#trying to practice being faster and looser

[julnites]

some quick primary colored elden ring women

[postgamecontent]

'Cash Cow DX' Switch Review

Look, I know Flynn's Arcade is a publisher. It doesn't develop games, and in most cases the games it releases on Switch have been released elsewhere by their original developers. But more than most publishers who engage in such endeavors, I feel like Flynn's Arcade is very good at selecting titles that fit a particular identity. I don't know what a "Ratalaika Game" or a "Red.Deer Game" looks like, but if you tell me Flynn's Arcade is putting something out there, I've got a general picture in my brain of what sort of thing it's going to be.

With that in mind, I wasn't too surprised when it picked up pixel games' latest jam, Cash Cow DX, for a Switch release. Flynn's published the developer's previous title, the outstanding Donut Dodo, on the platform and it seemed to go over rather well. Even without that history, though, Cash Cow DX fits the profile. It has that classic arcade feel, drawing inspiration from a number of sources to create something that feels both new and yet somehow authentic to that era. I don't think it hits its notes quite as well as Donut Dodo does, but there's a lot to like in this game if you're a fan of classic arcade games.

In this game, your goal on each of the five stages is to collect all of your stolen Mooney strewn about the stage. You have to get every last bit of it to move on to the next stage, and that can take some work. The stages scroll horizontally at least a few screens' worth and have multiple levels of platforms to navigate along with some unique gimmicks. Your cow character can run pretty quickly and jump well enough to clear some gaps and enemies, but you can't jump high enough to reach higher tracks. You'll have to sort out how to reach everything on the level, and that's your first job in Cash Cow DX. Of course, enemies will be pursuing you all the while, so you'll have to be careful about running ahead too fast.

If I had to liken it to any classic games, I suppose Mappy and City Connection would be the first ones to come to mind. Not bad company. And of course, merely clearing the stages is just the start. What you really want to do is get a high score, right? And that's where things get really devilish. Gems will sometimes appear in various locations for a short time. Grab them and your Mooney will temporarily be worth a lot more points. There's also a pickaxe somewhere on each stage. Pick that up and you can attack your enemies for a while, earning even more points. But there are other things you can do with that pickaxe if you keep your eyes open. Trying to stay ahead of the enemies, collect all the Mooney, and maximize your score while doing so is quite a tasty challenge.

There are multiple difficulty modes here, and you can choose between two cows once you clear the Easy course. The unlockable cow moves faster but is a little looser to control and has a much weaker jump. There's also an Endless Marathon mode (unlocked by completing the Normal course) and a Goldrush Speedrun (as with the second cow, unlocked by completing Easy). You also get a Practice mode that allows you to try out single stages at your leisure. Local scoreboards are available, and you can scan a QR code to submit your score to online boards. All of that is rounded out with a few options to tweak things like screen flash, screen shake, and so on.

In terms of how it looks, moves, and sounds, you would probably be able to guess Cash Cow DX was from the same developer of Donut Dodo even if you weren't told. It's energetic, exciting, colorful, bouncy, and is just plain appealing in every way a game like this should be. It is perhaps guilty of being a little too derivative of Donut Dodo's aesthetic, but thinking back to the classic arcade era it wasn't that odd for developers to have a style that carried over from game to game. I'm not too fussed about it, at least for this game anyway.

What I will say as a more general caution is that Cash Cow DX comes on a bit strong, even on the first level of its Easy course. There are indicators to let you know where enemies are if they're off-screen, but juggling everything you need to do while keeping an eye on that information takes some getting used to. If you stick with it, you'll be fine. But I could see some people being put off immediately, and I can't help but think a slightly more lenient first stage might have helped with that. Donut Dodo nailed that aspect, and it's unfortunate that Cash Cow DX doesn't quite manage it.

On the whole I would say that Cash Cow DX is probably not going to be as widely appealing as Donut Dodo, but I think the scoring game runs a lot deeper here. I imagine it will have fewer fans, but the people who like it are going to absolutely love it. It took me a little while to warm up to it, but once I did I was pleased to find yet another game that really gets the whole retro arcade feel. As with the previous game from this developer, I'm sure I'll be back to this one frequently to try to better my scores.

Score: 4/5

[jujutsu-headcanons]

Megumi Fushiguro + chubby s/o

First things first, before we get to the fluff, there are some things we gotta point out

Megs has stated very clearly he doesn't care who he falls for, as long as they have admirable traits. Seriously, Todo, stop asking. His "boring" answer isn't going to change.

This screams bi/pan rights, but also, that means he doesn't give a fuck if you have a little junk in your trunk

I'm so proud of that line please laugh at it

Anyway, when you were introduced as a new student, he didn't talk to you much

Well he did, but only about work and missions and stuff

Does this kid talk to anyone about anything that isn't curse related?

You seemed to gravitate towards Yuji anyway because honestly, he's the embodiment of happy he's just a cool dude

You didn't really catch his eye until he overheard you talking with Nobara about how upset you were with Gojo

He never passes an opportunity to be angry at Gojo. He was intrigued.

Apparently, Gojo had taken the liberty of designing your uniform for you, just like he did Yuji, but he fucked up the measurements

Big time

You seemed to be fond of baggier clothes because it "hid" your tummy and thighs

Nobara was supportive but struggling. She knew how to hem clothes to make them tighter, or shorter, not looser. She really was trying.

Yuji got involved because he saw you were stressed while Nobara tugged here and snipped there and nothing seemed to be working. Yuji learned that making silly faces and doing Fortnite dances doesn't help teenagers going through a body image crisis.

Megumi looked at the chaos and spoke before he really even knew what he was saying 

"Does it feel too tight? Does it restrict your movements, like in a fight or something?"

This kinda caught you off guard, but you shook your head. No, the material was naturally flexible and breathable, and the reason you couldn't breathe wasn't that the uniform top was too tight, it was because you felt you looked terrible

Megumi just shrugged. "Then you shouldn't worry about it. You fill it out nicely. It looks better than us, in our baggy uniforms."

Where the fuck did that come from Megs?

He felt the need to excuse himself with a polite bow and leave in his typical cool Megumi way even though his heart was beating faster than anything

He didn't see the way your face lit up, both with excitement and blush. Nobara did and caught on instantly, while Yuji just assumed you were hot and started fanning you with his notebook

Megumi didn't avoid you after this, but he did tend to freeze when your conversations strayed away from typical shaman things

He wasn't trying to, he was just constantly lost in thought

Why did he say that? Well, he means, it was obvious he said it because it was true- that uniform clings to your body in a way it wouldn't fit anyone else. Its kinda hot

Megumi Fushiguro this is your classmate stop having those thoughts

Maybe he wasn't just trying to cheer you up. Maybe there are some things he hasn't discovered about himself. He actually really never had a crush on anyone. Is that was this is? Feelings?

Ew. But keep going.

Megumi noticed things over the next couple of things that were unsettling to him. You used self-deprecating humor. A lot. Always poking fun at yourself. He didn't mind it at first because, well, you laughed about it, but still. It's like you thought you really looked like the Michelin Tire Man.

He never knew what to do in these situations. Should he laugh? It seemed to bring you joy. But he didn't think you looked bad at all.

He also noticed you didn't eat much. And when you did you avoided sweets and grease. Megs was known for being the only one that ate healthy in the group, but even he didn't have salad all the time. You acted like you were embarrassed to eat in front of people, so you chose the tiniest meal.

This worried him a lot. At first, he bored you with the importance of eating three well thought out and balanced meals with the proper amount of proteins and calories and shit. But that seemed to ruin your appetite more, so he stopped.

He started sliding part of his meals onto your plate. He considered it a success when you would eat it.

The last thing Megs noticed was that you pushed yourself to the absolute limit during sparring practice and he hated it

See, you actually didn't need to be physically strong. Yes, it helps in battle, but your particular cursed technique kinda made up for being average strength. If no one could get close to you, and you can't get close to them, then you don't really need to deliver a punch, right? 

But you would just keep at it oh my god

One hundred push-ups. One hundred sit-ups. One hundred squats. Every day. He was worried you were gonna go bald at this point

He'd still love you but still, spontaneously losing your hair because of rigorous training as not good

You'd fight with one of them until you were pink and dripping with sweat. It was obvious you were breathing heavily and, honestly, it's been two hours. Even Yuji was getting tired, but you wouldn't stop.

Megumi found himself doing something he thought he never would. Ever.

He invaded your privacy, of course. 

"Shoko-sensei, Gojo-sensei asked for a copy of (l/n)-kun's physical and related medical records"

At first, he just wanted to see if you were anemic. You don't really show any symptoms, but also, you don't eat a lot. All this exercising can't be good if you are. Then his thoughts strayed to "oh god .... What if they have heart problems? Lung problems? They shouldn't push themselves so hard if they do. What if they avoid certain foods because of a stomach issue? What if-"

You're healthy. Just as he initially thought.

Megumi was baffled, to be honest. 

He can get avoiding certain foods if they hurt your tummy. But what if you were just afraid of being made fun of because of stupid cliches?

He can get casual exercise if it was important you lose weight so you don't get sick. But what if it was because you really hated how you looked?

This hurt Megumi. He threw his copy of the reports in the shredder and went on his way

He wondered around, lost in his thoughts until he spotted you just outside of the girls' dorms doing something

He could have sworn you were fresh out of the shower but somehow still exercising

Yoga? Maybe? He couldn't tell and he didn't care

You were wearing the cutest set of pajamas, and your hair was still damp

And when you raised your arms up your shirt rose and he could see the tummy in question, complete with stretch marks and whatever other blemishes resided there (scars, freckles, etc.)

He did the most ooc thing I've ever made this lil fucker do

He runs up, gets on his knees, and kisses the tummy

All over the tummy

Just as he thought. Warm and soft. Both the skin and the texture are soooo soft-

As you turn into a flustered mess, "Fushiguro-san what the fuck", he throws his arms around your knees and throws his over his shoulder

"You aren't that heavy if I can do this... (Y/N)-chan"

Oh god the way your first name rolls off his tongue

Well, as long as he's near the girls' dorms, he might as well let himself in-

As you flail and giggle, trying to break away, he sees your thighs jiggle out of the corner of his eye

This sets something off in him he doesn't understand, but also, who the fuck cares

It isn't hard to find your room and he allows himself in, still pardoning himself for the intrusion, and he sets you down on your bed

Still doesn't give you a chance to speak as he wraps his arms around you and nuzzles his face in your stomach

"Warmmm...~"

He's never cuddled anyone ever, but he already knows this is ten times better than cuddling someone who's built like a wall

Squish > muscles

"You know you're beautiful right?"

This makes you blush, but you reluctantly bring your fingers through his hair. "You think so?"

Megumi furrows his brows and looks up at you. "You don't?"

Megumi stays with you all night. You two stay up until three am talking about insecurities, everything you admire about each other, and Megumi practically worships your body through words and praise

He decides he's going to help you feel more confident about your body and your looks

All while loving every inch of your body

The next morning was a mess though because he had to somehow sneak out of the girls' dorms without anyone noticing

Gojo would be pissed if he found out

Had he not orchestrated this whole thing

Seriously, you honestly thought Gojo made mistakes? 

He hates seeing his precious students down themselves, and even though he only knew you for a couple of days back then, he knew this would be a problem

Precious little y/n, who is beautiful in every aspect but insecure about their looks, surrounded by muscle-bound idiots

He had to do something, how could he not

He knew one of them would enjoy your body

He knew it would be Megumi too, he sees how he looks at plus-sized girls-

Even he thought you were cute and was proud to have you as his child

All of his children are cuter than everyone else's children

And now all is well

You became more confident in your body and eating in front of others, toned down the exercise, and Megumi became the most whipped boy in the school

Tags: @wasabito @kittaliapenn

[aetheternity]

I'll admit it's exciting (P2)

Synopsis: Being your professor's dirty little secret. His pet.. Sounded too good to refuse.

Warning: Smut in the later chapters! 18+ only

"He kissed me!"

"You know what they were wrong, 1,547th time is the charm." Eren picked up a new much rounder stone then the one he'd been holding previously. He quickly chucked the object getting about three and a half splashes before it went under.

"They who??" Sasha questioned

"They the people of society, Sasha." Mikasa replied

It was virtually impossible to remember any of the events of Friday. Ever since that kiss you'd basically lost a day of your life to your protruding thoughts. Now on a perfectly crisp Saturday like today you'd spent all day hanging out with Eren, Mikasa and Sasha as god intended. It was a ritual after all. The four of you coming down to the river together if you weren't all busy with homework and just discussing life events and skipping stones.

"It just came outta nowhere and it was so sudden!" You pout, resting your head on your knee.

"Just don't say it like that in court. You wouldn't want his little puppy to be homeless when he loses his job." Sasha patted your shoulder and you sent her a glare.

"I thought the puppy didn't live with him." Mikasa said, skipping a stone that went twice as far as Eren's to his own annoyance.

"Meanwhile that isn't the important part." Eren interjected "You have to take this to the higher ups you know."

"Please Eren, this is no time to think responsibly."

Mikasa giggled at the scrunched up look on Eren's face as she picked up a stone with both hands. One that was almost bigger than her torso.

"Mikasa, that one isn't going to skip." Eren said, trying to pry it from her grasp.

"Well, what do you want to do then?" Sasha questioned with an eyebrow raise.

"Huh?"

"I mean you clearly don't want to rat him out and you think he's hot so why not try to date him?"

"Cause she can't Sasha. It's against university policy." Eren replied turning away from Mikasa as she let the rock go. "And it's kinda gross."

When Mikasa chucked the rock in her arms the force was honestly intimidating. Surprisingly enough it managed to skip. Hitting the water once against the surface before sinking into the bright blue river.

"But I want to so baaaaadddd."

Eren rolled his eyes. "Well I mean if you go to the dean with that logic he'll probably allow it."

"Stupid sarcastic fuck.." You whispered with a huff.

"Mikasa, come on help me out here." Eren sighed turning to Mikasa who simply shrugged reaching for a new rock with one hand. "Thanks.." He mumbled

Sasha let out a loud sigh as she plopped down next to you. Scattering the rocks with her feet. "I'm hungry." She announced, resting her head on your shoulder.

Eren flipped the bag strapped to his back around digging in it for a couple seconds before tossing Sasha and you a sandwich and a bottle of lukewarm water.

"Yes!! You're amazing Eren!!" Sasha delighted

"Thanks.." You muttered, turning the baggie with the sandwich in it over in your hand.

Eren walked over plopping the bag between his legs and raising an arm to place over your shoulders.

"College is about new experiences." Mikasa said as she stood in front of you. "If you're not in a rush you'll find something to get excited over."

"Sleeping with a professor is a new experience that would excite anyone." Sasha said inbetween bites immediately getting flicked by Eren.

A mocking sob left your lips, interspersed with a couple snorts as you raised a hand up for Sasha that she instantly high fived.

~~~~

Somehow you'd managed to come to class on Tuesday and not hear a word of the lecture. Barely paying attention to your work as you read the same question over and over again and everytime he looked at you.... Dammit was he staring? Were you staring??

How could he sit there in that bright blue shirt? A shirt that matched his eyes so much so that they made their gorgeousness that much more enticing. You could feel your cheeks become pink as the memory of his lips drifting back like a curse. It made you grip your pen a little tighter, squeeze your thighs together a little-

"Hey.." You peeked up at the almost intimidating gaze he had set on you that had your heart racing. And wow your chest was definitely moving a lot faster. "The class ended." He muttered

Was he talking lower??

"Sorry.."

"Don't be."

He inched a little closer. The tip of his nose hovering just above the bridge of yours. His breath cold where it hit your skin. But then he was backing away.

"I promise you i'm not the kind of guy who preys on his students. I promise, seriously I.. normally don't but-"

"No-no.." You chuckled to break the tension. "No, I didn't think-don't think you would." It came off more as a question.

"I don't wanna make you uncomfortable." He sighed, leaning his head back where he stood. "I just had to do that at least once. It's not excusing it I know it's wrong and I won't ever do it again. I don't know what got into me."

Your eyes grew a little wider with every word that spilled off his lips. Fingers clutching the black pen in your grasp just a little harder.

"I said yes!" You announced a little too loud in the empty classroom. "I said yes.. when you asked."

"Y-yes, you did." His flushed cheeks made him effortlessly more adorable. Pink stretching over the bridge of his nose.

"I like you a lot already Mr. Arlert." You admitted staring deeply at each tile on the floor.

"Call me, Armin."

"Armin." You repeated

"It's still unprofessional."

"No one has to know."

He let out a loud exhale, pacing towards his desk before coming to stand in front of you. "I can't date you. I'll get in trouble."

"No one has to know."

He was standing directly in front of you. Arms on each side of you boxing your hips in. "It's still-"

You pecked his whispering lips in a moment of weakness. Arm falling over his back and trailing down the shirt you kinda wanted to rip off now.

"Wrong." He finished

"I won't tell." You giggled, pushing his gorgeous blonde locks away only for them to flop back over his once exposed forehead.

When he stepped back it caused your heartbeat to practically fly from your ribcage. The once quiet room being quickly bombarded with the next class and you hoped you didn't look as dazed and flushed as you felt. You leaned over the desk to grab your bag and just as soon Armin was standing beside you again.

"My office.." He whispered "It's on your syllabus, the room number and floor." And with those last words he was flooding out like a decapitated chicken.

Did he mean?? No he couldn't have?? Your brain wracked the second you'd left the crowding room.

He couldn't be suggesting?..

Without a second thought you ripped your bag open, wrenching your folder from the small compartment inside. With a quick flip it was open though a couple of your papers spilled out. You gripped the misplaced papers searching over the syllabus.

Downstairs.

For the first time since you'd seen it during your first college tour and started your first day you took the stairs. Bolting around and almost through passersby going in the opposite direction.

You didn't even know if he'd get there before you and at this speed he might not but you were trekking so quickly until you'd finally reached the door. Slowed to a walk as you turned the corner passing people carrying papers and flipping through thick binders as they walked.

You slowed even further, walking past a couple of desks some with people typingaway on computers and some completely empty. Your chest was pretty much ready to explode once you'd stopped at the last door at the end of the hall. Copy maker and small plant decorating the mostly empty space.

It only took two hesitant knocks for you to get pulled in. Gasping as your back hit the back of the door with a small yelp and the light thud of your skull.

His thumbs held your head in place as he dipped his face close to yours. Every bit of his breath tickling your lips. So warm where they teased you. You brought both hands up to curve over the back of his neck gripping his head almost tightly until he was pressing his lips onto yours with a roughness he hadn't exuded the first time.

"Mm.. what's that?" You giggled, pulling back.

His breath was so intoxicating and as much as you were begging for more your curiosity always won over other emotions. "What's what?" He replied

You pulled his hand back from your face immediately delighted in the smooth cold steel between your fingers as you held one of the rings cuddlinghis index finger.

"My rings." He replied, pressing back against your mouth with gentle hunger. "I don't like to wear them in class anymore cause the girls ask too many questions." He traced his lips past your cheek. And towards your outstreched chin giving it a little suck that made you whimper.

"Questions.." Your breathed in affirmation.

His teeth grazed the skin of your chin teasing exactly where he wanted to leave marks as he left more splayed kisses. "That and.. I don't like typing with them on."

His hands were back on your cheeks now. Grip a little looser against your face. His tongue drifted forward towards your lips. Breath catching a bit as he tasted you for the first time. A moan slipped from your open mouth, the sigh from his lips unbelievably pleasurable.

"Do you like them?" He whispered against your open lips.

"Mm?" You could barely muster.

His tongue crested over yours, pressing it further back into your mouth. You only had a second to press back before he'd retreated to pressing the tip of his tongue against the roof of your mouth. And then he was pushing his tongue back against yours pulling it forward and then pressing it back.

"My.. rings." He breathed between kisses. Right against your lips. Stealing your oxygen while barely reacting on his side. "You like them?.."

"Mmhm.."

He let out a little giggle, blonde hair a complicated mess against yours and his forehead. He pressed in as close as he could be with each sweet kiss. One. Two. Three.

"Let me take you out ok?"

When you didn't answer he pulled back ignoring your little whimper. Blue eyes blown and dark right in the middle as he stared into the depths of you.

"Wanna take you out." He almost slurred "Ok?"

"Mm ok.."

He rewarded your efforts to speak with a deep kiss. One that filled your chest while simultaneously causing your heat to combust. Your body smothered by his, grip tight where it grabbed onto the back of his shirt and neck. His own hand on your chin with just his thumb and index finger to guide you.

"Where do you wanna go?" His free hand moved to press against the door. "Where do you want me to take you?"

You pulled back, air lost on you and face seething with heat. "How do you expect me to answer when you just had your tongue down my throat?"

He shakes his head with a breathy chuckle that finally proves how the kiss has been effecting his own body. "Sorry. So?"

"I-I don't know.."

"Mm. My pick then, I promise I'll take you somewhere good."

~~~~

"Don't tell Eren.."

"Mm." Sasha replied

You'd gone straight to Sasha's room the second you'd left Armin's office and now you were laying on her floor while she scarfed down a pound cake next to you.

"I made out with him in his office.. and we planned a date.."

Sasha paused with a raised eyebrow. "What about Mikasa's whole find another reason to be invested in college thing?"

"Ok, I never said I'd do that."

She nodded, "Eren's gonna kill you.."

"No! Look the reason it's just me and you here and not Mikasa and Eren too is because I don't need his judgement!" You pouted, pulling your legs into your chest as Sasha took a new bite from her cake.

"How was he?"

"God his lips were so soft and breathtaking. I was suffocating in the best way."

"Tongue?"

"His tongue is the reason my thighs are shaking like this." You pulled back, resting the backs of your hands on the ground as your leg continued the uncontrollable shivering it'd been doing since you'd left Armin's office.

"Oh, well that explains one of my questions." Sasha said with a smile. "New question, how the hell do you plan on hiding this from Eren?"

"He's my friend not my dad I don't need to hide it or get his permission."

Sasha paused mid bite. "But.. you didn't invite him here to listen to your date plans??"

"Who's side are you on?"

"I believe the correct answer is yours!" She beams as you brush her hair back from her face with your fingers. She stuffs the last of the cake into her mouth as you continue, "I mean I'm not hiding it. I just wanna be happy in this and Eren will ruin it. People say you shouldn't tell your friends about things you know they'll ruin."

"Society?"

"Huh?" Sasha stared up at you from where she'd moved to relax her head in your lap. "Yeah sure Sasha society.."

Sasha hummed as you slowly combed her hair from its ponytail. "So where's the date anyway?"

"He hasn't told me yet but he said it'll be special."

~~~~

You hadn't properly talked to Armin since you'd both kissed in his office but he had your phone number. Not that he texted you much (to your own annoyance.) But on Friday he did. Told you to come outside at almost 12am with a quick apology text underneath with praying hands hoping he hadn't woken you.

You got dressed pretty casually. V neck t-shirt and jeans with your best looking pair of sneakers before heading down stairs where Armin stood in his own casual white tee (that accented his biceps.) And some standard looking black jeans.

"I thought about it for a little too long huh?" He smiled holding out a thin piece of cloth. "Just until we get there." He assured

You couldn't stop snickering with each step you took. Sparks racing up and down your spine as Armin held your waist.

"What's so funny?"

"Hmm.. I don't know I just figured I'd have to wait till at least the third date to be blindfolded."

He paused and you held your breath. "N-no it's not like that.. I normally don't do this but it has to be a surprise."

You laughed away his tension. "No no I figured." You would honestly give anything to see his face right now.

You could tell the terrain had changed as soon as you felt grass tickling the backs of your ankles and you reached out to him as the feeling of falling started to take you.

"It's ok. We're almost there."

You managed to grab his wrist and the breathy laugh on your neck made your skin practically spark.

"Don't worry I won't let you fall." He pressed a kiss to the shell of your ear and you were both gradually slowing until he'd stopped you.

He carefully untucked the blindfold making sure he didn't tangle your hair as he pulled it off your face. It slowly unraveled and tickled your skin revealing the cutest picnic set up. A small green blanket draped over the ground with tiny lanterns sprinkled around the spread and a basket right in the middle.

A container leaned against one side of the basket while another blanket rested on the other side. A folded white one with green stripes spreading over it.

"Come sit."

"This is so beautiful." You remarked, careful not to jostle the set up as you sat. "You should've told me I would've dressed nicer."

He shook his head, "The point of this was so you'd be your most normal self. So just be you ok." He held out a glass which you instantly took as he poured the liquid from the jug in his lap into your cup. "Sorry I didn't ask you what your favorite foods were.. I wanted it to be a surprise so I spent most of this week preparing."

"Armin.." You exhaled softly reaching out for his hand. He flinched away for just a second and then he was back, flipping his hand around for you to hold it.

"Let's lie down ok?"

"Mm."

"Unless you're really hungry." He offered looking at you as his head plopped back on the grass.

"No no I'm ok I promise. I ate not too long ago." You replied leaning your head back until it made contact with slightly dewy grass.

He hummed in affirmation, rubbing his thumbs over each of your knuckles individually. "Then all this food might have been too much." He chuckled

"I mean we can eat it sometime." You whispered rolling you head over to face him. He slowly did the same and it had quickly turned into a staring contest.

"I don't really feel like I should ask you about college." He started "I mean you must talk about it enough seeing as that's all people ever seem to ask about once you're there."

"Mmhm." You snickered

"Tell me something random."

You stared up in mock contemplation before a soft smile played at your lips. "Well, I'm really into my college professor.."

He laughed, "Not college related!"

"So I started dating this guy.."

"Ugggghhh!"

At this point you were both stuck in a small fit of giggles. Once he'd relaxed a little he threaded his fingers through yours squeezing both your hands impossibly tightly and then bringing the back of your hand up to his lips for a quick peck.

"You're wearing the rings." You said, turning your adjoined hands over and sliding your thumb over the one on his index finger.

"I couldn't help but remember, this girl likes them a lot."

"Where'd you originally get them anyway?"

He blinked not taking his eyes off your face slowly turning more serious. "Well.. I had this friend and she told me I had perfect fingers for rings so she got me these for my birthday."

"By friend you mean ex?"

He slowly nodded, "Hope that doesn't make them less pretty. I just couldn't get rid of them. Not because I still have feelings! Don't think that I just I really like them!"

You huffed hoping it came off playfully and not the way you felt you looked right now. "I've thought of something awesome to talk about."

"Mm?"

"What'd you wanna be when you grew up?" You smiled as he wrinkled his nose trying to prevent the very clear smile forming on his face.

"It's not that interesting.."

"Please don't say teacher. Please don't say teacher. Please don't say teacher." You beamed crossing your fingers on your free hand.

He playfully shoved you, "No! Close a surfer dude!"

You blinked in confusion bringing your cup up to your lips and taking a sip before repositioning yourself to be up on one elbow. "Huh??"

"You asked." He replied mimicking your actions.

"I did.. why did I do that again?"

He scoffed, "Gonna listen to my reason?"

"I'm here right?"

"When I was younger my mom used to love the beach. She had little ships in a bottle on her dresser, multi colored towels in the bathroom and a surfboard necklace with her initials engraved on it. When I was five she took me surf boarding for the first time." Armin reached into the basket holding out a loaf of bread which you cautiously bit off of.

"I was terrified, I cried so much and I fell over and scraped my knee. I fell over so much that day I'm still surprised she didn't give up on me. I didn't get it down that day or at all till I was eight and I rode my first wave and then crashed and had to be rescued by her. But by then I was able to laugh even while I was coughing up water."

He slowly pressed the bread to your lips once more as he let out a slow breath. "Once I hit ten her and my father had passed away in a plane crash and I vowed to be a surfer partially because of her. But I couldn't pick it up again after, no matter how easy I thought it would be."

You chewed through the new bite you'd taken. "Oh Armin, I'm sorry."

He shook his head, "It happened so long ago. And from then on I was raised by my grandparents so the story has a happy ending."

"In a way.." You muttered laying back on the grass.

"Sorry.." He sighed, placing the bread on a napkin by you and laying back down. "I shouldn't have told that story, it always makes people sad for me."

"No no, I'm not sad for you I'm glad your mom's life is a happy memory for you. Enough so that you can laugh while saying you wanted to be a surfer dude." You giggled

"Yeah yeah I know."

"It's not a bad thing."

"No I know."

"It's just-" You continued to laugh, holding your stomach. "I'm sorry it's just.. it's not surfer.. it's surfer dude." You cackled

"Well technically my dad suggested I say lifeguard so that was my true calling." You exhaled with a sigh, laughter slowly dissolving into the night air. "Cold?" He offered you the blanket and you quickly draped it over his shoulders too squeezing him in closer despite the objects between you both.

A comfortable silence slowly drifted in and you could swear in the distance you heard a soft hoot. Definitely ridiculous assumptions but you looked over at him.

"I just wanna stay here." You squeezed his hand under the blanket.

"Me too."

You looked back up at the night sky. "What if we slept here."

"We can't."

"Yeah.. I know."

A new silence fell over the two of you for a couple seconds and you could hear the sound of Armin's breathing slowing. "The stars are gorgeous tonight.." You mutter looking over at him. His eyelids shut for just a minute before he turned his head, cheeks immediately flushing pink as his droopy gaze fell over your face.

"Yeah.. yeah they are."

[kythed]

Hi luv:) just found your blog, you are an amazing writer! I was wondering if I could request a fem reader (kuroo’s crush) x kuroo (readers crush) where the reader is rlly good at giving massages and he finds this out when his hand is rlly sore and they start massaging it for him eventually rubbing his shoulders and he’s just like 💖Could you add him just being a teasing lil sh!t, and making the reader all flustered by like fake moan a lot (tho not all of them r actually fake:o)

a/n: hi there! tysm for requesting bby <3 you didn’t specify if you wanted this in headcanon form or as an actual fic, so I just went ahead and wrote a oneshot! I hope it lives up to your expectations :)

my little masseuse

kuroo tetsurou x reader

word count: 1,132

--

Kuroo plopped down next to you, carelessly tossing a big bag of bread from the canteen on your desk. You looked up from your phone and raised an eyebrow. “You carb loading or something?”

Kuroo feigned offense, pressing a hand to his chest dramatically. “Are you calling me fat, (y/n)?”

“That’s not what I said,” you soothed. Kuroo cracked a smile briefly before your next words. “But now that you mention it…”

The smile dropped off his face as quickly as it had appeared and he snatched the bag off the table. “How rude. I actually bought extra today so I could offer you a curry bun or two, but now I’m not so sure.”

“Wait, hey, hey,” you said, trying to reach over Kuroo’s arm for the bag. “I didn’t mean it. Curry bun please.”

“Mmm,” Kuroo pretended to mull this over for a moment before laughing and tossing you a few of the packaged buns. You ripped into them eagerly, having forgotten your lunch at home that morning. “Only because you’re my favorite girl.”

Mouth full of bread, you felt your face grow warm and hoped the blush didn’t show too badly. It’s not like you tried to keep your huge crush on Kuroo a secret, but… you kind of hoped he didn’t catch on. You two had such a great friendship going, and you were hesitant to throw it all away over some silly schoolgirl crush. Plus, there was no way he liked you back. He was athletic, charismatic, popular, and you… well, you were just you. “I am not your favorite girl. Quit lying.”

“I speak the truth,” Kuroo insisted, and you rolled your eyes before he set another packaged bun in front of you. “Also, d’you think you could open this for me? I’ve had this awful cramp in my right hand all day. Hardly been able to write.”

You furrowed your brow as you neatly opened the package and set it in front of Kuroo, who thanked you and took a huge bite. “Why’s that?”

“I dunno,” he said around a mouthful. You motioned for him to swallow before he continued. “Maybe I slept on it weird? Too much note taking?”

“Too much volleyball, maybe?” you suggested. That’s about all he ever did these days. Volleyball practice, volleyball games, volleyball volleyball volleyball. You couldn’t count the number of hours you’d spent huddled on Kuroo’s couch watching some pro volleyball game with him while he analyzed each play and provided excessively loud and enthusiastic commentary the entire time. You figured you’d probably hate volleyball by now if it wasn’t for that adorable gleam in Kuroo’s eyes whenever he talked about it.

“No such thing,” he scoffed, shoving the rest of the bun into his mouth.

“Mhm,” you said. Then you held out your palm. “Give me your hand.”

“What, are we playing thumb war or something?” Kuroo stared at you suspiciously.

You sighed and gave him a look. “Just do it.”

Kuroo shrugged and gingerly placed his large hand in your small one. He had long, slender fingers with calloused palms and fingertips, the result of years of bumping and spiking and lifting. You began to gently rub small circles across his palm, trying to feel for knots. “Where does it hurt exactly?”

“Uh, a little bit to the left, yeah, like right-- ohhhh,” Kuroo sighed deeply, relaxing his hand as you dug your dexterous little fingers into it. “That feels good…”

You continued massaging, a small smile growing on your face as Kuroo closed his eyes and hummed in contentment. “Is it getting any looser?”

“Much looser,” said Kuroo, rolling his head back with a lazy smile. “Mmmm.”

“Kuroo Tetsurou,” you said, eyebrow cocked, still massaging. “Was that a moan?”

“Maybe,” he said with an impish grin. With his other hand, he brushed his bangs out of his face. “What can I say? I got a pretty girl to look at and a world class masseuse all in one.”

“If you’re getting this turned on over a simple hand massage I’d be scared to know what you’re like when you really get going,” you joked, trying to cover the tremble in your voice. He’d called you pretty in a joking way before, but somehow it seemed different while the two of you were sitting in such close proximity, basically holding hands.

“You’d love to see me when I’m all hot and ready to go,” Kuroo said as you finished the massage. You snorted and rolled your eyes with a small smile. He flexed his fingers experimentally. “Wow, you really are good at this, (y/n). Do you think you could get my shoulders, too?”

“Oh, uh, sure,” you said, moving to stand behind Kuroo. You began working into his shoulders. He certainly had plenty of knots, probably from bending over a desk all day and practicing serves and spikes all afternoon. You also couldn’t help but notice the rolling muscles in his back as you kneaded them. Your heartbeat got a little faster and your cheeks grew a little warmer. You were trying to focus your attention on simply massaging the knots out, but Kuroo’s impressive physique and suggestive comments made it a little difficult.

“You know, I have good hands too,” he said conversationally. “Nimble fingers.”

“Oh?” you said, humoring him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, I could make you feel good, too, (y/n),” he said, adopting a rather suggestive tone. You almost choked on air and dug into Kuroo’s shoulders a little harder than you meant to. He yelped.

“Sorry,” you said, apologetically rubbing the spot you’d tweaked earlier. “You mean you’d give me a massage too?”

“Sure, I could do that,” Kuroo said, leaning back into your chest a little. “Or I could-- ahhhh.”

Kuroo melted into your touch as you rubbed a particularly tight spot at the base of his neck.

“Stop making those noises,” you complained, giving his shoulders a final squeeze. “And stop flirting.”

You sat back down at your seat with a huff, adding under your breath, “Especially if you don’t really mean it.”

“Who said I don’t?” Kuroo raised an eyebrow, stretching his arms high above his head. You flushed and stared at him, struggling to find words. “For your future reference-- I always mean exactly what I say.”

The bell signaling the end of lunch rang, and Kuroo rose to return to his own desk, but not without giving you an overly dramatic stage wink first.

“Don’t you dare wink at me!” you scolded, but he just laughed and sauntered over to his seat by the window. You slumped over on your desk and buried your face in your arms, hoping to hide the pink dusting your cheeks. That Kuroo Tetsurou was going to be the death of you.

[nelllraiser]

those magic changes | eddie & nell

TIMING: before nell was yoinked into the hellscape. LOCATION: gallows grove. PARTIES:  @specterchasing & @nelllraiser. SUMMARY: eddie and nell have some much needed post-highschool catching up while a spawn tries to catch them up. CONTAINS: sucidal ideation (eddie’s general disregard for his life).

The Bend, also known as the bad part of town, also known as Eddie’s favorite part of town, looked particularly derelict the day he and Nell decided to meet up. The sun hung low overhead, threatening to swap places with the moon at any moment. Meanwhile, within the depths of the sewers, an especially hungry vampire awaited the transition with rapidly diminishing patience. His sire botched his shot at immortality, making him a mindless spawn but, what he lacked in brains, he made up for in brutality.

Eddie parked outside a stretch of abandoned homes only a few blocks away from the spawn’s location. He took a sweeping glance at his surroundings, but there was no one in sight. His hand slipped into his back pocket and retrieved his phone before texting Nell in search of an update.

[Text to Nellspawn]: It’s 7:46 and we agreed on meeting at 7:45.

[Text to Nellspawn]: If you hate me, say it to my face, coward. ):

Nell crept up to Eddie’s car like a cat, making not a single sound as she ducked below the side of it- for once grateful that she was shorter than was ideal. Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and she smirked as she read the illuminated words on the screen. In the blink of an eye she was jumping from her hiding spot into Eddie’s window, slamming the screen of her phone against the driver’s side window of Eddie’s car as she yelled out. “I got your text!” Hopefully he’d at least jump a little. Or maybe she’d be so lucky as to get a small little scream that she could mock him for. 

Out of nowhere, Nell popped into Eddie’s peripheral vision and his heart leapt into his throat. He jumped in his seat, clutching his chest with wide eyes. “Holy fucking shit,” he breathed. As he gradually calmed down, his expression of terror turned into one of utter disdain. Eddie rolled down the window, glaring up at Nell. “Hey, could you do me a favor and stand in front of my car for a second?” he asked. “I promise I’ll make it quick.”

Nell practically cackled as she watched the fear very possibly shave a few years off Eddie’s life, sticking her tongue out at him through the window. “Surprise! I could tell you’re really happy to see me. I don’t think I’ve seen anyone look like that since the time I saw a toddler witnessing their first boggart going in on the peanut butter aisle of the grocery store.” Just in case he didn’t pick up on what she was insinuating, she made sure to rub it in. “Get it? I’m comparing you to a toddler. A small child.” Rolling her eyes she took a step back from the car door, giving him room should he choose to open it. “As if your car would stand a chance against me. I’m made of steel.” For a moment she flexed her arms in the classic pose, though you couldn’t begin to see anything past the looser sleeves of her jacket. There was simply something about seeing Eddie that made her feel as if she were as careless as the day she’d left White Crest. As if all the terrible things since then hadn’t come to pass. He was clean- a slate that wasn’t marred by being present for any of the atrocities of the past year or so.

Eddie willed himself to continue glaring at her, but the truth was that it felt good to hear her laugh again. Like most, Eddie viewed high school as hell on earth, but drama class with Nell gave him a sliver of hope to hold onto each day. “You’re three feet tall, you don’t get to call me a toddler.�� Eddie rolled the window up and stepped out of the car. “It might take a few tries, but you know what they say about wills and ways,” he said, finally giving in to the urge to grin. He couldn’t remember the last time he saw her—graduation, maybe. Those years were more blurs than memories at this point. “Fuck it,” he said before taking a step closer and pulling her into a hug.

“I am not!” Nell stomped petulantly against the ground, not entirely helping her case. “I’m just saying if the toddler stroller fits you- who am I to argue?” Nevertheless her own grin was still bright on her lips, feeling lighter by the second the faster she and Eddie fell into old ways. It’d been..shit- it’d been almost six years, but it felt all too easy to pick up where they’d left off. “Yeah- they say Penelope Vural has the strongest will and the best ways, and no car’s ever gonna stop her.” Her laugh was lighter, less sharp as he stepped forward for a hug, and she embraced him back without hesitation. “I can’t believe you’ve gone soft on me, Carridine,” she teased before her gaze flickered over his shoulder to the nearby cemetery. “So you’re still stupidly bent on getting yourself snacked on in there?” One of the things that she and Eddie unfortunately had in common was that they were nearly impossible to sway once they’d made up their minds to do something idiotic. And she wasn’t keen to watch while White Crest swallowed up the friend she’d only just reunited with.

She hadn’t changed, not from what he’d seen so far. It felt like stepping out of a time machine and reliving a period in his life when the most pressing issues he faced revolved around timed tests and peer pressure. “It’s your fault for leaving me, Vural,” Eddie replied, giving her a tight squeeze before stepping back and shoving his hands into his jacket’s pockets. “It’s not stupid if you film it, then it’s art,” he said as he backed up a few steps closer to the rear door of his car. He turned on his heels and pulled the hand before ducking in to grab his filming equipment. “Besides, we might not even run into anything worthwhile,” he said with a shrug as he pulled the bag’s strap onto his shoulder.

The physical scars Nell had gained since seeing Eddie were tucked away under layers of clothing, always prone to the cold. Thankfully it seemed the scars on her soul had seen fit to fade into the background for the moment being as well, leaving her to freely bask in the warmth of Eddie’s company. “Don’t tell me you’re thinking about going to cry in a Subway again,” she joked dryly, folding her arms over her chest. “I’m pretty sure that makes it more stupid, actually.” If this had been six years ago she most likely would have been all for diving headlong into a cemetery, and she’d still do that if it was only her going in. But there was another life at stake here as well, and it wasn’t one she was willing to risk. “Yeah- we’ll see.” She was too jaded at this point to feel optimistic about not running into something lurking in the cemetery, already knowing vampires loved to lurk in their shadows. She’d brought a stake just in case, more than ready for if things went south.

“Don’t knock it ‘till you try it,” Eddie advised in response to her comment about shedding tears in sandwich shops. His hand raised and mimicked a flapping jaw at her next comment. Whether or not his plans were stupid, it wouldn’t stop him. His already poor decision-making continued to deteriorate with each passing day. He told Bex he would be careful but, as much as he didn’t want to disappoint her, he didn’t know the first thing about showing caution. And, frankly, he showed no interest in learning. Eddie’s outlook on life made being alive out to be more of a chore than a priceless gift. 

“You wanna do an intro for the channel?” he asked, digging out his camera. “Or did you somehow become the type of person who values anonymity?” Eddie’s brow raised at Nell as he walked passed her en route to the cemetery. 

“No- I don’t think I’ll be trying it, thanks. I would, but it makes it a little hard since I have something called dignity. Don’t worry, I wouldn’t expect you to be familiar with the concept. I will keep knocking it, though,” Nell teased, that same playful glint still making a home in her eyes. “Wow!” The word was stretched out as long as she could make it last, offense plain to see in the way her eyebrows had raised towards her hairline. “I can’t believe you just admitted you don’t watch any of the TikToks I make for the newspaper. You think I’d be doing that if I valued anonymity?” She still wasn’t sure how she’d managed to land the job, reveling in the pay and benefits for the minimal amount of work she did.

“You’d be lucky to have me in your intro!” In another moment she was parroting the old intro she’d seen on his channel the times she’d tuned in, letting the words fall none too sweetly as she poked fun at him. She was pretty sure the camera wasn’t even out yet- but that didn’t have her hesitating.

“Dignity,” Eddie mused, sounding as if he were trying to dredge up the definition from deep within his memory banks. “You’re right, I’m drawing a blank. Is dignity the reason you got drunk at Hayden Dane’s house party and asked everyone for soap to appease the bathroom demon? Yeah, I don’t think I have that.” He shrugged all the way up to his ears. It didn’t occur to him that a demon actually did take up roost in Hayden’s bathroom, explaining why his house burned down two days later. Eddie knew a lot about ghosts and decidedly less about infernal imps.  

“There’s a pretty big difference between newspaper TikToks and showing your face on a YouTube channel exposing White Crest’s supernatural underbelly,” he replied with a glance. “Most people don’t want to be associated with it. I actually watch your content all the time. It’s… kind of how I learned you were back in town and had been for a while.” A year of radio silence. No point acting like it didn’t sting a little.

At the sound of Nell repeating his old intro back at him, Eddie clutched his chest in despair. “No,” he whined, turning to face her again. “Let it stay dead, Nell. I’m not that person anymore.” The camera in his hand raised in her direction. “Here’s your chance at YouTube fame. If you embarrass me, I’ll get your house haunted.”

Nell rolled her eyes fondly at the memory of the little Bannik that she’d found in Hayden’s bathroom, having been utterly thrilled to stumble across a demon in her drunken state. It had been in the midst of her beginning to acquaint herself with the demon species and portals— so of course she’d been all too eager to find some soap for the little creature. “You’re lucky I was there to appease the bathroom demon. You all would have been long gone if it wasn’t for my quick thinking.” Were Banniks actually all that dangerous? Absolutely not. But Eddie didn’t need to know that. 

“Mhm- White Crest’s supernatural underbelly,” she repeated dryly, still not all that pleased that Eddie had made it his life’s mission to single handedly crack open supernatural secrecy. “You know that’s a great way to get people killed, right? What you’re doing with your videos and stuff?” 

Stepping through the threshold of the cemetery, Nell’s mouth was already propped open to give her next quip of a reply when a chill ran down her spine. Whether it was the product of being attacked from the shadows one too many times, or an actual premonition- she was suddenly quiet. She began to scan the tombstones with a sharp eye, as if something might be lurking behind them. Then...a low snarling sound, and Nell realized she’d been right to have come as Eddie’s personal bodyguard. “Shut up,” she hissed, already trying to pinpoint where the sound was coming from, a hand slipping one of her hidden stakes from its hiding place.

Eddie eyed Nell skeptically. “Uh-huh,” he uttered. The likelihood of Nell being right about the soap-loving fiend was actually pretty high, but Eddie didn’t care to admit that. He much preferred giving her a hard time, and the feeling seemed mutual enough to dissuade any guilt.

“You know what else is a great way to get people killed? Keeping them ignorant,” Eddie retaliated without missing a beat. “So long as I try to avoid outing individuals, I’m pretty sure I’m in the clear.” This was an argument he knew well, the beginning of it anyway. People didn’t usually bother trying to correct him once they knew how firmly he stood his ground. They saw him as a lost cause, he saw them as uninformed.

Nell seemed on-edge, which Eddie didn’t understand. As much time as he spent in graveyards, he never developed a sixth sense for danger. Mostly, out of lack of interest. “Yeah, that’s a great intro,” he deadpanned. The sight of a stake made him lower his camera. “What are you doing? Now’s not the time to showcase your Buffy cosplay.” He didn’t hear the growl over his own voice.

Nell had never backed down from a fight, argument, or otherwise in her entire life, her stubbornness and determination matching Eddie’s in a way that hadn’t been fully explored quite yet. After all, they’d agreed on most things in highschool, but as was often the case with the supernatural— things got far more complicated when it entered the picture, and relationships were no exception. So she was more than ready to fire back a retort before another growl pierced the night air, and she shushed Eddie once again. “I said shu-” But her words didn’t meet and end as the spawn finally leapt from the shadows taking advantage of her momentary distraction to begin its attack.

Rolling in a smooth and practiced maneuver, Nell clutched the stake like a lifeline in her hand staying low to the ground as she readied her magic should she need it. “Don’t move,” she gave Eddie another command as she tried to draw a large circle around the spawn with her footsteps. But the thing had taken one look at the stake in her hand and decided to go for the easier target. In the blink of an eye, the spawn had shifted course, turning towards Eddie with bloodlust in its eyes. 

Eddie let out a startled laugh at the sight of the vampire, his usual reaction to imminent danger. He instinctively raised the camera as Nell momentarily outsmarted the beast. Asking her where she learned a maneuver like that would have to wait.

“Gonna have to deliberately disobey that order,” Eddie said once the spawn locked onto him. A familiar surge of adrenaline flooded his system and Eddie jouked to the right, an outstretched hand commanding a small cross to fly from a nearby grave into his grip. He was lacking in the faith department, but desperate times called for desperate measures. “Fuck off, fuck off, fuck off,” he chanted as he waved it in the spawn’s direction.

The raising of his camera wasn’t lost on Nell, and she shook her head in disbelief as the spawn tore after Eddie. Really? Even now Eddie was trying to get a shot? “You can’t upload a video if you die, dumbass!” Nell yelled, already hot on the spawn’s trail while it flew after Eddie like a bat out of hell. Which...wasn’t actually all that terrible a description of the lesser vampire when Nell thought about it. At least her friend had enough sense to arm himself with some religious memorabilia, though the spawn had yet to spot it while being far too intent on having its next meal.

The creature was faster than Nell could have ever been without a hunter gene or otherwise, but thankfully she had her own tricks up her sleeve. Casting one of her oft-used spells when it came to fighting, her speed was instantly buffed, and she became a blur even quicker than the spawn. The burst was enough to get her on top of the spawn and send herself barreling into the side of it, trying to find purchase with her stake. She was by no means all that large of a projectile standing at only 5’2 and having a slight build, but the momentum she’d gathered was enough to shoot the spawn off its path. The spawn was quick to recover, snapping at the hand that held her wooden point and clamping its jaws down on her wrist. With a curse falling from her lips, the weapon was forced out of her hand. 

“What the fuck?” Eddie exclaimed when a Nell-sized blur collided with the vampire. Questions piled up, giving him a reason to outlast the encounter. The spawn recalibrated with deadly quickness, and blood subsequently flowed from Nell’s wrist. As much as Eddie liked to pretend situations like this fit his laissez faire narrative, he couldn’t stand idly by while someone he cared about bled for his mistakes.

His camera hit the ground while his feet carried him to Nell’s side. With little regard for his own wellbeing, Eddie pressed the cross to the side of the spawn’s head. It sizzled against the wrinkled skin, sending the creature reeling backwards with a shriek.

“You dropped this,” Eddie said breathlessly as he floated the stake to Nell’s uninjured hand, hoping she would take hold of it. He stayed next to her, holding out the cross to hopefully keep the beast at bay long enough for Nell to plan out her next move. But it looked hungry and Eddie couldn’t imagine it had much patience.

Nell grimaced while she did her best to ignore the injured wrist, giving Eddie a grateful nod as she caught the stake he’d floated in her direction. She couldn’t deny that she was enthralled by the encounter with the spawn, and she would have been enjoying herself even more if Eddie hadn’t been involved in the crossfire. Not for the first time, she felt like she was back in the Ring, fighting for her life and the winnings of those who’d bet on her. She couldn’t deny that she missed the rush of battling for her life, and the roar of the crowd. 

The cross move had been smart on Eddie’s part, and Nell supposed she should at least count herself lucky that he knew enough to know what had the ability to ward off vampires. “Just go-” she began to say, unwilling to risk Eddie’s life any further. She didn’t wait to see if he’d obeyed, once again rushing forward with a speed she shouldn’t have possessed. The stake in her good hand plunged forwards through the spawn’s chest, but her efforts were fruitless beyond making the creature even angrier. At the last second it’d darted to the side, shifting just enough for the point to miss its heart.

With a growl of frustration, Nell decided she was done with trying to hit a moving target. She kicked a leg into the air to hook it behind the thing’s head, using her momentum to swing herself up by the crook of her knee until she’d sat herself on the spawn’s shoulders, hands placed on either side of its head. “Just gotta bring the inside out,” she reminded herself as she gripped her magic tight. She could feel it’s sludge-like blood responding to her will as it’s head began to fill with more than it could hold. Pulling her hands from the creature’s head, she tugged on the blood she’d pooled, bursting the spawn’s head in an explosion of brains and viscera. With the remains of the spawn painting her front, she slipped from it’s twitching body, catching her breath while she looked to see where Eddie might have gone. 

Nell told him to go, but Eddie couldn’t look away, let alone move. She climbed the vampire with precision and put a bloody end to it. He went momentarily slack-jawed. “What the fuck?” he breathed, sounding like a broken record. Eddie trudged towards Nell, remembering a final obstacle stood between him and the answers he wanted so badly. He placed the cross in his back pocket, making a mental note to return it to its rightful grave before they left, and reached out for her injured wrist.

“Can I take a look at it?” he asked timidly, wanting to make up for the harm he caused her. “Or do you have some kind of spell for that, too?” He eyed her curiously, fine with either answer. If she had a handle on her blood loss, he would need to figure out a new way to make tonight up to her, but he could work with that. “I think the best I can do is a band-aid, anyway.” He offered her an apologetic shrug.

Nell fixed Eddie with a disapproving look the moment she realized he hadn’t actually moved an inch since she’d told him to leave. “You know- usually the best way not to get killed is to listen to me.” Mindlessly, she let him take her wrist, not entirely having expected him to ask for it, but offering it nonetheless. Her head tilted in amusement as he mentioned spells, realizing he’d already pegged what was going on. “You mean you’re not buying the whole- I just got really buff after highschool or something like that?” To be fair she had gained more muscle, but it was of a leaner make than anything a bodybuilder might have. 

“Well- it’s not really...a spell but-” As he eyed her wrist she willed the blood to clot where the skin had been broken, once again flexing her bloodkinesis as the wound scabbed over. “I can just do that for the most part. I never really learned a lot of healing.” She gave him a smile anyway, coming down from the high of the kill slowly but surely. “You can still put a band-aid on it though, if you want,” she teased, though thankful for his concern.

“Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?” Eddie replied flippantly. For Nell’s sake, he kept his indifference towards death light-hearted. Whichever way the wind blew, Eddie didn’t mind much. Either he lived another day, or he didn’t. In his opinion, both options seemed eerily similar. “We can play pretend, if you want, but I’d rather pick your brain about magic.” He knew another spellcaster, Bex, but she didn’t seem as advanced as Nell. “God, how did it take me this long to figure it out?”

Nell healed herself, in a sense, and Eddie’s eyes widened with delight. “So cool,” he said, catching her gaze again. “You don’t have to coddle me. I get it, you’re all tough and scary now. Way beyond band-aids.” As he spoke, he meandered back to the grave he’d stolen from and returned the cross with a quiet apology. Ghost or not, they deserved more respect than he’d given them. 

Returning to Nell, Eddie knew better than to think they’d walk back to his car without a good lecture. “I’m fully prepared to be scolded now, by the way. Hit me with your best shot.”

Eddie might have thought his jokes about dying were landing decently, but Nell’s face didn’t so much as twitch into a smile as he spoke the words. After the last year...after the last six years she knew that death wasn’t a joke. She supposed it made sense that Eddie would have a skewed vision of it as a medium, but that didn’t mean she had to encourage him. Maybe he’d feel differently if he’d watched someone he loved die, woken up covered in her blood with her headless body lying next to him on the ground. Shaking her head to dispel the dark memory, she simply sent him another stern glare. “No fun in dying, really.” She wasn’t going to entertain his frivolity when it came to his life. But magic was easier to talk about, and something that wasn’t tainted by her trauma. Her voice grew lighter again, curious to know what he himself was curious about. “Sure- what do you wanna know? Or how much do you know already? It probably just took you so long cause you couldn’t see around your giant hair,” she teased, leaning on an old laugh. 

Another little smile crossed her face while she watched his reaction to the magic, always thinking it endearing the reactions of those who were less acquainted with it. “Actually I’ve always been scary and tough, thank you very much,” she joked with a wrinkle of her nose— even though she’d gotten in more than her fair share of fights in highschool. 

Picking up his busted camera from the ground, Nell thumbed some dirt from it’s lens before taking a closer look, trying to figure out if a simple repair spell might have it back in working condition. He’d asked for a lecure, and she was left wondering when she’d become the kind of person who doled them out. “This isn’t a game, Eddie,” she began seriously. She should have known the levity of the start of the evening wouldn’t last. Not in a place like White Crest. “You can’t just waltz into supernatural infested areas without protection. And you shouldn’t be doing it in the first place.”

Nell didn’t laugh, but that was nothing new. Eddie understood that most people took death more seriously than he did, and he knew they had their reasons. On the other hand, their solemnity didn’t invalidate his indifference. He preferred not caring, it made life easier. The subject-change suited him just fine, however. “The conditioner I use doesn’t help either, eats at the brain cells, y’know,” he said, going along with her joke. “I’ll be honest, I don’t know much. Magic’s fascinating, but I’ve always been satisfied with the whole telekinesis thing, so I didn’t do much digging. So, feel free to talk to me like I’m an idiot, not that you need my encouragement,” he teased.

“Taking on a vampire is a little different than maiming Cindy S,” he playfully corrected her. Eddie knew Nell had never been a push-over, but this was groundbreaking as far as he was concerned.

As expected, she provided words of warning. He nodded along absently, his eyes fixed on the camera in her hands. If he kept up at this rate, he wouldn’t be filming for much longer, anyway. Lack of equipment meant lack of content. “And, why is that?” he asked curiously when she finished bending his ear. He figured he knew the reason, or at least the jist, but he wanted to give Nell the benefit of the doubt. Maybe, her reasoning wouldn’t be as boring as everyone else’s.

“We both know that’s a lie because you don’t have any brain cells to eat,” Nell commented dryly, wishing they could have stayed in the sun of their earlier conversation, the lightness of it having been reminiscent of simpler days. But these weren’t simpler days anymore, and apparently the spawn and whatever bullshit this town would toss out next hadn’t wanted her to forget that for more than the half an hour it’d taken for her and Eddie to get here and get into the cemetery. “You know telekinesis is basically just another form of magic,” Nell supplied, remembering saying something similar to Blanche. An ache of longing shot through her as she thought of her best friend, wishing they could be physically closer, but knowing that Whtie Crest had essentially sapped the flush from her friend’s cheeks, and the joy that was meant to color them. “It’s cool you can work with it though since not all mediums can.” She assumed he knew as much. “But magic…it’s built on a few core things...intention, will, focus…” She didn’t know if this was the best place for the conversation the more she looked around. For all they knew there could be another spawn lurking, or a fully fledged higher vampire who was thirsty. “We should talk about this somewhere else, though.” 

“Cindy S fucking deserved it,” Nell joked in reply, honestly having half forgotten the way she’d broken the snotty girl’s nose while in highschool until Eddie brought it up. “And she was already halfway to being a bloodsucker with the way she acted.” 

Nell’s annoyance grew as he seemed more preoccupied with the camera than herself. “You’re not even pretending to listen,” she accused, the displeasure plain in her voice. “Because you’re either gonna end up dead or have someone else end up dead or get hurt.” She waved her wrist as a reminder, not above using it in a moment like this. “And maybe you don’t mind being a ghost, but it’s not fucking fun for the people who care about you.”

Hearing Nell refer to something he possessed an innate knack for as ‘magic’ brought a grin to Eddie’s face, a grin that grew larger when she called attention to how rare of a gift it was. Telekinesis wore him out more often than not. Even now, he felt the dull throb of an oncoming headache making itself known. But, despite the pain and exhaustion, Nell’s opinion made him feel proud. “Yeah, it can be a little tricky,” he admitted, thinking back to Willow propelling him across her living room. “Right, right, totally. Time and place, I gotcha.” Eddie wouldn’t have minded loitering in the cemetery until daybreak, but Nell was the one recovering from a vampire bite.

“Yeah, well, all busting her face accomplished was convincing her parents to let her get a nose-job.” Eddie pursed his lips at the resurgence of long-ignored memories. Present day left a lot to be desired, but nothing could convince him to relive high school. 

Eddie opened his mouth to assure Nell he usually went on these adventures alone, but her next comment caused him to immediately slam his jaw shut. His brows knitted together as he considered her. He wanted to argue, to insist that no one cared about him enough for it to matter. He would’ve used her as an example, calling attention to how long it took her to reach out to him. If people cared so much, they would act like it, and he wouldn’t feel so alone. But, admitting to feeling that way would’ve made him sound pathetic.

“I’m not gonna die, don’t be so dramatic,” he said, turning away to start walking towards his car. “I’ll try to be more careful.” Eddie hoped she wouldn’t call his bluff. “Do you need a ride?” he asked over his shoulder, eager to change the subject.

“A new nose job, and the satisfaction of leaving me and my friend alone,” Nell jokingly corrected. Cindy had been one of the ones to make fun of Blanche and the way she seemingly spoke to herself at times when addressing a ghost. She wasn’t necessarily proud of the temper she’d had in highschool, and referring to it as past tense was most likely generous— but she liked to think she’d improved from the even more violent youth she’d been. Besides, she’d break someone’s nose for Blanche any day. 

“You don’t know that,” Nell rebutted instantly, still annoyed at how lightly Eddie seemed to be taking everything. “You know White Crest loves to eat people up and spit them out.” How many people had gone missing or been killed in their highschool class alone? Too fucking many. Perhaps she was leaning a little too hard on her personal feelings when it came to the matter, tired of watching people she cared about die, but if it made Eddie live another day she wasn’t opposed to tough love. “There’s a thousand and one things out there that could kill you, and you’re throwing yourself at all of them. I’m not being dramatic.”

After years of separation, Nell couldn’t tell if his words of being more careful were sincere or something he’d said to placate her, but she figured this was another conversation they shouldn’t have in the middle of the cemetery with beasts potentially lurking in the shadows. “I’m not done with you,” she clarified, not wanting him to think he’d gotten out of this. “But I’ve got my bike that I need to take home. Thanks for the offer, though.”

White Crest’s history didn’t bother Eddie. He coped with his surroundings by romanticizing how capricious the town was rather than fighting against the inevitable. When people questioned him, he often wondered what made them so certain they knew how he should live his life better than he did. Whatever it was had yet to be explained to him in understandable terms. He didn’t want to argue with Nell anymore.

“I said I’ll try to be more careful,” he reiterated.

Eddie stopped when Nell politely turned down his offer and turned to face her. It only felt right to pay proper attention to their goodbye. “Don’t mention it,” he deflected. “It was good seeing you again, Nell. Fingers crossed, next time will be a little cozier.”

[whumpiary]

content warning: violence/physical abuse, abuse of power, victim trying to justify violence, smoking, brief cancer mention, brief mention of suicidal ideation, brief mentions of eye and mouth injury

-

Tucker sits on the cooling box at the top of the Facility building centre and looks out at the city and hates it all. The sun’s just barely starting to set, glowing golden somewhere behind him, and the sunset, he supposes, would be pretty if he wasn’t halfway blinded by the way the light bouncing back off the skyscrapers and into his eyes.

It’s a hot night. Well, warm. Well, mild. It’s the wind that’s hot. He’d left his jacket at his desk, desperate for a break from his laptop and a smoke. He doesn’t often indulge anymore but he’s in a mood tonight. Wants something between his teeth. 

The air shifts around him but it’s hot and dry and uncomfortable and suffocating. That’s what it is. Fucking suffocating. 

This whole place is suffocating, if he’s being honest. He’s sick of it. He’s sick of treading water, biding his time, kissing ass. It makes him itch, it gets under skin, makes him want to scratch at the dead skin under his nails, to gouge his eyeballs out, to gouge someone else’s eyeballs out. To make them bleed. 

What he wants is canines in jugular. Blood on his tongue. A spine between his teeth.

What he has is a pack of Winnie Blues and a Zippo lighter. Flicking it on and off. On. And off. Not exactly the same as the annihilation he’s craving but maybe it’ll get him to Hell a lick faster.

He grinds out his smoke on a shitty little carving on the metal. Jagged lines etching out C H O O next to a slowly growing pile of cigarette butts. He lights another.

Corporate. That’s what it is. Fucking goddamn bloody shit-dick corporate. That’s why he’s like this. Stuck in fucking purgatory. He closes his eyes, blows out smoke.

Four more years, four more years, four more years. 

When he’s actually dealing with people and working on projects and getting shit done he doesn’t mind the waiting so much. But then they’d close a deal or open a new one and Jesus then there’s the paperwork. And the dick sucking. And when it isn’t dick sucking it’s dick measuring. And the meetings. Jesus Christ the fucking meetings. 

Joanne from HR sure didn’t seem to give a shit when the Facility was writing up contract guidelines to on-board indentured workers, or green lighting human lab rats,  but God forbid if Tucker breaches managerial policy.

He sighs. He never should have left what he had. It was dull and getting him precisely nowhere but at least shifting drugs you never saw the phrase as per my last email. 

When the door swings open behind him he doesn't have to turn to know who it is. Who the fuck else was gonna be up on the Building C rooftop at 8.42 on a Wednesday night.

“Hey, Fucker. Wasn’t sure you’d be up here.”

Who else, indeed. Did you need another little boost already, Ace? One lot wasn’t enough this week?

Tucker flicks his lighter, takes a drag. Doesn’t turn around. He can hear Cass approaching all the same. Swaying, swaggering steps. Cocky piece of shit. 

“Didn’t know you smoked,” Cass continues and Jesus there was that smarmy little lilt that made him sound so sure of himself. “That’s not a smart move, man. Pretty face like yours and you’re gonna lose it to face cancer?”

Tucker flicks ash on to the concrete, takes one last drag, blowing smoke out of the corner of his mouth. The fuck does the little shit think he’s talking to? Clearly they’ve gotten a little too cuddly lately. 

Ace drums on the cooling box as he walks closer, and Tucker stands, lip twitches in distaste as he stamps out the smoke. It would be a warning if the cocky piece of shit was bothering to pay attention.

“Haven’t you seen all the ads? You’re gonna get black teeth and shit,” Ace sighs, some approximation of a disappointed dad voice. “You know what they say, Tuck. Cancer kil-”

Cass isn’t expecting the blow so the backhand sets him spinning, gasping. His hand flies to his cheek, spit hurtling out of his mouth and landing on the ground, to the side, marbled through with blood. Must’ve bit his tongue. Cut his cheek on his teeth. Good. 

Cass is half-cowed over, hand hovering at his already swelling lip as he looks over at Tucker. He looks like a kid who got yelled at for something that wasn’t their fault. “What the fuck?”

Tucker pushes up the sleeves of his shirt, looking him over with a wolf’s hunger and like a good prey animal, Cass stands frozen. Tucker surges forward.

Cass’ hands fly up in front of his face to defend himself, with wild, furious, terrified eyes. Perfect. “I didn’t do anything!”

Like that matters. Like Tucker gives a single flying fuck.

His hands land on each of Ace’s shoulders as he serves him knee to the gut. Cass gasps, air knocked out of him, body belted off rhythm with its own tempo, leaving him breathless. It makes him fold in the middle, hands flying down to hug at his stomach and it's the opening the minder needs to clip him sideways across the temple.

Cass spins, reels, stumbles but stays upright, his hand flying out to catch his balance against a fall that doesn’t quite come. 

“What the fuck?” he gasps, shaking his head clear, righting himself with a little stagger. And it’s funny isn’t it? Ace’ll kick and spit at all hours but a hand flies at his face and he almost never swings back. Instead, he scrambles. He cowers. Defends. “I didn’t… I didn’t do anything.”

Tucker huffs out a breath, hot and dangerous. Something that could be close to a laugh if it wasn’t quite so twisted and bitter. If it wasn’t quite so hungry. Ravenous. He surges forward again.

Cass is ready for him this time — scrappy fighter used to scrappy fighting — but on the back foot, off balance. A sharp shove to his arms sends him stumbling, and a sharp kick to the gut sends him sprawling, landing hard on his back with a thump and a crack and no breath. 

Cass gapes, mouth open in a breathless oh as he tries to remember how to breathe, eyes opened so wide Tucker can see the white around the iris. Tucker watches from above. He circles. He savours.

Cass’ eyes flick around rapidly. He’s looking for saviour, for escape. He’ll find none here. Unless he finally commits to hurtling himself over the safety railing.

Cass finally gasps a breath in, finds Tucker’s eyes, wheezes out a desperate, panicked, “I didn’t… I didn’t… What did I do?” 

Tucker answers him with a kick to the stomach. Then another, then another. Cass curls in on himself, heaving air out in ragged gasps, practically hugging Tucker’s foot as it makes contact with his gut.

The minder doesn’t give him a chance to catch his breath. To reorient. He reaches down, hand snapping out quick, and tangles fingers through the long, ratty half-curls. Cass’ hands fly up, clawing at the grip as he’s dragged along the concrete with a strangled grunt. His feet push up, trying desperately to find purchase, to get a step in, to kick. All he succeeds in doing is making Tucker’s job easier, momentum doing half the work. 

He hurls Cass against the wall, a tiny little cry ripping out of him as shoulder, hip, side of head make contact with the brinks. He crumples, limbs folded at awkward angles. The little freak’s eyes are wide and lost as he slides down the wall, breath hitching in desperate little almost-sobs that choke in his throat.

“What did I… Jesus...” he pants and Tucker tilts his head to the side. Watching. Savouring. Cass has already made it to the ground but he’s still falling and falling and falling. “Please, Tucker, the fuck-” Tucker reaches for the front of his shirt and hauls him up.�� “The fuck did I do?”

Tucker hits him. Sharp back hand across the face. Cass cries out. He hits him again.

He hits him again and again and again and again and then he drops him to the concrete once more, kicking him as he lands. It’s as he’s reaching for him again, hauling him further upright so he can give that smug little face another sharp slap that Cass’ hands fly up again, eyes flying open and wide.

Except they don’t cover his face this time. Not really. His hands find Tucker’s arm, clutching and desperate, head shaking 

“Stop,” he gasps, breath rattling out of him as he finds Tucker’s face, eyes unfocussed, body staying. “Stop. Fuck. Stop.”

It could be a demand. And maybe in Cassius’ fucked up little head it is. Some grasping-at-straws attempt at finding even footing. But to Tucker it sounds like a beg. Like a plea. Like mercy.

Blood flows freely from Cass’ nose. The swelling in his lip is obvious, accompanied by a split at the very corner of his mouth. Blood vessels in the corner of his eye have burst, turning a patch of the white red and monstrous. He looks grotesque. Disgusting. As broken as he is for a change.

Tucker holds him there for a moment, looking him over. Drinking it in.

He could keep going. He could keep going and grind him to pulp.

But what fun was Ace unconscious in a hospital bed?

“Say thank you, Cassius.”

And Cass is shaking, glaring, panting. His breaths have a desperate, rattling sound that even Tucker can admit doesn’t sound right. His words are a mumble through split lip and bitten tongue. “Thank y.. Than-... Thank you.”

What fun was Ace unconscious in a hospital bed? No fun at all.

Tucker drops him like a puppet with cut strings and he falls to the ground with the last of his breath, the last of his energy, the last of Tucker’s fury. The minder takes a few steps back and watches Cass pull into himself, tuck in against the wall, dragging limbs, wheezing breath. Eyes flick up to him, wide and afraid. He doesn’t move.

Tucker smiles and exhales a satisfied sigh. “See you tomorrow, Ace.”

The wind whips hot around him as he turns to leave, but this time it actually cools the sweat down his spine, across his brow, along the bridge of his nose. There’s an ache in his knuckles, a pulling twinge in his shoulder where he threw it wrong but fuck he feels good. Looser. Un-wound. Fucked out.

He can hear Cass shifting behind him as he walks away. The scrape of clothing against concrete, the uneven rhythm of his gasps. Like paper tearing. Like gears grinding.

Tucker hears calls out from where he’s folded, voice croaked and raw. Waterlogged. “What did I do?” And then again, louder, when the ragged breaths give him enough oxygen to yell. “What the fuck did I do?”

Tucker doesn’t answer. Doesn’t look back. Just lets the rooftop door swing closed behind him. Just before it clicks shut he hears a sound on the wind, broken and betrayed and vulnerable. A croaking sob.

And God, if hearing that isn’t fucking delicious. Like sex in the afternoon. Enough of a treat that he’ll probably be able to make it through the rest of the paperwork.

[littlestarofthewest]

Gahd I love your kinky fics!! Pls can u do one with a younger femreader & arthur? Like they like each other but she's younger so he's hesitant to start but then just shows her how a man his age gets it done *wink wink* I'm not into the daddykink but I do like an age gap haha I know youve just done creampie (it was so daamn good!!) but pls pls creampie & dirty talk 🤤 how Javier opened her up....I can imagine Arthur loving that 😂 ps. Honestly best fics out there! ♥️ Thanks for the prompts again!

Thank you for all the love, dear

Also dedicating this to @emily-strange who had a very similar request (you two should talk xD). Sorry I kept you waiting for so long (since freaking December).

Title: Young Love | Word Count: 9352 | Rating: Explicit!!! (18+)

Pairing: Arthur Morgan & female reader | Tags: angst and fluff and smut

Arthur has no idea what it is that makes you so different. Back when he and John rescued you, you were just a young girl that needed help, and by now, he wishes he would still feel about you this way. 

For months, Arthur tried to treat you like Mary-Beth or Tilly, a young girl that could very well be his sister. It’s just that you make it so hard for him. You’re not naive and silly like some 19-year-olds Arthur met, and although you’re more on the shy side, you still have a way of teasing him with winks and smiles that shouldn’t affect him as much as they do.

In the beginning, Arthur fell headfirst into your trap. He rescued you, after all, so you tended to stick to him, and Arthur let you. You were easy to talk to, with a hunger for knowledge and a good sense of humor, not easily offended when he spoke out of tune. 

When it became clear that you would stay with the gang, Arthur and John taught you how to shoot, and you went on hunts with Charles. After a while, Hosea also allowed you to take part in little heists, Arthur always by your side to make sure you were safe. 

It started then that he began to see you in a different light. You were smart and cunning, using your innocence to lure people in. Men, in particular, are unable to withstand your shy smile, and Arthur found himself to be one of them.

It’s not that you used it against him, but whenever you asked something of him, there was no way for him to say no. Soon, Hosea found bigger jobs for the two of you, calling you a great team. You ended up on the road a lot, often just the two of you.

Arthur did his best to act respectively, but you seemed so comfortable around him that you sometimes didn’t care much about decency. He got to see more of your long legs and your cleavage than was good for him, and you had no trouble touching him or sleeping closeby when sharing a tent.

Slowly but surely, Arthur got more and more enticed by you, and it got so bad that he dreamt about you in ways that were anything but decent. Soon, those dreams and reality blurred together, and Arthur found himself staring at you at the worst of times, imagining all kinds of inappropriate things.

Today, Arthur would give anything to not be in camp. It’s your 20th birthday, and since it’s your first one since you’ve joined the gang, Dutch announced a little celebration. Arthur gave you his present, a new hunting knife, early in the morning, and ever since then, he tried to stay away from you.

Now, Arthur‘s sitting on a log farthest away from the fire, nursing a beer in his hand. The others are going to town with whiskey and rum, the alcohol taking its toll. Karen is sitting on Sean’s lap, the two of them the loudest but not the best at singing along to the songs Javier plays. 

Once in a while, Uncle chimes in with the banjo, causing some laughs. Soon, most of the gang is drunk enough to dance around the fire. John and Abigail do a surprisingly decent job, not arguing for a change, while Lenny tortures your feet.

Arthur can tell that you’re soldiering on, but while Lenny is kind and wicked smart, he’s still not the most skilled when it comes to dancing. When Hosea gets up from his seat, Arthur hopes that he might release you, and he actually claps Lenny’s shoulder.

“My dear boy, I fear you need some more practice before we can let you dance with the ladies.“

Everybody laughs, and you give Lenny an apologetic smile, but he just shrugs, not taking offense. Arthur’s sure Hosea will take over now, showing Lenny how to do a better job, but instead, he turns around.

“This lady deserves a decent birthday dance,“ Hosea says. "Arthur? Would you be so kind?“

All eyes dart to Arthur, and he wishes the ground would open up and swallow him whole. He loves Hosea with all his heart, but sometimes he would like to smack him. 

"Arthur can’t dance,“ Sean blurts out, saying out loud what everybody else must be thinking. 

Dutch laughs at the heartfelt announcement. "No see, there’s a big difference between not being able to do something and deliberately denying the world your gift.“

Arthur shakes his head, ready to disappoint both Hosea and Dutch, but then Hosea points at you. "Come on, you can’t say no to a birthday dance with this lovely young lady.“

That’s exactly the problem. You’re young, way too young for Arthur, and he can’t say no to you, not ever. Looking into your curious face, Arthur puts down the bottle and gets to his feet. Hosea pats his shoulder, and Dutch applauds as if they already watched a great show.

"Now watch and learn, gentlemen,“ he cheers.

Arthur does his best to ignore everybody else, his eyes focused on you. A tingling feeling rushes through his body the second he takes your hand, and he leads you away from the fire to have more room. Besides, it will be easier to talk to you without the others hearing what he says.

"I’ll have to put my hand on your back,“ Arthur warns you, wishing he could say something that would turn you away, but you just smile at him.

"It’s alright, Arthur,“ you say, amusement in your voice, "I know how dancing works.“

Arthur swallows hard when he puts his hand in place on the small of your back. You rest your hand on his shoulder, and just like so many times before, you have no problem with being near him. Taking a step forward, you close the gap between Arthur and you, and he feels like dying when your body presses warm against his own.

Counting in a whisper, Arthur tries to give you an idea when to start, and then you’re off. Although Arthur hasn’t danced in years, it all comes back to him now. Just like shooting a gun, it’s something you do without thinking. Lead by Arthur, you have no trouble following along, and some of the gang members even whistle and cheer.

By the time the song is over, Arthur has a hard time letting you go. Still pressed against him, your chest rises and falls with the exhausted breaths you take, your face flushed, and your hair a little looser and out of place from being swirled around. You look as if you and Arthur did something way more indecent than dancing, the picture searing itself into Arthur’s brain.

To make the torture complete, you smile at him as if he just hung the moon, going on tiptoes to press a kiss on his cheek. "Thank you, Arthur.”

There’s clapping from around the campfire before Dutch and Hosea take turns telling stories about heists where their dancing skills were essential. When Arthur is sure that nobody focuses on him anymore, he takes the chance to sneak away, heading into the nearby woods.

On the first day at the new campsite, Arthur found a hidden arch in between two big trees that leads to a small meadow. He leans against a tree with closed eyes, filling his lungs with fresh evening air, trying his best not to think about the dance. Of course, he ends up thinking just about that, and especially about how you looked afterward.

“Arthur?" 

Your voice draws Arthur out of his daydream. It’s not you in his imagination, but you’re really in front of him. "What?”

“I’m sorry,” you say in that timid voice you use when you think you did something wrong, “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“No, it’s alright.” Arthur pushes himself off of the tree. “Just didn’t think anybody knew of this place.”

“I found it a day after we made camp,” you say, twisting the fabric of your skirt with your fingers.

Arthur knows that it’s a habit of you that only shows when you’re nervous. He’s not used to seeing it when the two of you are alone.

“Is there something you need?” he asks, thinking that you might have some sort of problem.

“I wanted to ask you something,” you say, still fidgeting with your skirt. “I know you’ve already given me a great present, but there’s something else I wish for, and you’re the only one I want to ask for it.”

Arthur’s heart pounds faster. It’s as if you know that he won’t be able to say no, and since you’re asking him in the middle of the woods, it’s probably something more than just a request for more shooting lessons. Still, Arthur can’t help himself. It’s you, after all, so he has to ask. “What is it?”

“In Mary-Beth’s novels, people always have these great kisses, but all the boys I’ve met were just-” You don’t finish the sentence, but Arthur has been a 19-year-old boy himself. They often aren’t that great with romance and tenderness. 

You take a step towards Arthur, making his heart almost leap out of his chest. “I’m 20 years old now,” you continue with a sigh, looking up at him. “All I want is one real kiss. With a real man. Like you.”

Arthur can tell how hard it is for you to say this, your voice getting quieter with every word while the blood rushing through his veins becomes so loud that he can hardly hear you. Still, you manage to hold his gaze when he’s looking for words.

“Those are just books, ya know?” Arthur says.

It’s the wrong thing to say. You shrink like fruit in the hot sun, all hope draining from your face to be replaced by sadness. Arthur hates to see you like this, especially when he’s the reason for it. But what else can he say? It’s not his place to give you any kisses. The way he thinks about you is already shameful enough.

“You’re right,” you finally say, your voice near tears. “It’s stupid. I shouldn’t have asked.”

You turn around, and Arthur’s heart stands still. He failed you. After promising to protect you, he hurt you more than anybody else. And why? Because of stupid rules. It’s not like you’re asking for something terrible. Just a kiss. Just a favor from a friend.

“Wait,” Arthur says, the word barely more than a whisper.

You turn back around, and Arthur takes your hand, tugging just enough to have you come back to him. You look up to him, waiting for an explanation, but he knows he doesn’t have the words for this. Instead, Arthur cups your face with his hand, pulling you closer. 

He feels like he’s drowning in your eyes, unable to stop now, so he leans in to close the gap between you. Arthur can hear you taking a shaky breath, his own chest feeling like it’s about to burst. He’s never considered himself a great kisser, but he tries to be gentle with you, knowing all too well what novels you’ve been reading.

At first, your lips barely touch, Arthur still giving you a chance to stop. Instead, you lean into it. Arthur puts his hand onto the small of your back the same way he did during the dance, drawing you in before pressing another soft kiss to your lips. Your hands come to rest against his chest, sending waves of heat through his body.

Arthur knows that this should be it. You got your kiss after all, but something deep in his soul keeps him in place. It kept screaming and clawing at him for months, telling him how much he wanted to be with you. You mentioning other boys kissing you awakened a horrible ache in Arthur, raging like a fire that consumes him.

Despite telling himself over and over that he can’t be with you, Arthur longs to have so much more with you. The thought that someone could take you away is killing him, forcing him to hold on to you. 

Arthur teases your lip with his tongue, and you eagerly open up for him, giving him a sweet taste of what could be. His hand runs down from your face along your neck, touching soft, warm skin before it ventures deeper. Arthur caresses your side, his fingers trailing along the curve of your breast and down to your hip.

With his other hand moving down to the swell of your ass, Arthur pulls you even closer, deepening the kiss. Your hot tongue brushes against his own, the sensation so overwhelming that everything around the two of you blurs. 

Arthur gets lost in your kisses, the warmth of your body, your scent, and all the promises your body makes, pressed against him like a second skin. His fingers claw into the flesh on your hips as he rubs himself against you, lust tightening his pants.

You let out a soft moan, and from one second to the next, the world shifts back into focus. Searing pain shoots through Arthur’s body as if hit by lightning. This isn’t one of his fantasies where he’s allowed to be with you. It’s real, and it’s you. A girl who deserves so much better than him.

Arthur steps away from you in a hurry, his tone harsh as he barks at you. “Go back to camp!”

You take a step toward him, reaching out. “But Arthur-”

“Goddamn, girl! Go back to camp, right now!”

Arthur’s never thought that he’d be able to even raise his voice when talking to you, but now he shouts, making you freeze on the spot. You stare at him for a few seconds before you finally come to your senses. You turn around and rush through the trees, running from him like a startled deer.

With a growl, Arthur turns around, punching his fist against the nearest tree at full force. He’d hoped the pain would drive out the thoughts about you, but even with his knuckles bleeding, it’s not enough. Memories rush into his mind, of you looking at him, talking to him, touching him. 

Arthur remembers the dance with every detail, and even worse, the kiss you just shared. Usually, it’s a gift to see something and be able to draw it right from his memory, but now it becomes a curse. He’ll never forget the taste of your lips, the way you held on to him, how your body melted against his. In dark, lonely nights, he’ll remember that enticing sound you made when he pushed himself against you.

You didn’t shy away from his touches, and Arthur realizes with horror that you might have let him do even more. You asked him for a kiss, but that’s rarely where the stories end. Maybe, you would have wanted more. Maybe, you would have allowed him to have you, right then and there, on the forest floor.

With a grunt, Arthur frees himself from his pants, stroking his cock so hard that it’s more painful than pleasurable. The thoughts consume him, the memories of you so vivid as if you were still there. 

It doesn’t take Arthur long to reach his peak, his cock throbbing, hot spurs of come shooting against the bark of the tree in front of him. Tucking himself away, Arthur watches as it trickles down. Out of control as he is, he could have done such horrible things to you. 

Consumed by shame, Arthur walks back through the trees, a plan forming in his mind. If he wants to protect you, he can’t be near you until he’s ingrained it in himself that he can never have you. Arthur has to go - far away.

——– 

You have a hard time focusing on your work, looking up again and again to sneak a peek at Arthur across camp. If you keep going like that, the water will be ice cold until you’re done washing all the clothes, and Miss Grimshaw will have your head. Still, you can’t keep yourself from doing it, almost like you need to have your fill of Arthur before he disappears again. 

With a sigh, you remember the time after your kiss. In the morning, Arthur was gone, only Hosea knowing where he went. He didn’t come back for four weeks, and when he did, he avoided you at all costs. You barely got to see Arthur at all for about three months after that. He either was in his tent or out of camp altogether. 

Over the last month, Arthur stayed more often and didn’t leave the second you showed up. You at least got a “good morning” out of him every day, and once in a while, you had brief conversations about the weather or the latest successful jobs of the other gang members. 

You feel like it still might take quite some time before things could go back to normal, if at all. You don’t blame Arthur, though. You risked your friendship over a stupid crush, using his kindness to trick him into getting what you wanted. 

Of course, you should have known that Arthur didn’t feel the same way as you. To him, you must be nothing but a stupid little girl that needs constant supervision and help. You asked Arthur for a real kiss from a real man, ignoring that you didn’t even come close to being a real woman. 

After all this time, you still can’t forget how Arthur kissed you, giving you all that you wanted while you had nothing to offer in return. All you could do now is to apologize and beg Arthur for forgiveness. 

With another sigh, you go back to scrubbing the laundry. When you carry the basket with the wet clothes through camp to hang them up to dry, Hosea and Arthur walk past you. You give them a quick nod, keeping up appearances for Hosea’s sake. Arthur looks up, and it’s the first time that you get to hold eye contact with him for more than a second.

“Mylady,” he says, his voice soft.

The two men keep walking without pause, but you almost trip, your heart pounding. It’s been so long that Arthur had a kind word for you, but the familiar greeting brings you right back into the time before the kiss when everything was alright.

Your eyes fill with tears, and you do your best to quickly blink them away, but when you begin to hang up the clothes, Mary-Beth walks over to you.

“Are you alright?” she asks, leaning over to get a better look at your face.

“Sure,” you answer, focusing on the laundry.

From the corner of your eye, you can see Mary-Beth looking over to Arthur. “I didn’t mean to say anything. After all, it’s your business if you get along with Arthur, but this? If he makes you cry in the middle of camp, I’ll have a word with him. I mean it.”

You’ve never seen Mary-Beth talking so fiercely, and usually, she adores Arthur. That she would pick a fight with him over you makes your heart melt.

“It’s not him, it’s me,” you explain. “I did something foolish, and Arthur is right to be angry at me. I appreciate that you’re trying to help, but please don’t say anything to him.”

“But the crying,” Mary-Beth insists.

“Happy tears,” you say, giving her a big smile. “I think it’s going to be alright again.”

Mary-Beth looks back and forth between you and Arthur before pulling out a handkerchief and giving it to you. “Fine. But if there’s anything you need, please tell me.”

“I will. Thank you, Mary-Beth. You’re the best.”

She blushes a little and finally walks away, giving you another chance to look over to Arthur. You almost get caught when he and Hosea come your way.

“Can we have a word?” Hosea asks you with a smile, and you almost drop the shirt you’re holding.

You can’t believe that Arthur would tell Hosea about the kiss, but you can’t think of anything else they would want to talk about. “Sure,” you say, your fingers playing with the wet fabric in your hand while your heart pounds so hard that you wonder if they can hear it.

“I’ve got some information about a rich couple that moved from the city into a cabin up north. Really secluded, good spot if you know how to live off the land,” Hosea explains, giving you a chance to breathe again. It’s about a job. Nothing more.

“And they know how to do that?” you ask.

Hosea smiles. “Not from what I hear. I want Arthur and you to go up there and check it out. You might be able to charm them, offer your help. Maybe you can find out if they still got more riches left in the city.”

“Or we could just rob them,” Arthur says, his voice barely audible, but Hosea nudges his elbow into Arthur’s side.

“Don’t act like the brute, Arthur. We both know you’re much more than that.”

You know that to be true, but Arthur just grunts as if he doubts Hosea’s words. You wish you could tell him otherwise, but you don’t even dare to look at him.

Hosea takes a piece of paper out of his jacket and hands it to Arthur. “That’s the place.”

Arthur studies what looks like a hand-drawn map while rubbing his beard. “I say we head out right now. If we make camp when it gets dark, we should be able to reach the cabin tomorrow by noon.”

You wait for Hosea to answer, but when he stays silent, you look up to find the two men looking at you, and you realize Arthur’s talking to you, not Hosea.

“Oh, sure,” you hurry to say, “just let me finish up here, and I’ll get my things.”

“Great,” Hosea says, “glad to have the two of you on this. I was worried I’d have to send Bill.”

He winks at you and walks away, leaving you alone with Arthur. You rack your brain what to say, but Arthur beats you to it. “I was kinda planning on wearing that again.”

You stare at him, drowning in his eyes until he nods to your hands. You’ve been wringing the shirt between your fingers, only now seeing that it’s one of Arthur’s. “Oh, of course. I just-" 

You turn around on the spot, hastily going back to work. "I’ll meet you at the horses,” Arthur says behind you. His voice is warm, flowing down your back like a sweet caress. It tightens your chest how much you missed him talking to you. 

“I’ll be just a minute,” you manage to say, only able to catch your breath once you hear Arthur walking away.

After finishing the laundry, you pack what you’ll need for the trip and say goodbye to the other girls. Mary-Beth gives you a wary look when she hears that you’re riding out with Arthur, but you give her a big smile to reassure her that you’re alright.

Not that you are. On the one hand, you’re looking forward to working with Arthur again, and the trip might finally give you a chance to apologize, but on the other hand, you’re nervous as hell. It’s been so long since you’ve been alone with Arthur, and he might still be angry with you.

With your heart almost beating out of your chest, you walk over to Arthur. He already saddled up your horse, checking if everything is in place on his own mare. 

“Hey,” you say, trying to make him aware of you.

“You ready?” he asks, not looking up from what he’s doing. 

“Yes, I am,” you say, and when he stays silent, you feel the need to keep him engaged. “Where are we even going?”

Finally, Arthur looks at you before handing you the map Hosea gave him. When you reach for the paper, your fingers brush over Arthur’s skin. It’s warm and so weirdly familiar that this brief touch tightens your chest again while Arthur gets back to his work. 

You stare at the map, trying hard to level your breathing without Arthur noticing. Finally, Arthur pulls himself up on his horse. “Ready to go?” he asks, and you quickly climb onto your mare.

As you head out on the narrow path, you hold the map out to Arthur. He takes it back, his fingertips trailing over your skin this time. Arthur doesn’t react at all, but your body fills with heat, brought on by the memories that have been haunting you for months.

Your horse keeps pace with Arthur’s while your mind drifts off, remembering how everything started. At first, you were just thankful for Arthur saving you. Even in your short life, you had to learn that there were evil people in the world, especially men when faced with a young girl. Arthur was nothing like that. 

Despite his own claims to the contrary, you can’t bring yourself to think of him as bad. He might be robbing people, but he doesn’t lay a finger on them. Just like he always respected you. At first, you thought of him as a good friend, a little bitter or sarcastic at times, but also funny, kind, and awfully sweet if he wanted to be.

Your feelings for him changed one day when Arthur helped you down from one of the wagons when the gang was moving camp. He waved at you with outstretched arms before lifting you down. You held on to his broad shoulders while his large hands closed warm around your waist. He set you down on the ground and smiled, having your heart pounding like crazy.

Maybe you’ve read too many of Mary-Beth’s books, hoping for so much more than there was, but everything changed after this moment. You found yourself staring at Arthur at all times, and somehow he turned from a friend to a man. You were always aware of his body and his voice, your body reacting to him in ways that often took your breath away.

After a while, you found yourself wanting more, and when Hosea sent you on all these jobs together, you even tried to seduce Arthur. Not that you had much experience on how to do that, but usually, a little naked skin and closeness does the trick for most men. Arthur didn’t react at all, not even when sleeping with you in the same tent, making you want him even more.

And then there was your birthday. The dance put a final nail into your coffin. There was something about the way Arthur held you, how he effortlessly made you follow him, and twirled you around. You wanted for him to do more, to take you like those confident men who swept the women off their feet in the books. 

Arthur disappearing into the trees was a siren’s call to you, and when he walked to that secluded meadow, it seemed like fate. This could have been your fairytale, so you put up all your courage, offering yourself to him. You imagined it many times, but then Arthur kissed you in a way that was beyond your wildest dreams. You asked for a real kiss but never thought that it could be that good. 

Despite Arthur’s anger, you still can’t fully regret what you did. Now that Arthur showed you how he feels, you have to make your peace knowing that you’ll never be with him. But no matter if you die alone or find another man, you’ll at least have the memory of one perfect kiss.

“Are you hearing me?”

Arthur’s voice only slowly reaches your ears, stopping you from wallowing in your memories. “What?”

“Let’s head for the saloon over there. They might have rooms.”

You stare in the direction of his outstretched hand, your mind racing. You planned to apologize to Arthur once you made camp, in the silence of the night. You won’t have a chance for that in a noisy saloon. 

“But it’s still early,” you say. “We can make a few more miles until dusk.”

Arthur’s already steering his horse off the road. “We don’t have to. We already made more than half of the way. You’re better off with a real meal and a bed to sleep in.”

You bite your lip, hating that Arthur messes up your plan by looking out for you. It’s infuriating and sweet at the same time, the embodiment of Arthur. 

After hitching your horses outside, you venture into the saloon. For such a secluded place, it has quite the amount of customers, even more so considering the early hour. You walk to the bar with Arthur, where he orders two whiskeys, but before you’re able to drink, he suddenly taps your shoulder. “Excuse me for a second. I know these men over there.”

He walks over to a table where a bunch of rowdy fellers play poker, leaving you with a burning sensation where he touched you. You make up for it by downing one of the two glasses in one go, contemplating to drink the other, too. 

“Now, who would let a sweet girl like you drink alone?”

The high pitched voice behind you sends a shiver down your spine. You’ve had men talk to you like this many times, but it hasn’t happened since you’ve joined the gang. When you were out, you always had someone like Arthur or Charles with you who kept idiots at bay without even trying.

“I’m not alone,” you say, trying to spot Arthur, but you’re suddenly surrounded by four men.

The one who spoke to you before comes closer, putting an arm up on the bar to box you in. “I don’t see nobody.”

“My husband will be back any second,” you say, hating how weak your voice sounds.

The man gives you a wide grin, presenting his half-rotten teeth. “He’s not here now, missy. Only you and us.”

He trails his fingers over your hand, and you react without thinking. Using the element of surprise, you duck below his arm, sidestepping another guy before he can grab you. Basically flying through the room, you reach Arthur, immediately clinging to his arm. 

Both Arthur and the men at the table are staring at you in surprise, but nothing in this world could make you let go off Arthur now. “I missed you at the bar,” you say, trying to sound casual, but your voice is shaking a little.

Arthur takes a look at them, and his eyes narrow, a wild look appearing in them while you can see the muscles of his jaw clenching. He reaches into his pocket before turning back to the men at the table. “Anyway, I just wanted to pay back what I owe,” he says, handing a few dollars to one of the men, “no hard feelings, right?”

The man counts the money, a smile coming onto his face. “Of course, no hard feelings,” he says, sharing the money with the other men.

“Have a good day, gentlemen,” Arthur says, tipping his head. 

As Arthur turns, he pries your hand away from his arm, prompting you to protest, but then he puts his arm around you, his hand resting on your hip as you walk back to the bar. Arthur orders more drinks and keeps standing so close that you can feel his body against yours.

“So that’s your husband, missy?” the man with the high voice asks from the other end of the bar, letting your blood run cold. You forgot to mention that little detail to Arthur.

“Excuse me?” Arthur asks, an edge to his voice that you know. It never ends well for the person he’s talking to.

The man sneers at him. “I’m talking to her.”

“You don’t talk to my wife,” Arthur says, the words making you shiver. Then he steps in front of you, shielding you from view with his whole body.

The two men stare at each other in silence, and you know that something terrible is about to happen. The man moves his arm, there’s a loud bang, and then he falls backward, blood trickling down his forehead. All eyes are on him as he collides with the floor, his gun slipping out of his hand. 

Deep down, you seem to relive every lesson about shooting a gun that Arthur and John have given you. You step around Arthur, pulling his second gun out of its holster and pointing it right at the man’s face nearest to you. He stares down the barrel with wide eyes while Arthur trains his gun on one of the others. You know you’re outnumbered, but you won’t go down without a fight, and everybody in the saloon just saw that Arthur might be quicker than them.

The men look back and forth between you and Arthur, contemplating if they can take you. Before it can come to that, the poker players get to their feet, taking position behind you and Arthur. The man who took Arthur’s money rests his hand on his gun.

“The way I see it, your friend here was outta line. That’s really no way to talk to a married woman.” He looks around, and the other men in the saloon give small nods to agree with him. “I suggest you take him out of here and be on your way. We wanna play in peace, you understand?”

The men don’t move until Arthur slowly lowers his gun. You follow his lead, and the man in front of you steps back. They put their guns away to pick up the body and quickly make their way outside.

“Thank you,” Arthur says to the poker players, and the man who spoke just shrugs.

“Never liked those fellers anyway. You fancy a game?”

“No, we’ll better be on our way.”

“Suit yourself.”

The men go back to their game while Arthur puts his hand on your back, leading you outside. He unties the horses, constantly looking around. 

“Why are we going?” you say, your heart still pounding from what just happened. “Wouldn’t we be safer with these guys?”

“These guys are only friendly for a prize,” Arthur says. “And the men who left was O'Driscolls. I bet they’ll be back in numbers. We don’t want to be here when that happens.”

Arthur gets on his horse and holds out his hand to you. “Come on.”

“I have my own horse.”

“I won’t let you ride alone when those guys might come up behind us.”

Arthur just shot a guy because he didn’t like the way he talked to you. It’s probably useless to argue with him now. You take his hand, and he lifts you up with ease. “Hold on,” he says, and you happily reach around his waist, pressing yourself against his back.

Arthur spurs on his horse, quickly bringing it into a gallop, barely giving you time to whistle for your own horse to follow. You ride hard until the sun begins to go down. Arthur checks both sides of the road to find a good spot for camp, and you end up on a hilltop. A few large boulders shield you from view while the higher ground lets you see for miles in any direction. There’s no chance that anybody could sneak up on you here.

You get a fire going, and Arthur sets up a tent while you try to make a decent meal out of the provisions you brought along. When Arthur is done, he sits down on his bedroll, and you hand him a steaming bowl. 

“It’s not the decent meal you were talking about earlier,” you say, feeling guilty that Arthur’s plans got all messed up because of you.

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Arthur says, bringing the bowl closer to smell its content. “I remember the great meals you used to make on our last jobs.”

You almost joke about that being a wife’s job, but while Arthur backed up your lie in the saloon, he might not find it funny. Instead, you eat your food in silence. When Arthur’s finished, he takes out his journal and writes, leaving you to stare into the fire. Everything is so nice and peaceful, you’re not quite sure if you should apologize to Arthur at all. What if that only rips open old wounds?

Sneaking a look at Arthur, you can see the difference in how he moves his pencil. He’s no longer writing but draws something. You tell yourself that it’s none of your business, but you’ve always loved Arthur’s art, and you are one of the few people he sometimes shows it to. Hoping that this might be something you can talk about, you crawl over to Arthur.

“What are you drawing?”

Arthur puts the pages together for a moment, looking like he’s embarrassed, but then he opens the journal and hands it to you. The drawing shows a campfire with a woman sitting in front of it, staring into the flames. You.

“You’re so good at this,” you say, your eyes fixed on the page. 

“Good at something useless,” Arthur grunts.

You have to disagree. It’s still a mystery to you how someone can capture life and emotions with a pencil and paper. The woman in the drawing looks lost, though. You won’t be able to just forget what happened, you have to talk to Arthur.

Putting down the journal, you take a deep breath. “Arthur, I’m sorry.”

He studies your face for a long moment, deep in thought. “Sorry for what?”

“The kiss,” you blurt out before you lose your courage. “You’ve always been such a good friend, and I took advantage of that. I asked you because I knew that you wouldn’t say no. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you,” Arthur says, and you feel like hitting him for taking any of the blame.

“You were right to be angry. I should have known that you’d never feel the same way about me.”

Arthur takes a deep breath as if it’s hard for him to say the following words. “If you was a little older, or I was a bit younger-”

Arthur trails off, but your heart is already pounding. You thought that Arthur doesn’t feel anything for you, but here he is, drawing your picture and worrying about your age, not angry about the kiss at all.

“I thought you didn’t like me, Arthur.”

“Jesus, girl,” Arthur huffs, almost amused, “of course I like you. You’re right out perfect. It just doesn’t matter what I feel. It’s just not right.”

“It matters to me,” you say, your voice breathless as hope blooms in your heart, “I don’t care about the age difference.”

Arthur’s lost for words for a moment, but then he shrugs. “It’s not just that. You deserve way better than me.”

Usually, you’re not one to get your way. You accept what others tell you and move on, putting their wishes above yours. This can’t be one of those times. It’s too important, and you couldn’t live with yourself if you didn’t try everything to be happy. 

“I might be young, but I’m not naive or stupid. I know that you’re not perfect, but neither are the ranchers who hurt their cattle or the merchants who draw up the prices when the poor can barely pay them,” you say, talking yourself into a frenzy. “Unlike those fancy dressed crooks in the big city, you are so much more.”

Arthur lifts his hand as if to interrupt you, but for once, you don’t let him, continuing your tirade. “I fell in love with you because you’re kind, funny, and caring. You’re not lining your own pockets, but do whatever you have to to help your family and even strangers. You don’t take pleasure from cruelty, but manage to ease other people’s misery and pain. You’re a good person, Arthur. I really don’t see how I could possibly do better.”

Staring at you out of big eyes, Arthur opens his mouth, but nothing comes out until he clears his throat, his voice still hoarse when he speaks. “In love?”

It’s unnerving that this is the one thing Arthur took from this, but you said it, and there’s no point in denying it. “Yes, I love you, Arthur,“ you say, shrugging your shoulders. "I’m old enough to know that I want to be with you. Not a better or younger version of you, but you just the way you are.“

Arthur drops his head, his eyes fixed on the flames in front of him. You would give anything to know what he’s thinking, but you won’t ask. You said everything you wanted to say, and if that’s not enough for Arthur, then there’s nothing you can do.

When Arthur looks back up at you, there’s an expression on his face you’ve never seen before. You can’t tell if it’s good or bad, your heart racing in your chest. All you know is that whatever Arthur’s about to say next will decide your future together.

——–

Everything you said to Arthur is swirling around in his head, making him dizzy. For months, he tried to get over you, and Arthur only agreed to let you come along because he was sure he finally got his feelings under control. He should have known better.

What happened in the saloon showed Arthur how afraid he was to lose you, and calling you his wife, even as a ruse, made him happier than anything in a long time. After what you just told Arthur, the two of you can’t go back to things how they were before, and he has to admit that you’re right. You’re able to make your own decisions, and if you decided – for whatever reason – that you wanted to be with him, then who is he to take that away from you? 

Arthur‘s heart sings at the mere thought of giving in. No matter his feelings of right and wrong, nobody can blame him for losing this battle, not if you’re sitting there, begging him with all that you have to allow the two of you to be happy.

When Arthur looks into your eyes, the longing in his heart grows so unbearable that he can’t take it anymore. He opens his arms, inviting you in. "Come here.“

You fly into Arthur’s arms without a second of hesitation, proving once more that he’s doing the right thing. Arthur pulls you into his lap, and you put your arms around his neck, making him look up into your beautiful face.

"I tried for so long,“ he says, defeat in his voice. "I can’t get you out of my head.“

Arthur trails his fingers along your cheek as you smile at him. "You’re not supposed to.“

He draws you in, and you follow, letting him kiss you. Arthur thought there could be nothing better than your first kiss, but nothing compares to this one. This time, there’s nothing bad or shameful about it. 

You melt against Arthur’s body, your hands running through his hair while he holds you close, not wanting to let go ever again. Arthur wouldn’t mind staying like this forever, but you roll your hips, grinding against him.

"Arthur, I want you,” you say, looking at him in a way that makes his heart miss a beat, but then you cast your eyes down as if ashamed. “If you want me, too.”

Every impure thought that Arthur had about you rushes through his mind, and he has a hard time not to throw you down to the ground and have his way with you. After all, you deserve much better than that. He’ll respect your wishes, but he still feels like it’s his responsibility to protect you.

“Of course I want you,” he says, his words getting you to look at him again, “but we have time. There’s no need to rush anything.”

“Rush?” I’ve been thinking about this for a long time.“ You let out a little laugh before running your hand over your face as if you want to hide. "I even tried seducing you when we were alone, but you never seemed to care.”

Arthur can’t help that his mouth falls open, thinking about all those times he had to hold himself back. “You did that on purpose?”

“What do you think? I don’t just undress in front of everybody,” you say, playing with the buttons on Arthur’s shirt.

“You gave me such a hard time with that,” Arthur says with a sigh. “This is already bad enough.”

He’s holding you by the hips, feeling how you begin to move on top of him. “Then maybe I should try one more time,” you whisper.

You reach down to unbutton your dress, pushing down your chemise. This time, Arthur looks without reservation before leaning in and kissing the exposed skin. You bury your fingers in his hair, still rolling your hips, and Arthur has to admit to himself that you might not be as innocent as you seem. It makes no sense to treat you like a delicate flower when you’re actually the storm.

Arthur reaches down to hike up your skirt, his fingers trailing along the soft skin of your thighs. You hold still but reach down to help him, pulling your dress up right over your head. It takes a little fumbling, but it’s worth it. Having you sit on top of him in your thin chemise brings heat to Arthur’s whole body, and he can’t help that he’s getting painfully hard in his pants.

There’s a knowing grin on your face, almost as if you’re mocking him, and Arthur can’t take it anymore. He lifts you up and leans forward, carefully putting you down on his bedroll. Without hesitation, Arthur pulls up the skirt, and you wiggle under him, letting him undress you fully.

Arthur can’t remember having seen anything so beautiful in his entire life. In the dim light of the fire, your skin has a lovely glow, your body a perfect combination of straight lines and inviting curves. If he wasn’t so desperate to touch you, Arthur would have loved to draw you like this.

With his fingers, Arthur follows a line from your cheek along your neck, tracing your collarbone and climbing up the swell of your breast. Your nipple hardens under his touch, and Arthur can’t help but lean in and suck it into his mouth. You let out a surprised gasp, soon followed by barely audible moans when Arthur keeps teasing your breasts with both lips and hands.

You reach for him, eagerly pushing down his suspenders, and Arthur comes up for a moment to let you get him out of his shirt. Your eyes roam over his naked chest while your hands massage his muscles, coming to rest on his shoulders. You draw Arthur in, letting him kiss your breasts and stomach while your fingers dig into the skin on his back. 

Arthur moves even lower, his hands closing around your thighs. You eagerly open your legs for him, giving him a first look at the sweet locks that cover your mount and lips. Arthur traces his fingers in a swirling line through them before touching your soft center. You gasp again when Arthur pushes between your folds, enticing wetness greeting him. 

He wouldn’t mind teasing you some more, but you reach for him, beckoning him to come back to you. “Arthur, please.”

Arthur follows your plea, crawling over your body, his arms propped up next to your face. You pull him in for a kiss, your tongue licking into his mouth as if you might die without his taste. You keep him close like this while your hands wander down his chest and to his pants. You pry them open, getting hot waves to roll all over Arthur’s body.

The anticipation is unbearable, and Arthur moans against your lips when you finally close your fingers around his cock to get him out of his pants. Free from the enclosure, you reward him with slow strokes along his whole lengths, making Arthur bite his lip.

You soothe him with soft kisses, but you’re just as desperate, your hips moving under him. “Take me, Arthur, please.”

Arthur wishes he could show more restraint, but he’s dreamed about this way too often in too many ways to hold back now. He runs the tip of his cock through your folds, using your wetness to get himself slick as well, and when your fingers dig into his shoulders, Arthur pushes in. 

You’re so hot and tight, he hopes he can keep this up and goes as slowly as he can. You still gasp in surprise, and more sighs and moans break out of you when Arthur conquers you inch by inch. Once he’s fully sheeted inside of you, Arthur holds still, enjoying the feeling of being close.

“You okay?” he whispers against your lips, and you take a deep breath before being able to reply.

“God, yes,” you sigh, rolling your hips again.

Arthur dares to move with you. You kiss, again and again, hands roaming over heated skin, while Arthur pushes into you at a steady pace. Your hands wander around Arthur’s neck, and soon you seem to hold on for dear life. With your breathing speeding up, Arthur knows you won’t make it much longer, and the harder he thrusts into you, the more desperate become your moans.

Leaning in to kiss and bite your neck, Arthur finally throws you over the edge. Your thighs shake as you come, your muscles clenching around Arthur’s cock. You cling to him, whispering profanities he never thought you capable of knowing, and it becomes harder and harder for him to hold back.

Still, Arthur tries not to overwhelm you, but you keep moving, spurring him on. “Please, Arthur. I want you, I want all of you.”

With your beautiful, young body moving under him in ecstasy, Arthur can’t hold back his lust. His fingers dig hard into your flesh as he buries himself deep in your hot core, filling you up with his come.

You’re both drenched in sweat and breathing heavily. Arthur wishes he could ask if you’re alright, but he doesn’t have enough air. Instead, you share a few soft kisses. Despite that first wave of satisfaction, Arthur can’t stop touching you. His fingers trace over your smooth skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

Arthur’s been thinking about being with you for so long, he feels as if he’s in a dream. He kisses his way down your body, and when his hands massage your thighs, you open his legs for him. Arthur trails his fingers over your soft lips, making you roll your hips.

Teased like this, Arthur can see how your muscles work, and his come is swelling out of you, trickling down. The sight steers something inside of Arthur. It’s as if he marked you, finally making you his. 

He can’t help but touch you, and the urge to taste you as well overcomes him. Arthur leans in, running his tongue over your clit, and you let out a surprised moan. With his hands on your thighs, Arthur keeps teasing you with his tongue. 

He doesn’t mind his own taste that’s soon replaced with yours, your moans and soft cries growing more urgent. The way you move under Arthur steers up his own arousal. Caught between your legs like this, he can’t hold in his own moans.

You bury your fingers in Arthur’s hair, lifting your hips and urging him on with pleas for more. He happily indulges you, teasing you with his fingers as well as his mouth until you let out a frustrated groan.

Arthur stops and looks up to you, and before he can ask if you’re alright, you already push him back by the shoulders. The second he’s on his back, you crawl on top of him, rubbing yourself against his hardening cock. 

You lean in and kiss Arthur, taking heavy breaths in between. All he can do is hold on to your hips as you lift yourself up to push him inside of you again. Trapped in your tight heat, Arthur lets his head fall back. 

He might have marked you today, but at this moment, Arthur knows that you did so long ago. Arthur’s been yours from the start, and that won’t ever change, not as long as you’ll have him.

———

You dreamed about being with Arthur many times, but none of it compares to the real thing. His every touch sets you on fire, waking a lust inside of you that you’ve never known before. Longing to be close, you keep kissing Arthur, your body pressed against his as you move your hips to feel him deep inside of you.

All of it still seems like a dream, and you have the urge to make the most of it, feeling and tasting Arthur, desperate to make as many memories of this moment as you can.

Your eager cries fill the night, mixed in with Arthur’s moans, the both of you too desperate to hold back. You claw and bite, leaving marks on each other’s skin. The thought of the other gang members seeing them turns you on more than you ever thought possible. 

Now that Arthur finally agreed to be with you, you want everybody else to know. You kiss along Arthur’s neck and suck the skin between your teeth, biting down enough to make Arthur growl. His fingers dig hard into your hips, and he holds you in place while he thrusts into you. 

Arthur’s cock hits you deeply as he slides in and out of you with lewd sounds, and from one second to the other, everything becomes too much. You bury your face against Arthur’s neck as you fall over the edge, waves of pleasure rolling all over your body.

You cling to Arthur, and he holds you tight, his hips bucking as you shake on top of him. He moans against your ear, filling you up with his come as your clenching muscles tighten around him. 

For a while, you just stay like this, enjoying the warmth of Arthur’s body against your own. His fingertips trail softly over the skin on your back, and when your eyes threaten to fall shut, Arthur gets you to move.

After helping you into your chemise, Arthur carries you into the tent, and the second he lies down, you cuddle up to him. Arthur kisses your forehead and puts his arms around you as if he never wants to let go again. 

You just lie there for a while until Arthur lets out a long sigh. “I fell in love with you, too, you know. Pretty much from the start.”

Warmth spreads in your chest, and you bury your face in the crook of Arthur’s neck. “I love you, too, Arthur.”

“Do me a favor then?” Arthur says, the words turning into a question.

“Anything.”

“Next time, just tell me right away what’s good for us. I’m an idiot most of the time.”

You laugh, but run your hand over Arthur’s chest as if to wash the thought away. “You’re my idiot now, so don’t worry, I’ll tell you.”

“Thank you, darling,” Arthur says, squeezing you slightly. 

You close your eyes, feeling safer and more comfortable than ever before in your life. Everything bad in your past just drifts away, making room for happiness and a future you only ever dared to dream about. 

“You were right,” you say. “It’s just books. This was so much better.”

Arthur chuckles, and you fall asleep to the sound of it, the first time of many over the years to come.

[one-boring-person]

i...was way too scared to ask you this for a while n you do NOT have to answer this whatsoever, but could you please do a part 3 to the Stand By Me/Lost Boys crossover?? its been living in my head rent-free <33

Aw, please don't be scared to ask me anything! I loved writing those last pieces, and this one was just as fun to do! Thank you for requesting it, I hope you like it!😊💛

I Think We Found A Body (Part Three)

The Lost Boys x Stand By Me

Warnings: blood, swearing

Masterlist

"Where the hell are we?" Teddy is quick to ask as soon as he is awake, the boy struggling to manoeuvre himself into an upright position, panic flooding him as he realises his hands and legs have been tied by a touch piece of rope.

"Some cave. Those men took us here last night, I guess." Chris informs him from his spot across the room, watching as his friend wriggles around on the floor, glad to finally have someone to talk to after spending what feels like an age staring at their sleeping bodies. He had woken up some time ago, unsure of what happened. All he knows is that it had been daylight outside this weird cave, but it had slowly faded into dusk, the interior becoming darker and darker by the minute. He'd tried to wake the others, but with no usable hands that had been very difficult, especially as he hadn't wanted to draw attention to them. 

"Huh? Why didn't they just kill us?" Teddy's brow is furrowed as he manages to get himself leaning up against the old fountain behind him.

Chris shrugs, unsure himself why the killers hadn't just slaughtered them all in the dunes.

The two sit in silence for a moment, seemingly considering their options, watching over their unconscious friends idly. Occasionally, Vern twitches in his sleep, his muscles spasming a few times, though Gordie stays still, his narrow body lying limply at the foot of an old sofa. All of them were tied up, and their muscles were starting to protest against this, aches and cramps having settled in a long while ago.

"Jeez, what do we do? We can't stay here, they'll kill us!" Teddy suddenly blurts out, resting his head back against the dented stone behind him, eyes trained on the ceiling, "And I've lost my glasses!"

"Aw, yeah, I totally forgot about that. Can you see anything?" Chris responds, frowning as Teddy gives him a pointed look.

"I'm not blind, I can still see. It's just a bit fuzzy, that's all." 

"Right."

"Should we wake the others? We should try and get out before those fuckers come back." 

"I'm not sure. I tried to wake you guys earlier, but I couldn't move so it didn't really work." Chris adjusts his position slightly, hands going numb in their position behind his back, "But we could try again. If I come over there, we could try and untie each other."

"Sure." Teddy nods in agreement, sitting more upright as his friend starts to push himself onto his knees.

Awkwardly, the boy shuffles across the small expanse, ignoring the slight burn from the friction on his knees, his movements hindered by the rope around his ankles. Teddy shifts to get into a position where they are back to back, waiting patiently for the other boy to get into place, thinking through a strategy in his head. After a moment, Chris has reached him, and has managed to back himself into position, their hands just touching.

"Ok, you try and untie me." Chris says to him, holding still as Teddy immediately starts moving, fingers pulling at the rope. The knots are tight, and the position is awkward, but Teddy's persistence pays off as the bonds become looser, his fingers grazed and chafed now, though he knows the end result is worth the small pain. It takes a moment, but soon enough the rope drops to the floor, Chris pulling his arms around to his front, rubbing at his wrists as the blood returns to the cramping muscles.

"Come on, do me." Teddy hisses, wriggling his fingers at his friend.

"Yeah, yeah, hang on." 

This time the process is much faster, the angle being a lot better for the boy to do what needs to be done. Teddy practically groans when his wrists are released, his skin red and raw from where the bonds had cut into him, his captors having tied the rope on very tightly.

"Help me wake the others. You get Vern, I'll get Gordie." Chris orders him, going to the skinny boy lying a little way away.

Doing so, Teddy carefully shakes Vern's shoulder, giving his face a gentle slap when he doesn't immediately stir. The boy grunts and twitches, eyelids fluttering a little from the intrusive actions. Rolling his eyes, Teddy quickly leans over, placing a hand over his friend's mouth before pinching the skin of his arm, doing it hard enough that he knows the boy will not be able to ignore it. Yelping in protest beneath his hand, Vern wakes up, panic filling his eyes as he glances around, body writhing to get away from who he thinks is his captor.

"Vern, shut up, it's me, Teddy!" His waker tells him, keeping his hand in place until Vern quietens significantly.

"Where are we? What's going on?" He rushes out as soon as he can, eyes wide.

"Those fuckers from last night took us to some cave. We've gotta get out of here, so shut up and let me untie you." Teddy informs him, moving to loosen Vern's bonds, swiftly freeing him.

"We're where?! They're gonna kill us! Oh god, they're gonna kill us!" Vern's eyes quickly fill with tears, but Teddy is quick to reprimand him, forcing him to his feet instead.

"Come on, we haven't got long." Chris hisses from across the room, helping Gordie up as he goes, the dark haired boy blinking blearily in the darkness that has settled into the cave. 

Together, the four of them move to what they assume is the entrance of the cave, heading towards the lighter area, excited at the thought of escape. Outside, the sky has turned a deep blue, the moon just visible past the arch that creates the exit of this odd place, the boys unsure of where they are but aware that anywhere would be better than here.

It's just as they get to the very threshold of the cave that they notice the figure standing just past the rock, the trenchcoat and spiked hairstyle very familiar to them. Hearts dropping, the boys stagger to a halt as a low, mocking laugh echoes around them, the silhouette moving towards them, crowding them back into the cave. Terrified, the four glance around to check for other exits, only to notice the three other figures standing around them, eyes glowing as they grin wildly at them, fangs glistening in the dim light as Vern lets out a shrill cry of fear, the others gasping in horror. Pulling them to the side, Chris manages to recover quickly, yanking his friends towards a nearby tunnel, the darkened interior appearing safe to him until a pair of blazing eyes appear in the depths, laughter emitting from inside, taunting voices mingled with the malicious sounds. 

Helpless, the four boys stagger back in fear, Gordie making the mistake of glancing upwards, suddenly catching sight of the leering faces above them, blood dripping from exposed teeth, disfigured brows cast in sinister shadows, the hissing chuckles falling from behind the murderous lips instilling an ice-cold fear within him. The boy screams, causing the others to look up and scream with him, all four falling backwards against the fountain, hands gripping at the rock. A sudden whoop of cruel joy erupts from the space behind them and a familiar blonde springs into view, looming over them as they seek refuge against the dilapidated water feature. His smirk is wide, amber eyes fixed on their paling faces with glee as they all shriek again and stumble to the floor, covering their heads with their hands, the four boys completely and utterly terrified.

As before, smooth laughter fills the air, the four voices easily distinguishable now, their captors coming to stand before them.

"Well that was a lot of fun." The horribly familiar voice of their leader breaks up the humour. Sounds of agreement come from the other three, snickers of amusement following them.

"Fuck you, asshole!" Teddy exclaims, breathing uneven as he looks up, face etched with fear despite his bold words.

"You're a bit young for our tastes, kid." The taller blonde chuckles, smirking down at him.

When silence follows, the four killers simply laugh again, clearly finding it highly amusing that the boys are in distress.

"What? Cat got your tongues?" The shorter blonde comments, biting his thumb as he struggles to hold back his laughter.

"What do you want with us?" Chris speaks up, sitting up beside Teddy.

The four men look at each other, as if conversing in silence, the leader clearly unsure of whether or not to continue.

"Well, to put it simply, we're gonna need your help." The platinum blonde finally explains.

Shocked and confused the boys sit in silence, staring at their captors dumbfoundedly, eyes wide.

"W-what? You want our h-help?" Gordie asks timidly, stammering under the intense stare of the four murderers.

"No, we don't want it, but we're gonna need it." The tall brunette puts in, scrutinizing the boys critically.

"And you lot have no choice in this matter, before you try to worm your way out of it." The leader interjects, going over to sit in an old wheelchair.

"W-what do you need us for?" Gordie asks, more curious now than afraid.

"Oh, you just need to get a kid to like you. After that, you're gonna lure him over here." The shorter blonde shrugs, patching on the arm of the sofa.

"...huh?" Is all Gordie can manage, completely baffled by the instruction. The others are similarly confused, though Vern is yet to look up properly.

The leader rolls his eyes, taking out a cigarette and lighting it.

"You heard what he said. You're gonna go on the Boardwalk and convince this kid to like you. Then you're gonna lure him to us." He clarifies again, inhaling a deep breath of smoke.

"But...why?" Chris chimes in, looking puzzled.

"That's none of your concern." The brunette states, staring down at them.

The boys are silent for a moment.

"Will...will you let us go afterwards?" Gordie asks, Vern looking up at this point.

The leader shrugs, exhaling his smoke into the room.

"Maybe, maybe not. You know too much, but you're too young to be of any other use." Is all he says, eyeing the boys idly.

Their hearts drop in their chests, aware now that they may not get out of there for a long time.

"Ok, what's this kid called?" Chris finally asks, hating himself for doing this.

The four killers smirk, glancing at each other triumphantly.

"Sam." The leader informs them, "Sam Emerson."

[ayyyez]

ohohoho here's one... scenario or hcs - whichever you prefer - angry/jealous sex with tobirama... i'll leave the reason entirely up to you 🤭

a/n: ahhhh hot sex with Tobirama while jealous/angry is such a vibe omg (lowkey have an idea with my OC Asana and Tobirama jealous sex scenario ehe but we will save that for another time) also I did both lol jealous and angry sex warnings: 18+ only, sexual content, teasing, grinding, groping, handjobs, biting, scratching, kissing, jealous sex and angry sex

Jealous sex

This man doesn’t get jealous often but when he does he hates himself. He just gets so frustrated if he hears people talking about you or interacting with you a little too familiarly. And if you smile/laugh in their presence or even just indulge them he’s jealous af. 

Will not address it in the moment. Instead he will bottle it and let it grow all day until he gets home to you and he just wants to take you right then and there to affirm you only want him. 

He doesn’t though. Tobirama has practiced patience many times. He just kind of comes home and looks at you with that stern expression. His brow is twitching because he is trying to hold back. 

You look at him and KNOW something is up. You greet him then ask what is wrong? Something you can help with? And he is just internally like yes you can help right here right now.

He gives you this look. You sigh and ask what is it again. He steps closer and looks you up and down. There is a question on his eyes, you can see it there but he doesn’t ask it. He just leans in and kisses you hard. Not just hard but with all the frustration that had pent up exploding into the kiss. 

He is pressing himself against you. Your back hits the kitchen counter and he is just sort of grabs hold of you and kisses you like you’ve never been kissed before. It’s a kiss that says you are his. But it’s always a question: you are his right? Kiss him back with equal need then he has his answer. 

Then you bring a hand to his chest and push him away. ‘Bedroom.’ You whisper - command. And you walk to your shared bedroom with Tobirama following you.

Now you’re the one who is frustrated. He isn’t using his words and you want to know what is up but he is never like this and it’s an opportunity you can’t pass up. 

The moment you enter the room he is behind you, tugging off your clothes and kissing your back, shoulder and then your neck. He is never so forward when he comes home. But you don’t have time to comment because now you’re naked and he is pressing himself against your backside.

He’s hard already. Wow pent up to max. His hand is on your waist so you put yours on top and begin rubbing your ass against him. He lets out a grunt and you smirk. 

You turn your head back to look at him. ‘What’s gotten into you?’ You ask, all sultry like. He kisses you hard and passionate. ‘That’s not an answer.’ You say, pulling away ever so slightly. 

But he is on you again. ‘I just wanted to remind you that you are mine.’ He latches his lips onto your neck. You almost snort at his comment. So that’s what this is about. 

Okay so maybe you knew he was watching you with your friend. Maybe you wanted him to make a comment and you reassure him. You never imagined this reaction but oh did you welcome it.

You pulled away and turned, pushing him onto the bed. ‘Perhaps it’s me.’ you said, climbing on top of him, ‘who should be reminding you that I am yours.’ He is surprised by this and you take the opportunity to kiss him. It’s passionate, ongoing, like it is never going to end. 

You reach down and take his erection, hot and hard, and begin stroking him teasingly. Your grip is a little looser than he likes and no where near as hard as he needs. He lets out a strangled moan. He’s annoyed but he still wants you. 

He pulls his attention to you and begins preparing you thoroughly. He doesn’t tease, he gets to the point because he is so damn needy right now he just needs to fck you. 

Once you are nice and ready you swat his hands away, take his cock in your hand and guide it to you. You usually take your time sinking down onto him but he was being a brat so you sunk down hard and fast. 

It stung a little but you were prepared enough to recover quickly. Tobirama groaned when you did, hunching forward with a crease etched on his brow. He wanted it fast he was getting it. 

You wasted no times, rising so his cock was almost out completely before slamming back down again. He groaned again but he didn’t protest. His hands did find your waist to try and control you motions but you ignored the firmness of the grip and continued on your own time.

Your pace grew faster but every time you sank back down on him you made sure to do it as hard as possible. He wanted reminding of who you belonged to? He was going to get it. 

It wasn’t long before he couldn’t handle it anymore. He grabbed you and threw you onto your back and began thrusting hard and fast. Tobirama hit you so deeply you couldn’t help but smile. Yep this was bliss. 

The intensity of the moment peaked and the both of you are cumming before long. Tobirama falling on top of you and you reaching up to stroke the back of his neck. Together you came down from your high. Maybe this was something you should explore more often lol

Btw his jealousy is gone pretty much once he comes down lol he is like yep you are mine, no one else is making you feel that way, It’s a bit of an ego boost tbh. 

Angry Sex

The hottest of hottest sex with Tobirama. It happens after the two of you have a heated argument. It’s not over anything in particular but the two of you were just so stressed it came out and took it out on each other. 

You stormed off to your room and he stormed out of the house. I mean he didn’t leave he just needed to be dramatic. He pretty much just chilled outside until he calmed down. 

A part of him had been stressed because he hadn’t really spent much time with you and now you both fought. Ah if only he could relieve this pent up frustration. oh wait he can he just needed you.

He wasn’t about to apologise but maybe he could calm both of you down. lol okay Tobirama. He comes back inside to come and find you sitting on the bed. You seemed calmer too.

‘Have you come to fight again?’ You asked, not looking at him. ‘No.’ Is all he says before he comes over and kisses you. It’s soft, testing the waters. A part of you wants to slap him but you have sort of missed him the past few weeks.

With a sigh you lean in and return the kiss. Then you pull apart. You still feel angry. ‘I just don’t understand why-’ He frowns. ‘Enough already.’ You stand up the anger returning 10x. ‘I was just saying I don’t understand why you can’t just talk to me instead of taking things out on me.’ 

‘I do talk to you.’ He says, now he is angry again. ‘No you yell and you bottle and then you-’ He kisses you and cuts you off. ‘This is exactly what I’m-’ fuck it you kiss him hard, like you want it to hurt. 

He grabs you and pulls you against him. His touches are firm and unforgiving too. He pushes against you hard. So hard and firm. God he is actually hard already. Is he getting off on this? 

Then you falling against the bed with the full weight of Tobirama against you. The battle begins. You roll him so you are on top and start grinding against him hard. The friction is good and stings all at once. 

He grabs the back of your head and pulls you into for a heat kiss. He tries to take control and you bite his lip. That has him rolling you over and ripping you clothes off. 

It’s not long before both you are naked and grinding against each other again. Your nails are digging into his back. He is biting your neck. It’s time for you to take control again. 

This little back and forth goes on the whole time. By the time he enters you the two of you are on your sides. He doesn’t take his time and you add more heat to moment by sinking down as he pushes inside. With a hearty moan he enters you. 

Then he begins pounding into you like no tomorrow. You bite his shoulder while meeting his every thrust. It’s hard and by the time you pull away there is an angry red bite mark on his shoulder. He doesn’t even acknowledge it as he continues.

It’s pissing you off, so you push him off you and onto his back. He growls but you ignore him. You take his cock in hand and give it a drawn out pump with your firmest grip. Then you’re sinking back down on it again.

You have no mercy to wait and begin fucking him hard and rough. Your nails dig into his chest as you hold on. The grip he has on your waist will leave bruises. 

He meets you thrusts every time. Its fast and rough. There is no way this can go on it’s to much. He cums first and then you are right behind him. Riding him mercilessly through his orgasm. 

You fall on top of him and immediately roll off. Neither of you is angry anymore but your bodies are battered and bruised. You sneak a peak to see the angry bite mark on his shoulder and smirk. Then you look down at the red marks on your waist. Yep definitely doing to be bruised tomorrow.

[ineverlookavvay]

reading between the lines

Michael develops a new power and can suddenly hear Alex's thoughts. He doesn't expect those thoughts to be quite as dirty (and centered around him) as they are.

Fill for Kinktober Day 8: Telepathy

cw: Michael hears Alex's thoughts without Alex knowing, and acts based on what he hears.

Read it on Ao3

Michael looked up from the notebook he was studying, frowning at Alex across the room.  “What did you just say?”

Alex frowned, looking up from his computer.  “Nothing.”

Michael frowned back, shaking his head.  They’d been sitting here in the bunker for a few hours, working through some stolen documents, and it was going about as well as Michael could have expected.  The biggest problem was the proximity—how Michael couldn’t keep himself from being incredibly aware of how close Alex was, how they could sit closer if they wanted to, how easy it would be to sidle up while no one else there with them and climb into Alex’s lap and forget about the work they were supposed to be doing.  

And he was certain he’d heard Alex say something.  

Michael went back to looking through the notebook.  His head hurt, just enough to be annoying, and he couldn’t figure out why, unless it was the world’s most delayed hangover.  Usually headaches went hand in hand with using his powers, but he hadn’t done anything particularly strenuous today.  It was just strange.

After a few minutes of staring at the same page blankly, Michael walked over to a filing cabinet against the wall, bending down to pull the file he needed.  

“Damn it, that’s distracting.”

Michael looked up sharply, but Alex was still looking away, staring at his screen.

“Am I doing something to bother you?”  Michael asked irritably, standing up and kicking the cabinet drawer shut.  

Alex looked back at him quizzically.  “No?”

With a frustrated nod, Michael went back to his place at the table, trying not to stare at Alex.  Their friendship still felt tenuous, and Michael hated this part of it—without the fucking, without the kissing, without the touches that felt like love—he couldn’t tell if Alex even liked him.   If it was up to Michael, they’d stop pretending this was better or easier, but it wasn’t just up to him.  So they sat, with the space of the room and a table between them, together but not together.

Michael sighed, leaning back in his chair and running his hands through his hair.  He licked his lips and tried to parse the notebook again, running the pad of his thumb absently across his lips.

“Fuck, if he gets any closer to sucking that, I’m going to explode.”

Michael glanced sharply over at Alex again—was he sitting there watching porn or something?  Unlikely, but even if he was, there was no reason to talk about it out loud like that.  Alex swallowed, giving Michael a small smile over his computer.  Michael licked his lips again uncertainly.  What the fuck?

“How am I supposed to focus when he keeps doing that?”  

Michael could hear the words as clearly as if they’d been spoken, but he hadn’t taken his eyes off of Alex’s face, and Alex’s mouth wasn’t moving.  It was almost as if he could read Alex’s mind.  Michael stared at Alex, uncertain if he was really hearing Alex’s thoughts, or if this was some alien trick or his imagination working overtime.  He tapped his fingers on the table, trying to figure out his next move.

Alex sighed.  Put your hands under the table Michael, I can’t stop watching them.

Startled, Michael paused his tapping, watching Alex carefully out of the corner of his eye.  Was Alex thinking about him ?

I want your hands on me so badly, how am I supposed to just sit here?  

Michael took a breath, and carefully rubbed his thumb against his lip again, trying to pretend like he was focusing on the notebook, but really watching Alex for a reaction.  

Oh, again with the finger.

Michael cautiously sucked the tip of his thumb into his mouth, like it was another absent motion, like it wasn’t anything, like he wasn’t even aware of Alex shooting him glances.      

Fuck, Michael what are you doing?  I would have worn looser pants if I’d known he was going to be sucking on his finger.  Alex took a deep breath, and adjusted the way he was sitting.  Come over here, Michael, and I’ll suck your other fingers for you.  Or you can wrap your talented lips around my fingers.  Yeah, get my fingers wet enough that I can slip one inside of you so easily, just like that one time.

Michael inhaled sharply, keeping his thumb pressed against his lips.  He remembered the time Alex was talking about, neither of them prepared but unable to stop themselves from crashing together, and Alex had licked Michael’s fingers and hole until he could slide his cock inside with little resistance.  Michael felt himself starting to get hard, flooded with arousal from the memory and the frank dirtiness of Alex’s thoughts.  He hadn’t imagined Alex was thinking about any of this, not recently at least, and Michael wanted nothing more than to cross the room and abruptly suck on Alex’s fingers, but he didn’t, waiting to see where Alex’s thoughts went.  Maybe this was just a passing thought, and Alex would be onto something else in a moment.

You could come sit over here, perching on the table like you do, and get my fingers wet while I take off your pants.  Bend you over the table—fuck, Michael, I miss your ass—and tease you, slip my fingers into you, maybe fuck you with my tongue.  I bet I could make you cum like that, couldn’t I?

Michael swallowed.  Alex missed his ass?  That was…something to hear.  Michael’s own pants were feeling very tight, and he wanted to rub his hand against his cock, listening to Alex’s dirty thoughts.  He wanted to pull his cock out and see what Alex did—see if Alex would come over, would even notice if Michael started to touch himself under the table—but that was too much, and instead he just licked dry lips around his thumb and tried to look like he was working.

I wonder if anyone has ever fucked on this table.  It seems sturdy enough, and it’s a good height.  I could bend you over, or you could lie on your back on this table, so much skin—oh—and I could press my cock into you so slowly, making up for all the time.  

Alex moved in his chair again, one of his hands moving off the table, and Michael wondered if he was touching himself under the table.  From the way Alex’s eyes were glazed as he stared at the computer screen, his pupils huge, Michael thought it might be at least a possibility—which was hot as hell.  

I could fuck you so good, Michael, the sex is always good.  I would make you beg for it, fuck you so slowly you’d be sweating and moaning, a wreck.  You’d be so good for me, moaning my name as you beg me to fuck you faster.

“Alex,” Michael said quietly, completely drawn into the fantasy, and then cleared his throat when Alex looked up at him wildly.  “I, uh, just wanted to see if you needed me to grab you something from the file cabinet.”

Alex shook his head, his eyes dark with wanting and his lips slightly parted.  Michael wanted to kiss him so damn badly, but it felt like an intrusion, knowing what he was thinking, taking advantage of it.  

Say my name again.  Please, Michael.

“Okay.  I’ll be right back, Alex.” Michael stood up, trying to breathe evenly, and went back over to the filing cabinet holding a file at crotch level.  He didn’t need anything from the cabinet, but he would just…bend down again, just a little bit, just to see if Alex reacted.  He pulled open the lowest drawer and bent down to rifle through it.  

Fuck, fuck, fuck.  The thought was immediate, and Michael could feel the lust in it.  Stay just like that, let me come up behind you.  Oh, Michael, you must know what you’re doing to me, sticking your ass out like that.  I want to rub myself against you, want to fuck you just like that, want to run my fingers through your hair, catching on it, I remember you liked that.  Want to hear you moan while I fuck you.  

Michael took another deep breath.  He was going to lose his mind, listening to this.  It was enough to brush away some of the self-control that he usually kept such a tight hold on when Alex was around—because he didn’t want to give too much away, because he wasn’t supposed to want that much, because it would leave him too unprotected.  And then again, here was Alex, who also kept himself tightly under control, and who was apparently apt to just casually imagine railing Michael when they were together.  

Michael walked back to his seat, carrying another random file and trying to walk slowly so it wouldn’t be so obvious how hard he had gotten from listening to all of this.  

Why are you carrying that file so weirdly?  Oh, Michael, are you hard?  What are you thinking about?  Fuck, I hope it’s me.  I hope you’re thinking about my fingers in your ass, in your hair; about my cock in your mouth, in your ass; about everywhere I’d run my tongue, across all of your skin, about kissing, how I’d kiss you until our lips were bruised.  

Michael sat down, rubbing his palm against the hard bulge of his cock, briefly, unable to stop himself while he was listening to the litany of Alex’s thoughts, of what he wanted to do to Michael, of what he wanted Michael to want.  And, fuck, did Michael want it.  

Just come here, Michael, let me lay you on the table, let me undress you, let me lick your skin, let me fuck you painfully slowly.  Let me make you cum harder than you have all year, let me help you remember how it feels to cum with my dick inside of you.

It was too much.  Michael took another shaky breath and practically jumped up from his chair, muttering something that was probably nonsense as he raced across the bunker to the little bathroom.  He shut the door behind him, locking it, and leaned back against it, hurriedly unbuckling his belt and pants and pulling out his cock.  

Michael licked his palm and wrapped it around his cock, stroking himself firmly.  He bit his lip against the moan that wanted to come out after listening to Alex for so long, held back how much he wanted to cry Alex’s name, to see if he came over, if Alex would push into the bathroom, bat away Michael’s hand and wrap his hand around Michael’s cock instead.  He wondered briefly if there was a distance limit on hearing other people’s thoughts, when Alex’s came rocketing back into his mind.  

I’m just going to touch myself quickly, it’s just too much, picturing it, imagining the feel of you under my fingertips, imagining your hands on my back, on my neck.  Fuck, Michael I want to kiss you, I want to touch you, I want to fuck you, I want to feel you come apart with my cock inside of you.

Michael groaned quietly, leaning his head back hard against the door, dragging his hand roughly against his cock.  He closed his eyes, listening to Alex, imagining it just like he was.  His hand was slick with precum, and he tightened his grip, stripping his cock fast and hard.  

Oh, Michael, fuck.  You’d look so good under me, you’d feel so good, I—fuck, yes, so good, Michael, I—

Alex’s thoughts dissolved into fragments peppered with Michael’s name.  Michael moaned and stroked his cock, and it only made it better knowing Alex was doing the same.  He wanted this, fuck, he wanted all of it, he wanted Alex here with him, stealing time in the cramped quarters of the tiny bathroom, or fucking him out on the table like he wanted, out in the open.  

Michael whispered Alex’s name as Alex thought Michael, Michael, Michael , and Michael came hard into his palm.  

Oh, that was good, oh, Michael—oh, shit.  He’s going to come back and I better clean this off the table or he’ll know what I was doing.  

Michael made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a moan as he sagged back against the bathroom door.  He tucked his cock back into his pants and washed the cum off of his hand, glancing at himself in the little, cracked mirror.  He looked flushed, his hair sticking to his forehead, and his bottom lip was red from biting it, trying not to make noise.  

“Alex, the things you do to me,” Michael muttered before he turned off the water and left the bathroom.  

Alex was sitting just where Michael had left him, looking slightly flushed himself, breathing a little bit too hard and watching Michael while trying to look like he wasn’t.  Michael wasn’t sure if he was going to go back to his seat or over to Alex’s.  He wasn’t even certain if Alex wanted Michael to go over to him, or if this was a passing fantasy, a moment of sexual release that happened to have coincided with Michael being there.      

If I ever get another chance, I won’t let you go so easily.

Michael pushed away all of the reasons not to let Alex know about his new power, all of the reasons to go on with their day and pretend everything was the same, all of the reasons to go back to his own chair.  

He strode over to Alex, pushing his computer aside and sitting on the table right in front of Alex’s chair.  

“What are you doing?”  I want to kiss you so badly.    

Michael took a deep breath, leaned forward, and kissed Alex, running his fingers lightly along Alex’s face.  Alex’s thoughts were a happy blur, and Michael hummed, certain his would be similar.  When he pulled away, Alex looked surprised but happy, and he leaned up towards Michael again, chasing the kiss.  

“We have to talk about this later,” Michael said quietly, “but I couldn’t stop thinking about doing that.”

Alex laughed.  “You should have heard what I was thinking about a few minutes ago.”

Michael tried not to wince—they really would have to talk about this later, after he’d taken advantage of it just a little, enough to give Alex exactly what he wanted—and managed to grin.  “You’ll have to show me.”

[threadly-intent]

The Witchiest Hat

Lately I’ve been very inspired with the intersection of fashion and fibre art. I also have always had a love of anything costume-y and witch hats in particular are the thing I seem to re-do again and again.

So when my sister in-law asked me to make her “the witchiest witch hat,” well I was literally bursting with ideas.

and what could be witchier then building a hat from the yarn up?

I knew I wanted a very full felt with a lot of dimensionality, so I started with 3 colours of Gist’s 3/10 Alpaca randomly alternated in the warp of a 8 shaft satin weave. I used a 3/60 black merino as my weft. I’d run several felting tests with both yarns and found this combo gave a felt so thick and full it is almost like working with a buttery soft hide. This stuff is almost 1/4″ thick uncompressed. The looser Alpaca fibres also give the felt a full, super fine pile.

I liked the resulting fabric enough that I will probably make it again for throw blankets. The weight, drape and softness would be perfect. The incredible unwashablility is a definite down side. This stuff LOVES to felt.

This is also our first peek at my camera having a really hard time capturing the colour. It’s an effect I did deliberately because I love using colour theory to make weirdly saturated neutrals, and what’s more magical than weird, shifty colours? I didn’t really think about the fact it would be nearly unphotographable. I did my best to correct it, but sometimes it’s a real blue/gold dress situation.

Not sure if this would count as boiling, fulling or felting but basically I just wet felted the hell out of it until there was no more shrinkage left. Once fully dry I used a boar bristle brush to brush the pile along the grain line and gave everything a full steam and press to set it

The most nerve wracking part was definitely cutting out the pieces. I was triple checking every measurement and line.

Just check out how ridiculously thick and plush this felt is. Worth the trouble if you have a loom and like to sew this sort of thing. Would make amazing teddy bears too!

So this is why I wanted such a insanely thick felt. I got weirdly obsessed with the idea of decorating just one side of the brim, while keeping the brim a single layer and not using paint... Also I really wanted to try needle felting decorative elements onto a sheet of felt, like a felted embroidery kinda deal.

I’ve also been loving the moths on everything trend and moths also seemed like the most obvious thing to put on an entirely woolen item. 

For reference, I printed out photos I got from the net, using a photo editor to cut out the moths and make sure they were all the same size. This way I could trace around and then use the image as a rough guide. 

I felt like a butterfly collector pinning the print outs to the felt.

It was so hard to only pick 5 moths, which I think means I need to do some more moth themed things in the near future...

Next I sewed the brim and crown together, felting over the seam on both sides. Notice how you can’t see any of the lower detail on this side of the brim.

Guess I’d better weave a hat band! I was experimenting to find something geometric but slightly off-seeming. As non-Euclidian as can be managed in 8 tablets or less. The centre also kind of reminds me of the logo from Reboot which is a definite bonus.

brb her budgeness needs attention

I have a thing where I like to sew the hat band and the crown ribbon at the same time. This is probably a terrible practise, but the symmetry of it makes me happy.

Also I absolutely had to use this ghost ribbon as soon as I saw it. I like to think that they’re the starter ghosts since a brand new hat wouldn’t be haunted naturally yet. In the actual, practical purpose, this ribbon will keep the wool around the crown from stretching with wear so this hat will keep fitting for years to come.

The felt is stiff enough that it could almost hold the full brim shape on its own, but I like having more control than that, so using a button hole stitch, I wrapped some heavy duty millinery wire and sewed it to the brim. My stitches weren’t as tidy as they could have been, and I wanted to add a bit more structure to that area, so I felted in more alpaca fibre as an accent stripe. 

So that's how I made this witch hat! Feel free to try making your own. The whole process took me about 2 months, so not a weekend project by any means, but I can’t resist a project like this every now and again.  I could see it being a lot faster with a full wet felting with roving method, but headspace is 100% weaving rn so that’s what I went with. If you do make a hat inspired by this, please tag me, I’d love to see it!!

[ruffboijuliaburnsides]

voiceless Jaskier AU (part 6)

I EMERGE! With... uh, angst. I’m so sorry. It’s getting better, I swear to god it is

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 9) (Part 10) Now on AO3

-------------------------

The road to Mahakam was not particularly long, but it seemed slow. By the third day on the road, Jaskier was confident that Geralt was traveling slower intentionally, and he wasn’t sure how to take it. It was probably concern, that mother hen instinct that Geralt absolutely had and denied at every turn. Jaskier’d seen it, the man was… well, all right, he was very bad at nurturing, but he also tried, and that was the important part.

The other option was that he didn’t want to go to Mahakam, or didn’t want to go with Jaskier, and that sat less easy with him. Was it that he felt like finding words for Jaskier that weren’t spoken seemed like giving up? Jaskier could understand that; he felt like that himself, in a way, and though he was trying to see it as a boon it was not lost on him that learning another language, especially one so alien to his experience, would take time. Time that they could’ve spent trying to get his voice back, if that was something so easily done. If it wasn’t easily done, well, it might be worth spending this time first, so he wouldn’t destroy himself through his forced silence.

But also… the reticence Geralt was showing in their travel could come from Geralt not wanting to be caught up in this. Jaskier wouldn’t blame him. He didn’t even sign up for a bard, not really, but at least before Jaskier could largely take care of himself. Now he’s just a voiceless nothing, draining on Geralt’s always-limited resources, not even pulling his own weight as much as Roach did.

Jaskier took a deep breath, from his perch on Roach’s back (at Geralt’s insistence), and then let it out slowly.

Geralt turned back to frown at him, because of course he did. “Need to stop?” he asked, and Jaskier wanted to kiss him and kick him in equal measure. Jaskier pulled out his tablet and scribbled, his letters large and a little wobbly thanks to Roach’s gait.

Fine, keep walking.

Geralt didn’t seem to fully believe it, but turned forward and back to leading. It would be okay. Geralt would take him to Mahakam, and whether he stayed or not, Jaskier could learn a hand sign speech and find someone to translate for him. There had to be those in Mahakam who could hear but knew this hand speech who’d like to leave, like a reason to leave, that working as a translator would grant them. If Geralt wanted to leave him behind, he’d be all right. He could manage.

He always had.

**

We’re going really slow.

Jaskier held the tablet out as Geralt chewed his dinner (rabbit, not rations, thankfully). Deciding to broach the subject had taken a while, but ultimately he just wanted to get where they were going. Once they were there, he could start learning, and have something to do with his evenings by practicing.

(Once they were there, maybe the noise and the people and the purpose would make the world stop feeling distant and unreal, like it was mist he could disperse with a wave of his hand, if he could bring himself to go to the effort of moving it.)

Geralt seemed a bit taken aback by the comment, and looked between Jaskier and the tablet a couple of times, that little crease appearing between his eyebrows that meant he was confused. (Jaskier wanted to kiss it until it turned into the thin-lipped, surprisingly frownless expression of exasperation. When had it gotten so hard to box up these feelings and put them aside?)

“You’re hurt,” Geralt said, and it was a declaration, sure, but Jaskier knew him. Knew what it meant. I thought you were hurt and reacted how I thought I should, but now I’m not sure anymore. The giant idiot. Jaskier rolled his eyes and reached over to gently smack Geralt upside the head with the tablet. The confusion deepened, and was joined by irritation. “What the hell, Jaskier?” he asked, more sharply than Jaskier thought his light love-tap warranted, but it was better than the just-this-side-of-too-gentle that he’d been getting. Nice as it was to be looked after tenderly, from Geralt it felt wrong, after a point.

Can’t talk, he wrote in the wax, the letters carved almost awkwardly deep in his rush. Not injured. Nothing healing. Can go faster.

“Hm,” is the only response Geralt gave as he read the words, frown firmly in place, and Jaskier could scream from the frustration of not being able to say what he meant and shout at Geralt for being overprotective and making him feel more broken than he felt already. He got up abruptly and all but stalked a few feet away to get on the other side of Roach and actually do it. He pressed his forehead to the mare’s side, grateful for her patience, took a deep breath, and just screamed.

If anyone could’ve heard anything but a sharp exhalation of breath, it would’ve been loud and long and absolutely feral.

It didn’t help as much as he’d hoped; his throat felt raw and strained in a way that probably meant he’d overdone it despite Yennefer’s magical healing, and the lack of sound made the catharsis feel hollow and empty.

Like a pie with no filling.

A few more deep breaths, trying to get air back into his empty aching lungs, and he went back around to sit down again, picking up his tablet. Geralt looked concerned, openly concerned, not just hidden in specific grumpy frowns, and Jaskier pretended he didn’t see.

I’d like a bath if we can afford to stop, he wrote, taking the time to write it completely, not leaving out unnecessary words or working quickly. And then, after handing it to Geralt, Jaskier left it with him, his bedroll already laid out, waiting for him.

Geralt waited a long time, and Jaskier had actually nearly fallen asleep, before he climbed in to curl around Jaskier as usual.

Jaskier sighed in relief that he’d come, muscles unspooling, and drifted off to sleep bitter that he was so comforted by the warmth of the witcher at his back.

**

Jaskier got his bath.

The water was still being warmed when Geralt strode back into their room to grab his swords.

“Found a job in the next village,” he said gruffly, strapping them on.

Jaskier scrambled across the room to grab his tablets, carving into it as quickly as he could, turning it back toward Geralt.

He didn’t look.

“Has to be tonight. Sprit only shows up on the new moon,” Geralt continued, and Jaskier tried to catch his attention with his tablet more insistently.

He didn’t look.

“Should be back in a day at most. If it’s two, don’t panic.” And then he strode out - not cruelly, not angrily, just in a rush. Trying to get to the neighboring village and its nighttime, new moon monster.

Jaskier was left in the room, holding his tablet in his lap as what just happened sank in. As his complete lack of being able to communicate, in any way, was taken and shoved back in his face like an old sock someone never wanted to see again.

Geralt. Didn’t. Look.

The girl who prepared his bath started to leave, and he gestured wildly to get her attention, then turned back to his tablet to scribble on the side he hadn’t written to Geralt on.

Is room and food paid up? Go ask please? The girl squinted at the words, carefully sounding them out with her mouth, and Jaskier was just glad she could make them out at all, to be honest.

“I’ll ask,” she said helpfully, and ran off. Jaskier undressed anyway, even though she could theoretically return any moment, and got in the tub, not bothering with salts or oils. There was a sharp knock and Jaskier tried to ask who it was, but-- oh. The girl opened his door and stuck her head in, carefully. “Miss says the room is paid for three days, but food was not included,” she said in the cadence of someone who was repeating something precisely. He smiled tightly, both in gratitude and because he didn’t have any coin to tip her with, because Geralt of Rivia set off with his coin purse firmly affixed to his belt, and Jaskier could feel his stomach sour already with the stress of it.

He sat in the tub for too long, everything feeling wrong, his heart feeling like it had been torn out and chopped up and stitched back into him in chunks. He had a room. He had no food. No way to pay for food. And Geralt had been right there and–

He sank into his bath water, holding his breath until he couldn’t anymore, surfaced and gasped until he could breathe again, then submerged again.

On his tablet, an unread message, carved too quickly into the wax, read, Everything paid for??

**

He’d write a letter, he decided. He’d write Geralt a letter about how upset he was by the fact that the witcher left him, without any way to buy his own food, and it was quite rude not to look at his message asking about it. He managed to look sad enough at the innkeeper downstairs that the man parted with a few sheets of parchment meant for his books, with promise of repayment once Geralt was back.

He started the letter quite sensibly, and reasonably. Laying out the facts and why it upset him. He only had his writing to communicate. If he’d been able to speak, he could have shouted and protested. If he’d been able to speak, he could have simply sung for his supper, which he couldn’t do anymore.

He made it about half a page before his handwriting was getting looser and larger as he scribbled, his words that had been so trapped in him spilling over and onto the page.

He ran out of paper quickly, and with a silent fuck that no one would hear, he reached into his bag, pulling out his journal, ripping a chunk of pages out from the back without thinking about the possibilities or repercussions. They were small. They were meant to be used with his usual cramped handwriting, and a few of the pages in fact included a few lines in faint pencil. Nevertheless, he starts letting his looser, angerier, cooped-up-in-his-throat words bleed out over the pages in ink.

I didn’t ask for this.

You fucking abandoned me.

I don’t want pity.

You can’t just fucking LEAVE.

I know I’m broken stop trying to convince me I’m not.

Fuck you fuck you fuck YOU.

It was like yelling, so fucking, not-quite, deliciously like yelling, and when he finally ran out of things to write, he made sure to spread them across the surfaces of the room. The bed, the little table, the floor. It wasn’t yelling, but he let an exhausted little breath out anyway, cathartic energy already drained.

He left enough room on the bed to climb into the far side, and all but collapsed into sleep.

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 9) (Part 10) Now on AO3

[1zashreena1]

Angst Fluff Whiplash -14

18+, m/f, technically OCxDiego Jimenez [Power]

Summary:  What does an apex predator do after confessing undying love? Princess is about to find out.

WARNINGS: Ridiculous descriptions and ‘the code is more like guidelines’ outlook on grammar. Is it OOC if the character was given essentially zero development in canon???

Non-descriptive sexytimes, the L word, criminal activities glossed over, relationship building, plus size woman+fit man, Anxiety, This one is all feels and

I Am So NOT Sorry. 

THE TIME HAS COME

A/N:  Princess took on a life of her own and has essentially become an OC. There are infrequent mentions of her description (specifically as plus size) and her actual name in later pieces (its Bicki). She started as self-insert so she looks like me (plus size, white, short, blue eyes, curly hair). If that is not your thing, I totally understand. And do not feel obligated to read this, I will not be offended!

I’m not a fan of “plot” so be aware that most of this series is just meandering through their relationship, angst-fluff-smut whiplash style. But with dick jokes.

TAGLIST: @chelsfic​ ​ @symbiont13​ ​ @nicke0115​ ​​ @bunnykjm​ ​ @rosee-sensuelle​ ​ @girlpornparadise​ ​ @mandoplease​ ​ @heresathreebee​ ​ @xxsteph-enrixx​ ​ @jetiikad​ ​ @joalsglasses​ ​ @mutantcookiesecrets​ ​ @demoncatstone​ ​ @squidlywiddly87​ ​ @lockedoutofmyotherblog​ ​ @poeedamerons​ ​

"I don't know, Lisa. He won't tell me. Not until this weekend apparently?  We're supposed to go shopping."

"Honestly, I'm scared. I mean, there's the whole how did he get a passport FOR me dilemma. Then the part where he knows I don't like surprises. And he said he was calling my sister!"

"Oh my God, she could tell him anything! Please don't tell him about the Backstreet Boys phase. I'm going to have a panic attack."

"Of course he would tease me about it for eternity!"

"What? Watch what words? What are you talking about?"

"Do not hang up this phone! Do you even love me?!? Lisa? …. Hello?"

You toss your phone down on the bed and heave a huge sigh. Your very own BFF, abandoning you like that. Luckily its your own phone and not the insane cell Diego got you because it bounces off the other side of the bed and smacks into the wall before admitting total defeat to gravity. 

You stand there staring at your open suitcase. Your typical items are in there already. You don't need any toiletries. Or makeup, now. Or bras. Or underwear. Fucking hell, its like I already moved into the penthouse with him. 

… Could I do that? He already basically asked for it. He keeps telling me to quit my job and let him spoil me for real. You wring your hands together while rubbing your lips against each other and being bombarded with intrusive thoughts. Yeah. Until he's done with me and then I have to start all over. At 35. 

But its been almost a year now that you've been seeing Diego. What does that even mean, "seeing" him? You think about how the last few months have been so… easy. He practically lives in New York now, their territory split. He opted to control the East Coast and let his sister deal with the logistical nightmare of receiving the imports. 

He has been a lot looser since then. Faster to laugh, quicker to goof around, less likely to do anything as hard as he used to do. The distance from Alicia has allowed him to really flourish in every aspect. And he's beautiful with it. The laugh lines and the soft brown eyes wreck you every time.

He says he wants to keep you. Take care of you. You finally believe that he loves you. He has made so many improvements in communication. Hell, he read books on how to be with someone on the spectrum. Do you understand it? Hell no. Are you going to take it and run? Fuck yeah dude. I love him and I want to keep him.

And now he wants to take you on a trip. A surprise destination. Out of the country with a mostly legal passport. You don't doubt that you'll be safe with him. Your parents were a little concerned when you told them since they've never even met him. And they saw him on the national news that time he got arrested by the Feds, so that really inspires confidence. 

Your middle sister Lynne and niece Halley accidentally met him that one afternoon about a month back. And they have not shut up about it since. Diego this, Diego that, blah blah blah, paid the restaurant bill in cash, yadda yadda, took us all shopping to a Coach store and then got Halley some crazy new sold out Nikes. Diego had been delighted to be surrounded by a gaggle of giggling girls enjoying his spoiling attentions. Just like always, Diego went to the max and charmed them silly.

It was like having an out of body experience to see Diego with them. You couldn't really fault them, he swept you off your feet with no problems.  He was grinning and joking the whole time, making raunchy comments with your sister and encouraging your niece to be assertive (unnecessary according to her soccer coach and the 'Most Aggressive' trophy). He fit right in with them. Afterwards he had asked if that was what it was like to have normal siblings and your heart broke thinking about what his childhood had been like with his sister. 

Which brought you back to the here and now. He had mentioned off hand that he was going to call your sister. Maybe you should text her. She might know something.

Maybe you should just pack your bag and trust him. 

Your Diego Cell chirps and you dive for it on the nightstand. Is he okay? Please don't be hurt.

Its a pic of him. In the shower. With his own hand wrapped around himself. You choke on air and have to sit down. 

I miss you Princess

Holy. Shit. Its been almost a year that you have had unrestricted access to that incredible body and your reaction is still the same. Before you can respond another text arrives:

SOON

The attached pic is just from squinty eyes up.

You burst out laughing at him. You love that he is secretly a nerd about internet stuff. His appearance would never give that away. Time to be ridiculous right back.

Don't make me lick your eyeball 

You are a crazy person laughing to yourself alone in your bedroom.

You are so weird

Yet there you are, lusting after this weirdo

You shoot back.

… Am I the weirdo??

No. Still you.

I would threaten to bite it.. but you would like that

Well now you have to

Oh my God. You're fairly certain you could do anything to this man and he would think it was sexy. Its a novel experience.

Can we eat dinner at home tomorrow? I don't feel like wearing a real bra

You know the answer to that. 

YES. NO MORE BRAS EVER AGAIN. BE FREE

… no panties?🙏🥺

You can see the hopeful puppy dog eyes clearly.

A for effort babe. One of these days you might get your wish lol

...Are you panty free right now?

Wow. He is really trying here.

I'm packing. 

Your pic is a heap of tangled thongs dumped on top of Tiny Murder Panther.

💜🔥😛

He would find that hot. Fucking nympho.

Lemme finish this so I can go straight to the airport tomorrow

Fine. But I am pouting 

You do not doubt that.

Don't care. Still love your stupid face

You cannot believe you just sent that. 

Princess. 

Mi amor.

Diego's good little girl.

You shudder with the praise. You can hear it in his voice, as if he were right here with you.

I love you

Dream of me?

Oh baby, if you only knew. You sigh wistfully.

Always, baby

---------------‐---------

The flight is uneventful, thankfully. Your maxidress with a built-in shelf bra is stupidly comfortable and you actually take a nap. 

The plane has barely come to a stop and you already have on your silly lambswool lined Ugg flip flops. You had argued with Diego about these (Why would flip flops need a warm fuzzy lining??) but he had won by sticking one in your face and ordering you to feel. It didn't take a full second for you to snatch them both from him and cuddle them to your chest. His pleased smile full of dimples was worth all the subsequent teasing.

You slip on one of his previously stolen shirts in a metallic lilac color and roll up the sleeves so you have use of your hands. Bending at the waist, you flip your hair over and fluff it back up from the nap. What was that he had said? Oh yes: Wild and thick, just how I like it. The memory makes you bite your bottom lip and smile.

Bastian is waiting for you on the tarmac. He takes your bag and kisses you on the cheek in greeting. "Hey, sweetie. Nice shirt, is that new?"  His knowing grin is infectious. 

You nuzzle into the collar with a laugh. "Thanks! My boyfriend gave it to me." 

Bastian chuckles as he opens the passenger door for you. "Oh, honey. That is not all he is going to give you." He closes the door while you roll your eyes smirkingly. 

The ride to the penthouse is uneventful. Well, as uneventful as Friday evening rush hour traffic can be in New York. 

Bastian waits until the song is over before lowering the stereo volume. "We're supposed to pick up dinner. Any requests?" He drums his fingers on the steering wheel while you sit at the red light.

You ponder the options. "What kind of a day has he had? Meetings? Tours? Disciplinary action?" You ask Bastian thoughtfully. Sometimes when Diego has a bad day he likes comfort food. Mostly a giant heap of rice and beans next to homemade tortillas, he isn't so picky about the variety of meat.

Bastian glances at you out of the corner of his eye before warily answering, "There was a… termination… at a construction site this afternoon that took longer than expected. That's why he didn't come to get you, he wanted to shower first."

You keep your eyes focused forward to look out of the windshield. "Okay. How about Jalisco's then?" Comfort food it is. 

Bastian nods and adjusts course to obtain those tortillas.

‐--------------------

The instant the elevator doors ding open Diego pops up from the sectional and comes straight at you. Your giant sidestep to let Bastian pass is barely completed before Diego is slipping those big hands under his own pilfered shirt to crush your body to him. Your arms go around his neck like a reflex, like this is their natural resting place. He leans his forehead down onto yours and kisses you so very gently.

"Mmmm. Hi." You murmur softly into his beard. Those bottomless brown eyes look over your entire face before coming back to your own. His smile is huge, those dimples make your pulse trip. He blinks slowly down at you, just like the big cat you nicknamed him after. 

"Princess. How was the trip?" He always asks you this. You still aren't sure if its just culturally specific manners or if he is requesting a review of the flight crew's performance. Either way, your answer is always the same.

You pull him back down so you can cuddle into his neck. "Its better now that I'm here." He rubs his cheek against your own and purrs directly into your ear in response. Your body's reaction is immediate and decisive. You shiver in his arms and your nipples peak to full attention.

Except this time is different. With only a bralette and the dress's shelf bra Diego can clearly feel what just happened in real time. His eyes are comically round as he peers down at your cleavage in pleasant wonder.

"Oh. I like this outfit." His hands rise up your back to crush you further into him. You chuckle and rub your chest on his firm pectoral muscles. He watches hungrily as your compressed decolletage rises higher yet from the added pressure. "New rule to match the bedroom pants bar, no bras in the penthouse. Fucking magnificent, bonita." He licks his lips after making this proclamation.

You throw your head back and laugh joyfully.

‐----------------------

As it always does the weekend passes too quickly. Its already 1:00pm on Saturday when you two finally come down from the bedroom.

Diego is delighted to hear that your time-off request was approved for the trip. You had told him not to worry about it, your boss always kept her word about this stuff. 

That’s when he pulls a ridiculous pith hat out from under the couch. It looks like it came straight out of a Looney Tunes cartoon about a big game hunt on the African savannah.  You lose your entire shit and laugh until you do that silent clapping seal move.

Diego keeps repeating, "Wait, stop laughing. Stooooop." But he isn't faring much better. You finally wipe the tears and calm down enough to take it from his limp fingers while he chortles a few last times.

"Baby. What. What the fuck. What fucking is this??" You plunk the hat on your own head and Diego collapses facedown into your lap to gigglesnort uproariously. "Stop. Stop laughing. Stoppit!" You smack the back of his head lightly until he comes up for air.

He closes his eyes and composes himself. You take the opportunity to plop the hat on his head.

"Oh my god, that is so sexy!" You declare in high dramatics. 

He grabs your hands and leans in very close to explain. "You need this hat for our trip." Your eyes narrow in suspicion. "You will wear it for our safari quest…" he pauses for dramatic effect and your lips twitch in suppressed amusement. He leans closer yet and captures your stare. His face is hilarious, you can tell he is biting his cheek to keep from laughing. His eyebrows are drawn down in concentration but his eyes are widened in mock excitement. He sucks in a deep breath to exclaim, "To locate palm trees in the wild!"

He laughs as he puts the hat back on you.

You blink a few times in shock. Palm trees? You're going somewhere with palm trees? A tropical locale. Palm trees. Beaches. SWIMSUITS. Your sudden panic must show on your face because Diego's laughter dies off.

You blink furiously, but its too little too late. The tears burn as they well up in your eyes and spill down over your cheeks.

He reaches out to cup your face. "Princess?" His tone is an even mix of concern and fear. "Bicki? What?"

You shake your head 'no' and throw yourself into him. Diego catches you and hauls you into his lap. You curl up against his chest and sob quietly. He pets over your hair, open handed strokes so his fingers don't tangle in the curls, and soothes your back while you shake. Rubbing his nose against your temple, he kisses your cheek and whispers, "Do you want to write?" His gentle care only makes you worse. "...so that is no." He looks crestfallen. He buries his face in your hair and breathes heavily.

Your tears are slowing and your chest is finally beginning to loosen. "Dieg-" you hiccup, wrapping both hands around his forearm. You wheeze a few times before trying again. "I. I. Where? Where are we g-going?" 

He sighs deeply before answering. "Nowhere. I won't take you somewhere you don't want to go. I should have known better. I-" He snaps his jaw shut so fast that his teeth click together. 

Tilting your head back, you try to catch his eyes. Diego won't look at you. "H-hey, please." You cup his jaw and pull him down to you. He comes, but the motions are stilted. "Look. Please, baby. Let me s-see you."

When he finally meets your eyes it breaks your heart. That chocolate gaze is disappointed, hurt, frustrated even. You wiggle around until you're straddling his lap. He just holds his hands out of the way, not hindering you but certainly not helping either. Standing up on your knees to lean your forehead against his, you reach for his hands and bring them to your chest where you lace your fingers together. 

"Baby. I want that." Your nose rubs against his as you speak. "I want to go everywhere with you. I never thought I would ever get a chance like this. To travel? To go somewhere tropical? To have someone who loves me enough to do this for me?" You're crying again. And so is Diego? A little?? 

He brings your joined hands up to tap your chin. His face is adorably conflicted when he speaks, "You… want to go?" You nod slowly. His eyebrows lower as he tries to make sense of this. "Then why do you cry? Are they, the uh, is that 'happy tears' ?"

Your hands shake in his. "Yeah. Happy tears. I just. I was overwhelmed. I'm sorry." He huffs out a sigh. You continue, "Its almost like the super intense emotions short circuit my responses and I guess my default is panic crying? I don't know."

Diego huffs at you again. "Please stop that. I'm going to have a heart attack." There is a hint of real annoyance in his voice but his lips curl up at the corners. 

You free your right hand to reach up and brush his wet lashes. Why did something this little bring him to tears? "Baby, is everything okay?"

He leans into your hand, then turns to kiss your fingers. You giggle, you can't help it, his beard both tickles and delights you. He smirks at you, "It is now, Princess. You should get dressed so we can go." 

But you're not done here yet. "Where are we going on the trip? A place name, not foliage that may or may not be present."

His Cheshire cat grin is intriguing and mildly worrisome. He gives you one word, "Xcalak." And then watches while you access your mental map and pinpoint the exact location. 

It takes you a moment but you find it with a gasp. "Costa Maya? Like Caribbean-sea side of Mexico??"  He nods and you immediately start in with 20 Questions. "Are there cenotes? Is the water really those unreal colors? Is the food amazing there? Can we see ruins?"

Diego cups your face to stop you. "Whatever you like, little girl." With a kiss to your nose and a smack to your ass he ushers you upstairs to get dressed. 

-----------------------

The shopping is less traumatic than normal for you thanks to Diego making enthusiastic innuendo nonstop and feeding you between stores. You find sandals, and flip flops, and little slip-on sneakers. All kinds of flowy maxidresses and flouncy skirts paired with new tank tops in buttery soft fabrics. Cover-ups and kimonos and huge airy loose knit sweaters get rung up with linen pants and shorts you actually feel comfortable wearing.

But swimsuits? A disaster. Everything that fits your hips is way too big for your ribcage. Tankinis big enough to go around your middle are about a foot too wide around your chest. You try some maternity stuff… amazingly there isn't any chest support. That confuses both of you for almost 20 minutes while you discuss it over croissants and various iced beverages (coffee for him and some kind of hot chocolate slushie for you).

Then you look across the street and inspiration hits. One of the stores you order bras from is right there and has bra-sized swimwear in the display window. Diego turns to see what stole your undivided attention from him and slaps his hand down on the table in celebration. 

You aren't sure which one of you is more excited to get into the store. But while you run around exclaiming at all the things that come in your size Diego stands in the doorway and gawks. When you circle back to check on him he just points to one display wall.

There is lacy, frilly, corseted lingerie. In. Your. Size.

He demands one of everything that fits you and isn't red, brown, or yellow. You don't even argue.

The store does alterations and makes very good recommendations. The sales clerk is impressed with Diego's input, she comments that he really does seem to know your body well. You flush with it, glad that he isn't close enough to hear that. You leave with three bags and seven personalized swim outfits under construction. One is ready to wear and you keep reaching into the bag to touch it in wonder. 

Diego notices but just gives you a raised eyebrow. 

"This is the first time I've ever felt good about how I look in swimwear." You confess quietly. 

Diego wraps a massive arm around your shoulders and tucks you into his side while you continue down the sidewalk. 

--------------------

Sunday is a mess as you try to make pancakes and Diego tries to remain physically attached to you like an excessively attractive barnacle. The pancakes are either burnt or still batter in the middle. Leftover carnitas and tortillas to the rescue. Diego teases you about the kitchen failure all day because this is the first time he has witnessed such a thing.

You doze on the couch under the pretense of "reading". Diego rotates through his laptop, cell, and the soccer match on ESPN+. 

Until his phone rings. 

You both tense up. Only one person calls him instead of texting. He takes the phone into the office to answer his sister. You wait on the couch to see which Diego you get back: silly tickle fight Diego,  sad puppy dog eyes Diego that requires cuddles, or  angry Diego that needs to fuck you through the nearest horizontal surface. 

The elevator dings and Julio comes in with a tray of coffees. "Ay, Gordita. Buenas tardes. I got you the hibiscus thing you like." He greets you with a big smile, then looks around when he doesn't see Diego on the sectional with you.

Hopping up to help him carry stuff, you point to the office in indication of Diego's location. Julio makes a face, "Hermana perra?" and you simply nod. Julio takes Diego's iced coffee and bites the bullet for you. The door closes softly behind him.

You munch plantain chips and slurp hibiscus lemonade until they come out.  Diego just looks tired when he comes back to you on the couch, coffee in hand. You open your arms in invitation and he plops next to you with a sigh. Cuddly Diego it is.

He doesn't tell you anything and you don't ask. Everyone watches the match mindlessly. Diego snores softly in your lap while you pet his hair.

He rides to the airport with you but you forbid him from coming onto the plane with you. He is already making this harder than it has to be with his big brown eyes and clingy hands.

"Baby." You breathe into his hair while he snuggles into your neck in the backseat of the SUV. "Its only a week. We do this every week." You pet down his bicep and immediately regret it.

"I know." Diego huffs into your skin. "Why don't you just quit? Let me take care of everything." You go through this almost every week now, too. He nuzzles you, the sensation makes you reconsider his proposal. You pull his head up by a fistful of soft hair and look him in the eye. He blinks guilelessly at you.

"Number one: No. Number two: Stoppit." He laughs at your fond exasperation. "Okay. I'm gonna go. You stay on the ground."

"Fine." He whines. "But I am going to send you a dick pic the moment that plane takes off." He crosses his arms as if daring you to tell him no.

You cup his stupidly attractive face in your hands for a kiss. Okay, several kisses and 27 minutes later, you respond, "Send me one every day. Its my favorite dick." His startled laugh makes you feel very pleased with yourself.

He pulls you into his arms again to kiss you one last time. His beard scratches and you sigh into him. Finally that tongue retreats and he rests his forehead on yours. His voice is low and rough, his hands squeeze tight on your hip and thigh, "I love you, Princess."

Will that ever stop hurting? You close your eyes against the burn of tears but smile with happiness. "I love you, Diego." You pop the door handle before you open your eyes to see him watching you, jaw tense. You stick your tongue out and he breaks into a smirk. With a laugh, you slide out of SUV and walk to the plane, determined not to look back.

When you get up the stairs the pilot greets you, but his gaze shifts behind you. Turning around, you see Diego standing outside the SUV, arms crossed and trying to look so not soft. You smile and mouth Bye baby, he gives you a short little wave. You duck into the plane before you can start crying.

The wheels are not, in fact, off the ground when the phone chirps.

‐-----------------------

The trip is a few weeks out and there is some kind of emergency at the San Diego docks the next weekend. So. You don't get your Murder Panther fix. 

And your coworkers notice. They spend all day Monday strolling past your cubicle, straining their necks to see if you're wearing new shoes or some fresh bling. Finally someone has the nerve to ask how your weekend was. 

You find yourself blinking back tears. I miss him so much. This is ridiculous, he just texted you at like six this morning. But its not just the conversation you miss, now is it? You miss that big body crowding you into the corner of the couch. His soft curls under your hands. That beard on literally any inch of your skin. Draping yourself over shoulders wider than your hips and knowing that not only can he take your weight, he likes it.

He says he wants to keep you and you desperately want to keep him. Why do you fear this? Is it just his profession? The risk? Oh god, how do you even go about introducing him to your parents??? Diego can be all kinds of charming but he can be a real asshole, too.

And they know what he is: A criminal.  For your boomer parents he is the living embodiment of Public Enemy Number One. 

Grand Theft. 

Money Laundering.

Arson.

Murder.

International Cocaine Trafficking. 

HE IS A LITERAL DRUG LORD.

You lay your head down on your desk and try to keep it together. 

Your Diego Cell chirps.

Your laughter bubbles up until it comes out of you without your consent. It turns hysterical and you realize you need to leave the office suite. Now. 

In the bathroom you stare down at the phone as it lights up again with another message.

Miss my Princess💔👑

How? How is someone who can do all those illegal things so nauseatingly sweet to me?

And then it hits you. Illegal. You didn't use the word immoral. Illegal. You think back to how everyone you see working directly for him is well into adulthood. No children. There are a few women but they are not being sold by him, they are there by their own free will. And he has never laid a hand on any of them, they're just as comfortable around him as the men are. No sex trafficking.  You saw someone give their resignation last month. The dude walked away with a suitcase of cash for a decade of trustworthy service. Its a better retirement plan than what I have. 

Have you seen him assault people? Yes. You've seen him stab people. Carve off someone's ear because they weren't listening as assigned and it cost the Jimenez Cartel a shipment. You've seen him push an informant down an empty elevator shaft. Choke a man into unconsciousness with his bare hands when you were disrespected. 

And you still love him. Not a single one of those incidents weighs on your conscience. Your morality is a dingy grey 12 year old men's undershirt that you should just throw away but you're definitely going to cut into rags to keep for cleaning when it comes to Diego. 

The cell lights up again.

Mi amor 💞😍🍑🏝✈⏲👙

You don't know what's worse: His excessive and ridiculous usage of emojis or the fact that you understood. 

Look what came

The attached pic is a few pieces of your new swimwear. They look gorgeous, you can't even tell where the alterations were done.

You have to try on all of them. And show me

Of course he wants his own personal show. You feel desire burning low in your belly. Its been a year and not once has he ever shied away from your stomach rolls or hinted at weight loss. He never questions the food you order. And while the two of you have chuckled about shapewear he has never mocked you for using it. Or seemed disappointed when you opted not to wear it. He tosses you around like its nothing and prefers for you to sleep on top of him. Its not that he loves you despite your weight, he loves it as part of you.

-------------------------

Its now Thursday and the desk drawer where you keep your purse at work is vibrating. He knows I'm at work. If he calls right back I'll answer him. You try to keep your Diego Cell out of sight at work or you'll never get anything done. Plus your coworkers are always dying to catch a peek of your infamous sugar daddy/boyfriend.

Yeah. Boyfriend. Keep practicing that. It feels good. 

You finish the insurance call and hang up your headset when the vibrating starts again. Your next door cubicle neighbor pops around the divider to advise you to answer that before he comes down here and abducts you.

What deity should I pray to for that??

You snatch Diego Cell and march out to the hall. Poking the green button, you answer the call.

"Baby. You okay?"

"Princess! I… yeah. I'm not hurt."

He sounds odd. There is definitely something going on here.

"What's up? You need me?"

The silence stretches. 

"Yes. Please?"

Diego sounds very uncomfortable. It causes you physical pain.

"Well, you have me. What is it?"

You can hear him swallow and in your mind you picture him looking away, hiding some soft emotion shining in his eyes.

"Baby?"

"Here. I am here. I just. I just wanted to hear you."

Something is very wrong with my Murder Panther, you think.

"Babe," your voice is soft, you're trying to ease him. "Can you tell me what's wrong?"

He huffs and you can hear him scrape a hand down over his face. "I know you are at work. And I should not have called. But."

His voice trembles, even over the phone you can hear it. He's afraid.

"Diego. If you need me, then you have me. Tell me, baby." You try to be reassuring but you also really need to know what is wrong.

"I would like to come down there." His declaration is overly formal. You wonder who he is trying to impress. Its certainly not me.

"You… want to come down here instead of me going up there this weekend?"  You're trying to make sense out of any part of this conversation. 

"I…. grrrrrrrrr."  He growls in frustration. Between English being his second language and your sensory processing issues, this is not an uncommon occurrence. He sucks in a deep breath and charges forward in an emotional rush. "I know you're working, but I want to come down there because I miss seeing your face." Before you have a chance to answer he adds, "Pick me up? At the airport, after work? Please, Bicki." His voice cracks at the end and his inhalation is ragged. Your heart implodes. 

"Diego. Baby. Of course. Of course I will. I can be there by six." You have a mental flash of how dirty your bathroom is, all the clothes you have laying around, and the vacuum you haven't touched in over a month. Diego needing me is more important.

"Good. Good. Yes, I. I will text you. When I land." His voice is raspier than ever, low and gravelly. 

"Sure. I'll be there." I'll always be there.

"Okay. You… you should go." You can hear his determination. You can visualize him squaring his shoulders and setting his jaw, taking on the Jimenez Cartel persona. 

"Hey." He grunts in acknowledgement. "I love you." You blurt it out before you have a chance to talk yourself round in circles. You can hear voices in the background. 

"And you. You as well." The call ends, but you know.

---------------

You're sitting in your car at the little regional airport second guessing the coffee you got when the phone chirps. 

Here

Springing out of the car, you wave to the security guard as you trot past. "Hey Jim, I just have to grab someone real quick. That's okay, right?" You wave vaguely back toward your car parked in the fire lane. There are only four security guards who work here and they all know you at this point. 

Jim laughs but waves you on. "Go get 'im, sweetie." Jim must be pushing 90 by now, he doesn't care about traffic laws.

You enter one of the two sets of automatic doors on this entire building and cross through the tiny lobby. There. You can see his dark hair and ridiculous shoulders over a completely unnecessary row of potted plants. He must hear your echoing footsteps because his head whips around in alarm, but his face relaxes into a wide smile. He lengthens his strides to come around the stupid plants, hands automatically reaching out for you.

"Diego." You laugh breathily and fling arms around his neck. He smells so good. 

He crushes you to his chest and buries his face in your neck. "Printhesss." He murmurs into you, slurred because he refuses to remove his mouth from your skin. 

Turning your head to kiss his cheek, you moan shamelessly for him. He surges back upward to capture your lips and kiss you with mild desperation. That devious tongue sweeps over the roof of your mouth before curling up behind your top front teeth. 

Your entire world narrows down to Diego. Chocolate. Tastes like the smoothest Belgian chocolate in existence. He smells perfect, clean but definitively male to you. His silky button-down is smooth under your hands, stretched taut over muscle. Those massive hands gather you closer, molding you to that big, solid body. His beard scratches your face in soft tickles when he alters the angle of the kiss just so.

"Goddamn." A woman's voice exclaiming somewhere behind you catapults you back into the here and now. Which is a dinky little regional airport in rural central Pennsylvania. You know, a very public location in a very prudish area of the country. Fuck.

You pull back and Diego's hands shoot up to the back of your head. Holding you in place, he leans his forehead against yours with a contented sigh. He rumbles softly to you, "Take me home."

You feel so silly seeing Diego in the passenger seat of your Corolla, he just seems so out of place. "You can adjust the seat however, nobody really sits there. I just put it all the way back to make sure you can get in without cracking your head." You sound nervous even to your own ears.

Diego turns to you with a response but his attention is captured by the cup holders in the center console, specifically the Dunkin Donuts styrofoam cup. He points to it, then looks up at you with a slow grin. "Princess. Is this for me?"

You flush but can't stop the embarrassed little smile so you cover it with sass, "Well, it sure as hell ain't for me." You start the car and give Jim a little wave. He winks and gives you two thumbs up. Yeah, I'm aware that you saw that kiss too, old man. Everyone saw that shit.

When Diego reaches for the coffee his fingers brush your hip. The contact burns and you suddenly remember that you have not touched this beautiful man for well over two weeks. Apparently he remembers, too, because he wraps that huge hand around your thigh with rather a lot of force. Right hand slapping down to cover his, your heart rate jumps through the roof. Did I take my blood pressure pill this morning?

"Don't." You choke out.

He rumbles softly next to you, purring with conceited pleasure. "Did my Princess miss Diego?" He asks you with an incredibly pornographic voice. 

"Oh, fuck you." Your answering groan is also obscene. So glad the windows are up.

His hoarse chuckle makes your thighs tremble. "You're Diego's good little girl, you will." He's right and you both know it. You would ride him right here in your own damn car if he demanded it. You have a problem.

He lets you redirect his hand to the coffee with only a little resistance. "Focus." You hiss.

"Me or you?" Diego quips.

"Yes." You declare.

Diego's guffaw is contagious and you don't even try to hold back.

Your apartment always seems like an adequate size until Diego is inside. No, bad Bicki. Do not say it like that. His presence just sort of… lounges about in a vaguely threatening but highly attractive manner. Much like the actual man on your couch. You tried to pick up dinner on the way but he just wanted to 'go home'. You are disgustingly happy that your place feels like home to him.

Diego had flopped on your couch immediately and hasn't moved since. Something is very definitely very wrong. There were bursts of your Murder Panther in the car, but he has been just subdued overall. He had turned your stereo up and smiled faintly, watching you sing along. He had also complained that the stereo in your car sucked (Agreed) and this was unacceptable. You're sure he'll do something ridiculously extravagant to remedy this.

You try to give him the remote, he takes it but doesn't do anything with it. You offer him food, both junk and something home-cooked, all you get is a shrug. You putter around for a while, picking things up and sighing before putting them down somewhere else. His dark eyes watch you, unfathomable. 

Finally you disappear to the bedroom only to return in your pajamas. This he likes, perking up and blinking rapidly. "Okay, I know you brought something softer than those jeans, so get comfy so I can order shitty pizza and cuddle you."

His jaw drops in momentary shock. Then he scoffs, "I do not cu--"

You cut him off, "Yes, you do and yes, you're going to. Up. Now." This has to be hilarious. This short little woman in overly long pants barking orders at the massive man who heads an international drug cartel. Well, its either hilarious or fatal. I'm about to find out.

Diego looks around, as if someone else might secretly be here to witness him be a little bit submissive and moderately soft. He raises his chin in a tiny show of defiance. "Fine. But I am showering first." He glares with this proclamation, daring you to contradict him.

You throw your hands up in the air. Why the fuck would I have a problem with that?? His eyes follow your hands, like a cat when you try to point out a bit of food but all it does is rub your finger. You sigh, resigned to your fate. "Of course that's fine, Diego. You know where everything is, have at it."

You watch his butt as he walks away to the bathroom. 

The pizza actually isn't shitty and Diego eats half of it by himself. When you offer him the cinnamon dessert sticks he shoots you a calculating look. You split the contents, pulling two sticks over to yourself and piling up the rest in front of him. His delighted grin is decidedly not calculated and you lose track of time watching him enjoy dessert.

He's beautiful like this. He wears a soft, silky t-shirt that is tight enough to help you get through the nights you spend alone. His hair is a riot of fluffy curls, free of product and clearly trying to break free of gravity, too. He hasn't shaved for at least a few days and that salt and pepper beard is filling in nicely. His face is unguarded, expression open, those laugh lines and dimples you love make frequent appearances.

After dinner you lay all over each other in some weird we-have-intimacy-issues approximation of cuddling. It works so you don't question it. He has his laptop and you have your tablet and together you have sporadic conversation. Its comfortable. 

Until Diego asks you a seemingly innocuous question that you know is very nefarious:

"What color do you like in cars?"

Your eyes narrow so much that you have trouble seeing. "...Why." Your low tone might be frightening to anyone else.

He looks at you over the laptop screen, brown eyes innocently wide. "Just curious. Your car is green. Do you like any other colors?" He slowly pulls the laptop closer to himself to subtly cover the screen with his bulk. 

"Diego." You slowly put down your tablet and start leaning toward him. He has nowhere to go, propped up in the corner of the chaise end of the sofa. "What. Are. You. Doing." 

"Will you let me take care of you? Just in this one way right now?" He licks his lips, brow furrowed in concentration. Building desperation shows in his eyes and you can't fight that. You don't want to win this.

"Let me see, baby." Your sighed acquiescence has an instantaneous effect. Diego drops the tension from his shoulders and opens an arm to you in invitation. You crawl up him to cuddle into his chest, wedged on your side between all those muscles and the back of the sectional. From here you are stationed directly in front of the laptop screen.

He is looking at cars. 

Armored cars. 

Armored, bulletproof, explosive resistant cars. 

What. The. Fuck.

"Diego, what the fuck is going on?!?" Your apprehensive demand sets him right back on edge. You can feel him go tense underneath you. The laptop gets shoved onto an empty cushion as you throw yourself over him. Tiny hands land on those broad shoulders with extreme force as you use all of your deadweight to trap him. Below you, Diego shakes but you can't tell if its from anger or anxiety because his eyes are scrunched closed tightly. "Tell me why I need a fucking bulletproof car!"

He surges up into your face to match your volume, "She knows! Mi hermana perra knows about you! Alicia found out about us!" You lurch back in shock, but the steel hands on your hips stop you from retreating. His voice is hoarse, louder than you've ever heard him, and its terrifying. Your fear must show because he releases his grip on you like it burns. 

"WHAT?" The ramifications here could truly be lethal. Alicia has already tried to set Diego up to take the fall when they were arrested almost four months ago. You know she has scorned Diego's familiarity with his men in the past, that is why he handpicks them personally. To Alicia, everyone is disposable, even her own brother. Her only loyalty is to herself.

Diego's hands come up in an aborted reach for you. You're still too shocked to move. His face crumbles in agony and he blinks furiously, hands balling into fists. "Everything I have ever wanted she has ensured I never got. She, she manipulates me into destroying everything I touch. I will not let her hurt you! I refuse to allow her to break us, mi amor!!" His volume has steadily escalated until he is yelling. 

He's afraid. He is afraid that he will lose me. The realization emboldens you enough to take his hands in your own, bring them to your chest, and press them close to your heart. You trust that he won't hurt you in his rage. You don't fear him, this dangerous, powerful, ruthless man that you love.

His hands open to slide up your shoulders, curl around your neck, and his thumbs glide over the pulse point under your ears. He brings your face to his own, his expression twisted up with fear and anger and possession and love. 

"You are mine! And I will keep you!"

You realize everything that you have been debating with yourself, all of your pro versus con lists, your stupid little dry erase board covered in sticky notes with your fears, your scribbled timeline of events and possible future predictions, none of it matters. All you care about is the man in your arms. Diego is the most important thing in your life and you can't imagine a life without him. If you had to give up everything to keep him, you would do it in a heartbeat. 

Your hands grip tightly around his wrists and you consciously straighten your spine. Expression hardening, your eyes open to meet his anguished gaze.

 "I want black."

The armored 2020 Camry is delivered that Sunday. You thank him for finding something inconspicuous with an upgraded JBL sound system and he compliments your understated color choice of Black Sand Metallic. By the time you drop him off at the airport that evening you've managed to replace the new car smell with something better and you're thankful that the leather seats just wipe clean. Monday morning in the parking lot at work, however, is a literal ordeal.

---------------------

The next two weeks feel like they’re seven months long. You clock out at noon on Thursday to a chorus of your coworkers making vaguely lewd remarks and howling with laughter about your vacation. 'Two whole weeks on a beach in Mexico with an absolutely loaded hottie' is what they've been repeating gleefully all week. 

You turn around and walk backwards to give them finger guns, "Yes," then you reach down to adjust your pants, "And YES." Their squeals are contagious and you're still laughing when you burst out the front doors to drive home. 

You turn the volume waaaay too high in the car so that your teeth vibrate and it feels like you're having heart palpitations. I love this fucking car and I love that man. 

There is a rental Tahoe parked in the grass next to the huge gravel driveway at your farmhouse, but he left the second assigned parking space next to your Corolla open so you can park The Beast (as you have affectionately named your new ride) appropriately while away. When you get out of the car you glance up instinctively, Diego is standing outside your front door on the small third floor balcony laughing. 

"Are you deaf yet, Princess?" He hollers down in amusement. 

You flip him off with the middle finger that wears the gemstone ring he gave you while yelling back, "WHAAAAT??"

His laughter fades as he disappears inside, leaving the door wide open to let out all the cold air. Were you raised in a barn?? Close the door, the electric bill-- You cut off your own thoughts when you suddenly remember that you haven't been paying that electric bill for the last six months. Nevermind.

Before you can start up the stairs, Sara, your first floor neighbor, appears on the porch with their toddler. "Hey stranger!" Sara waves with a big smile and the kid does the same but with some kind of unidentifiable kitchen utensil in hand. "That is your boyfriend, right? He had a key so I didn't think it was your ex but I wanted to make sure. I mean, from what I just saw it is your boyfriend. Also, holy shit, that's your boyfriend?"

If she says the word 'boyfriend' one more time I'm going to spontaneously combust. 

"Uh yeah, definitely not my ex. Sorry, I forget that you guys haven't really seen him before, I meant to tell you he was coming." You can feel your face burning and it isn't from the August sun. Sara fans her own face with a hand while mouthing 'he's hot' like you're somehow unaware. You forge on before she can start gushing aloud. "We're actually leaving on a trip tonight so I'll be gone for the next two weeks."

Now Sara drops the kid and scrambles over to whisper fiercely to you, "Oh my god, seriously? Where are you going? Wait, this is the same guy you've been going to see in New York, right? How long has it been, like a year? Is he taking you on a trip for your anniversary? I don't even know his name. Oh my god, that is so sweet!"

Okay, down girl. You're not sure who you're trying to will into being chill, Sara or yourself. 

"Um, we're going to Mexico. And yeah, he's the guy in New York. It's just a vacation." You don't even touch the relationship questions with a ten foot pole. You glance up but Diego is still inside, Thank fuck. 

Sara hops a little in excitement. "I'm sooo jealous!" She squeals. "You have to take a ton of pictures! I need to see! Oh my god, I bet you guys are such a cute couple!" You nod and start backing away, trying to wave goodbye so you can climb the stairs and then climb Diego. "Ooh ooh, wait, what's his name?" Sara hisses conspiratorially. "Does he speak Mexican? Is he Mexican!?!"

You suddenly remember why you tried to move away from this area. Repeatedly. "Yeah, he's Mexican and yes, he speaks Spanish." You sigh. Sara nods but continues staring at you expectantly. Fine. "His name is Diego."

Sara makes a stupid face like this is a rom-com movie. I cannot take anymore, you must shut the fuck up. "Okay, okay. I won't hold you up. But seriously, we can have a 'pics and wine' girls' night when you come back!" She waves maniacally before snatching up the kid and skipping back inside. 

I can't think of anything I would like less. Oh hell no.

You climb the stairs in record time before she can come back outside and start talking again.

Bastian, Julio, and a third man you don't know are in your living room. You do not care and your vague wave shows it. You can hear Julio's warm 'Gordita!' greeting as you spin around and march to the bedroom.

Diego is standing at your bed, tucking TMP into your small duffel, when you burst through the doorway and continue at full speed directly into him. He laughs breathlessly but holds steady against your weight. "Princess. Are you ready?"

You take overflowing fistfuls of his shirt, bury your face in his chest, suck in a huge lungful of air, and shriek at full volume.

"Uhhh...that is a yes, si?" He mutters uncertainly above you. 

You rear back to look up at him with a smile so wide it hurts.

"Oh good." His hands come to your shoulders while those beautiful brown eyes sparkle. The dimples and laugh lines come out as he absorbs your infectious excitement. Your hands shoot up to his hair to yank him down so you can crash your mouths together with bruising force.

The effect is immediate. He moans loudly and crushes you against him. You dig nails into his neck and you lick your way into his mouth, his hands snake down to your ass to hold tight. Your left leg comes up as you try to wrap it around his hips. With a pained groan he rips those lips off of yours and pulls back. Undeterred, you move on to assaulting his now bared throat, moaning like porn come to life.

"Princess," he gasps, "You have to sto-- uhhh, yes, bonita. Your fucking tongue." You're too busy licking his adam's apple to pay attention to words right now. "Nooo, mi amor, please, lo siento, stopstopstop." You get in one last nip of his collarbone as he pulls your head back via a handful of ringlets. His pupils are blown wide and he's panting hard. You stare longingly at his delectable mouth while making pitiful whines.

"Please, baby, pleeeease. You're all I've thought about for days. I need you!" You try shameless begging, you're certainly not lying. Petting over his shoulders and down that solidly muscled chest, you shudder and try to pull yourself back to him.

He closes his eyes with a grimace. "Flight! Fuck you on the flight!" He croaks, then yanks your hair harder than you like. The pain clears the fog just enough for you to blink back to awareness. You nod jerkily and step back. "Have to leave now to get there before dark." He explains in a rushed huff. You blink as you remember how time works.

"Right. Yeah, right. Okay. Okay." Straightening to attention you yank off the cardigan you wore for the air conditioning at work, leaving you in a tank top and ready to be productive. Focus on not-dick.

Diego shoves your favorite notepad in your face so you can see your packing list and not him. The distraction works. He has checked off every item in each categorized list but left the strike through action for your completion. You lower the notepad until you can make eye contact with him and intensely whisper, "You know I fuckin' love you, right?"  

He laughs so hard he has to sit down on the bed.

You go through every bag, touching each item and crossing it off your list one at a time. He did it. Everything but you.

"You know I don't need TMP, right?"

"Why?" He squints up at you from where he lounges across your bed. 

Your face heats up and you clear your throat. "Well, its, I'm. I have, uh, you. So I don't need anything else." The realization of how true that is in every sense gives both of you pause.

Diego surges upright to cup your face and bonk your foreheads together just a little too hard. You giggle and he huffs. 

"Mi amor…" he sighs for you, eyes closing in pleasure. You 'mmmmm' in response. Then his eyes snap open and he growls an order, "Get changed so we can go!" And punctuates it with a stinging slap to your ass.

----------------------------

You spend the flight with your face pressed to the window, vibrating in excitement, except for a brief intermission of seven orgasms in the bathroom.

The unknown third man is Joey, Bastian's boyfriend. Joey is even quieter than Bastian and just as cute. They're not overly demonstrative but clearly comfortable moving around each other. Joey works in "Packaging" and does an admirable job of ignoring his cartel drug lord boss being snuggly. Julio naps. 

The customs agent at the Cancun airport looks you up and down with wide eyes but stamps your passport with no questions. Its a five hour drive to Xcalak but Diego is adamant it can be done in three. You give him an eyebrow question which he dismisses with a vague wave, "They paved the road all the way to the southern border last year."

Uhh, they what now? You understand soon enough. The drive drastically changes outside of Cancun. The scenery is both beautiful and heartbreaking. There are occasional mansions with armed guards, high fences, and SUVs like your own current ride. Mostly though, its shacks and people on foot or riding bicycles, weaving to avoid stray dogs and huge iguanas. Could I handle this as my daily reality?

The first time the road sidles right up to the ocean you have a small meltdown.

 "Is that what I think it is?" Your soft whisper is accompanied by a shaking hand pointing to the left. Diego, crammed into the middle of the backseat between yourself and Julio so you could have an unobstructed view, indicates an order for Bastian to pull over. He reaches across you and pops open your door. You slide out with his hand on your lower back and take about a dozen steps to the lapping water. Diego appears to your right, watching you intently.

 "Its gre-e-e-en!" Your stuttering squeal is accompanied by happy tears and you fling yourself into Diego with joy. He laughs at you, but hugs you back just as tightly.

----------------------------

The first week passes in a blur of amazing food, warm green sea, fruity drinks, and shirtless wet Diego. And so many orgasms that you can't keep count. Diego is all over you non-stop, more than he ever has been before (Astonishingly). Its incredible and you feel like the only person in the world. If he's not molesting you then he is at least touching you; keeping you in his lap, holding your hand, cuddling and petting and snuggling like a man obsessed. 

You love it. You love him. You love this life.

On Saturday he lets you lead him through the tiny town, your Spanish improving by leaps and bounds as you try to navigate the streets and alleys and shops. The four years of high school Spanish actually prove useful as you manage to complete a purchase all by yourself. Your playful mock smugness evaporates under the blazing desire in his eyes. 

He drags you back to the casita in a much shorter and more direct route than you took upon earlier departure. You're marched directly to the bed and he puts one massive hand in the middle of your chest to gently push you down onto your back. There is something different about this, something important in his eyes. Your voice is high and soft, "Diego?"

He climbs up between your legs and leans down to kiss you senseless. It goes on forever; soft lips, scratchy beard, silky tongue, and nothing but the taste of Diego. Your moans and sighs are mixed together, there are moments when you can't tell who is making what noise. His hands are shaking as he strokes every inch of newly bared and sunburnt sensitive skin while undressing you. 

It takes repeated attempts, but you finally get him naked, too. The sight never fails to take your breath away. All that soft, and now freshly tanned, skin is like velvet to your touch. You're mesmerized by his muscles flexing and then evening out as he moves above you. He finally gets your linen pants untangled off your left foot and flings them across the room with unnecessary force. Your soft peals of laughter light up his face and it brings tears to your eyes. You reach a hand out to him, "Diego. Baby."

He comes up over you, threading fingers into your hair, kissing you slowly and thoroughly. You can feel him against you, fire hot and mouth wateringly hard, but he makes no move to take you. Your eyes open in hazy confusion as the kiss ends. Diego is watching your face, blinking back tears. 

He is holding your head still, hands like steel. Whatever this is, he needs it. And you want to give him everything he needs. Forever.

You're captured by his eyes, bottomless, soulful, and hungry. His raspy voice is soft and trembling with desire. "I love you, Bicki. I want everything. Forever, Princess?" 

Your chest compresses and your heart implodes. Scalding tears escape when you blink and you're nodding before you even know it. "Yes, Diego. Yes, baby, I'm yours." 

Your back arches off the bed as he comes home and brings you with him.

-----------------------

You wake up crushed under Diego. The sun is still up so you might be able to talk him into going out for dinner. You rub your cheek on the huge bicep doubling as your pillow and Diego sighs directly into your ear from where he is spooned up behind you. Oh yeah, we should have done this waaaay sooner.

He nuzzles your neck just to incite squirmy giggles and you don't even fight it. "I have something for you, Princess. Stay here." He pulls away and you whine about the loss of your pillow. His low chuckle burns you alive with want. "Stay like that. Do not move." You obey while you listen to him rummage around behind you.

He comes around to your side of the bed, still completely and unabashedly nude. Hell. Fucking. Yes. You love it. He hands your glasses over and you slide them on to take in the now high definition view of naked Murder Panther. The view disappears as he kneels down next to the bed so you're on eye level. His expression is very peculiar. 

His hands slowly come up to reveal a small box of black velvet. Time slows to a halt as he opens the box and presents it to you. 

Inside is a ring. Gleaming in platinum and sparkling with three tastefully large princess cut diamonds. 

Its an engagement ring.

Diego is proposing. 

He swallows hard and rumbles gruffly, "Now remember, you already said y--"

You cut him off with a shriek. "YES! YESYESYES!!"

In the time it takes him to blink twice with surprise you're on him. Arms around his neck, you throw yourself into his lap. He topples backwards and you ride him to the floor, already bawling hysterically. 

He stares up at you in shock as you nod furiously and cry all over him. "Princess. You… you are certain?" If this were any other time you would be howling with laughter at his huge eyes and lax jaw. 

Your answer is stuttery but determined. "Y-y-yeah. Put it-t-t-t on me already!" 

He laughs in delight at your order and the imperious presentation of your shaking left hand. The ring glides on easily, a perfect fit. It gleams up at you blindingly. After a moment of admiration you lace your fingers with his and sigh at the union. His other hand comes up to roughly brush away your tears. "I know you do not like labels so much… but, you will be my, my married... Person. Thing?" 

You stroke his bearded cheek in return, thumb lingering on that dimple. With a hard gulp you dive in head first. Fuck it.

"Yes, Diego. I will be your wife."

----------------------

The next time you wake it is dark out. You reach for a phone on the nightstand to your left and jump when you find one with a loud crack. Diego pops upright behind you, instantly on high alert. "Princess?" He hisses while covering your body with his own.

You gigglesnort, then meekly answer him, "I forgot about the ring and whacked a phone. Everything's okay, baby."

He sighs so deeply that his breath ruffles your hair. "Jesus fucking christ, woman. You are a menace."  He flops down on top of you and snuggles back into your warmth. 

You reach back with your left hand and grope blindly for his face. He licks your fingers as soon as they're in reach and you stuff them into his mouth as retaliation. He just sucks languidly. 

"Mmmmmm, I'm your menace, baby. And I have to pee." He nips your fingers but rolls over to free you. You slide out of the bed and stretch your arms high while arching your back. Diego groans painfully. "What?"

Diego rises to all fours on the bed while the sheet slithers off of him. "You forget that other people can see without glasses, huh?" You cock your head and realize that you have a shadow.

It's a full moon. And I just stretched naked in front of a sliding glass door. "Oh. Huh. I guess I do forget. Oops. I'll be sure to keep that in mind now." Your seemingly tame answer is directly contradicted by the exaggerated roll of your hips that makes your butt bounce when you walk off. 

"Fucking menace, woman." Diego growls as you push the bathroom door shut with a trill of laughter.

You never do go back to bed but you do wind up on the beach in front of the casita to watch the sunrise. Julio finds you both snuggled together late the next morning, still asleep on the covered daybed under the palms while the rising tide comes ever closer. At least Julio has the decency to cover your bare ass with a beach towel.

-----------------------------------

By the time you think to check your phone gallery you have… 1,792 pictures. WHAT THE FUCK. 

You scroll through the pics, there are a lot you do not remember taking. Was I that drunk or did Diego take some of these? One is a close up of your ass from below wearing a string bikini, I knew I wasn't that drunk. The next pic is Diego asleep on a lounge chair, one arm curled up above his head, muscles glistening in the sun, and swim trunks so low on his hips that it's almost obscene. Immediately following that is the same pic but with your own face photobombing about three inches away from the camera and giving a thumbs up with your left hand so your engagement ring is prominently visible. Oh yeah, I remember that one. 

There are videos, too. The first one is Diego making lewd comments while you twerk in the ocean for about ten seconds. Okay, that's par for the course with us. Next is you successfully backflipping off of Diego's shoulders into the green water to everyone freaking out. Shit, even I'm impressed with myself. After that is video of you gagging through a dish of octopus at some restaurant. Both of you are clearly visible in the shot so Julio must have had the phone. Betrayal. 

There are tens of dozens of the two of you in various poses and outfits, both disgustingly happy and blatantly in love. There's even a role reversal shot of Diego sprawled across your lap, one enormous arm wrapped around your neck and his knees over your own arm while you grimace and he laughs hysterically. The table to your right is covered in empty bottles and mostly finished drinks. An entire subsection depicts you asleep like you have a stalker. You count no less than 29 of you two trying on increasingly ridiculous hats in random stores.

You can't even keep count of all the close ups of a smoldering Murder Panther. You feel no guilt.  Aren't you supposed to be ridiculously attracted to your fiancé??

Fiancé.

You have a fiancé. Your fiancé is Diego. You are engaged to Diego Rafael Jimenez. 

I have to explain this ring to everyone. They'll have questions about him. People will want pictures. How do I explain what he does?? Oh my god, there's no closet here. I have to… find somewhere. And I can't I can't. Its-

Your head jerks upright when something touches your hair. Its Diego. Kneeling on the floor in front of you, he has unfurled a sheet over you to block out everything, and he waits there, watching you. Before you realize it your hands are reaching for his shoulders, just the feel of him, warm and solid under your hands, calms you. 

Slowly, his right hand comes up to cover your left. "No closet, Princess." His huge fingers grip yours tightly. You nod a little. He just watches you, eyes guarded. 

"Ask. Go ahead." You mutter. You can tell from his posture that he is uneasy, apprehensive. 

He locks eyes with you and his gaze is intense. He curls all of his fingers around your left ring finger. "Still yes?" 

The fear in his eyes breaks your heart. Your voice is shaky but determined, "No. You can't get rid of me. I'm your problem now, baby."  His expression would make a meeker woman cower in fear, you laugh weakly. 

He settles down on the tile floor in front of you, with the sheet over both of you. Its like four in the afternoon and I am sharing a blanket fort with my cartel boss fiancé while on vacation in Mexico. What even is my life? His elbows are on his knees, chin in hand. He studies you for a minute, you stare right back. He raises one eyebrow and you sigh in capitulation. 

"I don't know how to just be happy. I suck at it."  You shrug but reach for his face. Diego nuzzles into your hand while you stroke your thumb over his beard. 

"Habby isz nawt a berb." He slurs into your palm with a soft kiss.

The epiphany is like a cinder block to the brain. 

He's right. I don't have to 'do' anything. I'm happy right now. I've been happy every time I'm with him. And no one had to exert any effort.

People can define themselves. People can define their relationships. Why can't they define their own normal? I can make my own rules. Especially with someone like Diego as my partner.

His one eyebrow slowly rises as he watches your thoughts play out across your face. "You back?" He asks with a hidden smirk, you know its there from the way his eyes crinkle with laugh lines.

"Yup!" Is your decisive answer. Diego licks your palm. "I got better places you can lick, baby." You answer his smirk with a waggling eyebrow. 

The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur of play wrestling and inappropriate noises.

-----------------------

You do, in fact, go on a safari. Of sorts. Tours of ruins and jungle and cenotes, lots of side quests because the both of you are easily distracted by pretty colors. You probably added another thousand pictures of various palm trees to your gallery. The hat makes multiple appearances. 

Diego has to ship a crate home to New York because he bought you too many souvenirs. You laugh and tease him when he wants to pick out things for your middle sister and niece, until you hear his logic. 

"They were nice to me." He murmurs with a little half-shrug, "It was like being in a real family for a little bit." He studies the bins of painted shells on display in the little store with way too much focus.

You spend a moment deliberating before you decide to reach out and touch his elbow.

 "Hey," your soft voice brings his gaze your way momentarily before he goes back to ceramic turtle magnets. You take his hand with your own right and rest your left hand on his chest. Diego looks down where your ring glints in the light, then up to your face. "You know you're going to be part of that 'real' family, right?"

Diego's boyish little smile is heartbreakingly adorable. 

---------------------------------

The flight home is much shorter than you want it to be and you spend most of it asleep on Diego. At one point you wake up to see Bastian and Joey cuddled up together napping. When you look up from where your head is resting in Diego's lap he is already looking down at you with an unreadable expression.

"What?" You whisper softly. You stifle a yawn and blink repeatedly. 

Diego strokes one big hand over your hair and grips your jaw firmly. With a huge toothy grin he answers, "Mine." 

"Uh huh. How many times you need me to say yes, baby?" You smirk up at him with an arched brow. He seems to be reveling in hearing you readily admit your commitment to him.

He considers your question carefully while his other hand trails down the front of your body under a blanket. I don't remember having a blanket earlier. Finally, Diego settles on "Every day. At least seven times. Seven is a good number, right Princess?" 

Your body jerks as his fingers press between your thighs with steady determination. Your eyes flick over to Bastian and Joey, still out cold. You make a show of wiggling around to get comfortable, and, surprisingly, that involves spreading your legs. "Yessss." You hiss up at him.

Julio reclines his seat and exaggeratedly covers his face with a new hat. 

Seven is a very good number.

------------------------------------------

Your first day back to work is a circus. You don't think twice about your normal greeting as you enter the office suite. You swipe your badge with your right hand and pop the door, then wave 'hi' to everyone. Like usual. With your left hand. 

There is an excessive amount of squealing that makes you second guess going into a female dominated field. The whole day is a wash because you have a steady stream of people passing through your cubicle. You're glad you had the forethought to curate a photo album of appropriate images to show your coworkers despite Diego's repeated attempts to sneak a dick pic in there somewhere. You most definitely included the glistening swim trunks lounge chair picture. Squealing intensifies.

Everyone comments on the hat and you're forced to tell the story of the hat. How you once told Diego that you wanted to see palm trees, 'But like, in the wild.' And Diego had laughed so hard that he fell off the bed only to pop back up wheezing about a 'Palm Tree Safari' until you smacked him in the face with a pillow. Your coworkers think it is just disgustingly adorable that he never let you live that down. 

Your coworkers have questions:

When is the wedding? 

Where are you having it?

What kind of dress do you want?

What are your colors?

Are you going to do flowers?

What about the cake?

Who is your maid of honor?

How did your family take the news?

What about his family?

Are you going to New York?

Will you take his name?

Oh shit. I forgot about the whole 'wedding' part of this.

[missborhap]

Hi! Could you have a bold and daring smut with Joe with a Brazilian girlfriend? While she was humming a Taylor Swift song, he mocks her for it, they could do something typically American, and her confusion gets Joe with horny. They could have a breeding kink, and the reader could be like 10 to 12 years younger than him, as I am. Thank you! Xxxx

26-year-old Y/n softly hums her favorite Taylor Swift song, playfully twirling in the living room, finishing cleaning up from the house party from the night before. She is so happy and gitty. As she puts a pillow back in its place on the coach, she hears a mocking sound from behind her.

Y/N turns to see Joe, leaned up on the doorway. He has a big smile on his face. Y/N gives him a questioning look and giggles as she continues to clean up the living room. She feels Joe grab her waist as her hind into her neck. She grows confused by his actions.

With a confusing look on her face she turns in Joe’s arms. She soon feels Joe’s hardening bulge up against her thigh. Joe looks at her devilishly, her confusion turning him in a bit. He pulls her closer, causing y/n to realize what he really wants.

Joe takes Y/N by the hand and leads her to the bedroom. Y/N smiles lightly as she kisses his neck. Soon enough, Joe gives her a deep kiss on the lips, his soft hands cupping her cheeks.

“Please, I want to try tonight. I need you.” Joe asks.

“Fuck me, Joey.”

Y/N couldn’t say another word before she was pinned against the bed and her clothes almost ripped off. She pulls Joe’s shirt off, teasing his skin with her finger tips as Joe’s falls from his waist.

“I want to fuck you so fucking bad.”

One of Y/N’s hands wrap around Joe’s throat gently, “Put a baby in me, Joey.” Joe practically growls in her ear.

Y/N almost screams as Joe immediately starts to pound into her. Joe is practically vibrating as he stays in a wuick pace. He keeps moaning and growling, hearing his girlfriend practically scream his name.

“Fuck!” He moans, “Y/N!”

Joe grips her waist, pinning her down into the bed. Y/N grips his her, smashing her lips into his, moaning. She clenches her walks around his dick, feeling him.

“You’re so tight babe!”

“I need you, I want you to cum Joey.” Y/N moans, looking at him innocently.

“You’re going to get a fucking baby,” Joe growls.

“Joseph! Oh god, you feel so fucking good!” She moans in his ear. “So fucking good baby.”

“Baby girl, clench you’re walls,” joe growls, Y/N soon to do as told.

“Oh god, you’re so big!” Y/N moans.

“Good girl, keep talking to me.” Joe continues to pound his hard cock into Y/N. He bites his lips as he feels her fingers dig into his back. She moans loudly into his shoulder, gripping him. “Talk to me.” He growls.

“Fuck, Joseph. Keep fucking me, harder!” Y/N screams. “Please, faster.” She couldn’t stop being loud. Moan after moan, the couple keep fucking each other.

Joe soon flips Y/N over on top of her, letting her ride him. Y/N lets out a loud moan, feeling Joe’s pre cum oozing into her. Joe leaves one hand gripping her waist and another wondering s up her body as she bounces on him.

“Joey!” She moans, feeling Joe grab her breast.

“Baby, I need to cum!” Joe whines, his grip on her, not getting any looser as Y/N continues to grind on his cock.

“Cum in me baby, please cum in me.” Y/N tells him, a moan coming out of her mouth.

“Are you sure?”

“Please, please!” Y/N moans. She feels his hips start to press up against her. “Cum in my fucking pussy.”

“Ah, fuck.” Joe moans loudly, grabbing her ass and fucking her back, causing Y/N to grip his shoulders. Her endless screams causes him break. “Oh fuck!”

Cum fills up Y/N pussy, Joe holding her hips and making her stay in his cock as he cums. Y/N lets out a soft moan. They are both out of breath, vibrating.

“You feel so good when you cum.” Y/N whispers. She moans again as she tries to get off, but Joe slams back into her. Cum is all over the place.

“I want to fuck you again.”

[until-we-fall-in-love]

Into the Hush: Chapter One

Into the Hush Masterlist

Pairings: Bucky Barnes/Reader, Wanda Maximoff/Reader undertones

Summary: It's only ever been you and the rugged wilderness; both unkempt and undomesticated. Until it isn't anymore.

(1870s Cowboy AU. A/B/O AU. Gothic/horror.)

Warnings: Violence, gore, dark themes, A/B/O dynamics, smut in later chapters.

If you are under 18, you should not be reading this!

A/N: howdy ya’ll lol don’t know how i came up with this one but it’s an A/B/O cowboy historical gothic au. it’s gonna get dark! also gonna be a real nasty slow burn lmaooo so mind the warnings, if you don’t do well with gore or violence, perhaps this isn’t the fic for you. also if you don’t like the Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, this isn’t for you, either, though i will be taking some liberties with this and trying to give my own take on it because there are aspects of it that i don’t like lol. im not quite sure how long this series will be, but i have plans for it. that being said, saddle up pardner lol and pls let me know what you thought of this first chapter!!!!

---

 Wyoming, 1872

The early morning air is crisp with new spring, cold and a little damp, dew glistening on the grass and glinting gold in the morning sun. Your breath still comes out in soft puffs that curl into the air as you step out onto your creaking, front porch. It overlooks the barren dirt road that leads up to your humble and charming farmhouse; weathered by time and storm and pleasantly cluttered with life and home at every turn. Off to the left is the freshly tilled ground that has been planted in; herbs and fruits and vegetables that will take over in the warm summer months. Trees have shaken the snow from them and have turned green and budding and new again. 

You wrap your shawl tighter around your shoulders, trying to gather more warmth from the worn cream, crochet wrap. You know once the sun rises higher into the afternoon, you’ll grow too warm for it, but now it’s needed. The wind curls around you, rustles your hair, lifts your skirts. It carries the promise of warmth, the reminder of winter. 

All is peaceful in the morning, before the day has broken over the hills. All that sings is the birds, lovely and bright and flitting from tree to tree. 

You lift your skirts, head over to the back porch, which wraps the entire way along your house. In the back is the barn, the pasture for the animals to graze when it’s warm. The creek towards the back, bubbling softly over the stones, crystal clear and cool. It’s perfect on a summer afternoon, but now would be too cold for you.

And you begin your day, head over to the shed where you ready the feed for the chickens, grab a basket for eggs. You enter the coop, greet the clucking hens with a coo, spreading food for them which they hurry to eagerly. As they eat, you gently reach for warm eggs in their nest, gather it into your basket and rush on to your other chores. 

Milk the cows, get them fresh water, fresh hay and in the afternoon, you’ll let them out in the pasture to warm in the sun. 

A few of them are round with calves, ready to give birth any day now. 

You tend to the single horse, only one now after your father’s male passed away last spring. The one left is yours; a dappled, brown mare you’ve affectionately called Clover. 

You’ll take her to town later, to sell extra eggs and milk, all the goods you can in exchange for bread or spices or money for the tax collector. By the time you’re finished with your chores, which is taking longer and longer as the farm extends and your father grows older and older, it’s around noon, the sun beginning to warm into pleasant rays of topaz and canary. 

Your father sits on the porch, in his old rocking chair, smoking a pipe. His knee has been bad since this past fall, has a harder and harder time helping you. Not that you mind; this farm has practically become yours, but he hates leaving you to it all alone. 

He’s been dying to set you up with an Alpha, find a good man to marry and help you with the farm. But none of the men from town pique your interest, few good Alphas in the small town of Longbrook, Wyoming. The train, not far from town, brings newcomers once and awhile, but it’s mostly quiet, tucked away in a valley, a river snaking its way through and out into the plains of wildflowers and fields. 

You know Longbrook’s secrets, the quiet, beautiful places that you run to when you have the time. Spend your evenings lazing in columbine and aster flowers, beneath old, crooked trees near quiet, turquoise lakes. Or on a bluff, looking high above the world, cool wind in your face and the fluttering of birds nearer to you than planted on the grounds below. 

You know where not to stray to, when the wilderness grows too rough and dangerous. Unrestrained in both it’s beauty and viciousness. 

So independent that you can’t quite imagine your life beside another, especially not beside an Alpha, with their combative, controlling natures. You can’t imagine a husband that wouldn’t mind you taking off, disappearing into the wilderness and returning when you fancy; like some feral cat, your father always remarks gruffly. 

He isn’t a fan of your disappearing acts, either. Alpha that he is, he’s kept careful and close watch on you since you discovered you were Omega, as irritating as it is. Controlling, but only because he means well. You manage to sate him by coming home before nightfall, when dusk is lavender and rose and the moon is only beginning to take the sun’s place. Besides, there’s not much he can do with his bad knee, can’t keep you cooped up the way he used to. 

Ever since your mother had passed, you had to step up around the farm, grow up a little too quick. Responsible and resourceful, you work hard for you and your father. But your father has grown rather overprotective, wary with the Alphas he let come around; well respected in the town, no one has dared disobey him. A few had tried; Brock Rumlow, the tax collector, was the most notable of them. Pushy and irksome, he’d tried to convince you to disobey, sway you to sneak out with him or let him come by but you always turned your nose up at him.

You have no interest in someone so aggressive, so controlling.

You aren’t one to roll over or lower your eyes submissively; many Omegas aren’t, in your opinion, but it’s expected. There’s no time for that, though, not for you. No use or desire for it. You have a farm to take care of, to keep running smoothly. You have a life to live, adventures to have, open sky to chase. 

And there’s  certainly nothing and no one that’s going to stop you. 

“Be careful goin’ into town,” Your father speaks up finally, smoke curling from his lips, voice rough and fogged, “Heard there was a few newcomers.” 

Your father is always wary of newcomers, prefers to assess them himself, rather than hear from others. 

“Yes, pa.” You respond, not particularly interested in them, nor sticking around for one of your father’s infamous lectures. You hurry on, grabbing all that you need, loading up Clover for the journey. You saddle her up, throw yourself over her with practiced ease, hitching your skirts up slightly and out of the way. 

“Be home by nightfall!” Your father hollers after you, but you’re already easing Clover onto the dirt path. 

“Of course!” You call back, just as you urge her into a faster pace, your voice carries on the wind, distant and as light as the new blossoms. 

You push her into a gallop; not because there’s a rush, but because it’s fun. Because the wind is in your hair and the sun is warm on your shoulders and Clover thunders across the ground, kicking up dirt and making a mess. 

You let a grin hitch onto the corner of your lips, lean forward, ease into the speed. The town is only a twenty minute ride, fifteen if you pushed, but you want to enjoy the ride. The landscape blurs past you in shades of olive and juniper, butter cream, robin’s egg blue. The pop of lily white, a sudden burst of dainty pink or blushing red. But it’s just you and the trees and the pounding of your heart along the beat of hooves against the solid ground. 

Free and open and bursting, you race away from home eagerly and into the wilderness.

You end up slowing Clover halfway through your journey, appreciating the spring air, new and linen clean, shadowed patterns falling over you beneath the trees. The wind tickles your cheeks, the distant sound of the river can be heard when you listen carefully, a soft rush of water. It’s soothing, like the creek by your house, the sloshing lake you visit often. You let it carry you into town, peaceful, lazily letting Clover step onto more worn dirt roads. 

Town people shout to you in greeting, wave as you pass by; you’re a familiar face to them. You give them smiles, holler back to some as you make your way to the grocers to sell your eggs and milk. You swing down from Clover, hopping easily onto your feet. 

You end up walking out of the grocer’s with some extra money and a few cans of preserved vegetables and fruits. You buy some bread at the bakery, a pastry to split with Wanda, who you’re hoping can join you for the afternoon. 

You catch sight of her outside the dress shop, peering at the finely made clothes through the window. She wears her own dress of dove grey, similar in fashion to yours rather than the ones she gazes at; your dresses are looser, easier to move and work and play in, aprons tied around your waists instead of the ruffles and frill of the dresses in the window. Her long curls cascade over her shoulders, near copper under the afternoon sun.

You call to her, watch as her features light up upon seeing you, before she picks her skirts up and bounds over to you. Her scent hits you; sweetly Omega, soft clary sage, warm rose, and damp patchouli. Mysterious and floral, she’s always been a little offbeat with her wide, wondering eyes that linger in darkness. 

Some of the elders call her a witch, little demon child, with her Eastern European ties and mischievous curl of her lips. But to you she is only Wanda, your dearest. 

Her fingers, nimble and quick, find yours, lock and lace together. “Hello, darling.” She says, pressing her lips to your cheek in greeting, her voice melodic and smooth; velvet dark and sweet twilight. 

You let your cheek brush hers, lean into the touch eagerly, soft, rosy and warm skin against yours. “Hello, Wanda.” 

She pulls back with a flutter of her lashes, wide eyes finding yours. There’s a familiar glimmer in them, which makes your heart leap amorously, excited and playful. “Are we going to sneak off to the meadow today, still?” She asks, dropping her voice to a hush and stepping nearer. Your hands tighten over hers as you draw closer, duck your head so you catch another breeze of her scent in her hair, the nape of her neck.

“Yes,” You reply, an eager smile pulling at your lips, “I bought us a pastry to split and a book to read.” 

“Then what are we waiting for?” She nearly purrs, bouncing lightly on her toes in excitement. You’re about to pull her along, drag her towards Clover when someone clears their throat behind you.

You both turn, fingers still interwoven, pressed to one another’s sides. Her warmth is welcome and comforting, especially as you both find Rumlow gazing back at the pair of you with depthless, cold eyes. His face, so marred and twisted, gleams pink and shiny with scarred and new skin under the afternoon light. The rays of white gold sunlight do nothing to lighten his features, nor the darkness of his gaze.

It pierces deep into you, as if he wants to pry and prod and pick you cleanly apart. It’s the gaze of a conqueror, you think, the gaze of someone who wants something that can never be theirs. It’s a disturbing hunger, the kind that sends a deep chill down your spine. 

Wanda squeezes your hand in comfort. So attuned to you, she perhaps can tell by body language or the dip in your scent that you’re frightened in some way, that Rumlow has caused you distress and he has yet to even open his jagged, scarred mouth. 

“Lovely afternoon for you ladies.” He says very coldly, as if he is not in fact concerned with the weather nor you both.

“Yes, it is.” Wanda replies for you, a dark, protective little gleam in her eyes. You can smell the shift of scent with her light aggression, the flare of sage that burns and tickles your nose. It sharpens and spices, makes you blink with it. 

“You’re both looking mighty fine, rich with spring. Omegas always were sweetest in spring. Isn’t that right?” He muses and it chills you to the bone, makes you press closer to Wanda’s side, as if you could fold into the safety of her body. 

There is old folklore; spring being associated with Omegas. It’s all about fertility and the new life that blossoms in spring, old wives’ tales of Omegas getting their strongest heats in the spring after long, dormant winters. Perhaps there is some truth to it, biologically, because winter can get so harsh and so sparse with food if one isn’t careful. Bearing children in winter would never be easy, but it’s something you don’t wish to linger on, particularly not with the way Rumlow is eyeing you.

Like ripening fruit to be picked. A flower blooming, awaiting the moment to pluck it from the earth.

Wanda grows uncomfortable now, too, you can feel it in the bunching of her slim shoulders. But she steps in front of you purposefully, a show of challenge to Rumlow, one of protection for you. 

“Isn’t that right, ladies?” Rumlow urges, taking a step forward and Wanda sharply takes a step back, forcing you back as well. You cling to the back of her skirts with tense, seeking fingers. 

“I sure hope you’re not botherin’ these girls.” Another voice speaks up, authoritative and strong and sure. The kind of voice that gives commands, ones you think many eagerly would follow. Not unkind, but unwavering. When you both turn to the source, it’s a blond man, broad shouldered and wide and tall. He’s dressed simply, the top few buttons of his shirt popped open to reveal a muscled chest. Pretty, light blue eyes. He has an honest face, a strong jaw, trustworthy and noble. 

His scent is distinctly Alpha, strong and commanding; cedar wood and leather. The soft notes of something gentler like cotton and the way your linen smells on a summer day fluttering in the breeze to be dry. It’s soothing, a deep comfort compared to the off-beat, metal tang and sour blood smell of Rumlow’s scent. 

Which, has become bitter and salty with his anger and aggression for this newcomer.  

“I wasn’t bothering them. Was I bothering you Omegas?” He asks sharply, prickling with agitation and it makes you grip Wanda’s skirts a little tighter. “And who are you, anyways?” He then almost growls, “Newcomer isn’t gonna tell me what to do.” 

You can tell Rumlow’s itching to pick a fight by the tightening of his shoulders and baring of his teeth. The air becomes charged with scent, territorial and angry and pungent. Wanda’s is still spiced and agitated, too, with the threat of Rumlow. Your own is dipped into distress, irritation, and the newcomer’s becomes stronger, cedar wood sharp. Rooted in place, he cocks his head slightly, challenging. 

“Why don’t you move along.” The newcomer says, and he’s not asking, he’s telling. It’s bold of him, with the way Rumlow’s face; twisted and angry, settles on him. No one challenges Rumlow in this town. He holds too much power, is too strong; both physically and socially. Even protected by the law by being a tax collector for Alexander Pierce. 

Another man steps up behind the blond, eyeing Rumlow with particularly cold and dark eyes; midnight blue, the evening sky bleary with stars, depthless and all consuming. His hair is longer, brushing the tops of his shoulders, half pulled back from his strong face--

When your eyes settle upon his features for the first time, it feels as if you’ve been struck; a blow of lightning, the sudden shock of cold water, the gasp you take when you resurface. It’s damning, you think, as if you’ve seen him in your dreams or in hazy, unknown past lives. As if you’ve known him your whole life, somehow, as if you recognize him now and wonder how you ever could’ve forgotten him.

He looks like the tragic heroes you read about; the ones that rise only to fall, crumble down after being so noble and wide-eyed. He is breathtaking and standing tall and strong against Rumlow’s piercing gaze. There’s a warning in his eyes, a half-dare, begging Rumlow to try something and see what happens now. Where the blond is golden-hearted and bright-eyed, he seems darker, more eclipsed. 

And surprisingly, it works, Rumlow eyes the pair of them, weighs his options, and then promptly steps down. He mutters something about leaving, about how this isn’t the end. But you can’t help the quirk of a smile, the hint of cruel amusement you get from watching him ease away. Slink off back into the hustle of town.

Wanda smiles wider than you, sharper, a little more mischievous, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Rumlow cower like that.” She says and turns towards the newcomers with a radiance that is hard to match. 

And the blond smiles, easy and gentle, “Glad we could help.” And then with deep courtesy, “Steve Rogers, by the way.” 

“Wanda Maximoff.” She pulls you back up to her side once more, offers your name to them, too.

Steve claps the other man on the shoulder, an ease is shared between them that is not unsimilar to you and Wanda. Steve adds, “James Buchanan. But we just call him Bucky.”

And Bucky nods, his eyes finally sliding over to you; his scent hits you at nearly the same time. Offbeat and pine, the sharp, cold smell of metal. There’s evergreen and winter, maybe the soft spice of juniper, the low cut of musk. It makes your eyes flutter, makes your head go soft and bleary with it. 

“Pleasure to meet you both.” Wanda says and her voice refocuses you, her fingers skimming yours to ground you. You flit your eyes away, but can feel Bucky’s suddenly sink over you the way the red sun will drop below the hills. 

You become keenly aware of your bare neck, hair pulled from your face and shoulders to reveal it to him. The cut of your dress suddenly seems both revealing and not revealing enough. Like it could constrict you, or maybe you’re showing too much skin.  

“What brings you here?” You ask, perhaps a little cooly, eyes seeking out the horizon rather than them. Anything but him. 

“Passing through. Looking for work for a few weeks.” Steve answers politely and his eyes glitter like the creek in the high summer. He’s pretty, you think, long lashes framing those eyes. 

“Oh!” Wanda exclaims and she loops her arm through yours solidly, her body warm and soft beside you, “You’re in luck! She needs help running her farm!” 

You almost choke. Throw Wanda a glare but she only meets you with that impish, precious smile you can’t stay mad at for very long. 

“I don’t--” You try to protest. 

“She does!” Wanda interjects, “Her father injured his knee awhile ago, been looking for someone to help out.” 

“Well, if that’s the case, then perhaps Buck and I will have to stop by.” Steve says easily, a half amused grin tugging at his lips as he gazes between you and Wanda. Almost as if he’s endeared by your antics. You bristle. 

“My father doesn’t take to newcomers very well.” You warn, as if that’ll scare these two Alphas away so easily after their little stunt with Rumlow. You worry that few things will scare these two off. 

Regardless you don’t need them on your farm, don’t need them trying to help or care for you or order you around. It’s always been you, and no one will change that. You’re not about to let them treat you like some soft, little creature who should be inside baking them pies and fetching them water. 

But you can feel Bucky’s eyes on your face still, as if he’s trying to burrow in there, make a home upon which he gazes. 

You grow even tenser, teeth grinding. No home to find inside you; just the unruliness of nature, the ever-changing seasons, or unforgivable storms. The river that churns too fast, dives between the mountains and the forests, the sly, sharp-toothed fox. 

You turn your nose up, “Besides,” You say, insolent and dry, “I don’t really need any help.” 

“‘Course.” Steve agrees and you aren’t sure if it’s to placate you or if he’s genuine, “But if you’re looking for an extra pair of hands to order around, we’re your guys.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.” You say, though decidedly won’t. 

Daring yourself, you finally force your eyes to Bucky once more. His face is stern and closed off, reserved. He hasn’t spoken once, and stupidly, horribly, you long to hear his voice. You wonder what it sounds like, if it’s rough or smooth or everything at once. Does he speak loudly or softly? Will you have to lean in to hear him or will you step back at the crack of it? 

And yet, he hasn’t needed it once yet. His presence, formidable and strong and raw, is enough.

You blink, look away just as he glances back at you. This strange game of cat and mouse with eyes is making your fingers twitch and tighten in your skirts. 

“We should be off,” You tell Wanda, wishing to flee, to feel the wind on your face and Wanda’s body beside yours and the afternoon sun bursting on your skin. 

Steve wishes the pair of you well, gentlemanly and sweet. Tips his hat with a boyish sort of grin that perhaps would leave other’s swooning. 

And Bucky, gruffly, and with a sort of gentleness you aren’t expecting to find, says to you, “It was nice meeting you both.” 

Something warm settles into your chest, sliding down like molasses, dripping into your stomach and core, spreading throughout you like it owns you; settles deep into you like it won’t leave, real deep into the marrow of your bones. And you inhale, breathe as if this is your first real breath in the whole of your life.

You find yourself replying, almost as softly, “It was nice to meet you, too.” 

His lips twitch upwards in the barest hint of a smile, as if it’s the first time he’s smiled in a long, long time and he needs you to show him how again.

So you do, you give him your own smile that isn’t much bigger, but it’s much easier and sweet as honey, clever as a fox. Almost like you want him to chase you, follow that curve of your lips. 

Wanda giggles, before pulling you away and back towards Clover to begin your adventure for the day, but you think you can feel the dark of his eyes on the back of your neck still, the line of your shoulders. It lingers, until you ride off into the heather hills with her and disappear on the gauzy horizon. 

---

Wanda and you roll in the wild grass on the sloping hills. Laughing and chasing and playing like you’re girls again, half-savage and free and untempered. You tumble and shriek and hitch up your skirts, loosen your dresses and unbutton collars. The sun is a gold glow, warming the earth and your skin, shimmering dreamlike on the new green buds, the wheat yellow of the tall grass. You tip your face up to the sky eagerly, just as you let yourself flop back into the field, back hitting the ground that catches your fall, cradles you. Clouds pass overhead in cotton shapes, free and darling, and you’re still breathing a little hard from romping around with Wanda, feeling your heartbeat inside the cage of your chest. You feel flushed with life; ferocious and curious and excited. 

Wanda drops down by your feet, before slowly, languidly crawling atop you. She straddles your waist, her skirts spilling out over the two of you. You sit up on your elbows, jostle and try to dislodge her a little with another round with warm laughter, but she holds fast, nails digging into your shoulders. 

“I saw the way you were looking at Bucky.” She says and there’s too much mischief in her eyes, a clever glint that the sun turns amber and honey hazel. 

You roll your eyes at her, but even the mention of his name on her lips makes something inside of you stir. But you indulge her, leveling her with an unamused gaze, “And how was that, Wanda?” 

She leans over you, her fiery hair brushing your cheek, your shoulders. She fits herself closer, twines her arms around you all close and snug. 

 “Like you wanted to bare your throat to him right then and there.” She teases playfully, voice dipping into a warm, rumbling purr. Her nose drops, nuzzles lightly at the sensitive scent gland at your neck. It makes you squirm, your fingers tightening in the skirts of her dress. 

You allow her so close, allow lips and teeth and nose into the dips of your body because she’s so familiar to you. A piece of your heart is firmly in her small, warm hands. It blurs the thin, unsteady line between you two, though. Scenting at the neck is usually romantic in some way; often times sexual. Comforting, when it needs to be, but you’ve laid so many times with Wanda, gotten so close and tangled together that you often find your nose at her throat, the nape of her neck, tucking your face into the crooks of her body and she to you. You know her like a lover, you think, sink into her body beneath the sun and the moon and the open skies that spread out before you both. As if the whole world opens for you two. 

“Your scent got sweeter; milky lavender and dark jasmine.” Her lashes tickle your collar bones, her mouth warm and open against the skin there. It makes you flush deeply, sink into the earth beneath you, “Want him to bite you?” She jibes, flashes pearly teeth, her canine gleaming in that white sun. 

“Wanda!” You yelp, shoving at her and she throws her head back and laughs, “No!” And you begin to wrestle with her once more, pushing her off and sending you both tumbling down another hill. You shriek and peel with laughter, pulling and grabbing at each other until you roll apart.

She gets on her hands and knees, feigns a growl from an Alpha in her throat, the kind that rumbles out from deep within them, but the sound is a little muted, and too light in her mouth. She suddenly pounces for you again, playful and light, sending you belly up and onto your back, though. “You want him to tackle you like this,” She torments, grabbing at your wrists as you try and squirm and fight with her. 

With a grunt and all your strength, you roll her right onto her back now, hook your legs over her hips like she did. 

“You want to simper and cry under him,” She says and this time her voice gets soft and breathy and pouty and she is good at that. Her back arches beneath you and you push at her more, tighten your hands around her wrists, shove them down to the ground, feel her heaving chest and trace the curve of her smiling lips and rose touched cheeks with eager eyes. 

“I don’t!” You laugh, playfully bare your teeth at her and try and growl back the way she had. It’s better than hers, a little more bite to it, but it’s still too light and soft. She laughs with you at your attempt now, laughs and growls and yells with you until you’re both breathless because there is nothing and no one around to hear you but each other.

You howl and chase and fall into each other with giggles and wildflowers in your hair, get lost in her and the way the sun begins to fall from the sky and cast everything in a rosewood haze, slow and burning and beautiful. 

She lays her cheek on your back when you ride Clover back to her home, and she kisses you goodnight, lips at the corner of yours. Promises to see you tomorrow. 

And then you ride home, race fast and hard before the sun is swallowed by the moon, before the stars blink into existence and your father scolds you to all hell and back. 

------------------

Home seems eerie with the darkness that creeps around its edges, night drawing out all the creeks and aches and splinters in the old house. All the memories pushed towards the back of your mind rush forward like skittering spiders. The last sliver of light sits on the horizon, fighting, railing against that inky sky as you get home. 

And when you rush through the front door, shouting, “Pa, I’m home before the sun’s set!” You aren’t expecting to nearly run right into the broad chest of Steve Rogers.

You blink hard and he steadies you with a hushed, “Easy,” And his big hands on your shoulders. 

You look up at him in disbelief, brows furrowing, quickly lurching away from him, only to realize Bucky stands to his right. 

“What--” You start to snap, and this time your teeth are baring with aggression and irritation, gone is the lightness and playfulness you had with Wanda. Your eyes flash with the last cut of light that slashes through the old windows of your house. 

“There’s my feral cat of a daughter, fellas.” Your father says and your head whirls to him. 

He begins to introduce the three of you again, but you cut him off, “I met ‘em today, Pa.” 

“Oh, good.” He says dryly, unappreciative of your tone. You force back a wince, know you’ll get scolded for that one. “They’ll be helping you out on the farm for a few weeks.” 

You whip back to face Steve and Bucky, narrow your eyes at them, “Thought I told you both I don’t need any help?” You snap, unruly, wildflowers still caught in your hair that now slips free of what it’d been pulled back in earlier. You’re sure you look half-wild. 

Steve holds up his hands as if he means no harm, palms up to you and you see they’re rough and calloused and scarred. Used, working hands. Hands that have seen a lot. You glance at Bucky, notice that one of his hands is gloved, the other free. You try not to stare, flit your eyes back to Steve.

“In our defense, we didn’t know this was your farm. We were sent this way after inquiring in town for work.” Steve says calmly, and then puts his hand over his heart, “Honest.” 

You scoff lightly, turn back to your father, “I don’t need them, Pa.”

“No,” He agrees and pride swells in you, a small bubble of it for a heartbeat, “But they’d be a great help to you.” 

There’s no amount of arguing or protesting that’s gonna change your father’s mind once it’s been set. He seems settled on this, content and confident. You try not to pout, try not to stamp your feet or snap or glare them right out of your house. 

Final discussions are had; pay and what times they’ll arrive and leave. Your father, thankfully, warns them to listen to you, and if he finds differently, they’ll be kicked to the dirt as quickly as they’d gotten the job.

And then he warns them, quite frankly, to mind themselves around you and you can feel your cheeks deepen into crimson. Bucky and Steve dip their heads, though, say obedient and firm, yes sir’s, as if they expected it. 

Your father finishes with, “Alright, then. You two start tomorrow.” And then he looks to you, “Walk them out, will you?” 

You huff, but do so, walk them to the porch where the crickets and frogs have begun to chirp and croak and sing. The night crawls onward, the wind rattles this old house. A chill overcomes you, a little shudder. You think you can hear the far-off sound of baying coyotes, erie and high pitched in their frenzied yelping. 

“Suppose I’ll see you both bright and early in the morning, then.” You say, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“Suppose so.” Steve says, lowers his eyes a little, “I did mean it, we didn’t know this was your farm.” 

You eye him, “Nothin’ I can do about it now, is there?” You counter, unwilling to give an inch, no matter how sweetly he looks at you with those darling, blue eyes. You’re sure that boyish charm works everywhere else, but you refuse to let it here.

He has the good sense to dip his head submissively, nodding slightly, “We’ll get out of your hair for the night then, let you rest. Goodnight, ma’am.” He says respectfully, before easing down off the old wood that protests beneath his heavy steps. 

And for a heartbeat, it is only you and Bucky and the rattling tree branches and the croaking night. A moment frozen, as if you’d captured it in a bottle like a letter that you’ll throw into the sea. Just this sliver of time that makes the whole world stand still, as if it’s been waiting or fearing for your coming together. 

You have nothing to say, but he inclines his head, holds your eyes like he’s holding the world in his arms, and murmurs all low and rumbling, “Goodnight, miss.” 

Then turns his back on you, and hustles over to Steve, to their tethered horses. 

And this time it’s you that watches him, eyes glued to his muscled back, the nape of his neck, as he eventually is swarmed by the darkened, reaching horizon.

---

You fall into bed, feeling strange and wary, a little weary, perhaps a little hopeful, too. For what, you don’t know. You can feel the wind changing, coming with new spring. But there’s something else, something heavier; the pressure is building, as if there’s a storm brewing. The kind of spring storm that bring destruction and clamor and the kind of rain that threatens to sweep you away in their flood and ferocity. 

Your bed creeks, the shadows are tall and reaching in your room. The moon spills in, but instead of painting you with wonder or lovely, pearl light, it only makes the shadows that much darker. The night brings the cold, makes you pull tight and inwards. You curl up beneath your quilt, try and ward off all that presses in. 

Eventually, you sleep. 

And you dream. 

You dream in visions of phantom grey and oil slick black, syrupy red, and flesh pink. You step lightly in a graveyard, the earth freshly turned and dark. Stones jut out from the ground like jagged, crooked teeth. It swallows you whole. The fog is thick and evasive, surrounding you and gathering around you, a train to your skirts that murmur and brush against stones and dirt and the hollowed out ground. 

A grave with your father’s name grows from the earth, forces you to stop, stutter backwards. Your teeth begin chattering, the clanking of bone against bone. You can feel the whispers of wind, something so near. Your heart plummets as you read his name, as you see his grave, which you now see is besides your mother’s. 

The ground trembles. 

Their graves crack, splinter like a dropped glass, bursting outwards in a wave of skittering, flaming stone. 

Frantically, you drop to your knees, try to put them all back together, as if that will somehow help. As if that will fix anything. You curse and cry and there are tears-- there are tears that drop onto burning stone. It sizzles and smokes but you can’t put them back together. You are alone, and you can’t. 

Your hands begin to burn, flesh pink and blister white. Mud sucks at your legs and your knees and then you are sinking, sinking, sinking--

Oil drowns you, forces its way down your mouth and your throat and clogs your lungs. Seeps into every part of you. It’s invasive, forceful in it’s push and pull of you, it sucks at you and you are forced downward, kicking and screaming. Forced to swallow and take and be filled.

You twist, frantic. Try to fight back, but you are caught in the thick of it. It devours your screams and cries and pain.

And from above, there is a cut of silver, a star in the inky sky. A hand; metal and unnatural plunges in for you. And he pulls you clear out of the muck, the earth’s blood and into his arms.

When you emerge, it is as if you’re cleansed by the light. Gone is the slick oil, gone is the choking and drowning and thrashing. Bucky holds you to him now, crushes you to his chest where you can hear the live, thundering beat of his heart. 

“I’ve got you,” He murmurs, cradling your skull as if it’s precious, something to be protected. Your nose is pushed to his neck and you--

You cling to him, swallow down clean gulps of spring air and the juniper bright and metal sharp smell of him. Pine, there is pine and evergreen, too. Clean and fresh and dipping into musk. Your heart slows, lulls, with his voice in your ear; that voice you’d so desperately wanted to hear.

You feel as if you’ve heard it your whole life now, as if you can’t imagine going another day without hearing it. And he says your name, not Omega, just your name. And he breathes and is warm and alive beneath you. 

When you look around now, the earth is fertile and bright and warm. Spring damp roses and sweet, honeycomb sunshine. The fauna is in full bloom, an overabundance of life that leaves you inhaling the fragrant air. It’s so thick, almost cloying. 

And there is no breeze, you think. 

And Bucky’s lips are at your neck. 

And there is a stirring in your stomach but its--

It’s all wrong. 

He tries to lay you down. And you don’t protest because there’s something so tempting about it all, so safe, or so instinctual. There’s an ache and a burn and you want to shed your skin, you want to let him in and never let him out, bury his body in the ground with you. Become the earth and fertilize the flowers and feed the foxes you love so much. You wanna lie with him until the crow calls, until you’re nothing but him and you and the gem stones deep in the ground. 

But when his face lifts from your vulnerable neck, it is not him. 

Rumlow stares down at you, his scarred face so close and imploring. He croons Omega and you shriek, you try to get away, but it’s like the oil all over again; you trapped and thrashing and stuck. Rabbit in a snare. Fox in a trap. You scream, scream for Bucky or Wanda or even Steve or your father. You scream until it tapers off and burns into something ragged, shredding your voice. 

He is just heavy atop you, and his face is morphing and shifting, like he’s a new creature altogether. Blackened eyes that are too wide, too large and there is a gaping whole where his mouth should be--

You claw at him, scratch with nails, pull at pink flesh and cartilage and bone until he starts dripping blood and saliva, growling like a rabid dog. You twist his face away so sharply, so horribly, that there is a sickening crack and then the full of him collapses atop you.

You squirm and you are crying, choked sobs because it feels like you are burning, or aching. Lonesome and longing or horrified and fearful of everyone. You want to be held in equal measures that you want to run away and never see another face again. You are torn, split in two and unraveling. 

When you scramble away, deeper into the fragrant wild grass. You realize there is wetness, slick and warm and--

There is blood. So much blood coating your legs and it seeps through your skirts, stemming from between your legs. It pools beneath you, waters the flowers and seeps into the earth as if it belongs there. 

You howl like an animal, fingers squabbling in the dirt and the blood and your body as if you can put yourself back together again--  

You wake with a hard, sucking gasp. Blinking hard in the darkness. Your hands pull at your nightgown, shift to feel your skin, still warm and dry and clean beneath your heavy quilt. Reassuring, gulping breaths bring back cool air into your lungs. I’m safe, you tell yourself, it was just a dream. 

But the night is still dark and the bed still creaks and the wind still howls, almost the way you had when you’d found all that blood-- No. 

But now you’re just awake, in a lonely room. And there is no comfort, no warmth or forgiveness in the hollowness of it all. 

You rise in the morning, heavy bags beneath your eyes, and begin your day in hopes of a better one.