“If you do decide to murder me, promise me you’ll keep my name.” He offered her his arm again, with the intention of leading them out of the winery to resume their stroll under the moonlight, his smile wider than he could constrain.

“A possessive man? How disappointing.”

“I don’t mean to own you, my lady. I mean to haunt you.”

Nesta laughed as she looped her arm around his, more at-ease now as she followed him back through empty building and out into the night. “I think it wouldn’t be too difficult to keep that promise.”

a/n: once again a super specific little piece that was meant to be posted a lot sooner 😀 but i had a lot of fun writing it and i hope you guys enjoy it too!