#we keep adding pathetic men and i am not sorry

[goodlucksnez]

Lovesick another oc story

I bet you all, are tired of hearing about mine and @dr-ground-zero OC'S but too bad. I love them- Speaking of love welcome our 2 newest counsel members Casanova and spirit

Casanova is basically a valentine day embodiment and their partner spirit who is basically just the embodiment of the night

this fic is like 90% set up and like 10% snez sorry- i got carried away describing them and their relationship

DO NOT REBLOGG TO NON KINK

Lovesick

High above earth clouds, ancient elemental live in peace and harmony. Well, most of the time. Beings who had been here since the dawn of the new era, who have seen wars, rebirth, society grow and expand, there is a small garden grown with ancient powers. The grasses, delicate and soft, sway gently in the breeze, their pastel hues of pale greens, pinks, and blues creating a soothing, dreamlike landscape. The trees, tall and majestic, shimmer with a mystical glow. Their leaves are a mix of silver and gold, and when the sunlight filters through them, it creates a dazzling display of light and shadow on the ground below. This is where the birth of love is made- at least that is what Casanova thought.

Casanova had been around since 300 AD, he was an idea back then and did not really gain power until Saint Valentine in 500 AD. He was a striking figure, with vibrant pink hair that matched the petals of the trees and eyes that shimmered like rare gems. He walked with an aura of light and wishful thinking. After all being the element of love, one looks at the world through rose-colored glasses, no red flags to be seen. He admired love! The artistry and dedication. The vastness of the chase and how no matter how hard the humans tried to study it, quantify it, there was something unidentifiable; so natural and raw, it left him breathless.

Now being well versed in the world of love and romance, you would think he would have a partner. Well truth be told he didn’t. He had just had a century-long admiration that if you asked him he would say they were just good friends. He wanted them to be more but every time he tried to ask them he would chicken out. “The timing isn’t right, or I don’t know if he likes me back” Numerous excuses filled his brain. And so the two of them stayed good friends, until the prior week.

Spirit had been around longer than Casanova. A tamer of wild beasts.  A model figure for the mythical and the out-of-sight. And the bringer of night. Spirit’s air is one of calm and tranquility, yet it holds an underlying sense of vast power and ancient wisdom. He is both a nurturing presence, offering solace in the quiet of night, and a formidable force, capable of invoking fear and awe. His connection to the night makes him a protector of dreams and a guardian of the secrets hidden in darkness.

Throughout his time had had seen many things, both beautiful and dangerous. He was a quiet individual wanting to stay in the shadows, an observer. That changed when Casanova began taking a liking to him. His cheery disposition and overview of life were so refreshing that he found himself smiling when thinking about him. This feeling continued to grow until finally he asked Casanova out and he quickly agreed to a first date.

Casanova had everything prepared: a wicker basket filled with delicacies, a cozy blanket, and a picturesque spot under a sprawling cherry tree. The light danced playfully across the grass and trees, creating a mesmerizing interplay of brightness and shadow. The air is filled with the sweet scent of blooming flowers, their petals delicate and in every shade of pastel imaginable. Yet, there was one small hitch—he had caught a cold. His nose was tinged pink, his eyes were watery, and he stifled sneezes behind tissues.

Despite his sniffles, he was determined. He wanted this day to be perfect. He sniffed back congestion and began to set out the picnic scene. His heart raced with a mix of excitement and nerves. The vibrant pink petals fluttered gently around him, creating a serene and romantic atmosphere. Just as he was finishing setting out the plates, the all too familiar feeling of a sneeze came back to him. The issue with his sneezes is they tend to take a long time. He would be sitting as one as his elements described “hitching limbo” until he finally sneezed.

He took out a tissue from his hoodie and held it to his nose and waited. Finally, after what felt like forever he dove forward into the tissue. “Hh…h-hihh… Ih'shuhh! Ih'yishuu! heh'ushuu! Ngh!”

“Bless you.” said a whisper in the night, and Casanova wiped his head to see Spirit leaning against the tree watching him. “I thought it would be best to not distract you while that was happening, glad you finally got it out.”

He blushed before replying. “Thanks, um please sit down.” As he sat down Casanova made a mental note: nothing is going to ruin this date.

 "I made some grilled cheese sandwiches, and fruit salad, and brought a thermos of hot tea," he said trying to not cringe at how stuffy he sounded.

Spirit smiled, his eyes twinkling with appreciation. "That sounds perfect," he replied, reaching for a sandwich. "Thank you for going to all this effort despite not feeling well."

Casanova blinked and sniffed before responding. “I am feeling fine, and this was no trouble at all.”

Spirit rolled his eyes “Clearly you are fine, I mean I have a flushed face and watery eyes when I feel fine as well.” Casanova opened his mouth to retort back but a tickle took his breath, and he tried to speak but he found his breath was betraying him. “I as..hehh assure you I feel- Hh…hehh…hihh..perfectly fine. Its noth- hihh ing.”

Spirit felt bad for him, he had put so much effort into this date and yet he was miserable in a place of pure beauty, he could not let this continue..

"Cas, you really don't look well," Spirit said gently, placing a hand on his arm. "Maybe we should cut the date short and get you home. You need to rest."

Casanova "I don’t Hh…hehh…hihh want to hihh ruin our chance, what if this never ha- Hh…h-hihh… Ih'shuhh! Ih'yishuu! heh'ushuu!.happens again.”

Spirit shook his head, his expression soft and understanding. "Bless you!! We will get another chance, so do you think I am so shallow that I would let a few adorable sneezes get in the way of our love? No. I love you, all of you and if that means waiting a few more days, I can wait. I waited this long, what is a few more days. Now let's get you home so you can rest and get better."

Cas blushed and took out a pink scarf he had been wanting to put on and wrapped it tightly around himself. His nose twitched and he quickly turned away from Spirit who was already packing up the basket. “Hh…h-hihh… Ih'shuhh! Ih'yishuu! heh'ushuu…h-hihh… Ih'shuhh! heh'ushuu!”

With the basket in one hand and his other arm around Cas for support, Spirit guided him out of the garden and towards his home. Cas leaned on him, grateful for his care and understanding.

When they arrived at Casanova’s home, Spirit helped him inside and settled him on the couch. He fetched a blanket and wrapped it around him, his movements gentle and caring. "You should get some rest," he said softly, brushing a strand of pink hair from his forehead. "I'll make you some tea before I go."

Cas looked up at him, his eyes filled with gratitude. "Thank you. You're amazing. I lo-..love…you…. Hh…h-hihh… Ih'shuhh! Ih'yishuu! heh'ushuu!"

Spirit kissed his forehead, “I love you too.”

-the end-

[knight-of-flowerss]

I Will Wait.

Part one.

|__> part two will have smut I think :p also if u wanna be added to the house of the dragon tag list pls comment on here and I’ll add u!!

Benjicot ‘Davos’ Blackwood x Bracken!Reader.

Fluff + a bit of angst

Song inspo: I will wait by Mumford & Sons

Masterlist

Being a Bracken was hard. Well, being a Bracken girl was hard. Your brother, Aeron, was a pompous arsehole. Always acting like he was this big, tough knight, when in reality, he was a little boy who was playing as a pretend knight.

Your uncle, Humfrey, also known as Lord Bracken, was also a pompous arsehole, but he knew how to toy with people. He wasn’t a pretender, he would make promises and keep them. Like the promise that he would get one of his guards to whoop you as a child if you didn’t stop misbehaving, and as all children are, you continued misbehaving, and as you can expect, your uncle stuck to his words, even had the nerve to laugh at you when you tried to sit down on your sore bottom the next morning.

There are many things wrong with House Bracken. But the worst and most annoying of all was the ongoing rivalry between House Bracken and House Blackwood.

Apparently, to the Blackwood’s, years and years ago, the Bracken’s poisoned their dear Weirwood tree. It could be the truth or it could be another of the miscellaneous lies that both houses seemed to spew about each other to back up their rivalry. But in reality, I don’t think either side really knows why they hate eachother.

But what you did know is that you love a Blackwood.

And that was wrong.

Benjicot Blackwood was a sweet boy. Shy and caring. He was everything you wanted in a man. And he didn’t care that you were a Bracken.

Even when you were little, Benji always intrigued you. He was an honourable boy, an honourable man. He would never include a girl in a family feud that all stemmed from jealous men.

“Benji.. the war is coming, isn’t it?..” You whispered to him. You were both deep in the forest, Benji sitting up against a large tree, and you lying in his lap, your head resting on his chest as you get your large dress comfortable on the ground. Playing with his shirt, you look up at him, seeing him staring infront.

“Yes my love. I’m sorry but I must fight, it’s what I was born for. If I cannot protect my Queen then what type of Lord am I?” Benji breathed out. You sit up slightly, placing your left hand on his leg and your right on your chest, your faces inches apart.

“And what about me Benji? If you cannot come back alive then where does that leave me? Married off like a brood mare to the highest bidder? Dead at the hands of the other Blackwood’s? And what if Aegon wins? You could get executed for going against the crown-“

“And you can’t? Rhaenyra will win. And when she does she just might have mercy on the disloyal houses like House Bracken. Or she might kill you. But I know my Queen. The backers of the usurper cunt call her King Maegor with teats. She mourns her children! Her legacy! But even after all that she would spare the lives of those serving the pretender, because she is a good Queen.”

Tears brim your eyes as you stare at him. Wishing this could all be different. “Benji.. I don’t care who wins and who loses, I just want you. I want us to marry and grow old and have children, I want to not be afraid to love you Benji..”

Leaning your head against his, you squeeze your eyes closed and pressed your lips together tightly, trying not to spill tears or a pathetic whimper.

“I’m sorry my love. I promise you I’ll be back. And when I do, I promise I’ll marry you under the Weirwood tree, under the Old Gods and the New. I’ll love you unconditionally, no matter what any Bracken or Blackwood say. You are mine and I am yours. The day we get back, I either ask for your hand or take you as mine if anyone objects.”

You open your eyes and look at him, lips parting slightly. “Really?..” He adorns his sweet little smile finally and let’s out a small, breathy laugh. “Of course my love, you mean the world to me and I’d rather die than let you be used as a political piece for those piece of shit Brackens. Always have been a piece of shit, do you know what your uncle did to my father when they were-“

You grabbed his face, slamming your lips onto his, it was probably the last time that you could and you were going to make the most of it.

It had been two years. Two full Fucking years. It was over, finally. The usurper, Aegon, had been defeated.

From the start of the war ‘til now, you had matured a lot. All Noble women and children of the Riverland houses had lived in Riverrun since the war started, protecting the houses heirs and family.

Two years ago you were naïve, wide-eyed, and dependent on your surroundings to comfort you. Innocence was your very essence.

Now, post-war, you had come to terms with the world, it couldn’t change, people will continue to kill each other for power. But also, you were ‘ready for children’ according to Lady Tully. She claims your hips have widened and your breasts have grown. She is determined to find you a living husband to carry on your Bracken line but in reality, you wanted to taint that line, with Blackwood blood.

Soldiers were returning home.

Finally, your family was returning home.

Thousands of men from each houses spewing through each and every crevice, determined to get home.

Tully men made their way towards the Riverrun to celebrate their victory with their wives and children, with those who fought bravely along side with each other.

Darkmont men marched their way home, proud banner men who were eager to pray to the Seven, giving thanks for the victory that the Warrior gifted them, grateful that the Warrior answered their prayers of protection, valour and skill in battle.

The Piper men stalked towards the Pinkmaiden Castle near the Golden Tooth and the border with the Westerlands. Their loyalty towards the Tully’s unwavering in and out of battle. They make their way home while their faces reflect their words, ‘Brave and Beautiful’.

Other houses marched home, House Endymion, House Deddings, House Teague and others. They were all either matching home or to Riverrun to celebrate. You would try and pay more attention, but you’re too busy to acknowledge each and every men as you’re looking out for your man.

Your silly, crazed, depraved man that, hopefully, still has that shy, tender-hearted, gentle and loving boy inside.

You were just about to turn away, to pack up and return home to see what was left of your family, when you see it.

Three sets of flags, each having a trail of burned, bloodied and beaten soldiers following.

In the middle there rode a man holding the Clement House coat of arms on a large banner, a white flag with for blue, jagged line going down vertically.

They were loyal men of the Tully’s, Defenders of the Riverlands but there is only so much those soldiers can do before they stick their swords through their chest due to the constant bickering of the houses on either side of them.

On the left of House Clement, there was your family. House Bracken. Holding their golden banner with the Carmine coloured Stallion plastered in the middle up high as if they weren’t serving the pretender, the usurper, the loser. They had been defeated, yes. But their life long rivalry with the house over the field seemed to make them forget that.

You finally spotted your brother, Aeron. He looked utterly defeated. But that was in his eyes, his body and mouth concealed his battered condition with a confident facade.

Even from so far away you could tell they were bickering. They always were.

Finally your gaze drifts towards the right of House Clement, to your enemies.

A large, grey Stallion, big hooves, a dark matted mane with bit splotches of white and grey littering it the further you get towards its back legs moved in sync with the others at the front of the House Blackwood line. It was the most beautiful horse you had ever seen, trotting at a slow pace and showing off its regal strut. For being such a big and burley horse, it was quite elegant.

But, as beautiful as the horse was, a god sat atop it. The Maiden herself reincarnated as a Blackwood boy, Man.

Benjicot Blackwood had returned, more a man than those marching. He held his family’s banner up high, displaying their victory.

You smiled and stepped away from the window, running through the halls of the Riverrun. You stood at the front of the gates, greeting men as they trotted in.

All the other houses entered or passed and then finally House Clement entered, the banner men leading the Fyrd.

Next came your house, House Bracken. Your cousins and siblings came boasting in. Upon an auburn horse, your brother chucked the banner to the on foot soldiers and got off his horse.

“Sister!” Aeron shouted as he rushed towards you, “The fucking bitch Queen won, the little fuckers burnt half our house, I’ll fucking kill them.”

“Maybe it is for the best Aeron, we should at least be grateful she hasn’t burnt us to a crisp. And.. I’m glad to have you back brother.” You smiled and pressed a palm to his cheek. He sighs and wraps his arms around you tightly, “I’ve missed you sister, truly. It was horrifying out there, you ever seen a dragon rip a man to shreds? Well, hopefully not. Has everything been alright while we’ve been gone?”

“Of course it has brother, I’m a Bracken after all. A Bracken woman. I know how to handle myself. Now, go inside and show everyone how a Bracken stands tall, even after a loss.”

He smiled at me, tightly nodding. He let of me and started walking inside, catching up with our cousins on the steps.

Finally, finally the Blackwoods came marching. But that large stallion wasn’t matching at the start, Benjicot Blackwood, your Benji was no where to be found in fact.

Panic set in through you. Where had he gone? Had he fled? Had your family hurt him? Your questions were left un-answered as Lady Tully came out.

“Sweetheart, come inside, celebrate.” She spoke to you with great kindness, her hands gripping the sides of your arms and gently pulling you away into the Riverrun.

While the Lady Tully was coercing you inside, Benji was arguing with your uncle, Lord Bracken.

“Your false, usurper, cunt of a ‘king’ has been defeated Lord Bracken, I see no reason why you still think you can act like you have the upper hand.” Benjicot had started to lose his temper.

He had came to Lord Bracken to ask for your hand in marriage, to throw away their rivalries and start a new beginning of joint houses. Of course this was not Benjicot Blackwood speaking, Benjicot Blackwood would rather die than admit this. No, this was Benji speaking. This was the boy who loved a woman speaking.

But as time passed, his new nickname gifted to him in the war came shining through, Bloody Ben came out. He started losing his temper, lashing out at your depraved uncle, calling out his foolishness.

In reality, Benjicot was being just as foolish, lashing out at a Bracken while their large hoard pricks surround him, fucking stupid. But, he had brought Oscar and Kermit Tully alongside him, two long friends of his. So if shit went down, at least they’d die together.

As the bickering continued, both Bracken and Blackwood became increasingly more agitated and aggressive, the two Tully boys standing there like they’re ready to kill them selves and not the men coated in yellow.

“Young Lord Blackwood, do you really think I’d let your tiny Blackwood cock defile my innocent neice?”

Benji huffs, “Lord Bracken, your neice will have the taste of a real man, not a Bracken boy. The gods know we are destined-“ , “You worship the old gods! You will not say the fake gods destine you and her.”

Kermit moves forward, leaning to whisper into Benjicot’s ear, “Ben, maybe we should leave”, Benjicot puts a hand on his chest and softly nudges him away.

“Lord Bracken, rest assured, the old gods and the new know our binding of houses will avoid years of bloodshed in the future-“

Lord Bracken interrupts him, “Why would you want out houses binded? The Blackwood’s hate the Brackens and vice versa, it’s been like that for years, why would you of all people want that? You wish to take a jab at House Bracken while we are at our weakest? Belittle us?-“

“I love her.” Exclaimed Benji, Kermit looked to Oscar and Oscar rolled his eyes, just wanting to sit and feast, tired from the war.

“You know nothing of love, boy.”

Tags: @thethreeeyed-raven @lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom @tiredsleepyhead @onlyrealjoy

[koisuko]

Hear me out, but how about a shy female reader who has been chosen as one of earthrealm's champions but Bihan doesn't see it due to her being short and shy, he makes a comment about it but is shocked when the reader gave a smartass response to his comment which peaks Bihan's curiosity about the reader?

Tw: none, shy reader, fem reader, no use of y/n

You lived a fairly reclusive life, hidden away in a densely forested area surrounded by high mountains. There were very few homes nearby with the nearest neighbor being 100 kilometers away. Just how you liked it, away from strangers in your cozy cabin. It was a paradise, a shy persons dream.

You sat on your brown sofa, the cushions so pillowy it nearly swallowed your petite frame. Beside you, your sole company in the isolation you live in, a small black cat. Soft purrs accompanied the crackle of the flames before you, your toes wiggling near the fireplace for warmth. A sigh left your lips, at the relaxation taking a hold. All the chores were done, you finished your reading, and you had gotten off your online job just an hour ago. You had nothing to do but relax. A hand stroked the silky black fur of your cat, the purrs a gentle lullaby. Your eyelids grew heavy, barely having the strength to fight the impending nap. Not that you wanted to, naps were your favorite thing after all.

One..two..three knocks on your front door jostled you from your drowsy state. A spike in anxiety hit, fear of who or what could be here. You never really had visitors, or many friends outside of your cat and family. There is no one you know to be visiting anytime soon, so who is it? Slowly, you approached the front door, a nervous expression on your face despite your best efforts to seem confident. Armed with nothing but your fists, you stood just inches from the wooden barrier. You knew how to fight, if it was necessary. A woman in the middle of no where needs her protection! You’d be damned if you unhooked the chain lock at the top of the door. You mustered up the courage to place a cautious hand on the door knob. Was it hot in here? You could feel the sweat begin to bead at the ridge of your brow. A sigh left your lips as the door slowly creaked open. On the other side we’re not one, but three large burly men. This is your end, isn’t it? “U-uh h-hello?” You squeaked out, earning a scoff from a man wearing blue. His face seemed molded into a permanent scowl, and his scrutinizing gaze locked on to what little of you peaked from behind the door. The first to speak, was a man with bright white eyes. “Greetings, I am Lord Liu Kang, God of fire, Protector of Earthrealm,” his voice was oddly calming, but not enough to block out the body guards beside him, “May we enter?” Enter? As if! His title seemed like something straight out of one of your novels. “M-may I ask what business you have here?” You cleared your throat, anything to rid the lump making it hard to speak. “N-no offense but..I think you have the wrong house.” Liu Kang’s bright orbs creased at the corners in a smile, “I assure you we are at the correct residents.”

Shit, you thought. A thick clump of saliva made its way down your throat, causing you to nearly choke on it. “We can talk outside, if you wish,” he added. Something about this man was…strange yet peaceful. What choice did you have? You puffed out your chest and unhooked the chain keeping these intruders outside. All within a split second, you swung the door open and readied yourself for a fight with a defensive position. Unfortunately, a pathetic squeak left your lips as soon as the door smacked the wall. The two men behind Liu Kang chuckled, one with a more lighthearted giggle, and the other a demeaning one. Liu Kang smiled once again, bowing his head respectfully. You straightened up with an awkward gulp so loud the birds outside could hear it, “I uh..sorry.” He shook his head, “it is understandable, your bravery is admirable.” That soothed your nerves just a bit, until, the man in blue spoke for the first time. “This is the chosen champion?” His lip curled into one of distaste as he eyed you down, “pathetic.” It was one thing to hate everything around you, but to insult you before seeing your skills was a whole new level. “Excuse me?” You crossed your arms, popping a hip out with a snarl, “you look like a mere boy with sticks for arms compared to the men I’ve fought!” He didn’t say a word, instead, he scoffed and averted his gaze elsewhere. Although, despite his initial burning expression, his eyes seemed to soften ever so slightly when looking at you. It was barely noticeable, but a spark flickered just behind that ice cold exterior.

[silly-len-fluffern]

Nevermind strawberries I'm the one who needs you 🥺. (Long text ahead lol)

Oh-my-lord e-very-thing’s so frail and thin Oh-my-GOD WHY-WOULD-YOU-MAKE-THIS-TO-ME?

[Silence because you know it hits harder than instrumental]

(Please calm down. We can fix whatever is bothering you I can try. But you might as well try to. Tell me dear, what is bothering you so much?)

Tell-me-why E-very-one’s so f_ing scared Tell-them-PLEASE I’m-no-mons-ter-to-be-afraid

(Monster? Monsters do have feelings. You’re not monster at all. Monster have the guts to kill The craftiness to hunt. My dear, monsters are important But are you important too?)

For-God’s-sake Please-stop-this-non-sense Why-on-earth Would-you-do-this-a-ny-ways? Why-on-EARTH- WOULD-YOU-EVEN-TRY-AGAIN?

(I would never hurt you, dear Oh me damn, please oh my. Hurting you requires effort You’re not worth of a sweat drop.)

Please-I-swear Please-oh- for f_k’s sake?! Why-would-they Why-would-they-be-SO-AFRAID?

La la la, la la la la lalala. (It’s your fault, You know what you did eons ago. You know how it’s like To be in THE OTHER F_ING SIDE) La la la, la la la la la la- la.

[No longer stuttering but you know, whispering]

You told them all. Couldn’t help but feel in-se-cure around me. Told them all. Well guess what I DON’T CARE. OH MY GOD, I DON’T CARE! I DON’T I DON’T I DON’T I DON’T-

[Silence yet again, but a really faint lullaby can be heard in the background- no words are heard correctly tho.]

(I did not. But good job reminding me Of that thing. Genuinely forgot. You’re stupid but you can work.)

-care. Ne-ver-mind. I’m-sorry, I-a-po-lo-gize. My-heart-is-just-so-f_ing-scared Tho-I-ho-nes-tly-don’t-know-why Please.

[Then don’t ask why but I feel like adding chaotic music in here, reflecting the angst ofc.]

-------------------------Part two of the same song don't ask me omfg.

I am. I am not. Or perhaps- Perhaps I am. What am I anyways? What could I possibly be? If not trash… to be burn at the ce-men-te-ry…

[Constant tic of a clock that will now be heard the rest of the song but really faintly]

Oh- my- (It’s O-K!) I-need-I-be- (Relax and shine, everything must go alright!) I-must--no-wait- (Relax and shine, I will help you just please let me-) Please-why- why-must-it- why- it-hurts-SO-DAMN-MUCH- (This is for your own good. I swear for my existence) BUT-THEN- WHY MUST IT HURT SO DAMN much…? (A needle a day will keep the tears away Please trust in me, I f-ing swear This is for your good, and no nothing else Please my dear, believe what I say)

[Really faint whisper yk] But why must I not feel a thing? I’m not free and I know it But would you really hate me so much… …to deny me feelings and love?

(Please my dear Please my love I’m so sorry I will not- I will be better next time I’m sorry for everything at all Oh my- please I’m sorry I apologize You’re my life My heart My whole because in front of why’s)

And if I know Poison might expire some day I’m not sure if it’s so great And if I know That you will still hurt me You’re still pathetic without me You do know how to earn pittiness My dear.

[Haunting silence cus why not]

[strayed-quokka]

sex is overrated || ji changmin

» summary: you knew what you liked in the bedroom but men never seemed to take a hint. maybe it was your fault. or maybe they were just really fucking vanilla. nevertheless, your best friend is determined to prove to you that he knows exactly how to make a girl come, and you're no exception.

» pairing: ji changmin x female reader

» rating: NC-17 minors please do not interact with this work

» genre: best friends to lovers, ruin the friendship, smut, porn with some plot, a little fluff

» warnings: where to begin... dom changmin, sub reader, changmin is massive, fingering, oral (f & m), rough sex, face sitting, deep throating, squirting, spanking, spitting, unprotected sex, chocking, restraints (pink handcuffs hello whisper), face fucking, hair pulling, slight dacryphilia if you squint (?), degradation, a nude photo, marking, biting, scratching, mild bruising, creampie, changmin is an aftercare king though... i think i got it all but will double check.

» words: 5,051

» a/n: whisper. that’s it. also probably the filthiest thing i've ever written so i'm going to pour some holy water now and pg-13 my eyes a little... feedback and comments are greatly appreciated x

Sex was always exaggerated pleasure. 

At least sex was never any good. Not good enough to justify laying naked in a stranger's bed before leaving early in the morning to go home. You weren’t sure if maybe there was something wrong with you, but they just all seemed to be so pathetically vanilla. 

“You look fucking miserable, jesus christ,” your best friend since a particularly terrible high school party a few years ago, Changmin, scowls at you, his hair unbrushed on his head and his eyes still tired. It’s surprising that he’s even awake. 

“I am miserable, Minnie,” he grimaces, grabbing another mug from the endless ones you both have (it may have something to do with your need to buy a disney themed one every time you see one), pouring you an extra large cup of black coffee. 

“I’m sorry angel,” he pouts, and you gratefully take the scolding beverage from him before adding some milk.

“Why are men so shit in bed? Why is sex so overrated?” the platinum blond young man seems unfazed at first, given that you’ve probably asked him this at least once every two weeks for the past year. He was used to it, and every time he could only offer the same few solutions. Tell them what they want, and trial and error it. It was never a one size fits all.

You knew that, but you were also impatient and in your sexual prime, and no one was satisfying you. You couldn’t remember when you’d last had an orgasm that you didn’t bring on yourself. Anyway, here you sit against the kitchen island with disappointment pulling all your features down, and your best friend sighs, “go shower. We can talk about it after.”

You listen to him. Changmin was probably the only man on this entire planet that you rarely if ever argued with. He just understood you, sometimes it made you even wonder if he read your journal, because how the hell did he just get it?

“Minnie, can I ask you a question?” you ask, brushing through your wet hair as the man looks at you when you come back into the room refreshed. You’re wearing his shirt again, legs bare, and he wishes he wasn’t so perfectly willing to give them all to you as if they belonged in your wardrobe more than in his. 

“Sure,” you put the brush down, thinking the question over in your mind before deciding to ask it anyway.

“Do you think you’re good in bed?”

It was probably the worst moment in time for Changmin to take a sip of his coffee, for now he was left choking and coughing horrifically while you reached around to pat his back. He was trying to remember in his mind if you’d ever asked him a question quite like this, but quickly determined that this may’ve been the boldest thing he’d ever been asked by you. 

It’s not that Changmin necessarily kept his sex life a secret from you, nor did you keep yours hidden, but you’d never directly asked him if he actually thought he was any good. 

“Are you asking me in hopes I say yes so you don’t entirely give up on your sexcapades?” 

You huff, crossing your arms as you lean against the counter across from him, “at least tell me you know how to make a girl come. That’s enough for me.”

He doesn’t know if the temperature in the room has risen or if he’s just warmer, but the vulgarity in which you ask makes him feel weaker. That being said, he liked to believe that he could confidently tell you that he could, and that it wouldn’t be a lie, “Are you telling me you’ve never once heard me had sex?”

Now it’s your turn to blush, turning your head away from him to stare at the wall ahead, “I mean… I wasn’t going to say it and embarrass you.” 

He likes this push and pull, the teasing nature that your question brought, and there’s something about you becoming more shy that makes him more confident, “you tell me then.”

He got you there. Not only had you heard some of the girls he’d been with, but they’d been more than vocal. Honestly, you couldn’t imagine ever being that loud, but then again, no one ever did anything that made you feel the need to scream.

“I have another question,” you start, and he nods as his lips turn upward into a grin, his deep dimples on full display for you. He’s nothing short of charming and sweet.

“You’re full of those today, aren’t you?”

“You sure they never faked it?”

Changmin can remember the few times he’s been rendered speechless, but none even came close to the way he falters now. He guesses there wasn’t ever a way of truly knowing, but it had been a long time since he felt like a girl wasn’t genuine with him. Honestly, the last time was probably back when he was still incredibly inexperienced. 

“Want to find out for yourself?” it’s an invitation that he doesn’t quite realise he’s given before it’s already too late, but he’s grateful that his voice always holds a hint of teasing so that if you completely turned away in disgust, he could somehow get away with it being a joke.

Both of you stand there silently, and Changmin is close to apologising for maybe crossing a line with you, but you cut him off first. 

“Okay,” he thinks he’s going crazy, like he’s hallucinating and losing his mind, but you don’t seem to back down, “but we should lay some ground rules first.”

Changmin didn’t know what he’d done in his life that resulted in him sat across from you at the dinner table with a notebook in front of him and a blue pen in hand writing down a list of what the two of you should be in agreement with before you’d have sex.

It sounded ridiculous, but he guessed this is how most friendships fell apart. There was always a risk involved. 

“Alright, let me see it,” he turns the notebook around towards you, and you read it all outloud one by one, pausing in-between to see if he has any objections or anything to add.

“If one of us feels uncomfortable we stop, no questions asked. If one of us catches feelings, we stop with no ill will and we won’t talk about it unless the person is okay with it. Traffic light system if ever necessary with tapping system if…” you pause, swallowing, “if traffic system can’t be used.”

Honestly, it makes you wonder what the hell you two may get up to, and it definitely makes you wonder if you should really be doing this. Changmin seems to see it too, the way you hesitate, “we don’t have to-”

“I know,” but you want to, “Minnie?”

“Hmm?”

“You remember what I like, right?”

“I mean… I know what you complain about when you come home unsatisfied, if that’s what you’re on about,” you nod, looking at the way his face illuminates with the dimmed light in the room. He’s beautiful. You've always thought it, but never had it been more than surface level admiration.

“Alright so…” this doesn’t feel natural. Maybe you need alcohol, but you also don’t want it to intoxicate your mind and hinder coherent thoughts. You just don’t know how to go about this. 

Changmin stands up, his chair dragging along the wooden floor when he does, “I mean… you’re free now, right?” 

It makes you laugh, getting up to briefly put your long empty mug in the sink before you jump up on the counter. His shirt rises with your movements and he moves closer to you instantly, already asking the next question, “can I kiss you?”

“Yeah,” he waits an agonisingly long time before his eyes flutter closed and his lips fall onto yours, but it’s enough to make you wonder why the hell you both took so long to do this. He’s good at kissing you, quick with changing pace so that you don’t get bored and rough with his hands on your body. It’s exactly what you’d want, and you wonder if maybe Changmin paid even more attention to the things you’d carelessly said in the past than you thought. 

You moan against his lips, and he slips his tongue into your mouth and roughly tugs at your hair, pulling you closer to the edge of the counter as your legs part for him to stand between. It drives you wild, and you feel just a little pathetic with how good you feel from something as simple as a kiss.

“You have no idea what you’ve done,” he pants against your lips, pushing the fabric you’re wearing up above your hips, your lace black panties in full view for him and the man nearly falls to his knees for you then. There’s something about you that works similarly to a drug, and he can’t wait another second before he strips your (well, his), shirt off and throws it to the floor. 

“Fuck,” he’s eyeing you hungrily, and normally such a gaze at your bare body may leave you wanting to cover up. But the way Changmin looks at you is so desperate and hungry that you blurt out the next words before you’ve thought of it. 

“Take a picture,” he can’t believe his luck, nor does he know what galaxy he saved in another life, but he’s practically tearing his phone from his pocket and fumbling to unlock it, nearly dropping it in the process. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes, Changmin. I’m sure,” it’s all the reassurance he needs, and the image he takes is enough to make his cock hard and strain against his sweatpants painfully. He throws his phone to the side, pulling his own shirt over his head and your mouth nearly waters at the sight you’re met with.

“Minnie…” you drag his name out in a whine, and he’s pulling you to your feet and practically shoving you down onto your knees in an instant before him. 

“Yes, angel?” it’s a mocking tone, but the very way he speaks to you causes your pussy to clench and your underwear to cling to your folds. The fabric teases your clit when you move and the stimulation makes you quiver. 

“Look at you, are you that weak?” you whine, licking the prominent v-line along his muscular stomach, before dipping your tongue beneath the fabric of his sweats. The blissful curses that leave his mouth and the grip he has on the back of your head is enough for you to pull the grey offending trousers down, his cock springing free.

“F-fuck,” maybe you were slowly starting to understand why girls were so loud with him. His cock was easily the biggest you’d ever seen, even to the point where you maybe thought that it was too much. Not only was the length impressive, but it was thick, enough that you struggled to wrap your hand around the base. 

“Are you dumb off seeing my cock already? Haven’t even fucked you yet,” it was degrading maybe, to have him insult you, but you wanted him to. His words turned you on, and you stick your tongue out and place the head of his cock in your mouth. 

You feel him grip a handful of hair, creating a makeshift ponytail as he steadies your head, your tongue lapping up his pre-cum and circling around the tip before you slowly try to ease him further into your mouth.

“Angel, you’re pathetic if that’s all you can take,” honestly, you’re inclined to agree. You’re barely halfway and your jaw already feels tense and your mouth feels full, but you try to relax and angle yourself slightly so that his cock pushes into your throat, “good girl.”

You cough, choking on your own spit and his cock but he keeps your head locked in place as tears spring to your eyes. It’s almost too much, but Changmin isn’t that cruel. He knows it and releases your head from his grip right after, allowing you to breathe. 

“I want you to fuck my mouth,” he’s stunned into silence at first. Truly, he’d never met a girl so eager to have his cock in her mouth, but who is he to say no?

“Oh… was that not too much for you… hmm?” 

“I’ll tap you three times if it is,” a pause, and then you look up at him, “I promise.”

He knows you’ll hold yourself to it. Even if he’d never experienced you sexually, he knows that you don’t go above your limits, so he trusts that you’ll let him know if you can’t take it. 

“Open your mouth,” you obey eagerly, knees pushing further apart, and he’s pulling your hair and yanking your head back so you look up at him before he spits in your mouth.

Fuck, he even remembered that.

He guides your mouth back to his cock, and you angle yourself again to push him deeper down your throat. You stop when you gag, and he only pulls back just enough to stop you from choking. He’s still at first, as if studying your reaction, before he starts to move. 

Changmin is relentless. Once he decides a certain pace, then that’s the way he’s going. He fucks your throat completely dry, and you only manage to get air for the second he spends pulling out of you before his cock stuffs you full again. Tears fall from your eyes and you moan, causing vibrations to hit his cock that only urge him on while you claw at his skin by his hips, trying to hold on to anything so you don’t fall over, scratching him until red angry marks taint his otherwise perfect skin. 

“You’re gonna swallow all of my cum, aren’t you baby?” you whimper, feeling his cock twitch before he stills, holding your head in place as his cum shoots down your throat. You savour every drop, falling into his arms as he pulls you up to your feet and then up onto his waist, “you good?”

“Y-yes,” you clear your throat, letting him carry you over to his bedroom before he sits down on the edge, shuffling around with you on top of him. Your clothed pussy rubs against him and it makes you shake, even more when you realise that he’s pushing your body further up, “do you need a break?”

“No,” he nods, resting his head on a pillow whilst you straddle his chest. You think you have a minute to breathe, but then his hands grip your ass and forcefully drag you up until your clothed cunt is hovering right over his mouth. 

“Min-”

“Hmm?” he kisses your thigh, and you nearly debate telling him that he doesn’t have to make you come. That you believe him when he says he knows exactly how to pleasure someone. Yet you’re convinced you’ll never get the mental image of him between your thighs out of your mind any time soon, and you’ll be damned if you let this go. 

“Fuck, I didn’t know you were so wet,” he chuckles, kneading your ass as he leans up and kisses your clothed folds. Your entire body trembles, and you wonder if you may have an orgasm right then, “all because of my cock in your mouth, hmm?” 

“Y-yes,” he pushes the fabric to the side, licking up your juices like he’s starved off the taste of you, and you feel your wetness drip onto his lips. You’re a moaning mess above him, only made louder when he spanks your ass. 

“You’re such a slut, hmm?” you want to agree, but just as you’re about to, his tongue finds your clit and you lose it, pushing down enough to wonder if you’re suffocating him between your legs. If you are, Changmin doesn’t mind, for he keeps the rigorous pace and only occasionally stops when the fabric of your underwear slips back into place. 

He growls, dissatisfied, and eventually he grips both ends of the flimsy fabric and tears it in half. Every movement he makes feels so messy and hungry, but you know everything is perfectly calculated. 

His ring finger teases your entrance while his tongue is still teasing your clit, lightly sucking the flesh, and you definitely know he’s calculating everything when he pushes his finger into you just as he lightly bites down on the bundle of nerves. 

“Changmin!” it’s rare, almost never, that you use his full name. Usually it’s when you’re angry, but in this case, it’s because you’ve lost most ability to think and say the first thing that comes to your mind. 

“God, look how you clench around my finger,” he swears he sees stars with how tight you are, pushing another finger inside you to slowly open you up enough for his cock, his rings cooling against your heat. A string of curses fall from his lips, knowing it’ll likely require some patience if you’re already clenching around something so small. 

“F-fuck,” you rock your hips against him, and he uses his free hand to press your thighs down, holding them in place as he laps his tongue back over your folds to where his fingers scissor you open, before running up to your clit. There’s a familiar coil in your stomach, but it grows all too quickly and without any warning while you desperately struggle against his harsh grip on your legs and his eagerness to taste you, “Chan- ahh.”

You briefly wonder if you may pass out, your entire body rising up though he moves with you, not once letting his fingers move even an inch out of you as he feels you convulse and shake above him. 

It takes him another second to realise that you’ve squirted on his chest and up along his collarbone and neck when you rose up, and your cheeks go incredibly crimson when you realise that you’ve left him a complete mess. But to him, he’s never felt more accomplished in his life, “fuck, you’re doing that again.”

His fingers slip out of you, and he’s incredibly gentle when he lets you lay there to recollect your breathing and become aware of your surroundings again. You could safely say that not only could he make a girl come, but he’d given you the most intense orgasm of your life. 

“Can I restrain you?” 

The question catches you by surprise at first, and it takes pathetically long for you to react at first, “what for?” 

“When I fuck you,” your eyes open, and there he is, sweating, still glistening slightly from your own orgasm, cock fully erect and dimples showing as he smiles. 

He looks ethereal. 

“Unless you’d rather stop for today? If it’s too much-”

“No! No, please don’t stop,” he chuckles, amusement dancing in his eyes while he reaches over and kneads your ass cheeks again, occasionally offering a light spank that causes your body to ripple against the mattress, moans leaving your lips. 

You may lose your voice at this rate. 

“So… can I?” You think about it for a second, before ultimately nodding and deciding it’s something you’d like to try. 

“How do you want me?” 

“God, you can’t just say that. I might die,” you laugh, at least happy to know that you affect him just as much as he affects you. 

“But to answer the question…” he comes up behind you, chest pressing into your back as his cock grazes against your ass, making you subconsciously push against him, “I’d like you just like this.”

He adjusts the pillow, ensuring that your head is well rested if your hands are going to be bound against your back, limiting the amount of support you can give yourself. What shocks you the most is how the handcuffs he’d fished from his nightstand are not only a bright pink, but shaped like a heart, “didn’t take you as someone who’d have that.”

“Chanhee bought it as a joke. Don’t think he’d assume I’d actually use it,” you chuckle, briefly thinking of your friend who really probably didn’t think much of it (or maybe he did know), whilst Changmin restrains your wrists and tightens the metal, “too much?”

“No… but not tighter, please?” Changmin obeys, doesn’t push where he feels like he shouldn’t and instead pushes your knees apart, your pussy coated in your juices and now in full view for him as he’d stripped you off your last item of clothing.

An item that you could honestly throw away. 

“Just tell me if you want me to free you,” but you don’t think you’ll want him to. Something about giving him complete control over you whilst he fucks you from behind makes you question your sanity, because you feel like you’ve never wanted anything else more. 

The tip of his bare cock teases your entrance and you whimper, especially when he stills “can I fuck you raw?” 

“Yes,” you'd expected an internal debate in your mind that never comes. You always used condoms. Hell, you couldn’t remember when you last didn’t, but you wanted to feel every inch of his cock inside you and suddenly that internal thought process didn’t matter. You were on birth control anyway. 

“You’re going to kill me,” he slowly pushes his cock inside your sopping cunt, groaning at how tight you feel. He was going to have to take it inch by inch, quite literally, and the very thought was agonising to him. 

“F-fuck… you don’t fit,” you’re laughing, and at least knowing that you’re amused has him relaxing from the thought of thinking he was causing you pain. He laughs with you, but it’s quickly lost as he pushes himself deeper inside you, the sound strangled in his throat, “oh my god.”

“You still have a bit more than half, you know?” 

“Shut up, there’s no w- mhmm,” he shuts you up with a rather deep push of his hips, splitting you open around his shaft, “now it’s about half.”

He’s teasing you again, but it’s so incredibly hot that you don’t care. You’re convinced that Changmin is the sexiest man in the world with the way he’s set on fucking you stupid.

It’s never taken you this long to adjust to someone’s length and girth, but it’s a good few more minutes of Changmin pushing a little more every time until your ass finally meets his hips, “god, look at you. You’re drooling.”

He chuckles, and you realise he’s right, moaning as you feel yourself clench around him unintentionally. He really has you forget all coherent thought, completely unaware of your own reactions “you can move.”

The platinum blond does not need to be told more than once. He’s been waiting to move, been desperate to, as he moves in slow and languid thrusts, like he needs you to feel every inch of his cock inside you, “mhmm, more.”

“Already? Can you take it?” You nod, feeling him hold your head down against the pillow, his other hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise as he quickens his pace. You cry out his name almost instantly, screaming it over and over from the pleasure you feel, though it’s partially muffled. 

“How good you take my cock.”

“Y-yes,” you stutter, feeling a sharp sting to your ass, but before you have time to respond, he’s taken the same hand he used to pull you up by the handcuffs that bind your wrists, your back twisted while he grips your hair and pulls you back into his shoulder, “h-harder.”

“Still?” he groans, obliging as he quickened his pace, his other free hand going around your waist and to your stomach, and he swears he can feel his cock inside you with every thrust, “mhmm fuck… I can feel my cock inside you.”

“Fuck... oh fuck, C-Changmin!” you wish your hands were free so you could touch him, but instead you have to rely on him to hold you up as he roughly pounds into you with no remorse. The pleasure becomes overbearing, but it’s brought to its peak when he dares test the waters with something you’d only mentioned once as something you wanted to try. 

His hand that had been gripping your hair snakes around your throat, and at first he only squeezes lightly to see how you respond, if he should stop or keep going. 

“C-Changmin! G-god. Please,” you whimper, tears falling from your eyes once again from the pleasure and he grins, biting down on your shoulder. 

“Whore,” he groans, tightening the hand he has around your neck just slightly as he breathes into your ear, his grip enough to cause the oxygen in your brain to short circuit but not enough to make you feel in pain or like you’re in danger. 

If your hands were free, you honestly think you’d make him grip you harder, and you know you’re about to fall over the edge.

It’s your inability to freely move and the way he holds you in place exactly the way he wants you with his cock deep inside you that makes you scream his name one more time, so loud that you'd be more surprised if the neighbours didn't hear it, your entire body shaking and clenching on his cock as you mess the sheets with your orgasm. 

It’s the stimulation around his cock and the tightness that makes him lose control, and a mangled cry of your name leaves his lips when his cum spills into you, coating your walls and leaving you to collapse as he loses his strength to hold you, pleasured groans falling from his chapped lips.

You fall onto the bed, hands still bound behind your back with Changmin falling right next to you. Neither of you say anything, but both your heavy breaths are loud in the room as you try to collect yourself. 

“We should shower,” you whine as a response, because you honestly don’t think you can move. Changmin doesn’t think he can either, but there’s no way he’s letting you lay in the mess you made with his cum still spilling out of you. 

As absolutely feral and possessive as that makes him. 

Your best friend unbinds the pink cuffs keeping your wrists together, wincing slightly as he sees how harshly you tugged at it even with the room he’d left. He brings them both to his lips, kissing the faint bruising as an apology falls from his mouth, but you don’t want him to be sorry.

“Please, if you dare apologise for the best sex of my life, I’ll kill you,” he chuckles, and you reach out lazily to poke his dimples, smiling when he squirms. 

“I’ll get you ice at least,” he finally gets up, and while the muscles in his body scream at him, he lifts you up into his arms and into the bathroom, setting you down in the tiled shower whilst adjusting the temperature of the water. 

“Wait here,” you nod, sat on the tiled floor in the shower as the water falls onto you, though you find it quite comfortable. Changmin comes back not long after, a few ice cubes wrapped around a towel that he holds to your wrist, kissing your forehead softly while brushing through your knotted hair. He’s completely different now, caring for you, and your heart swells in affection for him. 

“Can I wash you?” you nod, and you sit there with him whilst he rubs your body wash over your skin and then his own, making sure you’re both clean and taking his time as he does. He winces at the faint bruising on your hip and around your shoulder where he’d bitten your skin, but you glare at him, reminding him not to think about it. 

“Don’t pout about it,” you remind him, and he nods as he slowly begins to massage your scalp with your conditioner. 

He cares for you so much, and you’ve never felt it more than now, still trying to recollect your thoughts while he ensures you’re okay even when his own exhaustion is threatening to have him pass out on you. 

He even makes the bed for you both while you just sit and wait, fluffing the pillows for him, dressed in a new shirt of his while he's just adorning a pair of black boxers, and when he reaches for you to fall into his arms, you’re more than happy to. 

You think with how you’re spent, you’d fall asleep in an instant, but instead you lazily brush Changmin’s hair from his forehead and kiss his shoulder. He lets you do whatever you want, watching you with a deep adoration and love, but it doesn’t scare you. 

It doesn’t scare you, because you know when you look at him, it wasn’t just you who’d failed at keeping your feelings away. 

“I love you,” he’s surprised to hear you say it first, but the warmth in his chest and the smile that threatens to slip just make you want to say it again and again. 

“I love you too,” you nestle into his shoulder, still lazily playing with his hair while one of his hands hovers over your thigh, the other behind your back, and you don’t think you’ve ever felt so content. 

“Also… next time, I’ll be the one leaving bruises,” Changmin laughs, and it’s a sound that brings you complete peace. 

“I’m holding you to that but..." he pushes the fabric of his boxers down past his hipbone, revealing aggressive red marks that you barely remember leaving. There's a silence first, before you lean close and kiss the broken skin, "oh, please don't do that. I'll want to ruin you again."

You oblige. As desirable as the thought is, you're both tired, and you lay there silently for a few more minutes until he breaks it to ask you a question that's been on his mind since your first orgasm, "still think sex is overrated?"

You throw a pillow right onto his smug face as your answer.

well... i wrote that... i actually can't believe the ideas in my brain sometimes. also the resitance to switch it to another member because i'm weak for them??? guess we writing more boyz ✌️🥵

[ghost-like-pale]

a flinch is enough

info: the past never forgets, and techno never forgives. 》 they/them 》 in canon + platonic 》 1.4k words

warnings: sexual assault, explicit descriptions of murder/blood, hurt/comfort, swearing

a/n: this was a request from my beautiful 🌹 anon, thank you for sending this in. i made the implications of sexual assault a a little more subtle but i still hope you like it.

this blog it meant as a way of coping with trauma/mental issues, please don't report it. if you don't want to see what i write, please just block me.

——♤——

the moonlit sky was a beautiful dark blue as you stared at the light. you had been doing housework the entire day due to your counterpart being too busy with whatever he was brewing upstairs. the piglin hybrid usually helped you when he was home, it's his house after all. but today was different, you supposed.

you were so caught up in the moon's doings that you didn't notice the tall figure creeping down the stairs and right behind you. he assumed you were aware of him and went to tap on your shoulder.

as soon as he does you whip your head around, backing away from him as you hold one arm in front of your face and the other in front of your lower body. the shaking of your body became more prominent as time went on.

"(y/n)?"

you couldn't look at him. you weren't strong enough.

"(y/n), please. look at me."

you lowered your arms hesitantly and looked him in the eyes still filled with fear.

"(y/n), i'm not going to hurt you. i promise."

you averted your gaze and drop both your arms. tears leaked out of your eyes and cupped your face with your hands, all the memories coming back and hitting you like a truck.

"i'm so sorry, techno."

you dropped to the floor, your knees buckling under you and techno barely being able to catch you. you felt a heavy, warm cape drape over your figure while a worried piglin grunt escaped techno's throat. he got on one knee and rested one of his hands on your shoulder.

"don't apologize."

two simple words managed to tug at your heartstrings so harshly you couldn't hold it in anymore. you sobbed loudly into your hands, completely losing any posture you tried to maintain. techno was startled, thinking he did something wrong. he quickly snapped out of it, however, and pulled your body by the shoulders into his chest. his firm grasp made you feel secure, stifling your cries a little.

"...are you alright?"

you knew he had no idea how to handle it from here, but you appreciated the concern and kindness he showed. you pulled back from his embrace and wiped your eyes gingerly.

"i'm.. a little better."

"good."

the voices wanted to know who did this - who made you this way. who the fuck hurt you? he tried to keep them quiet, but he wanted them dead as much as his mind.

"can you tell me what happened?"

everything was silent for a few seconds. the voices were quiet, nothing came out of techno's mouth. you sighed and shakily started explaining yourself. techno listened silently, trying to catch every detail and description of the man who scarred you. he had a basic image of him in his mind by the time you were done.

"thank you for telling me."

techno glanced outside the window, the soft glow of the moon telling him it's late. how long had he been brewing? he shuffled a bit and eventually stuck an arm under your legs and upper body. with a small yelp you were lifted a few feet in the air, the cape that you were siting under fell off your back and onto the floor in the proces.

"you need some rest."

you didn't bother trying to stop him. your mind was foggy and your body felt heavy.

"thank you, techno."

"shh, there's no need to thank me."

in comfortable silence you were carried up the stairs and into techno's room. you were confused, you had your own room after all. you didn't mind, though. he placed you on the mattress he slept on rarely. his bed was bigger, the blanket was heavier, the pillow was softer, everything felt better. you wrapped yourself in the plush blanket and felt your eyelids getting heavier already.

"sleep well, (y/n)."

just as he was about to stand up you grabbed a hold of his wrist. he looked at you quizzically, knitting his eyebrows together.

"where are you going?"

"don't worry, i won't be away for long. now sleep."

"fine. good night, techno."

"good night."

—

looking through his bag once more technoblade checked if he forgot to grab anything; he had food, arrows, ender pearls, potions and a small knife. on his hips hung his axe, crossbow and sword, yearning to be used. his bag was full and everything he needed was in his possession. before he opened the door techno noticed the red velvet fabric resting on the ground. with a few paces he arrived in the kitchen and picked up the cape. he swung it over his shoulders and adjusted it carefully. with a loud exhale he stepped out of his house and into the cold weather of the tundra. he whisteled a command and one of the wolves in the pack jumped out of the enclosure it sat in and rushed over to techno's side. he was going to find them.

you've shown him your previous residence multiple times, which is where he was going to look first. it was his best guess. while making his way over to your former abode the wolf that traveled with him was scouting out ahead, hoping it would find it faster than techno.

techno's eyes shoot in the animal's direction when it starts barking aggressively at a moving figure across the woods. the voices screamed at him to assist his pet, to shoot him, kill him immediately, to which he happily obliged. he sped over to his companion, hoping to catch a better glimpse of the person.

"stop him, now!"

techno ordered the animal. after a few seconds he heard a loud thud followed by a yell belonging to a man in immense pain. he made his way over to the barking wolf, it having a slightly stained mouth from its jaws going through the man's flesh and muscles. he found them.

"what's the rush?"

he towered over the other male pathetically writhing on the floor. his calf had a nasty teeth mark, bleeding profusely and covered in dirt and saliva.

"p-please... don't... hurt me!"

"why shouldn't i?"

technoblade hated these kind of men; not even willing to fight or run. just begging and whimpering for mercy. it made him sick. the wolf that followed him all the way here was still barking, ready to tear the man to shreds.

he takes his netherite axe off his hip and hoists it over his shoulder. techno looks the other man right in the eyes, fully aware it fills him with fear. he wanted to feel everything you were put through. he was going to feel your pain.

"i...i've never done anything to you..!"

technoblade froze at the sentence. nothing? he thinks he's done nothing? he's not completely wrong; he's never physically hurt him - he's never even met him before. his train of thought was interrupted by the voices yelling in his head. they were screaming at him to cut him, to strangle him, to burn him, anything. he needed to feel pain.

"does the name (y/n) mean anything to you?"

the horror on the man's face got worse by the second, him figuring out why techno is here. the piglin drops to one knee and gets about an inch away from his victim's face.

"am i going to get an answer?"

"y-yes! we were friends a few years ago."

techno let his axe fall off his shoulder and into the dirt, the blade only falling a few inches away from the other male's injured leg.

"do friends traumatize each other?"

the question filled the victim with dread, his monotone voice only adding to the fear.

"y-you don't know what we did!"

the sudden surge in confidence surprised techno, to be sure. there was nothing more pathetic than a man yelling at the brink of death in such a tone. he scoffed with an amused expression and retracted his axe back into the holder that rested on his hip.

"yeah! they were lying to you, i promise. that's the reason i stopped being friends in the first- GAH!"

his sentence was cut of by a dagger being plunged into his stomach and dragged up to his ribs, cutting open his body. he mewled and moaned in agonizing pain, unable to form any coherent words.

"you disgust me."

technoblade stood up, his ears twitching and voices pleased. the blood on his hand dripped on the dried leaves as he called the wolf he brought with him. as the animal sped over to technoblades' side the screams of the impaled man were completely gone. looking over his shoulder he sees the lifeless body of the man who has haunted you for a long time.

he'll never hurt you again.

——♤——

thank you for reading, hope you liked it.

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taglist;

@esylwen

[har-rison-s]

pray, do tell

request: If you don’t mind me asking, request for Loki asking the other Loki’s if they have a s/o in their timeline during episode 5?

a/n: hi ! i absolutely ADORE this idea and i hope i'll write it out respectfully :)) i loved episode 5 so much, except for SOME scenes, and i especially enjoyed multiple lokis sitting around and talking, chilling, that's like... my dream place to be. YOU DON'T KNOW THE EFFECT PRESIDENT LOKI HAS ON ME. like it should be studied in labs and schools cos ??????? that feeling when he's on screen was just something else. also ! kid loki holding alligator loki my beloved <3. i'd love to be surrounded by lokis, me and loki actually have the same personality type so they're like... my people. sorry for the rant, hahah ! this one is a bit shorter than my other loki works, sorry about that :/ also it took me like 40 minutes to find decent gifs lmao. happy reading !! <3

masterlist

mcu masterlist

warnings: nothing really

disclaimer: lokis mentioned have he/him pronouns !

Weirded out by what he's seeing, and not entirely sure it's real, Loki can't take his eyes off it, either. The way alligator Loki drinks his boxed wine is just so fascinating to him, yet weird and other-wordly (he knows those well) at the same time. And he's weirded out more by the fact that he doesn't find a variant of him being an alligator strange in any way. He's had a few trying days, as he said himself.

Loki manages to divert his eyes off the creature with horns on its head and looks to the grapes he holds in his hand. He picks small dirt away from the berries and takes a grape into his mouth with ease. The taste reminds him of many things. His childhood, his home, his family... Thor, Frigga, Odin, Sif and the Warriors Three. Asgard. The Gardens, the waters, the Bifrost. Heimdall. Visits to the city, the markets, the celebrations.

Love.

Loki blinks, fooling himself and others by aiming to portray that he's not thinking about anything important. But he is. She was the most important thing to him, and now... Well, maybe during the New York heist, she's still fine, but after Ragnarok... Loki fears too much to think about it.

He wishes he could remember everything with her that followed New York, but all he has of their future is some worn-out tape in the TVA archives. Perhaps even pictures... He wants to live through all they had now, he wishes he could do that most of all. Of course, there's the finding Mobius and helping Sylvie burn down the TVA thing, but upon remembering her, it all falls into the background.

His first love. Not a god, like him, but she was a goddess in his eyes. He smiles now, subtly, at the fond memories of her. He noticed the little moments he had with her in the tape Mobius had, about his whole future. How beautiful she always was, her subtle way of laughing and going about her smiles and giggles, how exceptional and different her clothes always were, how her hair shined in any light...

“Did any of you...” Loki starts to say, and sighs shortly before continuing, thinking he'll probably regret asking it, “did any of you leave a... a lover behind when the TVA arrested you? Prince or princess?” He looks between his variants. Young Loki shoots him a stern look. “Apologies, my liege. You seem too young for that.” Loki bids him a polite smile, but his brain whirs. “How long have you been here, anyway?”

“Don't know. Time doesn't really... exist here.” Young Loki says and throws a salt biscuit into alligator Loki's jaws. “But no lovers in my lifetime, Loki.” He pointedly looks at the older variant of himself, nodding slightly.

“Not yet, at least.” Loki points out and gets scoffs and chuckles from Boastful and Classic Loki. He looks at them with a furrowed brow.

“Oh, you and your grand plan,” Classic Loki shakes his head before taking another sip from his huge cup. Loki only rolls his eyes, but still waits for answers to his question, “well,” Classic Loki downs his drink, “it would be no surprise to you that I had countless partners before I chose isolation. Partners of any kind.” He winks. Loki nods, understanding how much alike he truly is with his variants. “But I feel there is no one truly... truly made for me. Like midgardians would say - 'the one'.“

“In my case, there were many 'the ones',” Boastful Loki says, mocking Classic's use of words. All other Lokis roll their eyes, “I actually feel like every person in the whole universe was made to be with me. I'm just that irresistible.” He smiles pleasantly to himself. Alligator Loki growls again.

“That's another “liar” from him to you, Boast,” Classic Loki nods his head towards Boastful, who only shakes his head and frowns.

“I had my fair share of men and women before I was taken,” Boastful says, “must have been the same for you, Loki.” He looks at him. “Asgard was truly a giving place.”

Loki chuckles, but looks away from his variants. “Oh, it was...” he says quietly, “it was.” His voice grows even more quiet. Young and Classic Loki exchange a look.

“Do tell us, your mischievousness.” Classic Loki urges him. Loki shoots him a nervous look, then he leans back into the sofa and sighs, his eyes strictly focused on his hands.

“I had plenty before I met... one,” he starts to say, “me and her share a past, and, it seems, a future as well. After New York, I am taken to Asgard, imprisoned, but she is there. I fake my death and rule over Asgard as Odin, and she's there. I help Thor destroy our evil sister--”

“Oh, she was a nasty one.” Boastful says, shaking his head. “We used to have a connection, but then she just... I don't even know.” He shrugs. Loki eyes him for a second before continuing.

“We destroyed Asgard, but saved its people, and saved her. We make for Midgard, and she's there with me.” Loki sighs, his eyes gloomy. “And then... Thanos attacks, destroys half, if not all our people, and...” he can't even speak further. His variants share a look, each having quite the correct guess for what could follow after that. Boastful drinks from his cup in an awkward manner. “But I feel like that's another life I lived. Or another me. I don't know, I feel so... disconnected from her, from what we had. Must be the TVA and this... void. And all that's happened, all I've learned about my future.” He sighs again.

“Meeting her again would be a wake-up call, no?” Boastful asks. Loki shrugs, a sad expression on his face.

“Rather a sign that you're real.” Classic Loki says with a wide, true smile. Loki looks to him as if looking at a mentor. “I often felt like the people I loved and the love I had for them, even if it was not reciprocated, were a reminder that I am real, I exist and I can feel all these things.”

Loki considers his words, and then nods along, finding a truth in them.

“After all, love and all other emotions are the human part in all of us.” Classic says. “And it isn't always bad to feel like a regular human being.” Loki can also find truth in those words. Love makes one feel alive, makes you feel like you're on the right path, found the right person, found your purpose. It doesn't always have to be glorious, it can be small, but nonetheless important to you.

“I used to think humans smaller than us, more pathetic and puny, but...” Loki shakes his head, “we, gods, are just the same, really.” He chuckles sadly. “Having quarrels over the stupidest things, being as imperfect as humans... Sometimes I even felt like I was too good, too perfect for something like true love, which is a pathetic emotion that makes you feel all kinds of other feelings, but...” he smiles, “often times I felt like that, she told me everyone was deserving of love, even me.” His smile grows wider.

“She sounds lovely.” Classic Loki tells him with a kind smile.

“She was that, and more.” Loki nods along. Young Loki imitates the sound of a snore and throws a crumpled piece of paper at Loki's shoulder.

“You're making me extremely bored.” He announces and sits straighter in his chair, looking over the mess that is his palace. “Love's boring.” Young Loki throws a juice carton across the room, making a face.

“You are just too young to understand and know it, your majesty.” Boastful says with a wink, and the next juice carton is flying over his head with a snicker from Young Loki. Classic Loki keeps Boastful tight in his seat so an argument wouldn't arise, and Boastful hesitantly restrains, his drink almost spilling over his cup. Loki watches them with a sappy smile on his features, and decides this is a good place to spend eternity at, even without her.

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[bloodyhell-lucifer]

Accident | Tony Stark

Pairing: Tony Stark x fem!reader

Summary: Few months ago you were attacked at night when you were going back home from a girls evening by a group of some men who tried to beat you down just because you were girlfriend of the one and only iron man. Tony on the right time got the signal by Jarvis that you are in danger and saved you. Now you want to go out with your friends again. It would be the first time since the accident and Tony is worried and being overprotective. Some way he got irritated by your behaviour.

Warnings: slight angst, reader being involved in an attack, language, fluff at the end

Notes: I had that idea in my head for so long so I decided that I’ll write something from it and there it is! My first Tony imagine. Tell me what you think and also follow me if you like my works, I’ll post more of it xx love you guys

You were on your way to Tony’s lab to announce him that you were leaving soon. Your friend invited you to her birthday party so you finally decided to move on and go. It’s been like six months since your last party that ended you being scared and frightened from going out from your home and elsewhere without Tony himself. That awful night you were going home alone because you’ve had an argument with Tony and you told him that he is not your babysitter and that you can handle going home without him especially driving late at night just to pick you home so you two can go back home together. You were fool yourself for not calling the cab to drive you because it was summer so you decided to take a walk. If you could you would like to forget that and remove that memory, but what’s done it’s done you thought. You should live forward. You tap the code to Tony’s lab and you saw him sitting back to you, in front of his computer, making some improvements to Jarvis. Tony was dressed casually, black jeans and dark green hoodie hugged his toned chest. He sense your presence without turning around checking who it is.

“Hi baby” he said turning back to you, a big smile on his face.

“Hi Tony” small smile appeared on your face as well. You came closer and you were standing in front of him.

“What’s on that beautiful mind of your babygirl? I see it in your eyes that something is bothering you” Tony placed his hands on your hips and urged you to sit down on his lap. You did as he pleased, your hands going around his neck so you could play with small hair on his neck.

“Y/F/N invited me to girls meet up and I think it’s right time to go out finally” you spoke avoiding his gaze, because you already knew he wasn’t going to like that idea and you were right from the start.

“You are not going anywhere. Not for know. You know how it ended the last time you went out when we argued.” His lips were in the firm line, brows clenched and visibly vein popped up on Tony’s forehead. He clenched his squeeze over your hips.

“I know that you are worried but I don’t wanna sit in this house forever, not be able to seeing my friends. You are not my father Tony.” You got up from his lap and crossed your arms over your chest.

“You know that friends could come over in anytime to see you. You don’t have to go out to actually see them.” He turned around in his seat and got back to his computer, starting to ignoring you.

“But I want to go, I know that, that night I was fucking stupid for not calling the cab and going home safely but know surely I won’t repeat that.” You insisted, getting irritated.

“For fuck’s sake Y/N! You ain’t going anywhere and that’s the end of the conversation. I don’t fuckin’ like the idea of you going to your friend’s house to girls meeting and at the end of the day suddenly nobody wants to drive you home or take care of you when they sure know that we had a argument but on the other hand even when we are fighting with each other, on every day and every hour you can call me and I will come and get you home because that’s what I’ll do to keep you safe and it doesn’t depends on our little fights.” He yelled, his fist coming in contact with the table, face turning red. You flinched because of the sudden movement he did. He faced you again and now he was so close to you that he was towering over you and you could smell his perfumes.

“I want to have fun again. I was and I still am a little frightened because of what happened but I won’t move forward sitting in this house forever. I know that you are worried and being protective but I want my life back. I’m siting here for over six months and I want to know the world again.” You sighed, looking at your feet because Tony’s gaze was to intimidating to look him into the eyes.

“You accidentally survived. I don’t want to lose you to some pricks coming after you because they don’t like me. To that day I’m blaming myself because I was a fuckin’ idiot for not coming for you and driving you back home. It could’ve end so much worse then it did Y/N. I love you and I’m not ready to lose you.” He grabbed you by your waist with firm grip and you decided to look at him. His brows were furrowed and his eyes were looking into yours with serious doubt. On his forehead appeared a few wrinkles.

“I’ll stay. I don’t want you to be worried and stressed because of me. I’ am so pathetic. I don’t want to cause you any problems.” You placed your left hand on his cheek, feeling his light stubble under your palm.

“You don’t cause any problems, doll and I’am so fuckin sure you’re not pathetic. You’re the smartest woman I’ve ever known and od course beautiful as hell and mine as well” Tony’s grip tightened on your hips and know he was smiling to you like a child that received its favourite toy. His hands came to your checks, squeezing them lightly. “Look at me darling. I love you and I’ll protect you, no matter what” His gaze was so pure and on the other hand confident that his eyes were like saying its truth on their own, no words needed.

“I love you too and I’m sorry.” You grabbed him by his neck and let him hug you. Tony’s hands come tightly on your back, bringing you closer to him so he could put his chin on your head.

“I don’t even know now why I was so mad at you on the other evening. You’re walking cuteness and goddess in one. I can’t be mad at you for long.” The man said, placing a delicate kiss on your head.

“Guess there is two of us.” you laughed softly, hugged him tighter and making Tony laugh a little as well.

“We’ll do this. I’ll drive you to that house where you girls have meeting. Then you’ll call me later and I’ll pick you up and we will get home together. What about that?” He asked, looking at you.

“Oh are you sure? I mean I can stay, really.” you said disbelieving that what he said seconds ago.

“I’m sure. You are right that I can’t imprisoning you in that house. You should live your life and have fun, but in the safe way. I know you would do the same for me.” He wrapped one arm around you, leading to the exit of his lab.

“Of course I would” you were shocked of sudden change of Tony’s mind.

“Now go get dressed, put on some make up, all that all girls shit and I’ll Waite for you in the garage and I’ll drive you there” He opened the door for you, leering you go first.

“I love you. Seriously. I don’t know what I would do without you.” You added, grabbing him by his neck connecting your lips in a needy kiss. His hands immediately went to your hair, tugging them slowly, making your whimper. The kiss was rough, but also loving.

“See you in couple minutes” Tony said, winking to you, admiring your flesh.

He was the man of your dreams and you wouldn’t do anything to broke his trust, even if it meant staying a bit longer at home. You loved him and you would do anything to make him happy and feel loved.

[peachsayshi]

Chapter 6 - Festival

Gojo Satoru x Female Reader

Tags: Friends with Benefits, Smut, Teasing and a little bit of Fluff.

Summary: Your best friend Rina is curious about what's been keeping you so busy, and the two of you run into Gojo and his student at a food festival.

A/N: I have been working on my jjk fics but this chapter was a little bit difficult for me to write. A little bit of backstory and plot building here. Gojo and personal space? Non-existent. You can't tell me that the man wouldn't abuse his flirting rights.

- - - 

“Aren’t you a little warm in that top?”

Rina glanced at the high collared t-shirt you were wearing under your mini dress. The top covered the marks that Gojo left on your neck but the material was a little too thick for the summer heat. Thankfully, there was a breeze cooling you off otherwise you would be dripping with sweat.

“I’m fine,” you replied, directing your attention onto the vendors instead of your best friend’s narrowed eyes.

Rina asked you to come along to check out a food festival set up in the city. The entire district was lined with painted stalls which made for a picture perfect scene. The rich aroma of cooked food danced around you, enticing the bustling crowd that was growing in numbers. From golden battered fried takoyaki balls to mouthwatering barbecued yakitori, rainbow cotton candy that sent strings of sugar into the air and sweet kakigori to cleanse the palette…

Everything was making your stomach grumble.

“Oh, let’s get okonomiyaki!” Rina suggested.

After picking up your orders, you both sat at an empty table where you could enjoy your meal. You were ignoring the way Rina continued looking at you suspiciously, clearly not letting go of her obsession with the top you were wearing.

“Okay, that’s it. Let me see it.”

“See what?” you questioned, covering your mouth as you tried to chew on your food.

“The hickey you are hiding.”

You nearly choked as you swallowed but Rina didn’t flinch at your reaction. You patted your chest lightly, clearing your throat as you gathered your thoughts.

“I’m not hiding anything!” you replied defensively.

Rina rolled her eyes at you, “then at least tell me who the guy is…”

You waved your arm nonchalantly in her direction, desperately trying to avoid getting into a losing battle with your best friend. If there was one person in the world who didn’t need superhuman abilities to tell what you were thinking - it was Rina. She read you like an open book, making it near impossible for you to keep a secret from her. How you managed to go this long without her figuring out you were hooking up with Gojo was a miracle.

“I just want to know exactly what has been keeping you so busy recently,” she continued, “I’m having a hard time believing it’s work because you would be in a miserable mood if you were spending all your free time at the office.”

“ Or we can talk about how absolutely delicious this is...” you blurted, letting her words travel in your ear and out the other as you pointed at the meal in front of you.

Rina lifted her brow, shaking her head in disapproval. She calmly placed her chopsticks on her plate, leaning forward a little closer to you before hooking her finger in the collar of your shirt and tugging it down to check your neck.

“LIAR!”

You clasped your hand over the mark, your eyes widening as you prodded your best friend with your other finger.

“Oh, you are in trouble!” a sly smile spread across her pretty face, “when did you start dating again? I thought you swore off men after what happened with the fitness instructor..”

“Please don’t remind me of him…”

“Then who is this mystery man that you are hiding?”

You pressed your lips together, hesitant to reveal the truth about the deal you and Gojo had made. Yes, you were having fun together and none of it was supposed to be as serious as you were making it out in your head. In fact, Rina would probably applaud you for initiating this to begin with.

But…

Rina also liked to ask hard questions: why were you using him instead of confronting your heartbreak? Why were you chasing after something false instead of trying for real love again? Do you really want to risk ruining the friendship you both have?

Those were questions that you didn’t have the answers to.

“It’s...It’s some guy at work, you don’t know him…” you stated, finally settling on a good enough excuse to satisfy her curiosity

“How long have you been seeing him?”

“Just a few weeks…” you fibbed.

“Tell me what he’s like?”

“Uhh…he’s fun, I guess …handsome, kind of charming��but it’s only been a few dates, I still don’t really know him well yet.”

You swallowed hard, hating yourself for not having the courage to tell Rina the truth. Your best friend continued throwing questions at you while your brain spat out the answers before you could even think things through, your guilt twisting your insides with all the lies you were spewing.

“I’m sorry for not telling you sooner…”

Rina smiled, placing a hand on your shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. “I just want you to be happy. If you like this guy, you should give him a chance. Who knows, maybe this could turn into something serious…”

“I am not really looking for anything serious,” you admitted, allowing yourself to be vulnerable. “At least not right now…”

How could you want something serious after what happened?

You and your ex-boyfriend were together for five years. You met him when you were both at university and he swept you off your feet. His handsomeness showed through his kind personality and he always managed to make you smile. He was your first of many things, including this painful heartbreak.

You hated yourself for getting comfortable with him, for allowing your mind to plan a future that you both could share. You were disappointed that he made you fall in love with him but more so, that he abandoned you to piece together what was left.

You always felt like you never had your closure. When you asked him why he cheated, he never gave you a solid answer. He was ashamed for keeping his infidelity a secret for so long that his only response was a pathetic apology.

Who was this woman that he was willing to jeopardize your relationship for?

Why did he stop loving you?

You blamed yourself because you couldn’t understand.

One minute you were happy and the next you found yourself betrayed in the worst way possible.

You had enough respect for yourself to know that you couldn’t stay with a man who would treat you this way. When you broke up, you expected him to beg for your forgiveness. He was your prince charming, of course he would come crawling back.

You only knew that he had moved on with his lover when you caught the two of them at the supermarket together. They were buying peas, completely entranced with one another and the adoration that your former boyfriend used to look at you with was now passed on to the woman with golden hair.

He was your weakness and you…

You still loved him.  

Rina’s eyes shifted to the crowd, pausing when she recognised a face among the sea of strangers.

“Oh! Look who is over there!”

You glanced over your shoulder, following her line of sight until you saw your dirty little secret wave at you from a distance.

Gojo was eating ice cream, mindlessly swerving around the crowd and looking exceptionally fine in his summer fit. Adorned on the top of his head were cat ears, a little souvenir trinket that some of the vendors were selling at their stalls. His free arm was draped across a teen boy’s shoulder, whose unamused face indicated that he was not keen on being here.

“Rina-chan!” Gojo sang as he approached your table, “it’s nice to see you!”

“You too! How are things?”

“Great! Busy with the usual but today I decided to stop by with my student. This is Megumi…”

The boy awkwardly bowed to greet you and Rina.

“It’s nice to meet you both…”

Gojo’s shades slid down his nose slightly, and you caught a glimpse of those blue eyes. When he winked in your direction, you couldn’t help but blush.

“What are you two up to?” he casually asked.

“Well, I finally got Miss “Busy All The Time” to myself today and we just had some okonomiyaki, that guy over there is selling it…”

Gojo hummed and swirled his tongue around his vanilla ice cream before calmly replying, “I know, she’s been so preoccupied lately! Oi, when are we going to have our catch up session?”

Your face grew warmer, Gojo was good at keeping secrets and him playing off like he hasn’t been the one taking up all of your spare time only resulted in you staring at him with furrowed brows.

Thankfully, Megumi interrupted the conversation.

“I’m going to walk around for a bit,” he stated, turning his heel to walk away from your little group.

“I’ll meet up with you in a minute,” Gojo replied with a nod.

“I’m also going to use this opportunity to find the restroom. Gojo can keep you company until I get back,” Rina added, as she stood up from her seat.

Gojo gave her a thumbs up, “happily!”

The sorcerer took Rina’s place, sitting down across from you while his long legs bumped into yours as he adjusted his position. He paused for a moment, watching your friend and his student disperse into the crowd before finally returning his attention back to you.

“Nice outfit by the way but a little warm for today’s weather in my opinion.”

“I wonder whose fault that is…” you mused, pressing your lips together to stop yourself from smiling at his teasing comment, “I bet you think you’re so cute assuming you’re completely innocent in all this.”

Gojo smiled, “Actually, I know I’m cute.”

You couldn’t deny it, even right now as you watched him with those ridiculous cat ears that pulled back his white locks. He definitely was catching the eye of every girl and guy who passed by.

You flicked one of the black ears on his head,  “this is a new look for you…”

“I bought it for Megumi but he wasn’t too pleased wearing it around, kept saying that I was embarrassing him...” Gojo explained with a frown.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on your thighs and bringing the ice cream in his hand to your face.

“Want a taste?” he asked innocently.

Your heart skipped a beat, unaware that Gojo would get this close to you in public. He knew that you hadn't told anybody about what you both have been doing and you wondered if he was deliberately trying to put you in an awkward position. You subconsciously scanned the crowd to see if Rina or Megumi were around.

You tilted your head back slightly before asking, “do you understand the concept of personal space?”

“Relax,” Gojo said in a low voice, “no one is paying attention to us.”

“What if they come back…”

“I’ll see them before they see us,” he replied with confidence, grazing his free hand over your thigh. “Besides, you look like you could use something to cool you off…”

You arched your brow, deciding to give in and play this little flirtation game. You bit your bottom lip, gently wrapping your hand around his slender fingers and slowly leaning forward to lick the ice cream off his cone. You kept your gaze on Gojo, focusing on the devilish smirk that spread across his lips as he watched with approval.

“Mmm, that is good…” you moaned, before looking at him with glittering eyes, “wait, I didn’t get any ice cream on my face, did I?”

Gojo chuckled under his breath, “you’ve got a little something right here…”

His hand moved up to your face, his fingers holding your chin as he brought your lips to his. You inhaled, holding your breath as you were caught off guard by him stealing a kiss. The moment was fleeting and before you knew it, he parted his lips from yours but trailed his hand down your neck to take a peek at the hickey he left on your skin.

“I usually don’t care about where I mark you but if it’s a big concern I’ll make sure to do it in places where only I can see…”

Even though he spoke in a low whisper, you felt like it was loud enough for the whole crowd to hear how flustered you just got by his words.

You cleared your throat, turning your face away from him to regain your composure. “Behave, Satoru…”

“Mmm,” he hummed, “I could keep going but Rina will be back in any minute…”

You sensed a hint of annoyance in his voice when he said that.

The sorcerer leaned back, inviting the space that separated you both as he ate his ice cream with indifference. Sometimes you wish you could flip the switch as easily as he did but you found it impossible.

Rina arrived before you could even respond to his statement.

“What did I miss?” she asked, patting Gojo lightly on the shoulder to request returning to her seat.

“Nothing special,” Gojo answered with a shrug as he stood up , “I think I’m going to head back and find this kid before he leaves without me knowing.”

“Enjoy the rest of your evening! Also, you should stop by the candy shop sometime. I’ve been working on some new treats I think you might like…”

“I will,” he promised, stretching the lying game even further. He proceeded to remove the headband he was wearing, his white hair flopping over his shades as he handed you the cat ears. “Hold on to these for me won’t you…”

You took it, puzzled by the sudden gesture.

“What for?”

“Just an excuse to pick it up from you later,” he remarked innocently, “otherwise I’ll never see you!”

Rina laughed, clearly not catching on to his hidden invitation. Gojo waved goodbye and walked away, leaving you both to return to your date.

For a moment you thought your lie was about to catch up to you but realised that it was easy keeping this secret because nobody would expect you to hook up with Gojo.

You guys have been playing this song and dance for a while, saving your flirtatious banter and curiosities for when you two were alone together. Maybe you’ll come clean eventually, but for now you wanted to enjoy the bubble you were in.

You played with the cat ears in your hand, completely unaware that you were smiling to yourself.

- CHAPTER 7: GAMES - 

[alastaircarstairsdefenselawyer]

taking back what’s been taken for granted

a short fic based on @littlx-songbxrd’s asks on @anarmorofwords’ blog

cw: mentions of period-typical homophobia and racism, bullying, and alcoholism

"So... You're... You prefer men?" Matthew asked slowly. 

Alastair blinked. "Yes, that was what I was referring to." 

He scoffed. "Oh, right, next you're going to tell me you have a deep appreciation of the fine arts and like to visit art galleries in your spare time," he said sarcastically. 

Alastair's eyes were defensive for a moment before resigning. "Don't be silly. I've also been known to enjoy a quaint film or two." 

He hesitantly gave a glance around the room. Matthew appeared mutinous, Thomas a bit concerned about potential escalation of the interaction, and James simply confused, while Cordelia bit back a grin and Christopher seemed slightly amused. 

“I don’t understand. You’ve only ever been critical of me,” Matthew protested. 

“Critical of you, not your romantic or sexual preferences.” 

“What about all of those times you made some sly remark about ‘the company I keep,’ then?” he countered. 

“Yes, he’s said similar things about Anna,” Christopher offered. 

Alastair seemed almost confused for a moment. “You thought- Yes, the company you keep in all sorts of bars and clubs and whatever other dark alleyways you prefer to spend your nights in. Obviously, my sister has always been free to make her own decisions on where to go and with whom, but surely you could understand my concern.” Looking at the lot of them now, it was clear to Alastair that none of them had ever considered before that he would have concerns about Cordelia’s safety in such places because of his history with their father. 

“Fine,” Matthew said begrudgingly. “But what about all of those things you said back at school? About Oscar Wilde and plays and the arts? Did you suddenly change your mind about such things?” 

Alastair could feel himself growing annoyed. And, if he was being honest, he could still feel his heart beating slightly faster in the echo of what he’d just admitted. Revealing his romantic interests was one thing, but he still did not feel comfortable speaking about his father so freely, even in implications, even with the knowledge that everyone already knew. “I’ve always appreciated the arts, Matthew. I simply pretended I did not in order to fit in.”

Matthew was flustered for a moment before finally saying, “Well, that’s a bit pathetic, isn’t it?” 

Alastair straightened his posture. “Excuse me?” 

“I simply find it amusing that you would so easily conform to the interests of others. Why, to avoid a bit of bullying? Like what you did to us?” Alastair could feel himself flinch, but Matthew continued. “It’s a shame you were so spineless, perhaps in another life we could have been friends.” 

“You think that you’re better than me? Because you run around with your green carnation swooning over Oscar Wilde and I don’t?” 

“Apologies, I should have realized someone like you would need it more spelled out. That is exactly what I was implying.” 

“My bad, I knew you were oblivious, but I should have realized you had such a complete lack of self-awareness. You do realize not all of us are the Consul’s son, correct?” 

Matthew rolled his eyes. “What? You think that protects me? You think I don’t know the way folks look at me and whisper? The cruel things they’re prone to saying about people like me - people like us?” 

Alastair gaped at him for a moment. “It does protect you, Matthew. Do you truly think any of us would have gotten away with a fraction of the things you did at school? When I first arrived at the Academy, they didn’t just call me silly names and spread rumors about my family. I am deeply sorry for the things I’ve said and done and the ways that I’ve hurt you, all of you, but I will not apologize for conforming in order to protect myself. You are not better or stronger than me because no one ever beat the daylights out of you for having eccentric interests and opinions.” 

“I- I don’t understand.” 

The whole of the group seemed to be in some state of confusion or shock, though he knew Thomas must only be surprised that he was admitting all of this now. “What? Do you not think being the Persian boy with a drunk for a father was enough to make me a target?” 

“I never heard anyone say anything about you, or towards you-” 

“I made sure that they didn’t. I’m sorry that you were hurt in the process. There are things I’ve done that I will never forgive myself for, nor are any of you obligated to forgive me, either. But I’m tired of standing by while you all act like you’re better than me when not one of you has ever stood in my shoes. I didn’t have a safe home to go back to. My father never ran to my side any of the times I wound up in the infirmary. I did what I thought I needed to in order to survive.” 

A long, unsettling silence fell around them. He could see them trying to process what he’d told them, trying to understand what it meant to be that young, 13, 14, no one to defend you. Nowhere to go for help. They’d never truly understand, though, and they were better off for it. “Does that make sense, Matthew?” Alastair asked finally. 

“I… I suppose it does.” 

Alastair sighed. The group would continue to stare at each other in silence if he let them. “Well, anyways, as I was saying, I like men.” To his relief, the others did seem to relax a bit. “Actually, as Thomas and I were both trying to say-” 

“We’re seeing each other!” Thomas said confidently. He was flushed, and he wasn’t sure if it was because of their relationship or the tears that he saw in his eyes a few moments earlier. “Any protests should be directed to me.” 

As bizarre as the entire ordeal was, the rest of them eagerly accepted the change in subject. He knew there would be questions later, in private, asking if he was alright and why he kept so much hidden, but he was grateful for the shift in attention, too. There were no protests to their relationship, either, much to his relief, though he was sure it had more to do with his confessions than a genuine belief that he would be a good partner to Thomas. Oddly enough, he was okay with that. If they needed proof, he would show them. After all, out of all the things he’d done searching for his place in the world, he was fairly certain that there was nothing that came more naturally to him than loving Thomas.

i hope this starts to make up for my recent angst lol taglist (lmk to be added/removed or if you only want to be tagged in certain fics):  @stxr-thxif @satanisanauthor @zosiaenrique @lifewouldbebetteronmars @littlx-songbxrd @dianasarrow @eugeniaslongsword @bookswitchcraftandcats @jamesherondaleofficial @thomas-gaypanic-lightwood @livingformyself @anarmorofwords @foxglove-airmid @writeforjordelia @sapphic-in @jem-nasium @fortheloveofthecarstairs

[mel-the-fangirl]

The Escort

Walter Marshall x Reader

Words: 2,064

Warnings: none

Happy super late Valentine’s, Cavillry! As usual, this is a very very late upload but in my defense, it does say in my bio that I am a procrastinator soooo... Anyway, I’m really excited about this miniseries because I love the movie (The Wedding Date, 2005) and I really wanted to write Walter, I hope I do him justice!

Feedback (good and bad!) means the world to me as rookie writer, so I hope you’ll like, reblog and leave me some replies!

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You could not believe you were doing this. You just couldn't. But there you were doing it, even though your mind screeched at you to stop and save a little dignity for yourself.

The fact that you even considered doing this was already a serious loss of dignity points, so what the hell. People did this all the time, didn’t they? There wouldn’t be a whole network of people clumped into this app if it wasn’t a normal occurrence.

It just wasn’t a normal occurrence for you.

Once you filled your head with rationalisations to make yourself feel better, you took a deep breath and began browsing through what the great city of New York had to offer.

Z, 6’, loving hands, fit, athletic, good manners, for water sports, caramel complexion.

For water sports? What in the hell did that mean? And that single initial in place of an actual name? Serial killer vibes. No, thank you.

Lenny, 6’2”, pretty fit Italian, excellent dinner companion, all occasions catered.

Alright. Okay. Now we’re talking. Tall, European, excellent dinner companion equals to good conversationalist, accommodating. Lenny goes on the list of possibilities.

Terry, 6’, my soft voice will arouse you, my strong hands will pleasure you,  let me show you how a woman should be treated, hourly/overnight rates.

Oh no no no. Major creep vibes from Terry. That ad alone had you reaching for another long swig of wine.

Joey, 5’8”, are you into champagne?, bodybuilder, will treat you like a queen.

“If you like piña coladas…” you sang in not even remotely the right key, topping off your drink

Josh, 5’9”, I can make you feel sexy and wanted. Fit, sensual, strong.

“Well!” you exclaimed drunkenly, almost spilling wine on your couch, “Tough beans, Josh! I don’t need a man to make me feel sexy and wanted!” you faltered a bit, your drunk mind still seeing the holes in your logic

“I just… Need a man to help me not look like a tragic spinster in front of my family and my ex...”

With that thought fresh in your mind, you reached for some more wine.

The ads went on and on as you scrolled through your phone, it was all a little overwhelming, how were you going to make sure you weren't hiring some psychopathic serial killing pervert to pose as your date to your sister's wedding?

The groan you let out bounced off the walls of your apartment. The reality of your situation was sinking in little by little. 

Yes. You were hiring a male escort for your sister's wedding. It was your baby sister's wedding, by the way. You were a hundred percent aware that what you were doing was completely and utterly pathetic but you’ve already weighed the pros and cons in your head countless times.

Showing up alone: pitying looks, whispering behind your back, having to face ex by yourself, staggering levels of embarrassment.

Showing up with handsome -hired- date: mother can finally get off your back, date is more handsome than ex, ex will want to shrivel up and die, no one will know date is male escort except you and him.

Now, let’s break down some of the guests just for the sake of being thorough. 

There’s your slightly overbearing mother (slightly meaning every call you have with her opens with the question: “how's your love life, dear?” or “I have the most amazing man to set you up with!”), all of her judgy eagle-eyed friends (mostly rich widows whose sons your mom shamelessly shoves your way), your extended family (some terrifyingly old school great aunts and uncles who will definitely ask if you’re married and smile sympathetically when you say you’re not), and last but certainly not the least, Jeffrey, your ex-fiancé (best man, but apparently not the best man for you, his words not yours).

"Lordy fuck." you exhaled hard, chugging your wine straight from the bottle

How on earth did you get here? Sitting alone in your apartment, working your way through your second bottle of wine (or third? Who was keeping count?), clicking on ads that spoke of "hot single males in your area" waiting to meet you.

Would it be fair to pin it all on the end of your engagement?

Picturing that moment, you decided that it was only fair. Those were five years of your life you would never get back, you were prepared to sign on for more but, yeah.

You were blindsided, that's the only way to describe it. All the while, you thought that you and Jeffrey were on the same page, at the same place in life. You were the golden couple, the couple that all the other couples wished they could be, when you two walked past, girlfriends would give their boyfriends a slap on the shoulder that meant, "Why can't we be more like them?"

It was so out of nowhere, one minute you were discussing wedding cake options over dinner, then suddenly you're putting the ring in his palm, completely in shock. 

After that, you threw yourself into your work despite the fact that you were already a budding workaholic to begin with. That's how you ended up earning six figures a year. 

Six figure salary, check. Doing pretty well in life all things considered, check.

But even with all that, there weren't any conversations over casseroles and cobblers about your many achievements. Nope, your mother and her friends would much rather discuss their worries that you would essentially, die alone.

Your little sister, Amy, getting married before you didn't exactly help to put a lid on all the chatter. And with Jeffrey being the best man? And you being maid of honour? 

It was a disaster waiting to happen.

Maybe you could make up an excuse believable enough to get you off the hook so you wouldn’t have to go?

Were you really thinking about bailing on your little sister’s wedding? If she wasn’t taking cues from your mother, it would be the only one she ever had.

Not one of your finest moments as a sibling.

With the complications of your situation fully realised, you took to reading the ads with a little more effort. Luckily, you didn’t have to look for long.

Nick, 6’, male, tall, good looking, strong build. You will not be disappointed.

The ad was considerably less flashy than the others but you supposed that’s what drew you to it in the first place. It was understated, simple, and his ad wasn’t entirely made up of overcompensating flexing pics.

Mostly because he didn’t need them.

Call off the search, send the boys home. You had a winner here!

Staring up at you from your phone screen was the most handsome man you have ever seen in your life. Literally.

A mane of thick, artfully disheveled curly hair, eyes that were a light shade of blue that had a sort of dark intensity and intelligence that you could spend days trying to understand, and a smile. Oh, that smile was absolutely suckerpunching. It was odd though, something in your head was telling you that this man did not smile often.

You couldn’t tell if the warmth blooming in your chest and creeping towards your cheeks was from all the wine or from examining this prime specimen. Jeez Louise!

“Phew!” you fanned yourself upon stumbling on a photo of him crossing his arms in a tank top. Good God, you hoped he had a license for those guns!

You had to set your phone down for a minute to think things through although it seemed absolutely nuts that you had to think twice at all. It’s just that after the initial excitement and hormones wore off, it was becoming more and more evident that this man was too good to be true.

Just look at him! Were there actually men that looked like that? And why didn’t they live closer to you? A quick sweep of his profile placed him in Minneapolis.

What were the crime rates like there? And did they have a high rate of murders relating to escort services?

Before you could even google anything related to that, you stopped yourself. If you kept at this rate, you would never get anything done! Finally, after a methodical deliberation (aka ogling the pictures on his ad), you saved Nick’s contact number to your phone.

Aaand that’s as far as you’d go for the night. You could call him tomorrow when you weren’t a floundering drunk. It was like your mother always said, “Always be sober for a business transaction, but anything else calls for a cocktail.”

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

The following morning, you sat at your little breakfast nook, eggs still piping hot and untouched, and a hangover in full effect. You’ve been staring at the phone number for so long, you could say it in your sleep.

Come on, Y/N, the wedding is five freaking days away.

What if this guy was fully booked? You didn’t want to spend five days surrounded by family with Mr. my-soft-voice-will-arouse-you, did you?

You slammed your finger down on the call icon and stuck the phone to your ear. Your heart beat faster and faster with every ring and your palms became so slick with sweat that you almost dropped your phone a couple of times. 

Maybe you should have taken your mother up on the multiple occasions that she wanted to set you up with someone. Alright, on second thought, you didn’t really want to be with someone who only looked good on paper but was actually an insufferable mama’s boy.

“Hello?” a male voice answered, catching you off-guard

Oh, God. Okay, you’re really doing this.

“Yes, hi! Hi. Uh, I’m looking for Nick!” you chirped, in a startled high pitched squeak you didn’t dare recognise as your own

The silence on the other end was starting to make you sweat behind the knees. It suddenly dawned on you that you didn’t mention any specifics.

“Uh, sorry! I got this number from the, uh, the ad. I’m looking for Nick?”

“Yes! Yes, that’s right, but Nick isn’t in right now. This is his manager.”

Was that a good sign? That a male escort had a manager? Did all male escorts have managers? You clearly didn’t know enough about this stuff.

“It’s a pleasure, Mister..?”

There was another beat of silence before the person on the other line answered, you tried your hardest not to overthink about what that could have meant.

“Foley! I’m Foley, Nick’s manager.” Mr. Foley’s voice returned to your ear, sounding much too bright for your liking. 

Christ, what were you, a cop? To be honest, you were exhausted. Despite all the alcohol in your system last night, you barely got any sleep. You spent the rest of the night reading through some reviews of Nick’s service as an escort.

He had a glittering five star rating.

One woman hired him to pose as her husband at a high school reunion and by the end of the night, she ended up proposing to him. He respectfully declined and even bought her dinner afterwards.

That review alone was enough to convince you that you would be in good hands. So, it was time to buckle down, swallow the nerves, and handle your business like the adult you were.

“Mr. Foley,” you shook your hair out and put on your professional voice. “I’d like to book your client for five days, give or take. I need a plus one for a wedding. Is he available to leave on the-”

“Please hold. I’ll check his schedule.”

“Oh. But I didn’t mention when I-”

“He’s available. Would you prefer to pick him up at JFK or will he meet you at your place of residence?”

“Oh. Uh, I guess I could pick him up. Do I pay for his ticket or..?” you were feeling a teensy bit of whiplash at how fast this was all going

There was some rustling on the other line and the muffled sounds of bickering. You tried not to let that concern you.

“We’ll handle that, Ms. Y/L/N. We have your number, we’ll be in touch for further details. Good bye.”

The line went dead and you were left staring at your phone in confusion. Did you tell him your name?

[j-amespotter]

★ august [pt. 2] - s. b.

“i never needed anything more.”

Pairing: Sirius Black x Slytherin!Reader, Regulus Black x Slytherin!Reader 

x. x. x.

Summary: As one of the Order of the Phoenix’s freshest recruits, love certainly was not on Sirius Black’s mind the summer after he finished school – especially not with a Slytherin, who just happened to be his brother’s girlfriend. 

Genre/Warnings: angst/fluff, infidelity, mentions of torture, war, & sex. 

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: by popular demand... part 2 of august! let me know what you think & if you’d like to be added to my taglist! posts will be slower because i’m back at uni

masterlist

PART 1

It was a cold, snowy day in the village. The streets bustled with young passersby. They huddled together with flushed cheeks and dopey grins, reveling in their distance from stingy professors and half-written essays. The line for butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks wrapped around the street. The scene was all-too-familiar for the raven-haired troublemaker and his bespectacled companion hidden in a dark alleyway behind the Hog’s Head.

“Think we can sneak to Rosmerta’s for a butterbeer?” asked James, nudging his best friend with his elbow. “She’d let us jump the line.” 

Sirius rolled his eyes and snorted. “Yes, that would help the whole ‘lying low’ thing, wouldn’t it?”

James raised a concerned eyebrow at Sirius. “I thought you’d be up for it,” he said with an edge in his voice. 

“We’re on a mission,” snapped Sirius. “Let’s just hope nothing is waiting for us so we can get out of here.” 

“You’re jumpy,” grumbled James in response. “Mate, you didn’t have to come if it was going to bother you.” 

“I’m not bothered,” said Sirius defensively. “Focus, Prongs. Suspected Death Eater activity in Hogsmeade Village. We need to wait it out and hope for the best.” 

James shrugged, though he looked like he wanted to say more. The two men turned the corner and peered through the window of Dervish and Banges on the lookout for hellish masked figures that were quickly becoming the bane of Sirius’s existence. 

It had been four months since the summer Sirius’s life changed. His world lost the little color it had, and unfortunately, his friends were bearing the brunt of his moodiness. Sirius knew it was unfair. It was not James’s fault he was scorned by a cold, conniving snake of a woman, who showed him more love than he knew what to do with and then snatched it away without a second thought. 

It was bad enough they were there on a Hogsmeade weekend. He knew you were most likely somewhere in the village, probably in Regulus’s arms, shielding yourself from the cold. The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth, one he decidedly ignored as he turned to his partner-in-crime. “We should split up,” said Sirius. “Get under the Cloak and keep an eye on the station. I’ll do a walk-through. I’ll call you from the mirror if I see anything.” He gestured to his jacket pocket. 

After bidding James goodbye and good luck, Sirius made sure to lay low as he sifted through the snow-covered streets. Though he recognized some of his former classmates, he did not stop to greet them. He was not the type to let his personal life tear his eyes away from the prize. What frightened him was how difficult it was proving to be. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Sirius spotted movement across the hill through the shattered glass window of the Shrieking Shack. Frowning, he pulled up his hood and jogged towards the disturbance. 

When he was safely away from the crowd, Sirius crouched behind a bush next to the house, close enough to hear vaguely-familiar voices – at least two. He inhaled a gust of cold air warily, feeling his heartbeat pick up at rapid speed. No one except the four Marauders ever dared to enter the Shrieking Shack. Who could these intruders be if not Death Eaters? Sirius’s fingers grazed the mirror shard tucked away in his pocket. Should he call James for help? 

Suddenly, he heard faint, quiet sobs from inside. On instinct, he jerked his body slightly upward and transformed into Padfoot. Taking soft steps forward on four legs, Sirius expertly stepped over a creaky floorboard. He remained hidden in the shadows, facing the back of a tall, skinny figure, whose scent overwhelmed his canine senses with the soiled flavor of repressed memories. 

When the stranger spoke, Padfoot winced at the tauntingly grim echo in his eardrums. “Stop crying, darling. It’s pathetic,” said Regulus. 

“H-How could you just…” you said nasally, unable to finish. Sirius felt his heart sink as he heard your broken, empty words. It was your voice that haunted his dreams, and there you were, looking cold and miserable, merely ten feet away from him. 

“You’re wasting your tears, (Y/N). She’s filth. She deserved it.” 

You looked indignant, raising an accusatory finger at your boyfriend. “N-No one deserves torture for who they are,” you said shakily.

Regulus sighed. “Honestly, you’re acting as if we killed her. She’ll be fine. Besides, I didn’t do anything to her. If I knew it would have bothered you, I wouldn’t have stayed.” 

“You just watched, Reg! You watched your dreadful friends torture that poor girl! Why? Because she’s Muggleborn? Why didn’t you let me stop them?” 

“They did stop,” answered Regulus heatedly. “They stopped for you. You should be more careful. If it weren’t for me, they would be spreading some nasty rumors about you. If I didn’t know any better, I would call you a blood traitor.” 

You scoffed. Sirius, still in dog form, shuffled to the side and hid under a scratched table. Emotions were high, so his swift movement remained unnoticed. 

Regulus strode toward you and placed his gloved hands on your shoulders. “Forgive me, (Y/N). I know how sensitive you can get.” 

You sniffled. “It’s not about being sensitive, Regulus. It’s about right and wrong! You know they would have killed her, you know it! The worst part is that you would have let them, and it doesn’t even surprise me anymore.” 

“What has gotten into you? I know you prefer to stay away from conflict, but you’ve been skittish for quite a while now,” said Regulus, dropping his hands off of you.

You were quiet. With one glance at your glossy eyes, Sirius knew what was going to happen before it did. “I have to tell you something. I did something bad.” 

The selfish part of Sirius wanted this. He wanted exactly this. But there was a sinking feeling in his chest, seeing it happen right before his eyes. He attempted to telepathically will you to stop talking, but it was too late. Regulus stared at you expectantly. 

“Last summer I… I was with someone else. I cheated on you, Reg,” you cried.

Sirius’s normally-reserved brother could not contain the shock dripping from his voice. “What?” 

“Regulus, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to, I swear!” 

“How could you?” snapped Regulus. “I let you stand here and scold me over my activities as if you have the moral high ground between us! You had an affair? With whom?” 

You looked pained. “Don’t make me say it, Reg. Just know how sorry–” 

“With whom?” 

“W-With your brother, Regulus. With Sirius.” His name sounded like a melody on your tongue. Sirius held his breath, swallowing the emotion pooling inside of him. 

“What? My brother? You had an affair with my brother?” Regulus looked as though he was about to strike. Sirius bent his front legs, ready to pounce. “Did you sleep with him?” 

You turned away, tears streaming down your cheeks. 

“Did you sleep with him?” 

You nodded slowly. It was as if you were carrying the weight of a thousand bricks. 

Regulus ran his hand through his hair. He paced the length of the room, unable to form a coherent sentence. “Okay,” he said after a tense silence, “we can fix this. I don’t blame you; I know how my brother is. You can be so gullible. He tricked you into sleeping with him. I was away for so long. You were upset. I can forgive you. We can move past this.”

You stared up at him, wild-eyed. “W-We can?” 

“Yes, we can,” said Regulus. “I know it wasn’t your fault. I forgive you.”

“I don’t think I can,” you said slowly, lifting your eyes to gaze directly into his. 

“What do you mean?” 

You wiped away your tears hastily. “I tried so hard, Reg. I tried so hard to forget him, but I can’t. I’m in love with him.” 

Sirius nearly yelped in giddy shock. She’s in love with me. (Y/N) loves me, not him. She loves me, not him, and he knows. 

Regulus had an unreadable expression on his face. “You’re in love with him? So all those years between us, they mean nothing to you?” 

“Not at all,” you argued. “I love you so much, Reg. But you aren’t the same anymore. You’re hurting me.” 

“Don’t you dare blame this on me,” said Regulus angrily. “You did this! You’re the one that slept with my brother!” 

“I’m telling you, it’s not like that! It wasn’t just sex. I went to him for help. I went to him for you,” you said. “It wasn’t on purpose. I never meant to hurt you. But I can’t pretend anymore. I’m in love with him.” 

Regulus was seething in a characteristically quiet way. “My brother,” he spat, “cares for no one but himself. I am sure you two will be perfect for each other. We are done.” With that, he spun around and walked out of the Shrieking Shack, slamming the door behind him. 

You fell on your knees, sobbing into your hands. Your soft whimpers broke Sirius’s heart into pieces. He poked his head out from under the table and pawed his way toward you. You looked up and gasped in fright. Sirius had forgotten about Padfoot’s unnaturally large size. Gently, he nudged your leg with his snout. “Sorry, you had to see all of that.” You buried your face into your knees. “Are you the big, bad wolf in this joint?” 

Before he could combust at your innocence, Sirius jerked upward again and balanced himself on two feet. “Nope, but he’s a friend of mine,” he joked softly. 

Your head snapped up. You jumped in complete surprise. “Sirius! What are you doing here?” You stared at a spot on the ground. “Are you an Animagus?” 

“To answer your second question, yes,” said Sirius hurriedly, wanting more than anything to skip the small talk, “and to answer your first, this is almost like a second home to me. How did you know about the wolf?” 

You looked at him in awe, then shriveled backward in shame. “Severus Snape spread some awful rumors when you all were at school.” You couldn’t meet his eyes. “Sirius…”

Sirius took tentative steps toward you. “No more lies,” he whispered. “Are you really in love with me?”

You stared into his grey eyes. “Yes,” you said in a hushed whisper. “I’m in love with you, Sirius. And I’m so sorry about what I said that day. I was scared. I know it’s no excuse, but it’s the truth.” 

In an instant, Sirius felt warmth rush up his body. He cupped your face in his hands and kissed you without a second thought. To his utter delight, you kissed him back hungrily. Your arms wrapped around his waist, inhaling his musky scent. “I never stopped thinking about you,” he whispered against your lips. 

You smiled sadly. “Me neither. But how can we possibly be together?”

“Well, you’ll be home for Christmas soon,” said Sirius. 

“That’s only for a few weeks,” you argued. 

Sirius kissed your cheek. “It’s plenty of time. Plus, I can get into the castle whenever I want.” 

You looked skeptical. “How?”

“I have my ways,” said Sirius. “I’m never letting you go again.” 

You felt tears prick at your eyes. “How am I supposed to go back? To face all of them again?” 

“They wouldn’t dare lay a finger on you, not under the teachers’ noses,” said Sirius, mostly to assure himself. “Stay away from Regulus, too.” 

“Easier said than done,” you said. “They dragged some poor Muggleborn third-year here just to torture her. You don’t even know what they get up to at school.” 

Sirius pulled you into a tight embrace. He felt a tingle in his jacket. Pulling out the shard, he met a very familiar pair of hazel eyes. “Is everything okay? Did you find anything?” asked James. 

Sirius pulled away from you. “Yes, everything’s fine. I've searched the whole village. It was just a few Slytherin sixth-years, but they’re gone now. I’ll meet you there.” 

With a nod, James vanished. 

You tugged on his sleeve. “What was that? You have to go?”

Sirius made a motion to pocket the mirror, glancing at it thoughtfully before doing so. After a quick moment, he shoved it in your direction. “Here, keep this. It’s a way for you to call me at school. Whenever you need me, don’t hesitate.”

You paused. “Are you sure? What about James?” 

“He won’t mind,” assured Sirius. “Promise me you’ll use it. Even if you only want to talk.” 

Smiling, you pulled him into another kiss. “Definitely.” 

Sirius feared letting go, though he wasn’t afraid you would walk away again. He wasn’t sure what his brother and his friends would do. “I’ll see you soon, love. Don’t worry too much. You’re Sirius Black’s girl.” 

“That I am, darling. For as long as I can help it.”

Taglist: @iwritesiriusly @mads-bri @she-seeks-magic @sarcasticallywitty15 @lunalovecroft @fific7 @lindatreb @u-no-poo @justmesadgirl 

[amethystpath-writes]

A Girl on the Battlefield

Heed the tags. This one is very dark, but so were the medieval days, so here we are.

******

“Captain, this one’s still alive.” Aldis grabbed the breathing body by the sword strap on their back. Lifting them up, his brows rose. “I was going to offer to finish them, but you might want to keep this one.”

The captain walked over, dodging other fallen soldiers with his feet. “Why? If it is not the prince, I am not interested.” He examined a dagger on the ground, picked it up. “Ornate,” he muttered. “Whoever fought with this fell two steps into the fight. Ornate daggers are not meant for battle. Curious who it belonged to- probably a common thief caught in the mix, the poor wretch.”

Aldis took the small weapon from the captain- otherwise known as his father, the king. “The jewels are green. Female.” Aldis noted and slid the dagger into the body he was holding’s scabbard. It fit perfectly. With the dagger hand now free, Aldis put a hand in the injured soldier’s hair, pulling their head back. And so, it was confirmed, even with blood staining the ‘soldier’s’ forehead and dribbling from their lip, they were a girl- a girl on the battlefield.

“Kill her,” the king said. “No girl belongs on a battlefield- make her a thief and it’s even worse. Kill her.”

Both the king and Aldis were taken back when the girl groaned, or whimpered, or made some kind of noise. A sigh passed through her lips, and Aldis didn’t doubt it was an attempt at a plea.

“You’re looking at it socially, Captain. Take on a more political outlook and way of analysis.” His father waited for Aldis to explain himself. “You assume the dagger was stolen but look at how decorative it is. A common thief could not have achieved stealing a dagger like this. A smith’s weapon, maybe. Not a lady or queen’s. That means this girl is more than a common thief. Assume she’s used to stealing from nobles, she’d be smarter than to interfere with battle, so she is also more than a skilled thief.” Aldis jostled the nearly unconscious girl before grabbing her right hand and crossing it over her chest for his father to see. “Royal seal. She’s the princess.” He dropped the girl’s hand.

The king smiled. “Turn her back to me. We take her.”

Aldis obeyed, turning the girl in his arms so that his father could tie a thin rope around her wrists and behind her back.

She whispered, almost silently, “No. I just wanted to…save…my brother.” Her head was against Aldis’ chest, heavy with exhaustion and likely a concussion.

Having a brother himself, Aldis almost tried comforting her, but she was the enemy. This princess belonged to the kingdom in which Aldis, his father, and his army, just partially slaughtered. Of course, there were more battles to come, but either way, this princess didn’t deserve Aldis’s sympathy.

“Are you walking on your own or should I carry you?” He made his voice as dull and bored as possible. He didn’t want the princess thinking he felt sorry for her for even the slightest moment. He didn’t. She was the enemy. And now she was his prisoner.

“Please. Let me- let me find him.”

“Carrying you, then.”

She thrashed. The little rat actually thrashed in Aldis’ grip. Battered, and bruised, and bleeding, with barely any breath at all, and she was fighting his hold on her. “I didn’t even know he was leaving!” she cried, and pulled against Aldis even more.

He hummed, and his brows shot up with an idea. As she tugged forward, Aldis let go, let her fall flat on her face, arms stuck behind her back, useless- just like she was.

The princess rolled onto her back, sitting up with an expression Aldis couldn’t identify. “Y-yer cruel.”

Aldis rolled his eyes. She was out of breath again. “And you are pathetic, but then again you are a girl on a battlefield.”

“That doesn’t…mean…anything.”

“Doesn’t it? I am not the one with hands tied behind my back and sitting in a puddle of blood.”

Her eyes widened like she didn’t even realize her borrowed trousers were soaked with red. Aldis laughed, thinking maybe she wet herself with fear of being in enemy hands, of being thrown to the ground by one of her men, and that was why she hadn’t noticed. Not a rat, he thought now of the princess, but a terrified little mouse.

Now looking at the body behind her, a sob rattled the princess’ body. She let herself settle down before speaking again. “I suspect you have never loved anyone. I suspect no one has cared enough to stand up for you. I suspect you are callous because it was the only way you could fit in, and now it is your life. And I suspect that you will burn in whatever Hell exists.”

“Stand up.”

“I will if you let me say goodbye to him.”

“You just said it. Stand up. Next time I won’t be so nice.” Aldis knelt down beside the mouse, grabbing the dagger and pulling it away even as she tried to roll away from his reach.

She threw a shoulder at him but ultimately fell onto a soldier who was no longer breathing as she was. The princess squeezed her eyes shut and sucked her lips in. Her chest bounced and Aldis saw her swallow. Vomit.

“If you puke on me, we will have even greater issues.” He smiled, looking at the body the princess had fallen on for a moment. Gaging the enemy soldier’s wounds, Aldis guessed they simply bled out. “If you think that is a sore sight,” he whispered, “just wait until we find your brother’s body and bring him home. Did you know my kingdom stakes noble opponents? I hope he is found alive, so that we can nurse him to health, give him hope, then stick him through his rear with a blunt stick.” Aldis hummed with his content, but he faltered for the slightest second, imagining his own brother staked like that in front of a palace he’d never seen himself. “With nobles, we drive the stake along the spine, allows them to live for a couple days, allows them to writhe in pain until they are nothing but a sputtering mess. Maybe I will let you say your goodbyes, then- when his toes are giving out and he’s finally been penetrated all the way through.”

The princess couldn’t speak. She couldn’t think either. She only stared blankly at the world in front of her, breaths oddly controlled. It was as if she completely shut off.

Aldis tsked and tucked the princess’ green-jeweled dagger between his pants and belt. He demanded the girl stand, but when she only continued to stare off into space, he picked her up himself. The commander would probably want to stake her, too, but Aldis was rather fond of keeping her.

Maybe as an added horror to the enemy kingdom, he would have a wedding conducted, and he’d marry the princess. Not because he loved her- he despised the little mouse- but because it would guarantee Aldis and his father obtained more land without having to fight in more battles. They were annoying- the constant battles- and Aldis was growing bored of killing. After the prince was dead, of course, because impaling a prince was always a sight to see. And now he had a princess to provide him a show when it happened, too.

******

Part 2 here

( @whatwhumpcomments )

[marybethsjournal]

Flaco’s Rules (Flaco x  virgin f! reader)

Summary: You come back from a long journey without telling Flaco beforehand and he teaches you a lesson.

Word Count: 2624

Warning: smut (also the first time I’ve written smut so lmk if I should write more or not lol

Here is the story link if you prefer ao3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/29768013

It had been about a year since you and your brother had unofficially joined the Del Lobos. That was quite a long time to y’all, seeing as the two of you didn’t like to commit to other people, y’all had always rode alone. It wasn’t so hard to be an affiliate of the gang, however. You and Billy could go wherever you pleased and not communicate with the gang for weeks on end, as long as you brought money back to the gang and spoke to Flaco when you returned to the Grizzlies. The two of you weren’t exactly the typical Del Lobos affiliates, but you were quick and accurate with a gun and had never snitched before, so Flaco welcomed you and Billy into the gang rather kindly. 

This time, you and Billy had been gone for at least a month. You hadn’t intended on staying out that long, but a heist led you to France and it had taken forever to travel there. Upon your return, Flaco demanded to speak to you and Billy. Flaco always wanted to hear from you after your trips but when the Del Lobos told you that Flaco needed to speak to you, they passed along that he was much more tense, almost angry, than usual. Not much scared you in this cruel world, but an angry Flaco did.

You and Billy immediately set off to speak to Flaco in his cabin. It was a very short walk from the rest of the cabins, but the fear in the pit of your stomach made you walk much slower than normal. Billy seemed to have the same feeling.

“What do you think he’s going to say?” Billy asked you.

“He’s probably mad we stayed out this long? What else does he have to talk about? Surely he’s not calling us in to have tea, Billy.” you replied with a shakiness in your voice.

This apparently made your brother quite angry. His face went from fearful to enraged in half a second. 

“He doesn’t control us. He can’t tell us what to do. We will never be his workmen. We forge our own path.”

“I agree, but we accepted his offer of protection in the Grizzlies and he expects us to follow his rules, I suppose. Just try not to make a scene. I know how you are.”

“Fuck you, I’ll make a Hell of a scene. Just watch.”

“Billy, stop”

It was too late. The two of you had reached the door to Flaco’s cabin and instead of listening to you, your twin had bust through the door without warning. He always had been hellbent on destroying authority.

“Mr Hernandez, we do not have to answer to you! You think you are better than us but old man, you are far past your prime. In fact, my sister and I have racked up bigger bounties than you already. This superiority complex has to stop or else you will find a bullet between your eyes.” Billy word vomited at Flaco.

You had looked at Billy in confusion the moment he started talking. Superiority complex? Bullet between his eyes? What was this man talking about? Flaco eyes grew dark at the rude words and you cowered in fear, planning on what to do if Flaco tried to kill him.

To your surprise, Flaco began laughing. “Oh, the little boy think he can talk big to Flaco? He think he can scare me, huh? Puffing out your chest, thinking he is a man. You are pathetic. Leave before I shoot you, I will talk with the girl. She is more reasonable than you.”

Billy scoffed. “Who do you think you’re talking to, old man?” 

“Billy, go. You have disrespected him.” you said softly.

Billy huffed and puffed but he still ended up leaving.

“Now, what do you want, Flaco?” You asked. Your brother insisted on calling him Mr. Hernandez as a way of “keeping his distance”, whatever that meant, But you, well you had a sort of friendship with Flaco. You definitely had a soft spot for him. You didn’t feel anything but disdain for most men, but you liked Flaco. Maybe more than you would like to admit.

“You were gone for a long time.” he informed you, like you didn’t already know.

“I know, we didn’t mean to. We made our way to France for an art heist and we sure made you a lot of money. Would-”

“I was worried,” Flaco said softly, cutting you off. “I do not care about the money. Your cabron brother is right. You have big bounties on your head.”

You laughed lightly, not showing that you were taking his care for you to heart. 

“We can take care of ourselves. Been taking care of ourselves for well over a decade, since we were very little.” you told him, looking at your shoes. You didn’t like to open up to people

“You will have to tell me about that someday. When you are ready. Anyway, don’t care much for the jackass. But you, I care for you. How did your trip go?”

“Fine, made out with a lot of money. Billy’s cockiness got us a bounty over there. That’s a first for us, being wanted in multiple countries.” “Sounds like him.” Flaco chuckled warmly.

“It was good besides that. Ate a lot of the native foods and saw beautiful buildings. I liked it there.”

“Did you find a French lover? That is what they’re known for, eh? Love?”

You laughed at him. “I think that is just a stereotype. I was too busy anyhow.”

“Too busy for love? You have a lot to learn, but you are young and Flaco is old, so it makes sense you are not as wise. Surely you had boys following you around, though? You are very beautiful.”

“I guess so.” you responded awkwardly. Truthfully, several men had followed you around during your time there, yelling things at you that you were glad you couldn’t understand. You assumed they were lewd. It all made you so uncomfortable.

Flaco sensed something was wrong and, not knowing how to comfort you, changed the subject, although not one you particularly wanted to talk about either.

“You did disobey your part of the deal, though. You understand that, yes?”

“The deal?” You asked. You had no idea what he was talking about.

“The deal we made when you joined Del Lobos. When we gave you our protection.”

Oh, that. You didn’t remember there being any specified deal, much less that you couldn’t leave for an extended amount of time, but Flaco looked angry so you decided not to question him further.

“Oh yes, I do. I’m sorry we broke the rules, Flaco.”

“Do not call me that right now. We are not friends. I am your boss. You address me as such. This is a serious thing you have gone and done.”

“I’m sorry, sir?” the term felt foreign on your tongue. You didn’t answer to anybody like this.

“Yes yes. Good. You two need to learn. Your brother, I’m afraid, I can not reprimand because he will make me angry and I will kill him. Poof, no more Billy. But you, I think I can handle you.”

Handle you? What was that supposed to mean?

“I’m not sure I understand. I really am sorry.”

“Sorry is not good enough. I have leniency because you are young and stupid. Any of my men who would do what you did? I shoot them. But you are grown, yes? Old enough to know better?”

You and your brother didn’t explicitly tell people your age for security reasons, so it was a valid question on his part, although you felt you definitely looked old enough for that generally to not be a question. But you were pretty young and you looked it. 

“Yes, of course. I wouldn’t be so friendly with you if I was just a kid. That wouldn’t be exactly safe.” You tried to laugh but Flaco’s eyes were narrow and so unkind in that moment that you decided against it.

“Good, then you won’t have a problem taking your punishment.” He smiled wickedly.

“What punishment,?” you asked. Flaco furrowed his eyebrows. “sir?” you added.

He smiled once again, but didn’t let his stern exterior go. He sat down on his cot.

“Lay here.” he patted his lap.

“Oh I don’t think so” you backed yourself into his door. Flaco stayed where he was and looked at you patiently. He wasn’t stopping you from leaving. This was entirely up to you. The two of you stared at each other for a few moments. You could feel the immense tension between you and Flaco. Finally, you walked over and bent over his knee.

“Fine. I guess this makes sense. I did break the rules.” You were mostly reasoning with yourself, not Flaco.

“No, chica. Pull up your dress. You can leave your drawers on.” The request probably should have offended you, but you felt heat in your core at the thought. You tried not to show this on your face, however, and pulled your dress up before laying back down on Flaco’s lap.

“Such a good listener, you are. Wish you would have listened to my rules the first time.” his hand rubbed your ass through your bloomers before striking it abruptly. You yelped in surprise. What was more surprising was that it felt good. You’d never been spanked before, this was all new to you.

“Flaco-” you started.

“Shhh” he brought his hand down again, hard. If he kept spanking you this hard, your ass would be stinging for days.

Yet he didn’t relent. He spanked you seven or eight times, each one harder than the one before. Despite your best efforts, you involuntarily started to let out strangled moans. You cursed yourself after each one. You were in trouble with Flaco, not having sex with him. 

Flaco finally stopped and you assumed he was done. However, when you got up, Flaco pulled you back down by your hair. Ugh, why did that feel good too?

“You are not learning your lesson.” Flaco hissed, obviously frustrated, but at the same time it didn’t quite feel like he was frustrated with you.

“No I promise, Flaco.” he smacked your ass once more. “Sorry, sir.”

“I need you to pull your bloomers down.” he told you sternly.

“What? No.” You may be an outlaw, but you were still a lady.

He grabbed you by the chin and forced you to look at him.

“Y/n, I’m not gonna make you but-” you nodded at him, signifying that you were okay with it. You never thought you’d be doing this but for some reason, you trusted Flaco. Besides, you secretly wanted him to keep going.

Flaco was visibly confused as to why you had nodded but had made no move to pull down your bloomers. After a few moments, he took the hint and pulled them down himself. You immediately clenched your thighs together, praying that he couldn’t see how wet you were. That however, was a massive failure.

“I think you need to explain something, mi novia.” he said, in the meantime giving you two hard slaps on the ass.

“I don’t know what that means, sorry sir.”

“It means my girl.” he told you in a soft, husky voice.

You shivered at the words. You wanted to be his girl. You wanted it badly. And he seemed to be on the same page as you. He hadn’t done this because you did something wrong and he felt it strongly needed to be corrected. No, he wanted you just as badly as you wanted him.

“I- well I liked it when you spanked me. I didn’t know I would, I’ve never been spanked before.”

“You’re inexperienced, huh?” Flaco asked, moving his hands from your ass to feel the wetness between your folds.

“Flaco!” you gasped.

“And expressive. I like that.”

“I’m just, oh! I haven’t done any of this before.”

Flaco pulled his hand back abruptly. He was silent and you, sure that you had done something wrong, sat up and looked up at him.

“You aren’t a virgin, are you?” he asked in disbelief.

“Ummm, yeah I am. I’m sorry, I suppose.” you got up from his lap and picked your bloomers off the floor, absolutely mortified.

“Wait, mi angel.” Flaco grabbed your arm. “It’s not a bad thing, not at all. I was surprised, is all. You’re a rough and tumble girl.” he laughed, but it was clear there was meaning behind his words. “Come back here, let ol’ Flaco make you feel good.”

You smiled and laid over him again, this time both of your intentions being clear. 

“How about you sit on my lap while I help you? So I can see your face? That should be sufficient payment for the pleasure I will give you, yes.”

You would have jumped over the moon if Flaco had asked you to at that moment, so of course you did what he said and sat in his lap with your legs spread.

You never thought you’d be here, Flaco fucking you with his fingers in his cold cabin (although you felt anything but cold at the moment). You had dreamed of it, sure, but this was real life. You had never considered that Flaco had been attracted to you, but now as you felt his dick strain against his pants, there was no denying it. 

Flaco fingered you at different paces depending on what he felt you needed based on your expressions. The higher and more frequent your moans came, the faster he went. When he felt it was becoming too much for you, he slowed down a bit, never losing his rhythm. He didn’t want to overstimulate you, at least this time. Flaco was good at this, surely very experienced, but you tried not to think about that. You focused on the feeling in the pit of your stomach and Flaco’s eyes, which were looking directly into yours. It was a bit intense, but it only added to the experience for you. He seemed to love it, biting down on his lip when you moaned particularly loud. At this point, his fingers were completely slick and you were fucking yourself back and forth on his fingers. The heat in your core was getting more intense and you were becoming desperate. You begged over and over for him to fuck you but he refused.

“No, angel, that is too fast. I have to come up with a way for it to be special.” More special than this? You wanted to protest but he kept fingering you the whole time, bringing you closer to your orgasm the whole time, and you couldn’t find it within yourself to argue back. Besides, a promise to get with Flaco again another time wasn’t so bad.

It didn’t take much longer for you to come undone. Between feeling Flaco’s dick strain against you through his pants and the swift rhythm of his fingers, it wasn’t longer before you threw your head back, moaning his name, and came onto his fingers. He smirked at the scene and kissed you quickly before removing his fingers. 

“You were so good mi novia,” Flaco praised you, before adding, “Now put your clothes back on before you catch a cold. You need to stay warm.”

“We can- we’re gonna do this, again, right?” you asked Flaco after you put your skirt and underwear back on and started to walk out the door into the cold.

“Like I could go through this life without having you again. Silly girl.” Flaco told you before picking up a piece of wood off his table and starting to whittle as if nothing had happened.

[stillintheimpala]

Anything She Can Do I Can Do Better

Word Count: 1,571

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: You and Dean are friends-with-benefits. You accidently walk in on him with another girl and decide to prove you’re the best.

Warnings: oral sex (male receiving) , bad words, (i thinks that’s all)

A/N: I haven’t written anything in months. It’s been even longer since I’ve written smut. I know this is def not great (or even good honestly) but I forgot how much I enjoy writing (even if it gets kinda stressful)

[anyway a posted a list of “prompt” ideas i had and @hobby27 liked this one (i am so so sorry that it’s so terrible lol but i’m trying to get back into writing like i used to so i have to start somewhere i guess lol]

  Arms wrapped around your waist, hands stroking your sides.

“Thinking about heading back to the motel. You wanna join me?” You could feel the smirk on Dean’s face as he playfully nipped at your earlobe.

  You turned around in his arms, facing him. “Already? I was gonna go try to hussle those idiots,” you chuckled, tilting your head in the direction of the group of obviously drunk guys surrounding the nearby pool table.

“You’re just gonna embarrass those poor losers,” he smiled, sliding his hands down to grope your ass.

You pressed a quick kiss to his lips, playfully tugging on his bottom lip before stepping out of his reach. “You go ahead. I won’t be long. Just wanna play a few more rounds, okay?”

“Ugh, fine,” he let out a dramatic groan as he took his hands off you. “Go kick some ass.”

  You saw Dean’s retreating form walk out the door as you ruffled your hair and stumbled over to the pool table, putting on your best acting skills as the men “helped” you line up your shot.

  A couple hours and $300 in your pocket later, you finally started making your way back to the motel room. You shot Sam a teasing wink as he started walking the other direction with a pretty brunette on his arm.

  When you finally reached the parking lot and pulled out your room key, you were already opening your mouth to brag about your recent winnings.

  When the door opened, you froze in place. Instead of Dean sitting on the bed and sipping a beer like you expected to find him, his head was thrown back with his eyes closed in bliss as some blonde was on her knees in front of him, her head bobbing up and down while he had a hand fisted in her hair.

  The girl pulled off of him, sloppily jerking him while she took in a few gulps of air. Dean’s hips bucked into her hand, trying to get more friction. That’s when his eyes opened and locked on you, standing in the doorway.

“shit,” he hissed, gently shoving the girl away and quickly trying to button his jeans. 

  Noticing your presence and Dean’s panicked reaction, the blonde immediately left the room as fast as she could.

“Shit...I’m sorry. I-I thought you’d be out longer,” he stammered.

  You weren’t mad at him. You had no reason to be. It’s not like you two were actually together. Not even close. You two were simply friends helping friends. 

  You weren’t mad, but you did have an unfamiliar feeling in your gut. Jealousy? Your mind supplied. There was nothing for you to be jealous about. It’s not like you two hadn’t fooled around with other people. But still..he couldn’t keep his hands off of you at the bar earlier. You could feel the bulge in jeans when he had pressed against you. Could he really not have even waited a few hours for you? You felt a jealousy swirl in you and...something else. It wasn’t necessarily disappointment, but you couldn’t find the actual word. 

  You had been excited to get back to the motel. Hell, you were ecstatic when you saw Sam leave with that girl. Without him there, you and Dean would have an entire room to yourselves. You had planned to take full advantage of that.

“Why her?” Your voice came out quiet. You internally cringed at how pathetic that made you sound.

 Dean’s mouth opened and closed as he tried to think of what to say. 

“I’m sorry,” he finally replied, sounding more like a question as his eyes finally looked up from the ugly motel carpet to meet yours. His eyes narrowed and his brows furrowed in confusion.

“Wait, are you actually pissed at me? What’s the big deal?” His voice developed a harsher tone as he continued, “We agreed that all we do is mess around. It’s not like you just caught me cheating.”

  You rolled your eyes. “I’m not mad that some random bitch was blowing you,” you stepped closer to where he was still perched on the edge of the bed, “You were practically dry humping me back at the bar. You really couldn’t keep your dick in your pants until I came back?” 

He was silent.

“Why. Her.” you repeated, enunciating your words.

  A look of complete confusion washed over the man’s face. “I...uh...I don’t know?” His response came out as a question. He didn’t understand what you meant.

“Do you know why I came back here earlier than I planned?” You leant down to be at eye level with him, resting your hands on his shoulders. Dean held your gaze.

“I almost lost every single game I played. You know why?” You continued without pausing to leave him room to reply. “Because all I could think about was getting back to this room, sinking down on your cock and riding you. All fucking night long. I wanted to tease you until you were begging me to let you come. I wanted to find out how many times I could make you come until you were completely dry.”

  The only reaction you got was Dean gulping, staring at you with a look that could only be described as pure lust.

“The only reason I didn’t leave with you at that exact second you asked was because I was waiting to make sure Sam was leaving with that girl. I wanted to be able to scream as loud as I wanted,” you bit your lip before adding, “to make you scream.”

“I really thought I was a pro at sucking cock,” you mocked pouted, “was that girl really better?”

  Dean vehemently shook his head ‘no’ as he watched you drop to your knees and open his jeans. He raised his hips to help you pull them down his thighs.

  You palmed his dick over his boxers, lightly squeezing the outline of his dick, biting down his exposed torso,making small kitten licks over his still clothed cock. There was already a wet spot forming on the fabric.

  After drawing out your teasing, you finally took pity on him and freed his cock from his boxers, stroking him a few times before swiping your tongue from base to tip like you knew he liked. He groaned as he put a hand in your hair, wanting to be able to see you.

  You swallowed around him, taking him deeper and deeper down your throat until your nose was flush against the small curls. 

“Fucking hell, Y/N,” he rasped, using every bit of self control he had to not thrust his hips up.

  You pulled back, sucking only on the tip, running your tongue along the sensitive bundle of nerves underneath, and occasionally dipping your tongue into his slit. A loud moan slipped past his lips, and you pulled off of him with a wet ‘pop’.

“Did she do that?” You smirked up at him. “Did she know how much you like that?” 

  You flicked your tongue over the head before adding, “Could she even fit all of you in her mouth?”  Your eyes locked on his as you continued, “Did she let you fuck her face?”

  The Winchester’s hips involuntarily bucked up into your mouth. You wrapped your lips around him and reminded yourself to breathe through your nose as Dean’s hand stopped holding your hair back and moved to grip the back of your head.

    He looked down, the question visible in his eyes. Are you sure you want to do this?

  You nodded your head, or at least as close to a nod as you could manage with his cock still in your mouth. 

  His rhythm started slow as he only gently pushed his hips forward. ‘Fuck that. I’m not gonna break’ you thought as without warning you took him into your mouth and held him there; knowing he could probably feel your throat contracting around him.

  The man’s hips immediately snapped forward and you hummed around him as you started steadily taste the slitty bitter pre-come steadily fill your mouth. 

  Finally, his thrust picked up and he started violently thrusting into your mouth, shoving your head down on him, desperately trying to get as deep as he could. You barely had enough time to take in needed air, before he was thrusting back in, hitting the back of your throat with every snap of his hips.

  Sounds that could put porn stars to shame were freely slipping past his lips, and you couldn’t help but moan around his cock.

“Fuckfuckfuck” his pace started to become erratic the closer he got to finishing.

  He tapped the back of your head in warning, letting you know he was about to come, but that only made you suck him harder.

  A loud yell was ripped from his throat as you felt his cock throb and tasted his cum fill your mouth.

  He was panting as he looked down at you, and you stuck your tongue out letting him see his own seed covering it before you swallowed, licking your lips to make sure you hadn’t missed a drop.

“So can I be crowned the queen of blowjobs now?” You giggled, getting of the floor and sitting next to him.

He wrapped an arm around you, smiling as his head lazily leant against yours. “Are you free this Friday?”

[shootybangbang]

[Talking Bird] Ch 16: In which the plot finally makes an appearance

[Ao3 Link]

[Content Warning]: suicidal ideation, mild gore

[Note]: this fic has gone through some serious revisions — mostly expanded scenes/dialogue. The chapters most heavily affected are 1, 2, 3, and 7, but I’ve added a changelog to the end notes of each previous chapter detailing the edits that have been made. To save you some time though, here are the three main things to note:

The reader character does not have the bonds

The reader character refers to Arthur by his last name due to unfamiliarity

The horniness from last chapter has been moved to a future chapter. sorry!

This chapter is also pretty long in comparison to the others. From here on out, the chapters will probably be 2000+ words.

———

You look out into the plains, at the last pale band of light disappearing beneath a horizon of prairie grass and dark, looming buttes. The shadows of the scant trees stretch long and thin, their branches like a thousand spindly fingers grasping, searching. The landscape is dimmed to a tableau of reds and blacks, anything not illuminated by the fire slowly sinking into the featureless canvas of night. All of it blurred and indistinct behind a curtain of rain.

It’s a prettier sight by far than any you’ve had in St Denis. Or San Francisco. Or anywhere else you’ve lived, really.

And yet it hangs like featureless gauze behind the endless reel playing out over and over behind your eyes, spinning round like the printed images on a zoetrope.

The O’Driscoll’s hands wet with blood and mud. His eyes wide and uncomprehending. Trying to put himself back together the way one might a broken toy, sieving his viscera between his fingers and scooping it into the cavity of his chest. That initial, stunned bemusement giving way at last to the dawning horror of his own end.

And accompanying it, the numb realization that what bothered you more was the bare abstraction of the act. The burden of this sin weighing heavy with all the others, its addition tipping some moral scale, and —

“Hey.”

Morgan’s voice, jarringly brusque against the murmurings of your own private judge and jury, is almost mercifully irritating.

“What do you want?” you snap.

“Get up,” he says. “Start strippin’ the wet bark off the firewood.”

“For chrissakes, at least give me a second to catch my breath.”

“Why, so you can keep sittin’ there feeling sorry for yourself?” He leans one hand against the stone wall of the outcrop and drags himself back to his feet. The barest shadow of a grimace flits across his face as he straightens his back. “C’mon. Sooner we get set up proper, the sooner we can get back to ignorin’ each other. Then you can sulk all night in peace.”

The cottonwood branches are covered in cracked, ash brown bark that scrapes rough against your palms and fingers, rasping the skin raw as you hold the wood firm for carving. One of the downsides of living easy for so many years, you suppose — all the protective calluses atrophy to nothing, and what remains becomes susceptible to old and familiar hurts. But habits run deeper than skin, and what the mind forgets the body keeps.

As you work your way through the firewood, Boadicea nickers and paws impatiently at the dirt.

“I’m sorry girl,” you hear Morgan say. “Been a hard day for us both.”

You snort contemptuously. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch as he unhooks the horse’s bridle and lifts away the saddle, then starts grooming her with a battered looking brush, brushing with quick, circular motions, going against the grain and fluffing up her coat to dry out her fur with a solicitous measure of care that seems wholly unfitting of a man of his temperament and occupation.

Boadicea makes a low, rumbly noise in the back of her throat that sounds almost like a purr. She dips her head down and chomps at the yellowed prairie grass lining the floor of the outcrop, tearing up mouthfuls with a sedate contentedness that makes you sorely wish you could share in her circumstances.

A sense of fatigue more complete than any you’ve ever felt before settles over you like heavy snow. For the moment, you feel blank and washed out, stripped bare of all pretense.

“Morgan,” you admit. “I don’t have the bonds.”

“Yeah,” he replies. “I know.” He unpacks his canvas roll and yanks free from it the saddle blanket of coarse, undyed wool, then unfurls it over the horse’s back, pulling it over her flank and adjusting the fit. “Figured as much before we left Strawberry.”

“Oh.” At this point, you haven’t even the energy to be surprised. “Huh.”

For a long while, the only sound is that of the knife scraping against bark and the intensifying patter of rain, fat droplets coming down hard and fast.

In a small voice, you ask him, “You’re not really gonna sell me to a brothel, are you?”

He scoffs. “What makes y’think that ?”

“Thought you seemed too… too decent to do something like that.”

“Me? Decent?” Morgan lets out a low, disbelieving whistle. “Thought you’d know better by now.”

He turns partway to face you. In the dim light of the fire only half of him is lit bright enough to see, the rest tapering sharp into dark silhouette. For the lapse of a heartbeat it’s as if all the irreverence and bravado has been ripped away like a sheet of paper, and underneath a viciousness, a suppressed violence that you’ve been too blind to see.

This whole time you’ve been treating him like a dog, when the teeth at your throat are those of a wolf.

Your mouth goes dry and your fingers tighten around the knife in your hand. You stare up at him like a deer caught in his sights — blind panic rising up in your chest and throat like cold water. You swallow hard and try to force it down so you can maintain at least a semblance of control.

“Mr. Morgan…?”

“You ain’t been half as scared of me as you should be,” he says. “holed up with a wanted man, nobody around for miles. Some of the men I’ve run with, they…”

He lets the sentence trail off, the implications clear enough without him saying so. Then he shakes his head, and there is a weariness in him, a kind of cynical exhaustion that ages him far beyond his years. “Girl,” he says. “You keep at this line of work, I guarantee you’ll be dead in a year.”

Morgan slicks his fingers through his wet hair to keep rainwater from dripping into his eyes, and you can see that the hangdog look is back on his face, all his suggested cruelty vanished like smoke. He shifts his attention back to the saddlebags. “No, I ain’t decent,” he continues. He pulls out a tin cup and the individual components of what looks to be a collapsible grill. “But I ain’t so far gone that I’d hurt a woman. Or sell one.”

“But you’d ransom one.”

“Figured it out, did you?” he says. “Thought you might.”

He sits back beside the fire and pieces the grill together, twists its winch tight and positions it over the fire. Then he fills the tin cup with water from the canteen and sets it atop to heat.

“If you don’t hurt women,” you say slowly, your right hand still holding the knife tight as a vise. “Then what’re you going to do to me when you find out I’m not worth ransoming?”

“Doubt that’s gonna be a problem.”

“Why not?”

“Had a brand new Mauser on ya. You know how much those things cost?”

Mentally, you kick yourself. Looks like begging the gunsmith to lend you the best pistol he had in stock has come back to bite you in the ass.

“The gun’s not mine,” you say quickly. “It’s a loan.”

“Those bloomers in your room were real silk. You gonna tell me those were a loan too?”

“You — my bloomers?! Why were you going through my bloomers, you fucking degen—”

Of all the things you’ve accused him of today, somehow this is the one that actually rankles him. “You think I like rummaging through women’s underwear? Had to go through ‘em to get to your billfold.”

You flush hard enough that even the tips of your ears feel hot. “I… I saved up for those bloomers. Not that I’d expect you to understand the importance of—

“That shirt’s custom tailored, ain’t it? Those boots, too. And that’s good leather right there. Far too good for your typical drug mule. Either you come from money, or you got rich friends.”

There’s not much you can rebut here. All you can manage is a lame, “You don’t even know who I am .”

“Got a friend not too far from here who’s plenty familiar with St Denis. He’ll know.” Morgan holds his hand out towards you. “Gimme that knife a second.”

The knife is the only scrap of protection you’ve managed to grab hold of through this entire ordeal. You squeeze its handle tight.

He lets out a short, impatient sigh. “If I wanted to hurt you, I’d have done it by now. So c’mere and hand it over.”

You’ve known men who take a certain vicious pleasure in abusing women. Merchants with cringing wives. Clients with kind faces who’d leave working girls battered and bruised. There’s usually a certain mien about them that sets you on edge and that Morgan, brusque as he is, thoroughly lacks.

You brush the wood shavings off your lap and approach him. When you reach his place beside the fire, he tilts his head upwards to meet your eyes, the look on his face calm and expectant. A self-assured confidence that you’ve seen many times before, in the guises of many different men. It sends a familiar shiver of resentment down your spine.

You could cut out his eye right now. You could sink the blade into the thick cord of his neck. And he’d shoot you dead just for trying it — oh, you’ve no doubt of that — but it’d be quick and it’d be painless, and here comes that pathetic urge again, that little whisper coaxing you deeper, deeper towards the welcoming dark —

But equally pathetic is the nagging insistence that always stays your hand, that strident, desperate plea born from bodily instinct. The shared fear of all life from the inevitable. Cowardice — that’s what it is. A cowardice you’ve never been able to shake, a resentful, stubborn tether that you’ve bitten and clawed at over the years, but that still stays looped firm around your neck.

( And what about Mei? What about her son? )

You hand him the knife, and he receives it without incident.

The water in the tin cup is boiling. Morgan slips the point of the knife through the cup’s metal handle, and delicately removes it from the grate to cool. As you stand there, wet and cold and resentful, but not sure what else to do, he saws the top off a can of beans and sets it on the grill to warm, then pulls something out of his satchel and tosses it in your direction.

Somehow, you manage to not fumble the catch. It’s a can of peaches.

“Don’t eat ‘em yet,” he says. “I wanna take a look at your arm first. Roll up your sleeve for me.”

You grimace. One of the pros of tailored shirts is having sleeves that actually fit. “It doesn’t roll up that far.”

“Then I’ll cut it off for you,” he says, putting the knife to the shoulder seam.

“Like hell you will. This is my last decent shirt.”

Morgan shrugs. “No way around it, unless you wanna take it off.”

A shirt nice enough to present a veneer of respectability costs at least $4. Your usual tailor’s fee runs about $2, plus tip. That’s $6 total: the equivalent of two week’s worth of food for Mei and her son. Good food — white rice and cabbage, maybe even a bit of pork belly. Not the bits of offal scrounged from the butcher and wilted produce she’d resort to otherwise.

You hold out your hand and say, “Give me something to cover myself with.”

Your time spent reading Ovid in college would have probably been better served learning to dress like him, you think to yourself as you try and try again to wrap Morgan’s blanket around yourself like a toga.

“I said I’d give you a minute to yourself,” he says. “It’s been more than three now. I’m gonna turn around.”

“Just ten more seconds,” you respond, hastily tucking the corner of the blanket into the horizontal swathe pulled taut across your torso.

The sheer amount of irritation he manages to convey in the sigh he lets out is really quite impressive. In it, you can somehow hear him rolling his eyes.

When you finally let him know you’re ready, he takes one look at you and has to stifle a laugh. “You could’ve just wrapped it around your chest. Woulda been more practical.”

“Oh, excuse me for wanting to preserve what’s left of my dignity,” you snap, keeping one arm pressed against your chest to keep the whole improvised garment from falling apart.

“Alright Caesar, c’mere. Let me see.”

The cut looks like an angry red furrow ploughed through the field of your skin. Its edges are ragged and torn, separated like poorly cut cloth. In between, the wound itself gleams red and raw, with particles and fibers mixed in with blood and indeterminate tissue.

Earlier, when you’d gingerly untied the makeshift bandage and taken off your shirt, you’d taken a silent moment to survey the damage, wondering with horrified fascination if it was perhaps your own muscle you were glimpsing, that particular facet of your body surfacing through its dermal barrier for the first time.

“I’m gonna hold your arm,” Morgan says. “That ok with you?”

You nod, a little dumbfounded that he of all people would have the foresight to ask for permission.

He lifts your arm towards the firelight so he can better examine the wound, and in doing so handles you with more care than you can remember any lover ever giving you. You tell yourself that it’s a rebuke of your own terrible taste than an indication of any extraordinary kindness on his part, then forcibly dredge up the memory of his gun at your back for good measure.

“You’re gonna have a hell of a scar after this,” he says, running his thumb along the unbroken skin below the cut. “No inflammation, which is good. I’ll patch you up the best I can, but we’re still gonna want to check on it every couple hours to make sure it doesn’t get infected.”

He gets up to rummage through his saddlebags and returns holding a roll of gauze and a bottle of clear liquid. “You’ll be wanting this,” he says, handing over the latter. “This’ll hurt.”

You take a swig and nearly choke on it. “What the hell is this?”

“Grain alcohol.”

Grimacing, you bring it to your lips again and take in two more mouthfuls of the stuff before handing it back, gulping it down quick to get the burn of it down your throat and off of your tongue.

Morgan hovers his hand over the tin cup to test its temperature. “This needs to cool down first. Gives you some time for that liquor to set in too.”

“I think it’s going to my head already,” you admit.

Heat is spreading from the warm pit of your stomach to your neck and face, branching through your veins as sure as blood. The thud of your heart, previously an imperceptible thing, now asserts itself like a metronome.

He glances over at you and whistles low. “Not much of a drinker, are you?”

“Not usually.” You press your palm against your cheek. “Am I turning red?”

“Gettin’ there.”

It’s strange, settling into this oddly comfortable limbo between cordiality and aggression. Your sustained caution of him is beginning to wane so steadily that you have to consciously remind yourself the only reason he hasn’t shot you dead or at least seriously injured you is due to the fact that you’re worth more intact than otherwise.

“So,” Morgan says. “What’s someone with silk bloomers doin’ all the way out here runnin’ opium to Strawberry?”

“It’s a very long and stupid story.”

“Then give me the short version.”

You stare at the ground as though it’ll offer you some way to condense the sordid affair of your life into a couple easy sentences. He’d asked the question with what sounded like genuine curiosity instead of interrogation, and for once you feel inclined to blurt out the whole of it, like a girl in confession.

You want to tell him about how small the missionaries had seemed when you’d waved at them through the train’s grime-smudged window, not knowing it’d be the last time. The tweed jacket tossed carelessly onto the floor, and the cool, smooth sheen of mahogany against your skin. Feng fishing you out from the dark water lapping at the docks. The money, the opium, the blood.

The sight of the Heartlands for the first time, its blue horizon impossibly vast.

“I owe someone a lot of money,” you say finally, fiddling with a piece of grass between your fingers, tearing into halves and halves and halves. “He said it was either this or the brothel.”

“And you chose this. Runnin’ dope to those poor bastards working the railroads.”

It’s not the first time you’ve heard this particular tone of voice. The kind that implies its speaker’s higher moral ground as it categorically condemns you. But coming from him makes its sting especially hard.

“I don’t force them to buy it,” you say hotly. “It’s not just me that’s at fault here.”

“You ever seen a dope addict? They ain’t got a goddamn choice —”

“Well, d’you know what the average lifespan of a Chinatown whore is?” You don’t bother waiting for a response before plummeting to the answer. “Two years. After that she’s either dead from syphilis or suicide. At least with the opium I’ll die out here in the open and not in some squalid closet of a room that smells like piss and men.”

The liquor is starting to hit hard , and a part of you is fiercely grateful for it. It’s been a long time since you’ve been given an excuse to scream out the inequities of your life to someone, and a man who’s holding you for ransom seems as good a target for your vitriol as any.

“You think that just ‘cause it’d be better for the greater good or some shit, they should get to fuck me over? Is that what you think?”

Morgan seems a little taken aback. “I didn’t say th—”

“I don’t give a shit about the addicts. I don’t give a shit who’s life I’m ruining, as long as it isn’t mine. I don’t… I don’t care about anyone else because I’m a terrible excuse for a human being. That’s what you want to hear me say, right?” At this point, you realize that you’ve transitioned into a hysterical rant, that you don’t properly mean half the things you’re saying, but saying it out loud feels good nonetheless, like sucking venom from a festering wound. “But people like you don’t get to tell me so. Because at least I don’t hold people at fucking gunpoint . I don’t rob banks or kidnap women or beat debtors. I’m not a fucking murderer like you—”

The last statement barely clears the air before the image of the dead O’Driscoll, sprawled across the ground with his belly torn open, flashes through your head. You immediately clap your hand over your mouth, as if doing so will let you swallow back your words.

“No,” Morgan says, “You ain’t a murderer. And that’s why you won’t last long.”

“Good,” you seethe. The hot sting of tears begins prickling again at the corners of your eyes. “I don’t want to.”

He raises his eyebrows and regards you with a vague, detached kind of pity that makes you almost wish he’d just outright condemn you instead, then touches his fingers to the tin cup. “Water’s cool enough now, I think.”

You feel like a petulant child who’s just thrown an ineffectual tantrum. Rendered self-conscious and obedient for the time being, you allow him to secure your elbow with his hand and begin irrigating the wound with warm water.

“Jesus fucking god,” you hiss. You reflexively try and jerk away, but he holds you still and tells you to stop squirming, his grip firm as iron.

It’s the worst pain you’ve felt in years. Like a lick of flame passing over your skin, echoing its progenitor again and again as he washes the cut with a series of short, measured trickles of water, flushing away the combined grime of dried blood, dust, and lint.

“You think this is bad,” he says, unscrewing the bottle of grain alcohol. “Wait’ll I sterilize it.”

If the water was flame, then the alcohol is a streak of molten lava, wet fire soaking through the wound in a rush of white-hot burning pain. You don’t scream — you let out a weak, choking sob so pathetic that you cover your mouth again in an attempt to stifle it.

But you’re a little drunk and your subconscious recognizes this as an excellent excuse to cry, and so it lets flood the tears you’ve kept stoppered up for hours now. You whimper, meet his eyes briefly, then start bawling.

Your crying before hadn’t seemed to bother him, but now he looks almost comically alarmed. He must think it’s the physical pain sending you into hysterics, because he starts trying to comfort you the same way he did Boadicea when he’d led her into the river.

“You’re doin’ good,” he says, cajoling you in a soft, affectionate voice. He sets the bottle of alcohol on the ground and pats you awkwardly on the shoulder. “Just a little more to go, and we’ll be done.”

Another agonizing, scorching splash of fire. He doesn’t chide you this time when you try to pull away.

“Shhhh… I know, I know. Hurts like a bitch, don’t it? I’m gonna give it one more rinse, and — yeah, there we go. You’re alright.”

Morgan wraps the bandage over your arm with deft, practiced fingers, and you wonder briefly how many times he’s had to do this for himself, with no one to soothe him. Though better that than the shoddy job you’d done on him six weeks ago, frantically patching him up with just the barest idea of what you were doing.

He ties off the bandage, then picks the can of peaches off the ground, pops open its metal lid with the tip of his knife and proffers it to you like a peace offering. “Here. You’re hungry, right?”

It’s very hard to cry and eat at the same time. You decide to concentrate on the latter.

After tapering your sobs down to a series of quiet, resentful sniffles, you begin gulping down mouthful after messy mouthful of sliced peach. It’s the first morsel of food you’ve had in over ten hours, and you wolf it down so quickly you hardly taste it. Just an impression of cloying sweetness mixed with something faintly aromatic (cinnamon, you think) lingering as an aftertaste.

The old instincts of hunger are hard to shake off. All decorum thoroughly discarded, you raise the can to your lips and drink down what syrup remains, tilting it nearly perpendicular to the ground to get at the last few drops.

“My god,” Morgan says. “I seen dogs with better manners.”

“If you’d fed me earlier, then I— what’re you doing.”

“What’s it look like I’m doing?” he asks. He holds his bandolier in one hand. The other is working at his shirtcollar. “I’m gettin’ the hell outta these wet clothes.”

You clutch at the empty can of peaches as his union suit reveals itself in a revelation of blue. A blue which, you admit to yourself with an uncomfortable surge of appreciation, suits the shade of his eyes extremely well. But when he begins unbuckling his belt, you quickly avert your eyes. “Really?” you ask. The scandalization you probably ought to have felt from the very moment he’d begun undressing finally begins to surface. “Your pants, too?”

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist. I’m keepin’ the union suit on.”

“Are you usually this brazen with the women you kidnap?”

“D’you usually sit around half-naked with the men who kidnap you?” he asks, jabbing his thumb towards your own discarded shirt, which you’d spread out neatly beside the fire to dry.

“That’s different,” you hiss, knowing very well that it isn’t. “I had a medical reason.”

“Yeah, and so do I. I don’t wanna get pneumonia.”

He has a point. You look down at your own sodden trousers, which cling to your skin in a cold, wet embrace, and your internal scale of comfort versus propriety tips decidedly towards the former.

“Turn your back again,” you tell him.

“What for?”

“I’m gonna take my pants off too, and I don’t want you trying to sneak a peek at my bloomers.”

He laughs, then winces and gingerly splays his fingers across his ribs. It’s the first sign of real levity you’ve seen from him. “Oh, that is the last thing on my mind right now, girl.” There’s a tired grin on his face, and were it not for the events of the day, you might have almost found it endearing. “Besides, you ain’t hardly my type.”

“Well that’s good to hear,” you reply, a little offended. “Because I’m not interested in men with terrible taste.”

But he does as he’s told, and when you’re satisfied with the oblique angle of his range of sight, you let the borrowed blanket fall from your shoulders and pull the ribbon securing your braid free. You rake your fingers through your hair until it hangs loose, then gather the ends of it in one hand and twist it tight to wring out the rainwater. Only then do you pull the blanket back over your shoulders and begin to undress.

First, your boots. Then the knee-length woolen socks, which have left their cable-knit weave as an imprint on your skin. After glancing at him one more time to make sure his face is turned discreetly away, you unbuckle your belt and wriggle your way out of your trousers. It takes some maneuvering, and some thoroughly indecent posturing, to finally get them off. You leave your cotton bloomers on, figuring that the warmth of the fire will dry the thin material soon enough.

When you look back at Morgan, you find that he’s since turned back towards you. Not to gawk, but to get a better look at his own wounds in the firelight.

His union suit is half-unbuttoned. Most of his bare chest is visible, and along with it, the bruises from the ricocheted bullet. A mottle of blue and violet, like a spill of ink that radiates from the negative imprint of the flask that took the impact in his place. And right below it, a glimpse of your own handiwork.

When you’d first found him, the cut had spanned diagonal across his torso, trailing shallow from his chest and biting deep near the ridge of his hip. Most of it’s healed over since, but the edges are angry and inflamed still, and you can see the fading marks of your inexpert stitches laid like railroad tracks over the land of his skin.

“Don’t worry, I ain’t looked at you,” Morgan says. He probes gently at an indigo patch and inhales sharply. “Too busy lickin’ my own wounds.”

If you look closer, you can see the remnants of multiple scuffs and scratches. A history of violence storied across his body, told in the pale lettering of scars, many of them recent. An unwelcome pang of guilt settles itself low in your belly. It looks like he’s been on the road for a while, healing sporadically through long stretches of hard journeying. Hard journeying made worse, no doubt, by your theft of his bonds.

“You… uh. You want me to keep carving off wet bark?”

“Nah,” he says distractedly, still trying to determine the depth of the damage left behind. “Should be fine leavin’ the rest of it to dry out by the fire.”

You draw the blanket tighter around your shoulders, then root around your head for something, anything to talk about. Anything to get this burgeoning sympathy for Arthur Morgan out of your head.

“Your friend in St Denis,” you say finally. “He’s not gonna know much about me if he doesn’t speak Chinese.”

Morgan absentmindedly scratches his chin as he begins buttoning his union suit back up. “Wouldn’t put it past him. I know he’s had dealings with ‘em in the past.”

Something clicks in the back of your head. Long overdue recognition like puzzle pieces fitting together. “What’s his name?”

“Josiah,” he says.

“Josiah,” you echo. The spark of some fit of emotion is beginning to rise in your throat. “Josiah… Trelawney?”

His bewildered face is enough to confirm your suspicions. Relief, anger, confusion — all of them flood you at once with such intensity that you have to take a moment to squeeze your eyes shut. When you open them, you take a deep breath and swallow hard. “Josiah Trelawney’s the son of a bitch I sold your bonds to.”

———

Massive thanks to @reddeaddufus for editing not only this chapter, but the entirety of this fic. This whole thing would be a lot more disjointed if it weren't for her.

Definitely give her fic Red Dead Pursuit a look. The main character is extremely compelling, the plot is fast-paced, and the porn is A+. Her writing style is also a delight to read.