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immajustvibehere · 4 months

Text

Amidst a Crashing World (3/5)

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x fem!Reader

Summary: Arthur returns to your cabin after you presumed him dead. The time between your last meetings have lead Arthur to a realisation.

tags for this series: fluff, little bit of angst, no-tb-Arthur, literally your love redemption, maybe smut (but probably not), slow burn (but I mean how slow can a story really burn in five chapters?)

masterlist

Chapter 1, Chapter 2

6000 words

Sooner than expected, you heard of Arthur. Unfortunately, not because he sent you a note or stopped by again. As you rode into Annesburg three days after wishing him luck for the big score he had planned, the paper boys yelled through the town: "Saint Denis robbers still on the run! What happened to the gang of Dutch van der Linde? Find out in today's edition!"

Normally, you weren't too big on reading the newspaper, but this time…you hadn't never snatched it so quickly out of the boy's hand, leaving him to boast with the change you gave him. Hosea, dead. Lenny, dead. No account of any other names. You weren't sure who "a further gang member was arrested and awaits trial" meant. It only took a couple of days until everybody seemed to talk about it. Your main source of income being doing women's hair, you got a fair bit of gossip about the news.

Everything you heard from the ladies, took with a grain of salt. Either way, nobody ever mentioned Arthur by name. Your anxiety reached its peak when a rather well-off woman, not typically your demographic, had visited family in Saint Denis and brought an unsettling theory with her. Apparently, the most important members of the gang, including the leader, could have fled on a boat and drowned in the storm that was raging over the ocean the same night.

The "they have fled the country"-rumours were the most popular. Drowned in the ocean or not, the version varied based on who told you their theory. With every day you didn't hear the contrary and had no word from Arthur, you believed that you'd never see him again.

That was until one morning. You were working in your garden, busy with fixing the fence that had long stood neglected, when you saw a rider approach. Whether it was the hat or the horse you recognized first, you weren’t sure. But unmistakenly, the man on the horse that lazily trotted towards your cabin was Arthur.

You put your tools down and approached him, forcing yourself to walk calmly. The closer you got, the more unfamiliar he appeared. His beard had grown out, looking unkempt and way too long for what you were used to see him wear. Long strands of hair spilled out from under his hat. Arthur’s skin was darker than usual, even the unforgiving desert in the west hadn't left his skin as sunburned as it now appeared. Most of the red had settled into a golden-brown tan, particularly strong around the area where he cuffed his sleeves. For not seeing him for almost a month, this was quite a change.

A faint smile appeared on his lips when you reached him and walked next to his horse, leading it to your cabin.

"I thought I'd never see you again", you blurted out straight up.

Maybe a “Hello” or “Thanks for stopping by” would have been more appropriate, but the thought that had driven you insane the last three to four weeks just slipped out.

"I know. I'm sorry", Arthur jumped off his horse when you had reached your newly fixed gate. He looked at you, trying to take it all in. He had missed you; he had thought of you so much the last days and weeks, having you in front of him was a little overwhelming. But you looked like he remembered you. You weren’t wearing your fine clothes that you had worn when you caught him in your pond, but the worn jeans and shirt that had seen many fences painted and potted many plants looked good on you. It looked homely.

Arthur cleared his throat before he asked, "D'ya still cut hair?"

It was awkward...the ways he pronounced his question, the uncomfortable manner in which he scratched his way too long beard, seemingly unhappy with its new length.

Before you could answer, he added sarcastically: "Tried finding a barber on the Caribbean island but didn't came across someone I wanted to trust with scissors."

"Caribbean island?", you repeated questioningly, leading him into the cabin.

The tension between you felt peculiar. If tension were a tangible thing, you could have thrown a lasso and seemingly strangled it out of the air. But it wasn’t, so you and Arthur only struggled with finding your rhythm again.

"I came as soon as I could after returning...", Arthur explained apologizing, as if he had to rectify not visiting you sooner.

"Arthur. I thought you were dead", in front of your table, you stopped and looked directly at the man.

"'m afraid I have to disappoint", he chuckled, "Instead I'm here, asking ya for a cheap haircut because we lost...ten thousands in the sea."

"Ugh", you groaned, readying a chair for Arthur to sit on right at the table, "You sound so desperate, I might just give ya that haircut for free."

Arthur placed his jacket on a hinge next to the door and his hat on a free spot on the table. Again, it felt like he knew exactly where to place them, just as if he was coming home after a workday.

"Where d'ya want me, miss?", Arthur asked politely as if he had just entered a barber shop and there wasn't only one chair that looked prepared enough to serve as seat for his cut. You pointed at the chair a little absentmindedly, gathering your equipment and laying it out in the table in front of you.

"How short were you thinking?", you asked, walking around the seated man, ruffling his hair a little.

"Whatever you prefer", Arthur answered.

"What's that supposed to mean?", you asked, letting your finger scrape through his hair. His hair was wet at the roots, so you added surprisedly, "Did you just take a bath?"

"Might 've...", Arthur shrugged as if it was no big deal.

"You didn’t have to”, you reassured him, secretly amused by how endearing you found it.

"You wouldn't say that if you’d seen me before the bath. After three days in the Caribbean, killing half of the Pinkerton's agency and moving camp, you would have shot me on sight", Arthur joked, a bitter smile playing on his lips. Your answer was a soft chuckle.

After combing his hair, you repeated you question: "You're sure you don't want me to tell you how you want your hair done?"

"I trust ya", Arthur said.

"Mh, big mistake", you grinned. You caught Arthur's eye for a moment, and you could have sworn it was admiration in his expression. And trust, which honestly, was seldom for this man.

"I'll just cut it a little shorter than you had it when you first came to collect me", you said, waiting for his confirmation.

"...collect you and failed miserably at that", Arthur added.

"I thank the lord every day for that", you said jokingly. It was no laughing matter, though. You knew that as well as Arthur. The list of people the gang had lost in the last two months was long and you not rejoining was probably the only thing that had kept your name off that list.

You started doing Arthur's hair and one minute in, you decided to carefully pose the question of "What the hell happened the last couple weeks?". Arthur couldn't stop talking. He explained the plan of the bank robbery, explained when it went south. When Hosea was mentioned, he digressed a little. You too ended up sharing some anecdotes of the old man. You had loved him and felt a pang of guilt that you hadn't sent word to him that you were indeed fine. Hosea had been so kind to you when you expressed your wish to be on your own for a while, he had wished you the best and you had never even thought about sending a letter.

Then Arthur mentioned escape from Saint Denis. Your mouth went dry when Arthur recounted the storm, how he went overboard, nearly drowning and not knowing how lucky he was that he washed ashore on a beach. It was uncanny how some of the rumours you had heard mirrored the actual story.

Then came Guarma and everything that happened there. The return, the Pinkertons apparently following someone to Lagras and finally the move to Beaver's Hollow. They had been up there for a couple a couple of days now, and so much had already happened.

You listened, occasionally asked a question, but most of the time you were concentrating on not messing up the haircut. You had never heard Arthur talk that much before. Sober, that is. He can be quite a chatty drunk, but it seemed like he just wanted to get everything off his chest.

"How does that look?", you asked when you were done with his hair, holding a little mirror for Arthur to see.

His only response was a nob and a slight smile.

"Okay then", you spoke gently, "your beard's next."

The whole retelling of the last couple of weeks was what Arthur needed, but it killed his mood the same time. At least, that's what you though he was silent for. You cleared a spot on the table for you to sit on. It was way more comfortable sitting in front of Arthur while trimming his beard, but if you sat on a chair, you wouldn't have the height you needed.

You took a seat on the table in front of Arthur and noticed how his eyes immediately fixed on the ground.

"D'ya mind spreading your legs a little?", you asked. Despite the request confusing him a little, Arthur did as he was told and you put your on foot on his chair, so you wouldn't topple forward. Arthur tried his best to stifle the cough that worked its way up as he choked on his own saliva at this move.

"We're not going for a clean shave, are we?", you asked casually, trying to catch Arthur's eyes. He shrugged: "Whatever's easier for you."

You shook your head and began to trim his beard back to what you remembered he had the last time he visited you. Soon after you started, you noticed Arthur's cheeks getting warm and red. You were well aware that your cleavage was on his eye-level, probably the reason why he decided he was better off inspecting the floor. Meanwhile, you enjoyed gently tilting his head the way you needed it, finding no resistance from the man himself.

You talked only little, answering insignificant questions Arthur posed when the blade wasn't near his face, and he could actually move his mouth. You were almost done, only lining up his beard to give it an overall cleaner look, when Arthur said something out of the blue.

"Y'know, I been thinkin' about you. A lot," Arthur croaked, his throat dry all of a sudden.

"Mhm", you answered, not sure which direction that was supposed to go. You stopped shaving off the stubble on his neck when his Adam’s apple bobbed.

"Uh, I mean...", Arthur clears his throat, forcing you to stop the shave and look at him. Finally, his eyes found yours, "We're...uhm...friends, I hope." He forced a little chuckle that didn't sound genuine, especially under your curious gaze. You gave a quiet hum as sign of agreement.

"'s just that I...look, I understand if ya've found someone else. Hell, I took my sweet time and it wasn't fair how I treated you when you...", Arthur cleared his throat again, the words coming difficult to him, "when ya told me about yer feelings."

This was the point when your heartrate picked up and you felt your hands become sweatier. You had to put the blade down for a moment to wipe your hand on your shirt. Your mind was still caught on the line 'I understand if ya've found someone else'...like that had even been an option for you. For months you had tried to get over this man, then he came back waltzing into your life and you put your own ugly bounty poster on the wall as a reminder. And the you fixed the bedframe that he had fixed rather unsatisfyingly. You hadn't told him it broke the very same night he had “repaired” it. Nothing had changes the last year, you were pining as much for this man as ever...and yet, you didn't quite know how to react.

"I really like ya", he finally said, " I know well I don’t deserve it, but if ya wanted to give me another chance…"

"Morgan", you exhaled, "I got my boot between your balls and a blade at your throat...if you want to pull my leg I suggest you-"

"I mean it", and Arthur's gaze was so intense, this time it was you who struggled to watch him in the eye. You knew he wasn't lying. Hell, you hadn't really expected that he was just pulling your leg, you just said it to say something…to lighten up the mood that appeared so heavy again.

"Okay", you mumbled, barely able to disguise the tremor in your voice. Then you took the blade again, carefully turning Arthur's head upwards so you could better reach the hair you still needed to shave. There was this long and uncomfortable silence that neither of you wanted to break. You heard the birds outside, the blade scratching the skin and a heartbeat...if it was yours or Arthur's, you weren't quite sure.

Arthur thought that Guarma had been hell, but he found that your silence and okay was even more tortuous.

Finally, you were done. With a hairdressing brush you got rid of all the loose hair that decorated Arthur’s face. He gave you a slightly annoyed look as you tickled him behind his ears. Then you took the little towel that had prevented hair from falling into his shirt out in the garden to shake it out.

The moment you stepped into the cabin again, Arthur's eyes caught yours and they were demanding an answer.

"I've never stopped loving you", the words burned as they left your mouth. The towel was thrown over an empty chair. Saying the words out loud…it changed something. Because as long as you had only thought them, there was this slim chance that they weren’t true. But there was no backing-out now, no denying.

You continued: "But I can't...I won't rejoin the gang. I want to live here."

You said that because you knew that Arthur wouldn’t leave the gang for you, but you wouldn’t rejoin in either.

"Y/n...this thing is pretty much over", Arthur sighed. He was referring to the gang. He had alluded to it when he had recounted the happenings of the past weeks, especially breaking John out of jail and earning Dutch's disapproval. This was the first time he directly admitted it, "I want the Marstons safe...and the women...then it's done."

"Oh, so 'one more big score and then you can leave everything behind", you mimicked Dutch's voice. A tinge of animosity accompanied your words and this certainly wasn’t lost on Arthur. You couldn’t help but feel a bit unfairly placed in this situation.

"C'mere for a second", Arthur beckoned you, his eyes following every one of your movements until you stood in front of him, your hips brushing against the table. Arthur remained seated in his chair. Glancing at the man quickly, you congratulated yourself on having done a good job; his haircut looked sharp.

Then, suddenly, Arthur took your hand. It was such an unusual gesture, it alarmed you immediately. His hands were warm and rough, but not in an unpleasant way. Arthur held your hand lightly, as if he was afraid of hurting you.

"I promise this is the last time. In a week, we're going to hit a train with army pay. Wednesday evening. After that, I'm done", Arthur spoke earnestly.

"I can't-" believe you, you wanted to say, because you knew it had been the same story with Mary. You knew that once an outlaw means always and outlaw. Not even Arthur's word was enough to ensure that those bonds wouldn't bind him to his old life and to the gang.

"Don’t say nothing yet", Arthur interrupted calmly. He stood up and let your hand slide off his, as he walked to his satchel. He pulled out his journal and carefully put it next to you. With no hesitation, he opened and skimmed through it. You couldn't see most of the pages because he flipped through them so quickly.

"It ain't even half-way done", Arthur assessed, showing you the empty pages, "I'll leave that here 'n collect it in a week."

"What?", you questioned, frowning, "What if I decide to read it as a bedtime story?"

"'s nothing in there that yer not allowed to know", Arthur mumbled, "Contrary. Sometimes I think I'm much better expressing my feelings on paper. I've never been a good talker."

Silently, Arthur opened a page in his journal that had a little dog-ear. The left side was empty and only had smudges of pencil on it, on the right side there was this impressively detailed bounty poster. It had the layout of the bounty posters they have hanging all over town, obviously it wasn't printed, but hand drawn. You recognized your name, your 15-dollars-worth and then yourself, staring back at you. You hadn't imagined Arthur to be one to draw people, let alone portrait style. In the brush of his pencil you recognized that he might be more professed in sketching trees and animals, but it was a perfectly decent drawing of you. Hell, it was even flattering, compared to the atrocity they had on your real poster.

Arthur put the journal away, leaving it on top of a pile of books on your nightstand.

"I jus' need t'know if this is a place I'm allowed to return to", Arthur finally asked.

"Always", you replied without hesitation, your gaze still fixed on his journal. Is he trying in tempting you to read it? Because if that's the case, it was definitely working.

"So I won't be greeted with a gun in my face?", Arthur chuckled.

You sighed, taking a brush that stood abandoned in the corner of the room and started to swipe Arthur's hair out of the house. "If you're going to bring that up one more time, I swear I'll give you a reason to fear me", you quipped.

"Oh, I already fear you a great deal", Arthur said sarcastically.

You shot him an intense gaze.

"You staying for dinner?", you asked in between the sound of bristles scratching on wood.

Arthur shrugged, mumbling: "They won't miss me for another day..."

"Good. Then go hunt something", you asserted, gently shoving him outside by brushing against his boots until he took the hint.

"Yes ma'am...", Arthur mumbled, a hint of amusement in his voice. When you had successfully shoved him outside, you closed the door behind him, not without a bit of force. It left him slightly perplexed and wondering.

You had tried your best to hold your feelings together, but it had become a little much. Since Arthur's confession, your hands hadn't stopped shaking and you hastily put the brush aside, sitting down with your back against the door. There were so many feelings inside you that all needed to be addressed, but you struggled to even detangle them.

First and foremost: You had spent months pining for Arthur, only to be rejected in a cruel way and then again wasting months in trying to get over him. Just when you thought you were getting somewhere, he comes back into your life with a request that suggests anything but care for you. So, he leaves, and appears again. Then leaves again, presumed dead or out of country and now he's here again, asking for another chance as if you even had the power to reject him. You didn't know if Arthur would be able to make you happy. In a way, you feared it might be the opposite because there was still one score...one more score. He might die, or he might stay for another score, and another, and so on.

You stifled a sob. Scenarios played out in your mind, and they all converged into two possible outcomes, ending with Arthur dead or disappeared, disappointing you yet and yet again because one can't just stop being an outlaw. The 5000 on his head won't just disappear, presumed or actually dead - it didn't matter much.

"Son of a bitch", you hissed, mad at the situation.

You just wanted to be happy and find some closure for this surge of emotions that had held you hostage for months, if not years.

"Y/n?", Arthur's voice was so soft when he called out your name, you almost jumped in shock because you thought he had long gone hunting. But his voice came from right in front of the door.

"You okay?", he asked quietly.

"Yeah", you croaked, and it sounded anything but convincing.

"Ya sure?", he wanted you to confirm.

"I just need some time to think...", you whispered, trying hard not to sob.

"I'll stay close", you heard him state, then there were his steps leading away from the house.

For a while, you just sat on the floor. How to proceed?

By the time Arthur returned, the door to your cabin was wide open again, the sun shining inside. You had made your decision.

"I got us a rabbit", Arthur announced, "already skinned it. Figured it ain’t your kinda work."

You responded with an appreciative nod.

"It’s a real beauty”, Arthur grinned, a wisp of humour in his eyes, “or was, anyhow. I shot it with a small arrow so I reckon the meat-“ before Arthur could put the rabbit down on the table, you had sneaked in for a hug.

"Oh", Arthur stuttered, carefully placing the rabbit down. He lifted his bloody and dirty hands in the air to make sure not to get any dirt on you. Even though you wore clothes that had seen better days and apparently had been demoted to housework, he still didn’t want to get you dirty. Despite his desire to reciprocate the hug.

"Y/n…", he chuckled apologetically, "I need to get washed up."

At that moment, you suddenly looked up to him, your faces mere inches apart. He noticed your gaze drifting between his eyes and lips, then you leaned in, placing a gentle peck on his cheek.

The blush was immediate. Your hands instinctively found their way to his face and tenderly cupped his cheeks. They were just as warm as they had been when you cut his beard.

"I'm really glad you're here", you said, a smile playing on your lips.

"Yeah, I'm-" Arthur began, but you interrupted him with a proper kiss. It was a brief one, testing the waters if Arthur would be fine with that. As you pulled back slightly to assess his reaction, he didn’t hesitate a second, closing the distance between you once more. "I really …don't wanna get ya…dirty", Arthur mumbled between kisses. He could feel the corner of your lips curving into a smile each time you interrupted him. The man struggled to keep his dirty hands in the air.

The kisses quickly became more passionate, and when your hands left his cheeks, one to rest in the hollow between his shoulder and neck, while the other one boldly explored his chest region. It occasionally shifted to grab his arm and squeezing lightly.

Arthur mumbled your name warningly, twice. Then he couldn't help but put his hand in the small of your back, pushing you closer. His bloody hands would surely leave a mark on your clothes, but neither of you cared about that, as his hands became just as active as yours, sometimes cupping your cheek, at other times allowing himself to explore your body a little.

Arthur had just enough control to not place you on the rabbit, when he lifted you up on the table. When both of you became short of breath, Arthur rested his forehead against yours. Your legs had snaked around his, caging him in.

"Haven't done that in a long time", Arthur's voice was raspy as he tried to apologize for the somewhat sloppy make-out session.

"Me neither", you giggled and placed a final kiss on his cheek, "brushed your hair for nothing", you noted, looking up to Arthur's tousled hair. Your fault.

Arthur backed away a little, as much as your legs allowed him: "Christ." He had left signific signs of blood and dirt all over you.

"Mhh…", you hummed amusedly, "Ain't my fault you can't keep your hands to yourself."

"T'way I see it, darling…", Arthur smiled and tried to brush some dirt off your cheek with his thumb, "it's precisely your fault."

Arthur had headed to a keg outside to get cleaned. You decided to get cleaned up only after butchering the rabbit, as this would get your hands dirty again anyways. As the meat sizzled in the in the pan, you decided it was time to wash up as well. While you put the finishing touches on the dish, Arthur sat at the table, leisurely smoking a cigarette and observing you. He had asked if he could help you with anything, but you had declined, insisting that he had already done his part by hunting the rabbit. It was your turn prepare it.

When you plated the meal, it was really nothing too complicated, and yet, Arthur thought, for a free meal, it was perfect. You initiated a conversation; it was more light-hearted than the one you had when you cut his hair. The weightier themes seemed to have lifted from Arthur’s heart, and both of you sought distractions.

You told Arthur more about how you passed your days, gardening, drawing, riding into town. Really most of the money you earned the honest way, cutting hair and doing the odd delivery job for the grocery store.

It was frightening how easy it was to talk to Arthur. Two or three years ago, you would have never imagined, talking so freely to him. Though he'd always been kind, there was an air of unapproachability that had since crumbled completely after the heartfelt conversation you both shared.

The conversation where Arthur poured out his frustrations and regrets concerning Hosea's and Lenny's death, had brought a sense of liberation. It dawned on him how long it had been since he spoke so openly with anyone. Arthur leaned back into his chair. In front of him was his empty plate, opposite of the table, you sat within arm’s reach, chatting about an interesting traveller that came past your cabin a few months back. Arthur listened attentively, his eyes following the movements of your fingers skilfully rolling a cigarette.

Neither of you ran out of stories to tell the other. Arthur talked about people he had met on his travels, a clumsy photographer, a man obsessed with fast horses and racing.

You only realised how long you had been talking when the light in the cabin became sparse, the sun sinking closer to the horizon.

As the visibility waned, limited to the faint glow emitted by the burning tip of the cigarette, you finally rose to your feet to illuminate the cabin with the warm light of lanterns.

"I'll get my bedroll", Arthur announced, standing up with a grunt. He hadn't allowed himself to be this idle in a long time. All he had done today was sitting still for a haircut, killing one rabbit and then indulging in a lavish meal while engaging in easy conversation. His body had finally caught up with the stress of the last few weeks and he didn't know how to feel about how much his body ached. Despite the sun barely disappearing, Arthur would have been ready for bed. Funny, he thought, admitting one’s feeling for a girl could drain his strength that much.

At his announcement, Arthur noticed that you halted and were about to open your mouth as if to suggest something. But you didn't and let him venture outside.

When he took longer than anticipated, you followed him outside, only to find him leaning against the fence, his eyes in the sky. The sky was in this beautiful transition phase, going from hues of purple to a serene shade of blue with the first stars emerging in the east. You observed Arthur’s profile for a while, he didn't protest or showed any signs of being disturbed by your presence.

He was handsome. Something about his stature made you want to lean into him. But you didn't. Instead, you stood there, finding it hard to peel your eyes off him. Your lips quivered under the urge to say what you had thought earlier. After a big breath, you tried to say as casually as you managed: "I know my bed is too small for two people...but I was thinking if I put the mattress on the floor we could-"

"Y/N", Arthur interrupted you gently. He turned to look at you. Caringly, his hand found your shoulder, "It ain't right just yet."

Lying next to each other, cuddling, hugging, maybe stealing another kiss, you craved it badly. You finally had what you had desired for so long, you wanted it all at once. But Arthur knew that it would be unwise. He thought a lot about you, hell he did. And in his mind, he'd be too embarrassed to admit it of course, you had done way more than just kissed. But he knew it'd be wrong. He didn't want to fully commit just yet, and he didn't want to get your hopes up. It was genuine, when he said that the train robbery was the last score he wanted to do with the gang, but one train robbery is enough to get killed and he wouldn't dream about giving you this kind of pain. If he held it vague, if there was no sleeping close to each other, there was also no missing this proximity...if. Always if.

"Fine", you sucked in a little air, "but you take the bed then."

The two of you headed inside, Arthur with his bedroll clamped under his arm.

He shook his head: "It's your house, I can't jus'-"

"Exactly. It's my house, I can sleep in the bed every damn day. Besides, I don't figure you had a proper bed on Guarma, did you?", you teased.

"No, but-"

"Neither do you have one in camp so please- accept it", you looked up at Arthur rather desperately.

"Fine. You don't come complainin' to me if yer back hurts tomorrow", Arthur quipped.

"Oh, I'll definitely complain", you grinned. Arthur gave you his bedroll to spread in the corner where he had slept the last time. Arthur had sat down on the bed and watched you quietly as you readied your sleeping corner. When you glanced back at him, it was evident how weary he was, his eyes barely open, sitting up only out of politeness.

"You don't have to stay awake for me", you smiled, leaning against the table and studying the exhausted man. You noticed how tired he had become during your conversation. He had at least supressed three yawns.

"I jus'...haven't seen ya for so long, I don't want to waste that time with sleeping", Arthur explained. You found it cute he thought that way.

"You're not wasting anything", 'because we'll see each other again in a week, right?' you added in your mind. "I have this book I want to finish anyways, you just rest", you assured him.

You waited until he had settled in, exchanging a couple laughs about how unstable your bedframe was, and then you did the dishes. It didn't take you long, but Arthur was asleep when you had finished. He was turned towards the wall. On the nightstand was his journal. He had put it on top of the book you were currently reading. You took the book and settled on the bedroll.

You woke up to the sound of the bed creaking and blinked at Arthur, the first rays of the sun casting a warm glow on his frame. At some point during the night, he must have woken up and shed his clothes, as he now rested in the room clad only in his unionsuit.

"'m sorry, darlin'. I didn't want to wake ya", he apologized his raspy morning voice.

"It's okay", you yawned, forcing yourself to throw off your blanket to stand up, "I'll make some coffee."

In a couple big steps, Arthur was at your side: "You sleep some more, it's my turn for breakfast." Arthur squatted next to you and tugged you in before you could protest. You forced your tired eyes to stay on his face and not venture further down, pondering what the thin material might reveal.

When Arthur shot you a content smile, seeing you were up for no protest, a wave of panic washed over you.

"You won't just leave, right?", all of a sudden, you were wide awake.

"I won't", Arthur assured you.

"'cause if you do-", you started, a yawn interrupting your threat. Arthur chuckled at how cute and innocent you looked, happy that your yawn cut off before you could destroy that innocence with another gory threat.

"I'm way too scared of what you'd do", and then, to your surprise, he kissed your forehead. You only relaxed when Arthur had stood up again and indeed started to set up coffee. You were soon off to sleep again, only woken when the sizzling of fat in the pan woke you.

Arthur had made eggs. You ate in silence. A couple of times, Arthur tried to start a conversation, but you weren’t in the mood. He’d be gone in a couple of hours and you’d be left wondering if he’d ever return. Arthur knew that this was what was plaguing you, but he didn’t find the right angle to approach you.

You both did the dishes together, you helped Arthur by saddling his horse and then he had mounted it, looking down at you.

“Ya ain’t so happy about the prospect of me returning in a week, ‘s that it?”, Arthur joked.

“No”, you answered dryly, “I ain’t so happy about you leaving for a week.”

Arthur sighed and steered his horse closer to the fence: “Climb up here, I gotta tell ya something.”

Rather unwillingly, you climbed on one of the horizontal planks that kept your fence together. Arthur offered his hand for support and as an excuse to pull you a little closer. He kissed you, gently, on your lips.

“I promised I’ll be back, didn’t I?”, Arthur mumbled. He wasn’t convinced, and neither were you when you whispered a dire “Yeah..”

You didn’t like the good-bye kiss. In fact, you wished he hadn’t done that. It hurt even more, seeing him disappear between the trees in the distance. For a while, you stood there helplessly, wondering what to do next. Minutes passed before you ventured into your cabin, distracting yourself with some cleaning before your eyes fell on Arthur’s journal. You noticed a piece of paper sticking out. Without thinking, you opened the journal and the loose paper floated to the ground. You didn’t even bother picking it up, your eyes caught the first word written on top of the page. It was your name, written in Arthur’s familiar handwriting.

“Hell no”, you kicked the paper under the bed before you could read any further. You weren’t up for some heartfelt “Good-bye, in case I die I want you to know this”-letter. Frustration and anger bubbled within you as you scrambled into your good jeans and crammed your revolver into its back pocket. With a swift motion, you picked up your hunting rifle, mounted your horse and started to follow Arthur’s track.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x--x-x-x-x-x-x-x

next chapter: here

Shoutout to @little-honeypie who basically wrote the confession scene. I wouldn't have ever finished this if it weren't for them <3

taglist: @photo1030

taglist for this series: @pinkiemme @loveheartarthur @twola @shiokitsune @missredemption @kakashiislut @thewalkingdead1463 @yyiikes @renwai @walk-in-sunshine @rdrlady @ivybeeloved @trinswhimsys @reddedmiller @chiefqueefsosa @sauvignon-velvet @mrsarthurmorgan @readingcoco @pookiesnatcher @gloomdoomraccoon

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan fanfiction #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #rdr2 #arthur morgan x female reader #red dead redemption community #rdr2 fanfiction #rdr #rdr fanfiction

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lumosandnoxwriting · 4 months

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Lesson Learned || Fred Weasley

Title: Lesson Learned Pairing: Fred x Reader Summary: When Fred catches Y/N doing something he doesn’t approve of he’s got no choice but to teach her a valuable lesson Warnings: NSFW - minors DNI! This includes consensual non-consensual sex, meaning that during the sex scene it is made to seem that the female reader did not consent, but it is revealed after that reader and Fred are in a relationship and this was a preplanned encounter - if you don’t like that don’t read! vaginal sex, degradation, dirty talk, unprotected sex, possessive/jealous behavior,mentions of violence. A/N: my last little fic of the year!! Thank you to everyone who has supported me, I couldn’t do this without you! I’ve been out of the smut game for so long I needed some practice so this was born! Tags: @darthwheezely since she requested this and i love her endlessly <3

“What the fuck?”

Ice sprays across the rink as Fred comes to a halt, ripping his helmet off so he can be sure he’s actually seeing what he thinks he’s seeing. Because surely even a jersey chaser like Y/N has to have some standards, and there’s no way she’s standing there talking no - flirting with an idiot like Cedric Diggory.

The captain of their biggest rival and an all around mega douche.

But it turns out his eyes weren’t deceiving him. Y/N is leaning on the edge of the barrier batting her eyelashes at Cedric as he regales her with some story that Fred is sure the idiot made up to make himself seem cooler. He just about loses his mind when Y/N throws her head back and laughs, her hand coming up to rest on Cedric’s arm.

Luckily Coach blows his whistle to bring them all back from their warm up skate, or Fred would certainly find himself ejected for being the shit out of Cedric before the game even begins. He skates back with the rest of the team reluctantly, already figuring out how to deal with Cedric on the ice - and how to deal with Y/N off of it.

“Holy fuck Weasley you were an animal out there!”

Fred grins as he teammates hoop and holler around him in the locker room, still fresh on adrenaline from their crushing defeat over the Baltimore Badgers. Fueled by the rage of seeing Y/N flirt with Diggory, Fred had been on fire from the second the ref blew the whistle. He skated faster than he ever had before, and hit harder too. By the second quarter three of the Badger’s best players were benched with injuries from being slammed into the boards by Fred, and he’d even managed to break Diggory’s nose during a fight.

The 10 minutes in the penalty box had been worth it.

“Just doing what I do best!” Fred shouts back nonchalantly as he rewraps his knuckles.

He takes his time getting ready after the game, thankful that the game was at home today so there’s no need to rush to the airport for their flight back. Because he knows that Y/N is always the last one to go home, still new to her job as the assistant manager and eager to please everybody. He also knows that while everyone is in the locker room Y/N is in the rink, checking the bench and bleachers for anything anyone may have left behind.

When there’s only a few guys left in the showers Fred decides to put his plan into action. He shoves his bag under one of the benches, and yells a goodbye to his teammates as he slips out of the locker room. Moving as silently as he can, Fred makes his way through the tunnel and out into the rink, crouching down as he reaches the opening in case Y/N happens to be getting ready to come that way. He peeks around the corner best he can and a thrill runs down his spine when he sees Y/N over by the team bench. She’s down on her hands and knees as she reaches for something, and Fred makes his move.

“Jesus Christ,” Y/N shouts as she stands up, surprised to find Fred leaning against the rink watching her. “You scared the shit out of me Fred, what the fuck are you doing?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he responds, crossing his arms.

“Doing my job, obviously.”

Fred gives her a look. “That’s not what I was referring to.”

“Well can you just get to the point then? I’d like to finish up here so I can get home,” Y/N huffs.

“My point is,” Fred starts, tone dripping with condescension. “What the fuck were you doing flirting with Cedric fucking Diggory before the game?”

“None of your fucking business, that’s what,” Y/N spits back. “Last I checked I was allowed to screw whoever I want.”

Fred pushes off from the sideboard then, taking a slow step towards Y/N. He’s almost ashamed to admit that a thrill runs down his spine when she takes a step back. “Oh really?”

All the anger seeps from Y/N’s body and is replaced by fear at the tone of Fred’s voice. The look on his face makes her knees tremble as he continues his slow pace forward, her own steps retreating at the same pace. In an effort to distract him she throws the water bottle in her hand as hard as she can, not bothering to watch it hit him. Instead she turns around, trying to make a break for the tunnel.

Except Fred is quicker, not even deterred by the bottle smacking him in the chest he lets out a low growl, and it only takes three strides before he’s grabbing Y/N by the waist.

“Fucking, bitch,” he seethes, throwing her against the sideboard.

Before she can even think Fred is pressed up against her, pinning Y/N between the sideboard and his body. A hand twists around her hair, pulling hard to yank her head back. “Now you listen to me,” he growls, leaning in to speak against the shell of her ear. “You fuck me and only me, understand?”

“Fred,” Y/N murmurs, voice thick with a mixture of fear and sadness. “Please.”

He yanks her hair, cock twitching at the yelp in pain that leaves her lips. “Guess I’ll just have to teach you a lesson, hm?”

Y/N fights against Fred as one of his hands drops to the waistband of her leggings, squirming in a desperate attempt to get away from him. But his grip on her hair is strong, and his hips have her pinned to the sideboard. “Fred, no,” she gasps, skin suddenly exposed to the cool air of the rink.

“No panties,” he coos, nibbling on Y/N’s earlobe. “It’s like you were asking for it.”

With her leggings around her knees Fred places his free hand on the middle of her shoulders, pressing down so Y/N is bent over the sideboard. He finally releases her hair, satisfied that his hand and hips will be able to keep her in place.

“Time for me to show you how a real man claims what’s his.”

Y/N gasps as Fred suddenly sinks his cock in her cunt, hips not stopping until he’s fully buried inside. He barely gives her a moment to adjust to the stretch before he’s pulling his cock out half way and fucking back into her hard.

The only noise in the rink comes from Fred’s labored pants and his belt buckle hitting the sideboard as he sets a brutal pace. Y/N’s hand covers her mouth, desperately trying to keep quiet in the hopes that Fred will just take what he wants and this will all be over soon.

“Fuck, fuck,” Fred groans. Y/N’s cunt clings to his cock like a glove that was made just for him, and the slick noise her pussy makes as he moves is just barely loud enough for him to hear.

“Your cunt is unfucking believable,” he praises. “My cunt - isn’t that right sweetheart?” He slaps her ass hard when Y/N only nods - not satisfied with her nonverbal answer. “Who does this fucking cunt belong to Y/N?”

“You,” Y/N sobs out, willing to give Fred anything he wants. “It belongs to you, Fred.”

“Fucking right it does,” Fred grunts in response, pace picking up as he edges closer and closer to his orgasm. “And I’m going to mark this pretty little pussy up so everyone knows it too.”

Y/N lets out a muffled moan as Fred’s cock pulses inside her, her cunt walls throbbing around him as he fills her up with his cum. Her pussy is embarrassingly wet, and she’s afraid to admit that she would have orgasmed too had this encounter lasted any longer.

As Fred catches his breath he slowly pulls out, eyes drawn to Y/N’s pussy and the way his cum starts to slowly drip out of it. “Fuck,” he whispers, using his thumb to capture a drop before it falls so he can push it back into her.

Fred tucks his cock back into his trousers and zips up silently, and Y/N is too afraid to move. Her knees are trembling from a mixture of fear and her almost orgasm, and she can practically feel Fred’s eyes as he stares at her exposed pussy.

“I better not see you talking to Diggory or any other fuck head - understand?”

“Yes,” Y/N responds shakily.

Satisfied with her answer, Fred gives a curt nod before turning to leave. He gives her one last look over his shoulder before heading out of the tunnel - not even bothering to pull her leggings back up. Bad girls don’t deserve chivalry.

When Y/N stumbles out of the guest locker room 45 minutes later, skin pink from her shower, Fred is leaning up against the wall waiting for her. There’s a goofy grin on his face, and soon there is a matching one spreading across hers.

“Baby,” Fred greets as she jumps into his arms, hugging Y/N tight. “That was fucking incredible - I’m sorry you didn’t get to finish.”

She pulls away from the hug, giving Fred a kiss on the cheek. “That’s okay - you can make it up to me at home.”

#fred weasley #fred weasley smut #fred weasley fic #harry potter #harry poter fanfiction #fw #golden

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antimony-medusa · 10 months

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I just have vauge thoughts about Fandom, and Creator Notices, and Boundaries, and I'm just gonna ramble for a second here.

Okay, so you end up really liking a show or event to the point that you want to make something for it, generally you want to show it off. You want to share it with other people who like the show or event, and have them go !!!!!!!. That's fun, that's normal. We all want to be enthusiastic about [show/event] together. That's our starting point.

Enter social media and official actor/streamer/writer accounts.

Now fan artists, a good portion of the time, can make their art and then thanks to the wonders of social media, they can go straight up to the actual people who made the show and show their art, and have them go !!!!, and get the actual creators to like it. Maybe not if they're drawing hard gore or NSFW, but if you're drawing a soft canon family moment, or a cyberpunk au, or behind the scenes look illuminated, or kick-ass character design, you can get a creator notice.

Fan writers, by and large, do not get creator notices. This is because looking at art takes two seconds, and reading a fic takes between ten minutes to ten hours. Creators can be out there scrolling art in a way that most of them, frankly, do not have the time to devote to Ao3 searches sorted by kudos. And I think among writers there's a little bit of a sense that that's unfair, and writing is just as much as art as visual art is, so we should be getting creator notices, and we should all act as though we might get a creator notice at any time. On all platforms. Cause what we're doing is real art, right? And we all saw the art get retweeted?

And this sense that creator notices— cause we've all seen them happen with art— spreads until we all think that they could happen at any time. Thanks to the wonders of social media. And very rapidly, the "you can get a creator notice" turns into "the highest honour is a creator notice", and we're all gunning for that, and you SHOULD be gunning for that. You should be looking for the creator to weigh in on your art. You should make sure that there's nothing in your work that the creator doesn't like. If you're an artist, you shouldn't be playing with gender in your art, or draw them being tortured, or anythign NSFW, and if you're a writer, you need to make sure that you don't have anything "weird" in your writing. In practice, let's be honest, this just turns into demonizing NSFW work and saying that anything we don't like is NSFW. Looking at you the "you can't draw the streamers with boobs" discourse.

Anyways, I think going after creator notices is a bad idea for many reasons— a, let them rest, b, bad atmosphere for the fandom, c, let's be honest, an awful lot of fandom stuff is weird from the outside. Let it stay in the fandom.

First thing is like, there are only so many hours in a day. Fan artists can tag their people but it's SO much of a huge and rude demand on someone's time to ask them to read your fic and tell you if it's good. That's the request you make cautiously to your beta reader, and then everybody else on this planet earth gets to opt in to your work. Do not TTS stories to people, do not hand them copies at cons, like— if they want to find it they can find it.

Second thing, creator notices hovering over the fandom like a sword is not a good attitude for creativity. Fan work is supposed to be transformative, it's about taking the original work and going "oh but what if they didn't die" and "what if they lived in space" and "what if they were a family" and "what if they kissed". Gunning towards a creator notice at all times takes you from an independent person following your creativity to a contractor working under someone else's vision. All the time.

Trying to adhere to the source material isn't bad in essence, there's a spectrum of "how do you feel about canon" in fan work that ranges from "trying to hit all the same beats just with a twist" to straight up adversarial attacks, and all of that is fine and part of what fan works are. But if the only stuff that gets written is the stuff that we think the creator would approve of, a) that's stifling to both creativity and people who have an adversarial relationship with canon, you shouldn't start to be branded as "weird within the fandom" cause you're mad at a plot arc b) you very rapidly run into the issue where you're adhering to someone else's morals, and sometimes you don't agree with random person's morals. Anne McCaffrey famously said that fan works were okay as long as you didn't make any of the dragon riders gay. I guesture at you about that. Sometimes a creator is way more comfortable with NSFW stuff than you are, that doesn't mean you should feel forced to make NSFW stuff for their approval! You shouldn't have to 100% agree with someone's vision for an art piece to be able to roll up and go "yes but I think there should be like 50% more evicerations in here" and acting like the creators are the ultimate authority in fan spaces is a bad atmosphere for making fan works.

Sure, absolutely, showrunners get to decide canon. But the whole point of fandom is that sometimes I have a better vision for my story, and maybe I don't want to think about what the creator says at all. If I'm not gunning for the creator's approval, let me stay in my little circle with the creator blocked and adding more pregnancy to the QSMP, or whatever. Follow your bliss.

Third thing, like, okay. There has been a move in fan circles, and especially in mcyt circles, to say that if we just cut the NSFW stuff out, everything we're doing isn't weird, and the creators can look at it. I honestly think this is a failure of both imagination and perspective.

If you have written someone being vivisected, it's gonna be a trifle weird for the actor of that someone to come into contact with that. It is doubly weird if you're depicting a character who shares the same name as the actor. Is it bad to write the vivisection? No, this is fandom, we get to do terrible things to characters here, and that's not for the actors, that's for the audience of two hundred people who saw the words "Schlackity vivisection cannibalism necromancy" and said "clear my schedule, I know what I'm doing tonight". Awesome, continue with the gore.

And like, again, this isn't just NSFW. You can have something that is the fluffiest most platonic story in the world, and I'm saying look at me, look at me honestly, consider this; isn't it going to be just a little bit weird for a grown-ass man to open up a story where they've been aged down to four years old and they're lost and sad and their friends are their family and rescue them and there's cuddling and petting and snackies and pet names and they get their blanket and suck their thumb and take a nap. Look me in the eye and tell me that's not gonna be weird for an adult to read that about their character who shares their name. Okay? We're all on the same page here? Awesome. Is it bad to write kidfic? No. Kidfic rocks. I am your target audience, I am clicking through. I am leaving a keysmash comment. It is also, like, look at me here, focus— it's weird if you're outside the fandom. Platonic? Yes. for the actors/streamers? No. And that's because it's not FOR outsiders to the fandom, it's for the fandom. It's for people who rotate the characters so much that they go 'wouldn't it be sooooo cute if they were babies wouldn't it be adorable', it's not for the actual guys who had a meeting with an accountant today.

MCYT in particular has a horrible practice of saying that because everything has to be for the streamers, nothing can be NSFW unless they've approved it specifically, but somehow everything else is cool? I cannot express to you how much stuff I've read and enjoyed that even the smallest amount of thinking about should let you know that we keep that stuff away from the guys driving the block men around. Fine to write it, I say again, go for it. Please completely divorce yourself of the idea of a creator notice for it at the same time.

Should we show the streamers porn? No. We also should not show the streamers the thing where they're physically abusive parents of their friends. We should not show them the stuff where they're babies. We should not show them things where they're bigots. We should not show them things where they have hybrid instincts that tell them to kidnap someone. Really not sure about showing them a story where they're a cop who takes bribes. Like come on now. Really, as soon as you diverge from canon you're getting into stuff that's probably going to be weird for the crdeators. And that's why again, we don't show it to them, because it shouldn't be for them, it should be for the other people who are like "oh you're doing something fun with the character there, awesome" and click through. Weird for the creators, because it's for us.

Fandom should not be for for the creators. We can make stuff for the creators ocassionally, but I really think it's healthier for the fandom, and probably a lot less weird for the actors/streamers/writers, if we stop acting like what we make is all for them and should be shown to them. Some of it is just for us! That's fine! Make it for the people who have an rss feed for "autistic technoblade" on Ao3! Make it for the people who show up in your inbox asking about your "Philza gets arranged married to a different QSMP guy every week" au! ! Make it for the people who have three spellings of "charlie slimecicle" followed on Tumblr! Make it for the people making helsmit fancams! Make it for the fifteen people who suscribed to you after you posted that fic about the various wilbur bursonas kissing each other! Make it for the people who have Puffychu art saved to their phones! Make it for the fandom!

Leave the creators alone, make the fandom for the fans.

#discourse #dsmp #qsmp #fandom meta

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astrophileous · 8 months

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Love Bugs (Pt. 06)

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Female Reader

Synopsis: You and Derek Morgan have an arrangement. At work, your relationship is strictly business. Under the sheets, it's all about pleasure. Nothing more, nothing less. Until, of course, your feelings start to get involved. Your situation is complicated enough without the unexpexted predicament that suddenly befalls upon you. But with a maniac serial killer on the loose, will you ever get the chance to make everything right?

Warning(s): cursing--there's a lot of it--like a lot, psychopathic behaviors, being held captive, verbal and physical violence, degrading nicknames, talks of death and unaliving someone, strangulation, PLS READ WITH CAUTION BECAUSE THIS PART IS REALLY GRIM I'M NOT EVEN KIDDING

Word Count: 4200-ish

Tag(s): I'm tagging everyone who requested to be tagged prior to the long hiatus, pls tell me if you'd like to NOT be included in the tag list for future updates, thanks! @marvelousgoldroses @jay-2s-world @whore-of-the-pumpkin-patch @maxinehufflepuffprincess @cat-or-kitten @littleshadow17 @itzz-me-duh @geeksareunique @paisleebubbles @whateverrrrrrrrs @crazyunsexycool @louderfortheback @wifeyofeveryone

Author's Note: HI EVERYONE HOW ARE YOU?? I know this is long overdue, but pls enjoy the new part of love bugs! I'm so happy to be posting again and I hope you like what I've got in plans for this series. I think we only have one or maybe two chapters left for this story (depending whether I want to write an epilogue or not lol) but in the meantime, pls enjoy this part and don't forget to LIKE+REBLOG+COMMENT !!! thank you 🌹

Love Bugs Masterlist / Criminal Minds Masterlist

The bullpen of FBI headquarters was still reeling in the aftermath of a Derek-Morgan-shaped hurricane.

Emily was just about to enter the vicinity again when she heard the tail end of Derek's furious words, right before Hotch had ordered him to retreat.

"What was that about?" Emily asked as she approached Rossi's side, eyes never straying from the two men who soon disappeared into Hotch's office.

Rossi never addressed Emily's question. Instead, he gestured for her--and everybody else in the room--to be quiet with a finger on his lips, before he pressed the unmute button on the telephone.

"Hello?"

The UnSub's head jerked at Rossi's unfamiliar voice. You were barely successful in getting him to calm down following Derek's unexpected outburst, but the sound of Rossi's voice was threatening to throw all of those poor attempts straight out of the window.

"Who is that?" he demanded warily. "Where's Agent Hotchner?"

"He had to step away for a second," Rossi notified. "I'm SSA David Rossi. I also work with Agent Hotchner and Agent (Y/L/N)."

"I know who you are."

"Yeah? I still don't know who you are, though."

A responding groan vibrated from the other line. "Why does everyone keep asking me that? Do you think I'm fucking dumb?"*

"No one thinks anything here, pal. Just wanted to know who I was speaking to, that's all." At the UnSub's clear signs of agitation, Rossi quickly added, "It'd be nice to know the person who clearly means a lot to (Y/N)."

Rossi's reassurance obviously managed to trigger the intended effect it had sought. Everyone could see how the UnSub physically deflated at Rossi's words, meaning that hopefully he was soon going to let his guard down.

"I can't tell you who I am," your assailant said, still adamant, although his resolve was wearing thin with each word he had stated. "You're just gonna use it to track me down and keep us apart."

The last syllable of his sentence was emphasized by the weight of his dagger on the side of your neck. You instinctively winced at the unwelcomed touch of the blade before schooling your expression once more so your captor wouldn't notice.

"I promise you, no one is going to do that," Rossi said.

"He's telling the truth," you decided to chime in, surprising everyone including the UnSub whose grip of the dagger had teetered dangerously closer to your pulse point at the sudden proclamation. "They are good people. They don't break promises or tell lies. I promise you, nothing will come between us."

The silence that fell next was heavy with the UnSub's hesitation. Bracing yourself, you forced your head to tilt back, locking eyes with him who was still standing like a guard dog right behind you.

"I swear, Darling," you vowed.

The lull in your voice--or perhaps the fact that you had called him darling in front of your team, which he could arguably take as a display of affection--must have stirred up something in his twisted mind. He actually preened at you before his eyes went right back towards the direction of the camera on the wall.

"My name is Arthur," he confessed.

A particular thread of memory in your brain immediately lit up.

Back in the bullpen, JJ and Spencer were finally returning with documents containing your phone records that they had promptly asked Kevin to gather. Spencer didn't waste any time before perching himself on his desk to start rummaging through the thick pile of files.

"Arthur?" Rossi repeated the name, eyes flicking over to Garcia with a silent request to start cross-referencing the name with the other names they had acquired so far in the investigation.

The tech analyst didn't need to be told twice. She began typing furiously on her laptop as Rossi's attention was drawn back towards the projector.

The UnSub hadn't moved an inch. His hand was still just as sturdy on your shoulder. The blade was also still just as cold as it pressed onto your skin.

One wrong move, and you would end up no better than a slaughter animal on the cold hard ground.

"Do you have a last name, Arthur?" Rossi asked.

The entire bullpen held their breath in anticipation. Rossi had planted the bait as strategically as he could. It was up to the UnSub to take it and slip up the one information that would give them a major lead to end this case once and for all.

But before the UnSub could respond, a muffled beeping resonated in the air, through the telephone line, and finally into the bullpen. The sound was enough to make your assailant faltered.

"I have to go."

It was the last thing he uttered before the line, along with the livestream, went completely dead.

The atmosphere was laden with restlessness as everyone tried to make peace with the fact that they had just lost the only mean of communication they had with you. Without the feed from the livestream, no one could possibly know what was going on. The team would have no idea if something were to happen to you.

They would have no idea how to determine whether you were alive or dead.

"Did you find anything yet, Garcia?" Rossi questioned, although in all honestly, it sounded more like a desperate plea.

The thick regret behind Garcia's eyes gave Rossi the answer he needed to know.

"I can't find any Arthur in our files, sir," Garcia informed.

"Anything from her phone records? What about the hospital?" Rossi tried again.

Emily shook her head almost remorsefully.

"Nothing yet," Spencer spoke up from his place on the desk. "Not a single thing stands out from her records."

"What now?" JJ sighed, exhaustion and worry beginning to decorate the lines on her face.

The whole bullpen stood still, as if everyone was waiting for a slice of miracle to descend into the room, holding a map that would eventually lead the team to where you were still being held captive. But such a map didn't exist in this piece of reality, and the BAU knew that they were running out of time.

"Garcia, did you record the livestream by any chance?" Spencer asked at last.

"Yeah, of course I did."

Penelope punched a few keys on her keyboard before the projector once again came alive with the footage from the livestream.

"Can you fast forward to the very end?" Spencer requested. "And then play it again backwards to the beginning."

"What are you thinking, Spence?" JJ wondered.

"I don't know. I just... maybe there's a detail we missed. At this point, even the smallest piece of clue is worth pursuing."

Several pair of eyes glued themselves on the screen as the livestream footage ran backward at a faster speed. Bated breaths waited in tension for just the tiniest hint that the team could scour to determine your location.

"Wait. What was that?" Spencer interjected. "Garcia, play that again."

"What? What is it?" Emily spoke up.

"Look at her hand." Spencer stood up from the desk, approaching the screen to get a better look. "She's knocking against the chair. Garcia, zoom in on her hand. The left one."

Penelope did as she was asked. "Is that--"

"It's morse code," Rossi muttered, realization overtaking his countenance.

"What is she saying?" JJ questioned.

"A-U--" Spencer began spelling out loud, "--T... Auto. She's spelling auto."

"Auto?" JJ's forehead creased. "As in... auto shop?"

"Her records said she went to a mechanic a week ago," Spencer recalled. JJ immediately rummaged through the papers on Spencer's desk, but the pages flipping inside of Spencer's mind moved at a thousand times more speed than any normal pair of eyes ever could. "Dinozzo's Auto Service, 894 Southwell Street."

"Got it," Penelope chimed in from her place in front of the laptop. "Dinozzo's Auto Shop. Originally owned by Carlo Dinozzo before it was passed down to his two sons after his death a year ago."

"Any of them named Arthur?" Rossi asked

"Nope. Luca and Piero."

"What about the employees?" Emily suggested.

"No. I'm not seeing any Arthur anywhere near that place."

"We profiled that the UnSub could be holding down a steady job in his everyday life," JJ said. "He might not even be related to that place. Maybe (Y/N) encountered him there by chance?"

"Nah, I doubt it." Rossi shook his head. "The bastard's too sophisticated to leave anything up to chance like that. He must have found a way to orchestrate it one way or another."

"There must be a connection somewhere, then. No way he just chose a random place off the map," Emily muttered. "We should cross-reference the name to anyone associated with the Dinozzos."

Penelope began to frantically type something into her laptop. "We've still got three names here. Oh, never mind. Two names, 'cause one of them is dead."

"What do we have on them?" Spencer asked.

"First is Arthur Doyle. He went to high school with Luca and Piero Dinozzo, works in a local company, and looks like he travels a lot for his job," Penelope explained. "There's also an Arthur Harrison, works as an accountant in the heart of Arlington. His dad and Carlo Dinozzo were long-time pals. Apparently, his dad was an accountant too and used to handle the shop's finances before Arthur inherited the office. Oh."

"What? What'd you find?"

"Arthur was engaged," Penelope murmured, "to a Claire Dumont. They were gonna get married last year but the wedding was called off just one month before the D-day."

"Where's Claire now?" JJ asked.

"She moved to Ohio shortly after the breakup, and... oh my God. Guess what?" Penelope looked up, her eyes widening almost comically. "She just announced her engagement three months ago."

Spencer hummed. "That could be the stressor."

An image of a woman suddenly appeared on screen, right above the paused footage of your hand. Everyone stared at the picture in shock.

"That's Claire Dumont," Penelope murmured.

JJ held her breath. "She and (Y/N) could be sisters."

"We've found our guy," Rossi declared. "Garcia, pull up every known address associated with this man. And hurry, we don't have much time."

"I have three properties so far connected to Arthur Harrison. Sending the addresses to all of your phones."

As JJ, Spencer, and Rossi rushed to exit the bullpen, Emily turned around and called out to the others, "I'm grabbing Morgan and Hotch!"

Without stopping to knock, Emily pushed open the door to Hotch's office, ignoring the slivers of tension dancing around in the air.

"We may have something," Emily announced to the room. "We think we know where (Y/N) is."

Your assailant--Arthur, as it turned out--pulled his phone out and pressed a few buttons in, silencing the beeping. Once the noise was gone, the room was quiet again.

He looked at you, then. Piercingly. You squirmed underneath his scrutiny.

"Wait here," he eventually said. "I'll be back."

Without taking a second to breathe, Arthur flew past you and towards the direction he had appeared from earlier.

"Wait! Wait. Where are you going?"

The sound of steps ceased on top of concrete. You waited with bated breath for his response. But the only sound ever came was that of the metal door, and as quickly as you could count to three, he was gone.

At last, you were alone once more.

The traces of adrenaline had begun to dissipate out of your system, leaving you in a shivering mess inside that damp concrete room. Once again, you attempted with all of your might to free yourself from the state of confinement you were in. But the metal cuffs binding you to the chair only dug further into your skin the more you tried to escape, while the chair itself stayed nailed in place no matter how hard you tried to rock it.

After a few more minutes of futile attempts, you were forced to face the reality of your situation.

You were never going to get yourself out of that dingy place alone.

Huffing a breath, you knew that there was nothing more you could do except to hope that your team found the hidden message you had left for them to solve.

And with that last thought conquering every room your head, you let yourself succumb to the impending darkness.

You woke up gasping for air.

It took you a few seconds to remember where you were, to remember that you weren't back in the comfort of your apartment and instead, you were still holed up in the darkened cold room where your abductor had been keeping you captive.

It took a few seconds more to realize that the drowning dream you just had might have been a tad bit more real than you initially thought.

Still reeling in shock, you peered up and locked eyes with your abductor, eyes barely registering the empty bucket he was holding in one of his hands. It didn't take a genius to conclude that he was the one responsible for your drenched state.

"W-what?" you stuttered meekly. "What's going on?"

He only stared at you in response.

"Arthur?"

You shrieked loudly when Arthur threw the empty bucket against the wall, sending a resounding "bang" throughout the whole room and breaking the plastic object into two misshaped pieces.

"Arthur--" you gasped, searching for your voice that seemed to have disappeared beneath the layers of brewing fear, "--w-what... what are you... what's going on? Talk to me."

"I don't want to talk to you, you fucking bitch."

The beating inside your chest fastened. Before you could ask yet another question, Arthur had lunged forward, grabbing a fistful of your hair and tugging your head back so you could stare directly into his eyes.

"You're a fucking liar," he seethed. "You lied to me. Everything you said was a lie, wasn't it?!"

"I don't--" you hissed, trying to ignore the biting pain in your scalp, "--I don't understand what you're talking about."

"Stop fucking lying!!!"

A sharp smack reverberated in the air.

It was only when the ringing in your ear grew louder did you realize that Arthur had slapped your cheek.

Hard.

Ignoring the tingling on the side of your face, you lifted your head once more. The room was spinning, tilting your balance left and right, but you held your ground through it all.

"What did I lie to you about, Arthur?" you asked carefully.

He threw something at your feet. It clanged against the hard ground below before landing face up near your toes.

It was your phone.

But the fact that Arthur somehow had your phone in his possession wasn't what caused the sick feeling to stir northward in your belly.

It was what you were seeing on the now cracked screen of your phone: a picture of you and Derek. A selfie that you had impulsively taken of the two of you in bed after one of your nighttime escapades.

For awhile there, you had briefly forgotten about that photo. It was another lost memory in the ocean of rubble left behind in the wake of your fallout with Derek. Seeing that photo again after such a long time triggered waves of emotions that you had been desperately burying for the past few weeks.

The longing, the guilt, the heartache.

The regrets.

The regret of ending your little arrangement so abruptly in such a hostile manner. The regret of not telling Derek sooner about the baby. The regret of maybe never being able to see Derek for one last time.

But most importantly, it was the regret over not revealing the truth of what your heart felt for him that was eating you alive.

"You're fucking him," Arthur fumed, eyes blazing with an indescribable fury that made your entire body shudder.

"Arthur, please... I can explain--"

"Shut the fuck up."

He stepped forward once more, crowding your personal place and rendering you helpless underneath his psychopathic gaze.

"Tell me the truth, and if you dare lie--" Arthur paused, his hand disappearing behind his back before it appeared again with a dagger that he promptly pressed against your abdomen, "--don't ever dream of meeting your child."

"Okay. Okay, I'll tell you the truth."

"You're fucking him, aren't you?"

The bile in your throat had tripled in size. Swallowing it down, you tried to even your voice out as you answered, "I was."

"Ha," he scoffed. "I knew it. You fucking whore. You're no better than any of them."

To your relief, he eventually chose to retract the dagger and stepped away from you, opting to circle the room like a distressed lion in a cage. But even with the blade no longer touching your skin, you knew very well that the danger wasn't over yet and that things could escalate even further in a matter of seconds if you weren't careful.

"Arthur," you called out to him softly, slowly, as to not startle him and risk doing something that would trigger a psychotic break. "Arthur, please. You have to listen to me. That arrangement ended long ago. It meant nothing to me. It happened long before I met you."

Arthur's voice echoed coldly as he replied, "I don't believe you."

"Please, Arthur--"

"That's his child, isn't it?" he cut you off, pointing the tip of the dagger at your belly. "What he said on the phone. He said my child. That's because it's his. You're having Derek Morgan's child."

"No--"

"I thought you were different. I thought you were the one." The dagger in his hand shook with venom. "But you're just the same as the rest of them."

"I'm not. Please, I'm not--"

"I have to start searching again. For the one. You're not her, which means she's still out there."

"Arthur--"

"I'll have to get rid of you."

"Arthur, please!" Your voice cracked, leaking of terror and desperation larger than anything you had ever known. When something wet touched the side of your nose, you realized then that you had started to cry. "Arthur, you have to believe me. I've ended everything with him. There's nothing between us anymore."

The words you uttered kept lingering in the air in a bubble made out of despair. But as if every single one of them had fallen on deaf ears, your captor paid no attention to them. Not even a single acknowledgment to your pleas.

Instead, he had begun taking careful steps forward. Silent and deadly, like a predator stalking its prey.

"Arthur, please! I choose you!"

To your shock, his steps faltered upon your words.

For a moment, you could taste relief on the tip of your tongue before it was washed away by the knowledge that you were not entirely out of the woods yet. But from the corner of your eye, you could see the slight loosening of Arthur's grip around the dagger. It filled you with enough hope to push forward.

"I'm choosing you, Arthur," you stated confidently, trying to convince him of your sincerity. "I don't care about Derek. I'm done with him. I'm done with my old life and everyone in it. I'm ready to leave everything behind to be with you. I choose you."

"You choose me?"

"Yes. I choose you to take care of me. To take care of this baby. The three of us can be a family. How does that sound?"

Seconds ticked into minutes. Minutes stretched into a long silence. The anticipation threatened to break your chest in half.

When he finally began to move once more, Arthur surprised you. He threw the dragger towards a darkened corner in the room, far away from his reach and, most importantly, far away from the possibility of it harming the growing life inside of you.

When Arthur took off the ski mask he had been wearing since the first time you opened your eyes in that harrowing place, you weren't at all surprised to see the face staring back at you. After all, it was the same face belonging to the man who had stopped his car for you when your own car had mysteriously broken down in the middle of the road just around two weeks prior. The same face who offered a business card of his friend's auto shop where you eventually went to get your vehicle fixed.

In retrospect, you should have been at least a little bit suspicious by the whole ordeal, but was it really your fault for choosing to put your trust in the good of humanity?

You knew there was no point in dwelling over what-ifs anymore. Arthur would've found a way, like any psychopath would, and you would've still ended up being tied up in this dismal room with him.

"Did you mean it?" Arthur asked.

You put on your best fake smile before answering, "Yes."

He grabbed you in his arms in just two long strides.

You wanted to throw up. You hated the feeling of his fingers stroking your back. You wanted to kick him away and get this piece of shit as far away from you and your baby as possible. You wanted to rid yourself of the lingering smell of him that had now undoubtedly transferred into your skin.

And maybe, you would've done all of those things if it was only your life that was on the line.

Unfortunately, fighting back was a luxury you couldn't afford anymore. So, you were forced to stay quiet instead, letting your captor whisper sweet nothings in your ear as if it didn't repulse you even being in the same room as him.

You were close to counting towards the 200s in your head when, suddenly, a clanking noise in the distance ripped your attention away.

In a split second, Arthur had peeled his arms from around you and got back on his feet. You knew then that he must have heard it, too.

You watched as he stepped away, dragging a crate from one corner of the room and placing it strategically underneath the only opening on the walls. He got on top of the crate to allow himself to peek outside, but whatever he saw must have startled him greatly. Because the next thing you knew, he had backed away from the wall in the blink of an eye, face crumpling in what could only be described as panic.

"The cops are here," he managed to sputter out.

"What?"

Your heart was hammering inside of its cage. The cops are here. You realized then that the team must have solved the clue you left them. They had solved the case, and they were coming to save you.

Derek was coming to save you.

"What did you do?!"

In a moment of weakness, you had allowed yourself to rejoice in the promise of freedom that you momentarily forgot you actually hadn't possessed it yet. The slip-up was miniscule, but it wasn't fleeting enough to escape the attention of your captor.

"You tricked me!" Arthur's voice boomed throughout the room, carrying rage unlike anything you had ever known. "I trusted you, and you lied to me! Again."

"Arthur--"

This time, there was no room for negotiation.

Arthur didn't even waste a millisecond before he dove forward. He was a lion, and you were the deer. His sharp teeth were calloused fingers, and they dug into your skin as Arthur tightened his grip around your throat.

"You lied to me. You lied to me."

He repeated those words like a mantra, his voice drowned out by desperate gasps as you tried to scour for what little bit of air you could still revel in. Your feet and arms shook beneath their restrains. Your head pounded from the pressure that had gathered inside your skull.

In that moment, death was imminent.

You could feel it coming. You could feel its claws clutching every single drop of life that was still remaining in your bloodstream. It was a battle between the two, and unfortunately, death was winning.

As the dark spots in your vision spread into a massive blotch, you allowed yourself to say goodbye. To life. To the world. To the memories of your loved ones whose faces you wished you could've memorized one last time.

To Derek, the one who could've been, the one you wished had been.

And to the child in your womb, the one you wished you could've met, the one you wished you could've saved.

When darkness came, you expected it to be cold and unforgiving, but as it turned out, darkness was easy. Simple. It welcomed you into its home with open arms, shielding you from the cruelties of the mundane world.

As it pulled you deeper into its abode, you could faintly hear the sound of your name being called repeatedly. It sounded similar. It sounded like home.

But this was your home now, so without turning back, you allowed darkness to lead you further down the dim path. Away from the pain and the heartbreaks of life. Far from the evil that lurked in the streets behind their well-crafted masks.

In the darkness, there was nothing.

In the darkness, you were nothing.

And nothing was exactly what you were going to be.

398 notes · View notes

exquisitesimp · 8 months

Text

Celebrating PM's victory with Mori Ogai

A/N: Hello to everyone reading this! This is my first NSFW story here and it's going to be about the reader (F) and Port Mafia's leader Mori Ogai, filled with velvet sensuality. Now BEFORE YOU COME AT ME, I know there is a lot of controversy surrounding this character (he is canonically twisted), but S4 altered my brain chemistry…I’m a simp after all, I kinda had to… And yes I will be discussing this with my therapist…Thank you so much for reading, it means so much to me! Stay healthy, eat well and drink plenty of water (and also go to therapy now that you’re here)! - Sam

Tags: Bungo Stray Dogs, Mori Ogai, smut, NSFW, 👀

Warnings: Mori (obviously), alcohol consumption, manipulation(?), fingering, vaginal sex

Word Count: 5.5k approx.

Ability: Granting indestructibility for 7 minutes, either to self or another individual. Could be applied to many individuals at a time, but the more individuals involved, the more energy is required from the user.

Condition: The user must have access to a DNA sample of the individual they use it on.

Ever since you discovered your ability, you’ve been doing everything within your power to keep it a secret. You were an orphan jumping from foster family to foster family, so it’s not like you had anyone to share it with. After reaching adulthood, you were completely abandoned, and you resorted to all sorts of misdemeanors in order to survive. Unfortunately, the nature of your ability was not particularly helpful in that regard.

A couple months ago, you happened to stumble upon “Mori’s corporation”, where you were invited for an interview. It was later on that you found out that this seemingly ordinary corporation was a front cover for the Port Mafia, an underground criminal organization run by ability users just like you. It was then obvious that you weren’t just randomly invited; they had been tracking you down for a while, after figuring out you were an ability user they could use to their advantage.

Your first reaction was to decline. These guys were too dangerous to even be around, and entering such an organization with zero battle experience was just like having a death wish. However, they kept reaching out, pressuring you – on the verge of threatening, actually – more and more with each time. And they were offering you a good amount of money too.

Eventually you realized that you didn’t have much of a choice, so you agreed, making the following deal; you would work for them, but you would not join the members in battles. Instead, you would stay at the headquarters during attacks and you would activate your ability upon request to any members that needed it, after taking a DNA sample from all of them.

Once you started working for the Port Mafia, your life instantly took a turn upwards. You were no longer this hungry, homeless kid struggling to survive. You had, instead, transformed into a healthy, dignified woman, who was valuable and could now take care of herself. And you were no longer alone, since you were surrounded by all sorts of people you had a lot of things in common with. In some sense, it felt like everything had fallen into place.

Each of your coworkers was interesting in their own ways, but Mori Ogai, the head of the Port Mafia, was especially hard to go unnoticed. He openly displayed particular feelings of favour towards you, always congratulating you and offering you gifts to reward you for following his orders. You’ve been asking him to stop, since you’re only doing your job, but he never seems to listen. That, as well as the way he treats Elise, you found quite… weird, to say the least. But he’s your superior after all, and it was in your best interest to maintain his preference for you.

Today the Port Mafia was facing a very challenging battle, and you were called to intervene with your ability quite a number of times. Once everybody made it back to the headquarters safe and Mori congratulated you with great zeal, you were dismissed and you made your way up to your room.

Upon closing the door behind you, you jumped at your bed and took a moment to rest from all the ability using and the stress of being alert all day. It was after a couple of minutes that you took notice of a moderately sized black box, waiting on your nightstand. Without thinking too much, you were quite sure what this was about.

You reached for it and removed its lid. It contained what looked like a dress, which you laid out on your bed, so you can have a better look. It was a long, satin, maroon dress, and it seemed to be pretty expensive.

You were quite impressed. Mori was generally extravagant with his gestures towards you, but this exceeded anything he has done in the past. Coming from a pretty poor background, such a luxurious gift felt a little out of place, but it was still a very welcome surprise.

“Wait, am I smiling? Because of that dress?”, you wondered. “No, I can’t be, it’s weird…”, you reassured yourself, trying to brush it off.

On the bottom of the box, there was a note in a little envelope. The note inside it read:

“Congratulations, Y/N.

Once again, the Port Mafia couldn’t have made it without you. This is your reward for doing such a wonderful job. I had it tailored to your measurements.

Please join me for some wine in my room after the sun sets. I’d also like you to wear your gift.

I’ll be waiting for you,

Mori.”

At this point you were at a loss for words, feeling very confused. You knew for a fact that he favored you, but for things to go that far…that you weren’t expecting it that soon. It’s not like his behavior didn’t give it away; quite the contrary, it was obvious that there was some sort of… sentiment on his part. You just didn’t think he’d make such a request yet.

Of course, you didn’t fail to notice your train of thought trying to go around certain words; “attraction”, “date”… And that worried you even more, because what could all this avoidance possibly mean…? You’d be lying if you said that Mori wasn’t a physically attractive man. And lying was exactly what you did.

“Nope, nope. He’s my superior”,you denied. “Not gonna happen. I’m not gonna go.”

You turned to look at the beautiful dress, which was still laid out in your bed. You took a breath, trying to reset your mind and stop it from rushing.

“What is wrong with me? How old is this man? And why is he treating Elise so weird…? It’s disgusting. HE’s disgusting for thinking I’d go. God, I know exactly what he’s expecting to do if I go… I’m not going. End of story.”

You looked at the dress again.

“Is this it? Is an extravagant gift all it takes for someone to get me to think about them? I don’t recognize myself… Oh what am I saying? Of course this is not just about the gift…”

You started pacing around your room, trying to sort out the thoughts that were bombarding your head.

“But he’s my superior! And he’s so much older! This is so wrong… But if it’s so wrong, why am I feeling… whatever this is?”

You spent a good amount of time going back and forth, all these “what-if”s coming one after the other, making you even more confused about the situation. You continued your inner conflict as you were showering, being moral and righteous one moment, then playing devil’s advocate the next.

You stepped out of the bathroom and tried on the dress he got you. And oh boy did it look stunning on you! The fabric was beautifully draped over your body, totally complimenting your figure and bringing out your best features. Its back was open, and there was a slit on the side. While it did remind you of what his intentions behind the gift were, every thought was suddenly overshadowed by a huge wave of self-confidence.

“You know what? I’m tired of this! I’m gonna shut my brain off and go. And if I change my mind, I’ll just get up and leave. What is he gonna do about it? He needs me. The Port Mafia needs me. I got this!”

The sun was already starting to set, so you went straight for your makeup, which was just mascara and a red lip, matching the shade of the dress. You sprayed some perfume on and made your way to the staircase that led up to his room. With every step you took, you consciously silenced every negative thought telling you to stay in your room, while also making sure that nobody else from the Port Mafia saw you on your way there - you didn’t want them to get the wrong idea…

When you arrived, you took a deep breath and reminded yourself, once again, that you could leave any time if you saw that things were going in a direction you didn’t want them to.

You knocked and waited for what felt like forever before you heard his smooth voice from behind the dark wooden door say “Come in, please”.

You slowly opened the door and quickly inspected his room, which was much more spacious than that of a regular Port Mafia member. It had a king-sized sky bed, and the walls were decorated with a petrol, patterned tapestry. A heavy, large, antique clock with roman numerals was hanging on one of the walls. In front of a huge window that took up the majority of the wall it was adjacent to, there was a small table and two armchairs, identical to the scarlet, velvet one in his office. They were facing each other, and Mori was already seated on one of them.

He turned his head to look at you walking towards the empty chair, a smirk gradually forming on his lips.

“My, my… look who’s here. Please have a seat”

“You literally invited me here…”, you responded.

“I doubted you��d show up”, he said, his eyes following you as you took a seat and crossed your legs.

“Well, here I am, I guess…”, you responded, briefly questioning whether it’s right for you to be there.

“You look mesmerizing in that dress”, he commented as he removed his gloves and placed them on the table between the two of you.

You just noticed that this was the first time you’ve seen his hands without gloves. You spaced out while looking at his fingers getting slowly revealed, but quickly snapped back to reality and regained focus.

“Well, you got it for me, what else would you say…” you replied sarcastically, causing Mori to slightly giggle, just like he does every time you talk to him that way.

“The tailor did a great job, it fits you perfectly”

“What can I say, it’s a lovely dress indeed”, you sighed, thinking that taking a compliment wouldn’t be that bad after all.

“It’s only fabric without the beautiful woman wearing it”, he said, and you hated yourself for getting nervous after hearing that. You had to collect yourself.

“So poetic…”, you responded, looking away and towards the window.

“Where there’s no wine, there is no poetry”, Mori said, getting up from his chair and his fingers holding on to the arms of the armchair for support, “I’ll get the best red for us” and he exited the room.

During the few minutes he was gone, you took turns glancing at his gloves, and then at his bed. Deep down you knew how this was gonna play out should he have his way, but you still didn’t know whether that was something you’d want. Something like that… it would definitely complicate things.

You heard his footsteps and turned your head to face the door. He walked in with a bottle of wine in one hand, and two wine glasses on the other. This time he returned without his coat, wearing only a white button-up on the top, with his plum tie loosely tied around his collar. Seeing him like this really had you questioning whether it would be prudent to have even a single drop of alcohol in your system.

“So, where were we?” he asked as he sat back down and placed the glasses on the table and started pouring wine on yours first.

“I wasn’t really planning on drinking tonight, actually…”, you commented slightly too late.

“Oh come on, Ms. Y/N, just a glass to rejoice the Port Mafia’s victory, our victory”, he whined. “Just one, for me”

You sighed. You didn’t want to drink and increase your chances of acting recklessly, but the man got you such an expensive gift - apart from the special treatment - it would be a shame to not even have a glass of wine with him. Besides, it wasn’t him you felt threatened by. What was truly scaring you was your blindness to your own feelings towards him.

“I guess one glass can do no harm…”, you said, reaching for yours.

“That’s it”, he said, raising his, “To our victory, and to you”

You raised your glass, clinged his and took a good sip while trying to hide the smile that almost took control of your face.

Time flew by, and the colors of the sky faded to a subdued crimson before you even realized. The conversation was flowing pretty naturally, with him showing a great interest in your past and asking you questions he hadn’t asked during your undercover interview for the mafia. You tried to reciprocate, but the topic very masterfully turned back to you almost every time as he masterfully avoided most of your questions.

The wine was incredible, better than any wine you’ve ever tasted before. The bottle was soon empty, since every time he made you nervous, you took a sip. Mori had just as much as you, but neither of you were fazed at all.

As much as you hated it, there were moments when your hard, cold exterior broke, and you were warming up to him. But it was getting late, and you thought it’d be wise to call it a night.

“Well I think it’s time for me to go now”, you said, getting up from your chair. “Thanks for the wine, I had a great time”

“Oh no, Y/N”, Mori said, getting up from his seat as well, “Why don’t you stay a little longer?”

“I’d really love that”, you said as you slowly started walking towards the door, “but it’s getting late, and we both had our fair share of wine”

You reached for the door handle, but before you could open the door, you felt Mori’s warm hand completely wrapping your wrist. Before you could turn around to look at him, his voice from behind you made your body freeze and your mind go blank.

“Please stay…”

He gently moved his hand up your arm, all the way to your shoulder. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, as your fingers relaxed and eventually let go off the handle a few seconds later.

Mori took a step closer to you, his chest was almost touching your back. He touched both your shoulders with his hands, and slowly brought them down to your wrists again.

“Why are you scared?”

“I’m not scared…”

“Every time you give me a sarcastic comment and play it cool, I know it’s because you’re scared”

You really wanted to prove him wrong, but it didn’t take much thought to realize that what he said was true. That was quite uncalled for, you couldn’t think of anything to say to him to deny it.

“Is it me, or is it your own feelings?”

“I don’t know…”

“It’s so scary how you’re interested in me”, he said, bringing his hands on your waist and moving them up and down your sides, “you never thought you’d find yourself attracted to someone like me, did you? You almost feel ashamed”

Your heart was beating faster and faster.

“Truth is”, he whispered, letting his hands glide along the fabric of your dress, down to your hips, “there is nothing to be ashamed of. There is no shame in being attracted to someone and enjoying their attention. Everybody wants to feel special, wanted, desired…”

He paused for a little.

“At the end of the day, the door is in front of you, and the choice is yours” he said, taking a step back and making the distance between you bigger. “You’re free to go if you wish to”

He placed his fingertips on your nape and softly traced a line down the entire length of your bare back.

“But…if you choose to stay, I’ll take it as a ‘yes’ to proceed”, he warned, fiddling the zipper of your dress in his fingertips.

You felt your throat tighten, as if some invisible rope was wrapped around it. It was obvious to you what his intentions were for the night, and you couldn’t pretend not to understand anymore. His words were true, you really wanted him, even though you’d rather die than ever openly admit it to him — or anybody really.

As you felt time slow down in the room that was only minimally lit by then, you thought that maybe, it was time to let go of the shame. Maybe shame was the only thing holding you back from taking pleasure in something ridiculously simple; the fact that you were just two people that were attracted to each other. And maybe, everything else was nothing more than just complications you came up with to indulge in your self-disgust.

This was all becoming too much to process. It was about time you made things a little easier for yourself just once, it was about time you shushed your brain and let things take their natural course.

You stood there, but the tension you previously felt left your body like dirt getting washed away by the water, and you bet that Mori noticed that subtle change within you.

“That door you were about to walk out of”, he said, and you could hear his grin through his voice, “how about you lock it instead?”

You did as he asked and slowly turned the key that was already in the keyhole, while he was still playing with the zipper of the dress.

“Good…”

You wanted to turn around, but before you could even finish that thought, Mori had already taken care of that for you, and as he held your hips, your body mindlessly followed his hands’ commands.

Just as swiftly, he pulled you closer and buried his lips in yours with such desperation and hunger, as if he could only sustain himself and wait for you to fall into his arms for so long.

Your eyelids grew heavier as you gave in to the kiss, and once you were completely sunk in it, you wrapped your arms around his neck.

A few moments later, you found yourself pushed against the wall, where Mori’s knee was between your legs and a strap of your dress was patiently hanging off your shoulder. His hungry mouth was all over yours, and his teeth were pulling and biting on your needful lower lip.

His hands were wandering all over your curves in self-pleasure, until his fingers slithered through the slit of your dress and started brushing the hem of your underwear. He slowly pulled it down and moved his knee, so it could fall on the floor and get out of his way.

Your stomach tensed up as he grazed two fingers over your outer lips. It was as if everything suddenly went silent, and the only thing you could hear was your own heartbeat. What was going on? Were the two of you really about to take things to the next level? Was this really the right thing you were doing? God knows how much you’re gonna hate yourself afterwards.

He started rubbing your sensitive clit in circles, but he didn’t fail to notice that there was something bothering you, something that held your true reaction back. His hand stopped, and he brought his head next to your ear.

“Just let it go… there’s no need to be afraid anymore…”, he whispered and then resumed the movement of his fingers, while he reached down to kiss your delicate neck.

Waves of delight grew within you as he nibbled on your skin and as he gradually increased the speed and the pressure in his fingers. Mori was very amused by the sinful sounds that escaped your mouth as his fingers moved from your clit to your entrance and made their way inside you.

You felt a bit of pain at first, a pain which then marvelously melted into an immense feeling of pleasure, leaving you moaning and wanting more every time he pushed his fingers in.

“I don’t think you feel so guilty anymore…”, he smirked, keeping his hand moving at the same, unhurried pace, “mhm?”

“No”, you uttered in between strained breaths “no…”

“Beautiful… because we have all the time in the world”

Deeper and deeper moans emerged from your throat, causing Mori to slow down and eventually withdraw his fingers, because of course he wouldn’t want you to finish so fast. As you started catching your breath, you looked at him with a silent plea in your eyes, as if voicelessly asking him why he had to stop there.

His intense gaze was cast upon you, in a manner that reassured you that you were about to feel very good in just a little while. He took your hand and led you away from the door and towards the edge of the bed, where he embraced you in a passionate kiss once again. Undoubtedly, things were just about to get very interesting.

You reached for his belt and rapidly unbuckled it, moving on to the lower buttons of his shirt.

“You’re in… such a rush”, he chuckled in the middle of the kiss, as he loosened his tie with his index finger and took it off.

Normally you’d come up with some smart-ass response for this, but now you were clearly occupied with the noble job of taking off his shirt. Mori was fascinated by your impatience, so he let you have your way and assisted in your undressing too. That zipper that had been pleading to be undone since before this entire embroilment even began, he finally pulled it down, letting your dress graciously fall off your body.

As your lips got separated, he placed a hand on your shoulder and gently pressed it down, so that you lay on the mattress with your entire figure exposed before him for the first time. His eyes lingered over you as he spoke under his breath.

“Finally…”

Mori keenly climbed on top of you, and his eyes lit up with a sparkle you’d never seen in them before. He brushed your hair away with the knuckles of his fingers, so that he could easily kiss on your jawline. In the meantime, you made sure that his pants found themselves on the pile with all of your clothes on the floor, and shortly after, you let the entirety of his hair free to decorate the sides of his face.

After adjusting himself a little bit better on top of you, he brought both of his legs between yours and eventually positioned himself nicely above you. You could feel his erection rub against your sensitive area, and a certain type of agitation grew within you.

As he slowly started penetrating you, you experienced a thawed pain, a pain which you haven’t felt in quite a while. Ever since you joined the Port Mafia, you hadn’t gotten together with anybody, and sleeping around was definitely not part of your plans.

You swallowed the saliva down your throat and clenched your jaw while taking it in and getting used to the feeling. His breathing next to your ear grew heavier every time he went deeper, until it resolved into a seraphic, resonant groan once his full length made its way inside you.

He reached for your leg and brought it bent beside his hip, where he caressed your thigh and your calf. His other arm was wrapped around you, holding on to the back of your head. Soon enough, his lips found yours again in the fire of another long lustful kiss, as he started moving his pelvis again.

Your arms were wrapped around his shoulders, and your fingertips were digging into his pale skin. The pain you felt had already transformed into a rich delight as his painstakingly slow pace started growing moderate, but still remained as profuse. The heat of his body fully embracing yours turned your mind hazy, and both your moans fused beautifully in each other’s mouth.

After a while, you brought your other leg up as well and then wrapped them both around his waist, pushing him down deeper inside you. Sensing your neediness, Mori’s lips caressed yours with even greater zest, while his other hand slid underneath your waist and pulled it closer to him. As the intoxicating sensation overpowered you, you brought one hand on his head and entangled your fingers in the roots of his hair, clenching your fist with every ripple of electrifying bliss.

Slowing down and eventually pulling out, he broke the kiss and with his purple orbs staring into your soul, he whispered:

“Turn around for me”

You complied with his request and lied on your stomach, turning your head so that your cheek touched one of the silky pillows and letting your hands rest beside each of your shoulders. He brushed your hair to the side, and with a mischievous smile, he uttered:

“Good girl…”

His smooth, honeyed voice saying these words made your heart skip a beat. You felt his ardent breath just below your head as he planted kisses on your nape, while his hands softly moved up and down your sides. His mouth kept traveling downwards, leaving a trail of moisture all the way down to your spine.

Soon after, he wrapped one arm around your waist and lifted your hips slightly higher, while his other arm held on to the black, metal bedpost for support. As he pushed himself inside you once again, a pulsating, drawn-out grunt escaped his mouth.

“Ugh, fuck…”

You couldn’t help but moan in ecstasy when he resumed the movement of his hips. Watching you quiver underneath him and mercilessly grab the soft fabric of the bed covers, he enjoyed the moment just as much as you did. He loved seeing you in a state of complete frenzy, knowing that he was the one who got you into it.

For a brief moment as he was looking at you from above, you slightly turned your head further to the side so that your eyes met his. The expression in your face was making it clear to him that you felt great, but that you also needed a little more: just a little bit more before he could have you climax.

Without exiting you, Mori lowered his body closer to you, his chest pressing against your back and the heat of his burning skin completely engulfing your upper body. He pushed your legs a little further open with his knees and took his arm from your waist, slowly pushing your hips with his all the way down so that they touch the mattress.

He brought his elbows outside yours and let his palms glide over your forearms and your wrists. Once they completely covered yours, he intertwined his slender fingers between yours and gave your hands a long, firm squeeze. His head was leaning next to yours, and he was licking and biting on your ear, from your earlobe all the way to your helix.

Everything about the situation was so overwhelmingly hedonic. His weight above you, his breathing against your ear, the sweet amber scent of his cologne filling up your nostrils in the most delightful way… it was all so much to take in. His thrusts were getting harder and deeper, and you succumbed all the more to this excessive, unyielding sensation and getting closer and closer.

Your mewls had become ever so profound and intense by the time you reached your limit. Mori followed a few seconds after he slowed down his pace, pulling out and releasing his thick, hot liquid all over your lower back. Even many seconds after it was all over, it felt as if his final silvery sounds of overindulgence were still echoing inside that bedroom.

After you both took a moment to catch your breaths, he rolled over to his nightstand and got a tissue to wipe his residue off your body. It was just about then that you were just starting to come back to your senses, and you silently wondered:

What the hell just happened?

As you were lying naked on your boss’s bed, all these thoughts were hovering in your head again, and it suddenly hit you: things can’t go back to how they were. Such confusion…on one hand, you couldn’t even in the slightest predict how it would all be from now on. You felt as though all control had been lost now that this happened, and guilt was creeping up inside you once again.

But on the other hand, you kept getting distracted by the fact that it was nothing like the way you thought it would be. You expected the calm, cold head of the Port Mafia to be rough and vicious in a setting like this. Especially the way he was trying to lure you in this entire time, the way he convinced you to stay… You couldn’t possibly imagine that there would be such a sensual and erotic side to him…

You quickly put a stop to these thoughts, knowing that nothing good could ever come out of you viewing your boss that way. Besides, you were absolutely sure that this was just a one-time thing, and that it would never happen again. And as your sense of time was slowly kicking in again, you took a look at the clock on the wall.

It read 12:20.

Time had flown by so fast, you couldn’t believe it. All of a sudden a sense of panic grew within you. What if someone was looking for you late at night, but found your room empty? What if they’ve noticed that Mori is not in his office either? What would they assume then? You had to get out of there as soon as possible.

You pushed yourself up from the mattress and rolled towards the side of the bed to make your way out, but you felt an arm wrapping your waist from underneath.

“Tsk tsk tsk, where do you think you’re going?”, Mori asked mischievously as he pulled you closer to himself.

“The Mighty Leader of the Port Mafia wants to spoon”, you chuckled, “now if that’s not a surprise…”

“You’re so cruel…”, he whined as he caressed your cheek from behind and lathered soft kisses all over the crook of your neck. Your body momentarily relaxed as he wrapped his other arm around your waist as well, feeling a mellow warmth that you haven’t experienced in so, so long.

“I have to go”, you sighed, “it’s past midnight…”

“So what?”, he asked and kissed your shoulder. “Spend the night here”

“So…” you said, your voice going slightly higher as you were thinking of what to say next, “someone might need me…”

Mori quietly laughed, and you felt his bare chest gently pump against your back a couple of times. “At midnight!”

“Uhh, yeah…?” you responded as if it was so obvious, but deep down you knew your excuse was pretty weak to begin with.

“Do you get bothered a lot at midnight?” he mocked.

“Ugh please, just-“ you said, rolling your eyes and lifting up his arm to get up. Mori’s eyes widened in surprise at what you just did, but they quickly relaxed as a sly grin morphed into his face.

“That’s no way of treating your superior, you know…”, he remarked as he was closely watching you put your clothes back on.

“Back to being my superior, huh?”, you mumbled, cocking an eyebrow, but without looking at him.

“Nothing changes that, my dear…” he answered in a gentle tone.

“You see, here’s the thing…”, you said as you put the straps of your dress and adjusted them on your shoulders, still avoiding eye contact, “Just because this happened once, doesn’t mean I’m ‘your dear’ or anything…”

“Of course…”, he responded with a chuckle, “Don’t be surprised that I’m still your superior then…”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”, you asked, snapping your head towards him.

“Oh, nothing…” he said and paused for a while, slightly getting on your nerves, “Congratulations once again for today, you did a very good job”

“It’s literally all I do every single time”, you replied nonchalantly as you zipped yourself up and reached for your shoes.

“That doesn’t make you any less valuable ”, he said.

You didn’t really know how to respond to that, so you just remained silent. Whenever he talked about value, he was always referring to your work, but not you as a person… Could that mean something changed, or were you just overthinking it?

“Anyway…”, you muttered awkwardly after a short pause, “I’ll excuse myself…”

“As you wish”, he answered, watching you walk all the way to the door and unlock it. “Perhaps we’ll have wine again soon…” he added in a slightly louder voice, making sure you heard him from across the room.

“Perhaps…” you responded as you opened the door, “Goodnight, boss”

“Goodnight Y/N”, you heard his soft voice moments before you shut the door behind you.

You took a deep breath before you started walking quietly like a cat, all the way back to your room. Once you made it inside and locked the door, you threw yourself on your bed and stared at your empty ceiling. With all these thoughts in your head and everything that just happened, this was about to be a very long, sleepless night…

A/N: If you made it here, thank you so much for reading once again! I tried to make it as realistic as I could considering the whole… situation. Please don’t unfollow me, I promise I’m normal and I’ll be posting normal content again very soon! But yeah, if Mori p3rv3rt, why sexy…?

#bungou stray dogs #bsd #not sfw #mori ogai #mori ogai x reader #anime #bungo stray dogs #anime community

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tcwmatchmakingau · 8 months

Text

Everybody Hates Neyo Round 2: Matchmaking Boogaloo

A/N: This is a standalone sequel to “Everybody Hates Neyo,” (NSFW) by @dystopicjumpsuit (that’s me), and “The Blacklist,” by the brilliant @blueink-bluesoul, who also generously let me borrow the character of Daria Trace (THANK YOU!). You don’t need to read those fics to understand this one, but you should because they’re great and they provide more background. I converted the Reader-insert into an OC because to be frank, she’s a piece of work, and I didn’t want to project that onto my readers. That said, as always, feel free to insert yourself into the story if you prefer; I haven’t described the OC beyond being a woman with hair long enough to pull.

Pairing: Commander Neyo x the Admiral (formerly Fem!Reader)

Rating: M | 18+ | Minors DNI

Wordcount: 6.5K (I know)

Warnings and tags: toxic, obsessive behavior; SO MUCH SMUT; hatefucking; rough sex; oral sex; PIV; hair pulling; biting; sex under the influence of alcohol; Neyo and the Admiral being absolute menaces to society

Disclaimer: Let me just put on my Auntie DJ hat for a second. *ahem* This is a work of fiction intended for entertainment only. Please do not take this as a guide to romance or a healthy relationship. Neyo and the Bad-miral are flawed characters in a wildly problematic relationship with more red flags than the Fire Nation. Enjoy!

Matchmaker extraordinaire Daria Trace was not accustomed to failure. When she applied her considerable intellect to a problem, she did not stop until she formulated a solution. Which was why her now-99% matchmaking success rate galled her so intensely. In all her years of matchmaking, she had never encountered a client so stubbornly determined to thwart her efforts as Marshal Commander Neyo. After twelve failed matches—one of which involved a call from an infuriated woman demanding to know “why the kriff you thought I was a good match for that sociopath”—she had reluctantly conceded defeat.

The blacklisting of Commander Neyo from the Right to Love Matchmaking Service spread like wildfire through the GAR gossip channels. Most of the troopers thought it was hilarious; others insisted that he’d finally gotten what he deserved. In fact, the only people who seemed to have any sympathy for Neyo were Commanders Bacara (to be expected) and Fox (somewhat less expected). And when Fox reached out directly to Daria and asked her, as a personal favor, to give Neyo one more chance, she agreed. One more chance, and ONLY to give her an opportunity to get that track record back up to a perfect 100%.

She glared irritably at Neyo’s file and clicked her stylus three times, twirling it between her fingers. The man was impossible. It was no wonder he’d turned to RTL for help finding a partner; any woman in her right mind would run in the opposite direction the minute she looked into those blank, frigid eyes. She shuddered involuntarily. Shark’s eyes. Daria had made a few discreet inquiries after he’d first signed up for the service, just to make sure she wasn’t about to set up some unsuspecting match with a serial murderer. Without fail, every single answer said the same thing: he was an ice-cold sonofabitch, but he had a strict code of honor, and no, he wasn’t a serial murderer. Probably.

She sighed and tossed his file to the side, to be revisited some other day. He was her most difficult client, but by no means was he the only problematic match candidate, and she had a small stack of what Blizzard liked to call The Hopeless Casefiles waiting for her to review. Just thinking about Neyo’s case had given her the beginnings of a spectacular tension headache, and she flipped through the folders quickly, looking for one that was a little less challenging. As she skimmed the stacks of flimsi, her eyes came to rest on one name: Reeda Wai’yen.

Now there’s a thought.

Daria was sure that Reeda was a lovely woman, despite all evidence to the contrary. She was just very… intense. Like Neyo, she had chewed through several potential matches, and the most frequent word that appeared in her failed matches’ post-date surveys was “intimidating,” followed closely by “terrifying.” Daria had sniffed disdainfully that those particular matches simply couldn’t handle a strong woman; however, she had to admit that after several months of trying, she had not been able to find a perfect match for Reeda. She pulled Neyo’s file and laid it out next to Reeda’s. As she compared their backgrounds and preferences, she became more and more convinced. This could work. Given their personalities, it might well be the best possible outcome for society at large if they were both removed from the dating pool. And if it happened to close out her two most annoying files, well. That would just be the cherry on top of her perfect-track-record sundae.

A timid knock sounded on Reeda’s office door.

“Come,” she called shortly.

Her assistant, Lissi, poked her head into the room. “Sorry to bother you, sir, but you’ve received a comm from RTL Matchmaking.”

Reeda cursed. She was up to her ass in flimsiwork, and she was meeting with the Senate Task Force on Galactic Security in ten minutes. She did not have time for this now.

“Take care of it,” she ordered.

“Sir?” Lissi asked, her wide, startled eyes giving her a distinct resemblance to a terrified ash-rabbit.

“Just take care of it,” Reeda repeated, tamping down her irritation at being questioned. “You know my schedule better than I do. Set it up. Somewhere nice—somewhere in the Federal district. I don’t have time to deal with traffic.”

Lissi blinked, nonplussed. “Don’t you want to see who you matched with?”

“No time,” Reeda said, rising to gather her materials for the meeting. “Just put it on my calendar, and I’ll be there.”

Three nights later, Reeda sat in the restaurant at the top of the tower where her penthouse was located, waiting for her mystery date to arrive. She had to commend Lissi’s efficiency in choosing the venue; the only traffic she’d had to endure was at the lift. And it was a lovely restaurant, she had to admit, with stunning views of the Coruscant cityscape. She had only eaten here once since she’d bought the flat, usually opting to have food delivered to her office at the Republic Center for Military Operations as she worked late into the night.

She had resisted the urge to bring her datapad with her to the restaurant, knowing that if she did, she would inevitably get sucked into work, but now she wished she’d taken a moment to review the file from RTL. It wasn’t that she thought all clone troopers were interchangeable; far from it. She had worked closely with them during the war, had fought by their sides, and she had found them to be brave, competent, and loyal. They were also notoriously attractive, but she was a professional, and she was their superior officer, and she had never allowed that line to become blurred—except on one memorable and highly regrettable occasion.

She had had no time for a personal life during the war, but now that it was over—well, to be honest, she still had no time for a personal life. Which was exactly why she had reached out to RTL; it was the perfect solution. She didn’t enjoy solitude. She wanted companionship, and maybe even something more. But she needed a partner who would understand the demands of her career, and nobody understood the burden of duty better than the clones. Now that she had separated from the GAR and returned to her post in her home planet’s military defense force, the rules regarding fraternization no longer applied to her.

She hadn’t bothered to review the file because she’d learned from the previous several failed dates that a promising file was no indicator of compatibility. Still, as she waited for her date, who was now seven minutes late, she wished she’d at least checked to see if he had any identifying marks or tattoos that would make him easier to spot. To be fair, though, the few clones present in the restaurant were already paired up with other diners.

Her stomach rumbled. She hadn’t intended to skip lunch, but she’d had back-to-back meetings with the joint chiefs of the Core Worlds Defense Alliance and the senate appropriations committee, and one thing led to another. The service droid had delivered a basket of fresh, hot bread rolls, which she had heroically resisted for the first six minutes past the scheduled start of the date, but now her resolve began to crumble. If her mystery date didn’t have the basic courtesy to be on time, by the Force, he wouldn’t have a leg to stand on if she ate all the bread before he arrived.

She buttered a roll and took a small bite. She couldn’t suppress the groan of relief at the buttery, yeasty goodness, and she quickly polished it off, then picked up another. She had just begun to butter her third role when the unmistakable voice of a clone spoke next to her.

“Admiral.”

She turned automatically, a smile just beginning to form on her lips, when she caught sight of a familiar set of numbers tattooed on a handsome, arrogant face.

“Oh, no,” she said with disgust. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same question,” Marshal Commander Neyo replied contemptuously. “I have as much right to be here as you do.”

“I’m on a date,” she snapped.

He looked pointedly at the empty chair across from her. “Looks like your date has a strong sense of self-preservation. Probably took one look at you and ran for their life.”

“He’s just a little late,” she said, tilting her jaw at a haughty angle to hide the flash of hurt at his words.

“That must kill you,” he said with a mirthless chuckle. “I remember the time you made a Jedi padawan cry for being three minutes behind schedule.”

“There were barely tears. Do. Not. Sit,” she gritted out as he made himself comfortable in the chair across from her. He picked up one of the remaining bread rolls and took a large bite, and she sighed. “Why are you here, anyway?”

“It just so happens, I am also on a date,” he said, mumbling around the bite of bread.

“Oh?” she wrinkled her nose at his table manners. “And who’s the unlucky lady?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Some civvie named Reeda.”

Her hand tightened dangerously around her butter knife. Neyo’s eyes dropped to the blade, and he smirked.

“Disappointed?” he asked.

“You could say that,” she said, grinding her jaw. “I’m Reeda.”

He choked on his bite of bread and wheezed a bit, pounding his chest to clear his airway. Alas, he survived.

“What?” he sputtered.

“You didn’t even bother to find out my first name after you were inside me?” she demanded. Her sharp tone attracted attention from the surrounding diners, and she heard a few quiet titters from the tables around her, but she was too irate to care.

“You didn’t even bother to find out who’d be eating dinner with you?” he retorted.

“Don’t pretend you aren’t just as surprised as I am,” she snapped. “Didn’t you read the file?”

“I didn’t get a file, just a call.” He grunted. “Apparently, ‘beggars can’t be choosers,’ and I was lucky to get a match at all.”

“Why am I not surprised?” she mocked.

“Careful, Admiral. Don’t forget they matched you with me.”

“I would be insulted if it weren’t so obviously a mistake. I can’t say I’m impressed with their performance thus far.”

“For once, I agree with you,” he said. “You’d have to be a special kind of incompetent to think we were a good match.”

The service droid approached the table and asked, “May I take your order?”

“He’s not staying,” Reeda cut in.

“I’ll have the bantha filet,” Neyo replied, ignoring her. “Bloody.”

He turned to her and arched his brows. The droid waited expectantly.

“I’ve suddenly lost my appetite,” she lied.

Neyo’s mouth twisted, and he huffed a breath through his nose. “The admiral will have the roast porg. And a bottle of Alderaanian red.”

The droid nodded and ambled away. Reeda glared at Neyo.

“I don’t eat meat, you presumptuous ass,” she said.

“Liar,” he said. “Unfortunately, the souls of the innocent weren’t on the menu, so I had to settle for your second-favorite meal.”

“At least you’re safe, since you obviously have no soul and you’re definitely not innocent,” she said in a pleasant tone.

Damn him for being right about the porg, though. How did he know?

The wine arrived, and he poured a generous glass for each of them. She didn’t toast; just downed half of it in a single swallow. Neyo sipped his and leaned back in his chair to observe her. His sleek, severe hair and the large tattoo on his cheek made him look menacing as hell, but it was his eyes that made brave men take a step back. She didn’t know how it was possible for his eyes to be that unnerving. Gods, why did he have to be so handsome? What a waste of perfectly good Fett genes to have a personality like that.

“Did you stay just to torment me?” she asked when the silence stretched beyond the limits of her endurance.

“And because I heard the filet was good,” he said affably. “What are you even doing on Coruscant? I thought you’d scuttled back to whatever hellhole spawned you.”

“Kuat,” she bit out from between clenched teeth. “I was assigned to work as our military liaison on Coruscant.”

“Couldn’t stand having you back on the planet?” he derided. “I don’t blame them.”

“I need to use the fresher,” she said, flinging her napkin down on the table with excessive force. “Feel free to die while I’m gone.”

She strode purposefully through the restaurant, her face set in a steely mask. She knew she was drawing attention from other patrons, but if she sat at that table and listened to Neyo needle her for one more second, she was either going to stab him or burst into tears. She pushed through the refresher doors and went to the sink, washing her hands just to give herself something to do. The face that stared back at her from the mirror was Admiral Wai’yen, not Reeda. Stern. Unyielding. Unaffected.

She swallowed, and her face crumpled. Tears of rage stung her eyes, and she ruthlessly wiped them away with her clenched fist. A soft noise at the door startled her, and she whirled to face the intruder. Horror flooded her. It was Neyo, and he’d caught her crying in the ladies’ room.

“What the kriff do you think you’re doing in here?” she demanded icily. “Get out.”

He stared at her for a moment, and then he locked the door. Stalking across the room, he cupped her jaw in his hands and tilted her face to get a closer look. She tried to pull away, to put her Admiral Wai’yen mask back in place, but then his thumb stroked softly next to her eye, wiping away the tear that had breached containment. She gasped involuntarily, and his lips collided with hers.

Reeda was so shocked that for a moment she went perfectly still, but then Neyo flicked his tongue across her lower lip, and her body remembered how to move. She thrust him away and stood back, glaring at him. His chest rose and fell quickly, and those cold eyes blazed with a dark and covetous fire. She raised a hand to her lips and felt the slickness left by his tongue. Something snapped inside her. She took two hasty steps forward, and she was in his arms again, his hands rough and dominating on her body as they consumed each other with a kiss that teetered on the edge of violence.

Lips, tongues, teeth crashed together. He clasped her tightly against his hard, unyielding body, and unbidden, the memory of him deep inside her came flooding back. He gripped her ass and ground his rapidly stiffening cock against her. Her reaction was electric. She rolled her hips, nearly climbing him in desperation. He dropped his mouth to her neck and kissed her once, roughly, and then to her breast, yanking aside her dress as he closed his teeth on her soft skin. He picked her up by the waist and set her on the edge of the sink, dropping to his knees between her thighs, rucking up her dress around her hips, and then his mouth was on her.

He didn’t even bother removing her underwear, as though he couldn’t wait another millisecond to taste her. He licked and sucked on her through the fabric, his mouth working frantically. Her body jolted and trembled at the effort of staying upright, and then his tongue snaked past the lace and dipped into her, smooth and hot and wet. He let out a vicious growl and grabbed her hips, settling her thighs over his shoulders, and then he pulled her off the sink and thrust her against his face as his tongue speared over and over into her cunt. She yelped and scrambled to brace herself with her hands, her arms shaking with exertion.

She couldn’t come like this, but kriff, it was hot to feel Neyo throw her around with such ease, like she was his own personal toy. How many nights had she fucked herself to sleep to the memory of their first encounter? The way he’d lifted her bodily off the ground and thrust into her, supporting them both with those powerful thighs—it played on a loop in her head for months, long after the bite marks and bruises had faded.

His tongue slid out of her cunt and swirled around her clit, and her legs spasmed around his head. She couldn’t come like this. Could she? All the muscles in her body began to tense, and her pelvis began to rock rhythmically against his face. Shit, I’m going to come. No sooner had the thought formed than Neyo dropped her back onto the sink and pulled away from her.

“No!” she wailed. “You bastard, I was right there!”

He shot to his feet. “Shut. Up,” he bit out, and kissed her punishingly hard. “Do you want the whole Federal District to know what we’re doing?”

He pulled her head back to expose her throat, and he scraped his teeth across her delicate skin. She felt his other hand fumbling in between them. Within seconds, his cock was free and thrusting against the scrap of lace that still covered her. She wrapped her legs around him and pulled him against her, determined to find the stimulation that she needed to reach completion.

“Get inside me,” she hissed.

“You aren’t calling the shots any more, Admiral,” he growled. “You don’t get to give commands.”

“I hate you,” she breathed.

“And yet here you are, begging for my cock,” he said coldly.

“I do not beg,” she said. “Ever.”

He released her hair and pried her legs away from himself, then took a step back. “You get nothing until you admit that you want me. I’ve waited a long time for this. I can keep waiting.”

“What the kark is that supposed to mean?” she demanded, sliding off the sink to stand in front of him.

“It means you give me what I want, or I walk out that door right now and you can figure your own shit out.”

Was this his twisted kriffing way of asking for consent? Because she was pretty sure she’d covered that when she all but ordered him to fuck her.

“Fine,” she said in a low voice. “I…” She nearly choked on the words, and Neyo’s intent gaze pinned her in place. “I want you.”

He wrapped his hand around the back of her neck and pulled her in for a bruising kiss, then spun her around and bent her over the sink. He pulled up her dress, yanked down her panties, and thrust into her. She muffled a whimper at the intrusion and squeezed her eyes shut as she adjusted to the stretch. He wrapped his hands around her hair and jerked her head up.

“Open your eyes. I want you to watch,” he ordered.

She complied, shocked when she saw her own ravaged face in the mirror as Neyo pounded into her from behind. Her makeup was smeared, her hair was a wreck, her eyes were dilated with lust, and a sheen of sweat glistened across her skin. She flicked her gaze to stare at Neyo. His face was twisted into a scowl, and if she had any sense at all, she would have been frightened, but she was in too deep to care. His hard eyes met hers in the mirror, and his jaw tightened.

He released her hair and slid his arm around her body, between her breasts, to wrap around her throat, and he lifted her upright so he could whisper in her ear.

“Do you know what you did to me?” His voice was hoarse and anguished. “Every time I kissed someone, all I could taste was you. Every time I hooked up, all I could remember was this perfect fucking pussy.”

He pounded into her with bruising intensity, furiously working her clit with his free hand. Her head began to throb. This was so wrong. He couldn’t be saying what she thought she was hearing. She was confused from the lack of blood flowing to her brain.

“I got matched twelve different times, and not one of them was right, because not one of them was you,” he snarled. “You cursed me. You haunt me.”

The world began to darken around the edges as her eyes drifted closed, and he released her throat and forced her head to the side so she faced him.

“Look at me when you fucking come,” he ordered.

She gasped, and he clamped his hand down over her mouth to muffle her scream as he wrenched an orgasm from her body. He didn’t let up, chasing after her at a frenzied pace that rocked her entire body as she sobbed into his hand.

“Inside?” he asked roughly.

She nodded and whimpered as tears blurred her vision and spilled down her cheeks. He came with two brutal thrusts, and she felt the hot rush of his release deep inside. He shuddered against her hair as his cock softened and slipped out of her. At last, he loosened his grip and turned her to face him as he leaned against the wall for support. He wrapped her in his arms and stroked her hair as she rested her head against him.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” she sighed as she licked his neck, unable to resist the temptation of tasting his skin.

“I’m sure there’s an official list in my GAR file,” he said, pressing a soft kiss to her temple.

Reeda cleaned up quickly while Neyo went back to their table so they wouldn’t be spotted leaving the refresher together. Her hairstyle was destroyed, so she hastily repinned it as well as she could, and then wiped off the mascara that smudged heavily beneath her eyes. A quick reapplication of lipstick, and she almost looked presentable—with the minor exception of her missing panties, which Neyo had silently retrieved from the refresher floor and tucked into his pocket while maintaining strong eye contact.

When she returned to the dining room, Neyo waylaid her with a ferocious expression. Force, what is he scugged about now?

“We’re leaving,” he said, taking her by the wrist and pulling her toward the exit. A few quiet murmurs whispered around the room as he dragged her behind him.

“What?” she asked, tugging her wrist to no avail. “Why?”

“The karking droid gave away our table,” he said.

“My deepest apologies, Admiral,” the droid said. “We can locate another table if you would care to wait.”

Reeda assessed the room quickly. Every table was occupied, and none of the diners were anywhere close to being ready to leave. Moreover, at least half of the customers were eyeing her and Neyo with expressions ranging from amusement to overt curiosity.

“No,” she said. “Have the food delivered to my flat.”

“Right away, sir,” the droid replied, waddling off to relay the order to the kitchen.

Neyo looked at her inquisitively. “Your flat?”

“I live in this building,” she said. “Come with me.”

She was keenly aware of the many sets of eyes that tracked their hasty exit, but before long, she led Neyo into the private, secure lift that opened directly into her penthouse. He stood silently next to her on the trip up, watching her with an inscrutable gaze. She tried not to give herself an opportunity to second-guess her decision to let him into her home. Strange, she thought, how this seemed more intimate than allowing him inside her body. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d allowed another person into her home.

The lift doors opened, and he followed her into the flat, pausing long enough to remove their shoes, then looking around curiously.

“Lived here long?”

“A few months,” she said. “I bought it when I found out I’d be stationed on Coruscant long-term.”

“It’s nice,” he said. “Very… clean.”

She laughed. “You mean sterile. I haven’t had time to do much decorating. I’m hardly here except to sleep, anyway.”

He nodded. “I thought I’d have more time for hobbies after the war ended, but now it’s just nonstop—”

“Red tape and committees,” she finished with a sympathetic grimace. He shot her a wry grin. She didn’t think she’d ever seen him smile before, and it did uncomfortable things to her brain. She tried not to think about it, instead asking, “What kind of hobbies? Aside from plotting my slow death, obviously.”

“Oh, you know,” he said vaguely. “Torturing small, adorable creatures; sharpening my vibroblade collection; collecting stamps; that sort of thing.”

She blinked. “I can’t tell if you’re joking.”

He regarded her steadily for a moment, eyes unreadable as ever. “You really think the worst of me, don’t you?”

She was taken aback. “I—”

Her reply was cut off by the chime of the door. The food had arrived, thank the Force, which gave her a moment to stop herself from blurting out her immediate thought: You’ve never given me any reason to think anything else.

Neyo was a competent soldier—brilliant, in fact. There was no question that he had one of the finest tactical and strategic minds in the GAR. But as a person? From the moment they’d met, he’d been antagonistic, sardonic, cold. He’d challenged her authority and provoked her in meetings. He’d only treated her with the barest semblance of civility in public, and in private—Well. They both knew how things went when they were alone.

The service droid rolled a cart into the dining room and began setting up the meal.

“Can I get you a drink?” she offered Neyo. “I don’t have any Alderaanian red, but I do have Cheedoan whiskey.”

“The good stuff,” he replied. “I’ll have a glass. Thanks.”

The droid finished setting up and shuffled out the front door as Reeda poured two generous glasses of whiskey at the wet bar.

“Ice?” she asked.

He didn’t answer, and when she turned around, she nearly dropped the glasses in surprise to find him standing close behind her. He locked his eyes on hers and never looked away as he took one of the glasses and drained it in a single swallow, then set it down with a decisive click on the counter. Her heart began to pound as he loomed over her. He traced his fingers from her elbow up to her wrist, and then he wrapped his hand around hers and raised her glass to her lips.

The whiskey burned a fiery path across her tongue and down her throat. A few droplets escaped and splashed coldly on her chest. Neyo didn’t let up until she emptied the glass, and when she was done, he leaned down and sucked the liquor off her skin. His hands dropped to her hips and slid up her back as he located the zipper of her dress and dragged it down excruciatingly slowly, and all the while, his mouth moved across her skin. He slipped the straps down over her shoulders and let the dress fall to the floor, and then he kissed a path along the lacy edge of her bra.

“Thanks for the matched set,” he said, unhooking it and pulling it off.

“Those were expensive, asshole,” she said unsteadily.

He didn’t reply, but she knew she was never going to see that bra again. He kissed his way down her breast and captured her nipple in his mouth, abrading it lightly with his teeth. She jolted, and the empty glass slipped from her hand and smashed against the hard tiles of the floor.

Neyo barely responded to the sound of shattering crystal. Reeda froze, keenly aware that the smallest movement could result in a bloody footful of glass. She stood utterly, helplessly still as he continued to explore her body with his teeth and lips and hands and tongue. He was thorough in his attentions, and something about being entirely at his mercy was wildly arousing. Her head spun as the whiskey began to work its insidious way through her bloodstream.

“I missed this perfume. What is it?” he murmured against the soft skin of her abdomen.

“I don’t wear any,” she said.

He nuzzled against her as though he could transfer her scent to his own skin. Without warning, he scooped her up and carried her out of the room, completely disregarding the risk to himself. But instead of dropping her as soon as they were clear of the broken glass as she expected, he asked, “Bedroom?”

“Left,” she said, and he strode across the flat and kicked open the door, to her intense irritation. “You gonna pay for the broken doorknob?”

He didn’t reply, just tossed her onto the bed and pounced on her as soon as she landed. He slid in between her thighs and gripped her hard as his mouth descended on hers, kissing her as though he were trying to devour her soul. He was still fully clothed, and she scrambled to pull off his shirt. He was completely unhelpful, too engrossed in her taste. She raked her nails across his skin as she yanked his shirt over his head, and he seized her lip in his teeth in revenge.

At last, the barrier of his shirt was gone, and she writhed against him, desperate to feel as much of his warm, smooth skin against her as possible. They clashed together, sinking nails and teeth into each other. At some point, Neyo got his trousers down enough to free his cock, and he shoved into her. His belt chafed harshly on her delicate skin as she wrapped her legs around him, urging him to go deeper, harder, faster. The sounds they made were unholy, primal: growls and grunts and screams of pain and ecstasy as they tore into each other with all the aggression that they had built over the years.

She pulled his hair; he clawed her back. She slapped his face; he bit her shoulder. She snarled that she loathed him; he interlaced his fingers with hers and whispered how beautiful she was when she came apart beneath him. She thrust him away and kicked him across the bed; he pinned her down and fucked her until she sobbed and begged for more. At some point, she tasted blood, and she didn’t know or care whose it was. And when at last she lost count of how many times he’d brought her to orgasm, he curled his body around hers and traced his thumb softly over her features as she drifted to sleep.

“If I die while I’m inside you, it’s the closest I’ll ever get to heaven,” he whispered.

“Force, you say some kriffed up shit,” she grumbled.

Reeda awakened slowly, aware of something blissfully warm and soothing moving across her skin. She cracked her eyes open. Neyo was lying on top of her, dragging his tongue lazily over her body. He roamed along her curves, and it wasn’t until he paused at her bruised wrist that she realized what he was doing.

“Are you licking my wounds?” she breathed.

He didn’t answer, but his eyes met hers with an intensity that bordered on madness. Gods, everything about this was so fucked up, and she didn’t dare examine too closely why she found it so incredibly arousing. He moved slowly, meticulously, his tongue gliding softly over every centimeter of her body, until she felt like a bomb, ready to detonate at the slightest spark. She came before he ever reached her cunt, and again as he rocked gently inside her, his lips soft against her mouth, silent tears spilling from the corners of her eyes to course down her temples.

After, he guided her into the shower, and when her legs gave out, he held her upright as the hot water washed over them. Once he’d massaged her entire body with his strong, soapy hands, he dried her off and laid her back on the bed while he spread bacta across the damage he’d inflicted. It was disorienting to be cared for so thoroughly by the man who’d spent the better part of four years making her life hell. He didn’t speak, and she didn’t know what to say, so in the end, she simply watched him in silence.

When he finished with the bacta, he retrieved their dinner from the dining room. The food had long since gone cold, but after hours of intense physical activity, they were famished, and they ate it anyway, sharing bites and sipping whiskey straight from the decanter. Neyo sat with his back against the headboard, his long, strong legs bracketing Reeda as she leaned back against his broad chest.

“How did you know porg was my favorite?” she asked.

He shrugged. “They’re tiny, cute, and innocent. I just assumed you would enjoy extinguishing the life from them and consuming their remains.”

She laughed and snuggled closer to him. “Is that why you order your meat rare? Because it’s the next best thing to drinking straight from the source?”

“Finally, someone who understands,” he smirked. “Truthfully, I overheard you tell Admiral Coburn that porg was your favorite during a banquet at the strategy conference at Valor.”

She turned to stare up at him. “Neyo, that was two years ago. That was before we ever…”

“I know,” he said, burying his face in her hair and breathing deeply.

“Stalker,” she murmured.

He dropped his mouth to her neck, and she tilted her head back against his shoulder as his lips glided across her skin.

“What does it say about you that you like it?” he whispered when he reached her ear.

He pulled her close, positioning himself between her and the bedroom door. From the proprietary way he held her, she knew it was a deliberate choice; any threat that came through that door would have to go through him before it got to her, and she had a feeling that there weren’t many beings in the galaxy that were brave or foolish enough to try.

Reeda jerked awake to a furious pounding at the front door. Neyo was already halfway out of the bedroom, stark naked and armed with a steak knife from their midnight dinner.

“Wait here,” he ordered, his voice hard and flat.

She rolled her eyes as she pulled on a bathrobe and grabbed a blaster from her nightstand. Neyo glared at her when she joined him, but didn’t bother yelling at her.

“Coruscant guard! Open up,” a modulated voice shouted harshly from outside the door.

Neyo glanced questioningly at her, and she shrugged, hiding the blaster behind her robe. He stepped out of view of the door, and she opened it to find none other than Marshal Commander Fox, flanked by two Corrie ARC troopers.

“Commander,” she greeted him, not bothering to conceal the surprise in her voice.

“Good to see you’re in one piece, Admiral,” he said. “Are you all right?”

“I beg your pardon?” she asked, baffled.

“We received multiple calls about a disturbance at your address. Are you alone?”

Reeda felt a hot rush of blood wash over her face and neck. “I fail to see how that is any business of yours, Commander.”

“Sorry, sir, but it’s my duty to—” He stopped abruptly, and his visor shifted to a point behind her.

“Isn’t this a little below your pay grade, Fox?” Neyo drawled close behind Reeda.

Fox’s visor turned back to Reeda, then to Neyo, and then back to Reeda again. The two ARC troopers appeared to be fascinated by the walls on either side of the front door.

At last, Fox spoke. “I don’t send shinies to wake up admirals.”

Neyo’s hand slid possessively around the front of Reeda’s abdomen, and he pulled her against his nude body. Something large and solid prodded against her backside. Dank farrik, is he turned on right now? Sick bastard.

“Thank you for your concern,” she told Fox, “but everything is under control.”

“So I see,” Fox replied. “Still, you’ll need to keep the noise level down, or I’ll have no choice but to arrest you for disturbing the peace.”

Neyo reached forward silently and shut the door in Fox’s face, then he spun Reeda around, picked her up over his shoulder, and carried her back to the bedroom. The last thing Fox heard was the unmistakable sound of Neyo’s hand slapping her ass as Reeda shrieked with indignant laughter.

Republic Military HQ buzzed quietly with speculation the next morning when not one, but two of the most senior command staff called in sick for the first time in either of their careers. Rumors swirled: some were convinced a secret bioweapon had been released by Separatist holdouts; others maintained that the stress of dealing with politicians was beginning to take a toll; still others claimed that it was a coverup and that the marshal commander and the admiral had been taken hostage by pirates. It was whispered that Commander Fox had a particularly haunted expression that morning, and two of the Coruscant Guard ARC Troopers had contacted the legal department to update their wills. In the midst of all this, the beleaguered Lissi received a brusque order to inform RTL Matchmaking that the admiral no longer required their services.

Daria drained her third iced caf of the morning as she flicked through her holomessages. Buried amidst the intake forms and meeting invitations was an abrupt-bordering-on-rude note from Marshal Commander Neyo ordering her to close his file.

“Why do you look like the tooka that got the blue milk?” her fellow matchmaker Tarsi Renda asked as she passed Daria in the corridor.

“Oh, no reason,” Daria smiled. “The galaxy is back to normal, that’s all—and my track record is once again perfect.”

---

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#tcw matchmaking au #clone matchmaking au #91st Mobile Reconnaissance Corps #commander neyo #neyo x the admiral #commander neyo x ofc #neyo x ofc #neyo x the bad-miral

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midnightsnyx · 1 year

Text

what if i told you (i love you) part 2 - joel miller

pairing: joel miller!fem reader

chapter summary: when joel and ellie's stay turns out to be longer than expected, you have to figure out how you're going to deal with having him around. word count: 1.9k warnings: insinuated smut, angst, mentions of death, mentions of abortion, little bit of fluff(?), and ellie being a cool big sister! let me know if i missed anything please. also this isn't edited lol sorry authors note: GUYS!!!! WHAT THE HECK! thank you all so so so much from the very bottom of my heart for all the love on the story. comments, reblogs, and likes feed my angsty writing soul <3 y'all are the best! please take caution to the warnings for this chapter and read safely <3 if anyone wants to send thoughts, suggestions ect, here is my ask box. and lastly, if you want to be added to my tag list please fill out this super short form here <3 oh one more thing! I know last chapter was in past tense but I hate writing that unless I’m doing flashbacks so from now on, it’s all present tense unless I do a flashback

masterlist what i write series masterpost

Boston 2018

The first time you could blame it on the bad liquor. The second time, you could say it was the adrenaline from nearly getting killed by a pack of clickers but the third time you found yourself underneath Joel Miller, there was nobody to blame but yourself. You’d been working with him and Tess for a couple years and always thought the two of them were together. However, while on a supply run with just Tess about a year after you met them, you discovered that while there was an initial attraction, things were strictly business between them. You really had no plans to deal with the man further than supply runs and trades but after you had a taste of what could be, you didn’t want to go without.

You knew that things weren’t exclusive and never would be. It was simply a way for the both of you to blow off steam in this shitty world so after you missed your period not once, but twice, you realized that things might be more complicated than you had planned. Approaching Joel about the situation was not something you were looking forward to so you confided in Tess, who after scolding you, said you had two options. She knew a person who “took care of these problems” and could get your situation resolved with little to no damage or you could do what she thought was unfair, and bring a new life into the world that had become so cruel, most didn’t want to live anyway. You weighed your options for about a week, avoiding Joel whenever he tried to get you alone because all you wanted to do was blurt out that you were pregnant to get it off your chest but somehow, you knew how he would react.

Everybody had lost someone during the outbreak and although it was never confirmed by Joel, you knew he’d lost a child. Somewhere inside you, there was a small hope that maybe this tiny little life inside you could help fill some of the void but it was smashed when you eventually told him.

His cold expression and cold words were hurtful but not unexpected.

“How could you be so careless?”

You’d argued with him for over an hour, the whole “it takes two to tangle” argument but eventually you had enough and told him if he wanted nothing to do with it, this was the time because you weren’t going to wait around forever. So when his last words to you were “leave”, you decided then and there that you were done with Joel Miller. You’d waited a few weeks after Tess asked you to even though you knew that he wouldn’t come around. The day you left, you said goodbye to Tess, telling her where you planned to go and told her if Joel asked about you, not to tell him anything. If you could help it, you planned to never see Joel again.

Jackson, Wyoming 2023

Much to your dismay, Joel is at the dining hall the next morning. He’s sitting with Tommy and Ellie but you can feel his eyes on you while you watch Jack eat his breakfast. It’s like a repeat of yesterday, only this time you’re worried that Hazel may have actually poisned his food. She grumbled when he walked in the doors but didn’t say much.

Ellie eventually makes her way over to where you and Jack are sitting, shyly asking if she can sit with you and play with Jack. You hesitate but Jack gives you puppy eyes and you can never say no to him. Some of his facial expressions always reminded you of Joel but with the man actually being here now, you’re noticing it much more. You look over at him and his eyes are locked on the three of you sitting together so you look back at Ellie.

“So…” you begin, waiting for her to look up at you and when she does, you can see the mischievous look in her eyes.

“You’re gonna ask me about Joel,” she grins, “y’know, he was talking to Tommy about you last night. They thought I was asleep but there was a lot of yelling.”

“What exactly were they saying?” you ask, and she looks back at Jack, taking the piece of food he offers her.

“I dunno, Joel was grumpy that Tommy didn’t tell him that you were here but Tommy told Joel that you didn’t want him to know,” she says, “he’s always grumpy though, so that’s nothing new.”

You weren’t planning on asking her but you’re dying to know how exactly Joel ended up dragging a teenager all the way to Wyoming.

“What’s the deal with you and Joel?” you ask, “not a long lost kid, are you?”

She just laughs and shakes her head, “nah, I mean he acts like a dad but he’s just fulfilling a request from someone. I’m just cargo.”

She says it non-chalantly but something in her expression changes, so small you barely notice. It’s there though but before you can question her further, she turns the tables back to you.

“What the deal with you and Joel? I mean, clearly the kid is his… did he-”

“Ellie,” a voice cuts in and you both jump, not noticing that Joel somehow snuck up on the both of you. Before either of you can answer, a little voice speaks up.

“Hi,” Jack says, waving at Joel who once again, looks shocked that there’s a child there. The boy offers him a handful of mushed up fruit and you watch as Joel hesitantly accepts it.

You’ve watched Joel take down countless clickers and raiders so it amuses you that a toddler scares him.

Jack takes a loud slurp of his water and tries to hand it to Joel before you take it from him, rolling your eyes. Ellie is watching the interaction with amusement and you can even see Tommy from across the hall, watching closely.

“Who’re you?” Jack asks, trying to pass Joel more food. You take his plate, ignoring his grumbling. Another thing that Jack does that reminds you of Joel are his mood swings. Some days he is a chatterbox and others, you can barely get a peep out of him. Those days, he reminds you of Joel.

When Joel looks at you, this time with panic written across his face, you shrug. You’re beginning to find this amusing because who knew all it would take is a toddler to break the big Joel Miller.

“Ellie, I have to go with Tommy for a bit. Don’t leave the four walls of this town,” he points at her when she raises her hands in defense, “I told Maria to keep an eye on you.”

“Don’t worry old man, I think I’ll hang out with these two,” she tells him but then shyly looks at you, “if that's alright.”

You nod and watch as her face lights up. She goes back to talking to the little boy sitting next to her and you look at Joel who is shifting uncomfortably.

“Uh, thanks,” he mumbles without looking at you before quickly walking back to Tommy. You watch the two of them leave, the older man casting one more glance you way before his brother pats him on the back firmly.

“He’s got it bad for you,” Ellie says absently, “like real bad. Were you two like, together?”

You stare at her for a solid minute, wondering where the hell this kid came from. Was she this blunt before? Or has Joel corrupted her?

“It’s complicated, and a long story.”

“Is it longer than a week? ‘Cause I think that’s how long we’re staying,” she says and you hide a frown. You’re still trying to find out exactly why they’re here and now you find out they’re only staying a week? You can’t decide if you are relieved or disappointed.

“Why don’t we go for a walk?” You offer, wanting to get out of this conversation because talking about your non existent relationship with Joel to a 14 year old is at the bottom of your to-do list. “Jack likes seeing the sheep and horses.”

Ellie grins and you can’t help but smile when she offers her hand to Jack who accepts it eagerly. You can tell she’s trying to fill a void and you’re beginning not to mind.

. . .

Later that night after Jack is long asleep, you sit outside on your porch wrapped up in a winter jacket and blanket. It’s cold but you need some fresh air to try and get your thoughts straightened out. Ellie tried to bring up yours and Joel’s history multiple times but eventually gave up on it once she realized you weren’t going to say anything. You haven’t seen Joel since this morning, spending the day with Ellie and Jack, then eating dinner and dropping the girl off at the house she and Joel are staying at before going back to your own and putting your kid to bed.

Joel showing up out of the blue is bringing back too many memories, some good but some bad.

Suddenly, a voice breaks you out of your thoughts and you curse Joel Miller again for sneaking up on you. Being in Jackson so long is making you let your guard down too much.

“Hey,” he says, standing at the bottom of your porch steps awkwardly, “the kid gone to bed?”

Small talk. He is trying to make small talk.

“What do you want, Joel?” You ask shortly, half wanting to leave before he says anything else but if he is seeking you out, you want to know what he is looking for from you.

“I, uh, I wanted to say thanks,” he says stumbling over his words, “for entertaining Ellie today. She was real pleased-”

“I didn’t do it for you,” you snap, “she’s a good kid.”

He just nods, staring at the ground and scuffing his boots on the dirt. You watch as he clears his throat and looks up at you, a sadness in his eyes that you’re not sure you’ve ever seen.

“Tess is gone,” he says, and even though you had your suspicions since she’s not with him and he travelling all the way here, his words feel like a punch in the stomach.

“How?”

“She got bit on our way here,” he tells you and you just nod, swallowing back tears. Six years ago, you might’ve let him comfort you but all you want now is to yell or scream at him. Ellie wouldn’t tell you why they were here or why she was with Joel and you know you won’t get anything out of him. You know the only reason for his late night visit is to break the news about Tess.

When you stand up, his mouth opens to protest but he just offers you the closest thing he has to a smile. It’s pitiful.

You turn to walk inside but his voice stops you. Refusing to look at him, you pause but stay facing the door.

“He seems like a good kid,” he says quietly and you know he’s referring to Jack.

There’s a million things you can say to him, you can turn around and yell or scream at him. You could ask him why? Why did you push me away when I needed you? Why didn’t you want Jack? What hurt you so bad, that you couldn’t accept him?

Instead, you walk inside your house and close the door behind you.

. . .

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#joel miller x y/n #joel miller imagine #joel miller reader insert #joel miller x reader #tlou fanfiction #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller x you #allies writing

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margowritesthings · 5 months

Note

Hey, Margo! 🩷

I’m sending the request according to your new post 🥺

I would like a friends to lovers trope. But here’s the thing: Could the female character (lil me) and Arthur actually had a relationship in the past (current relationship status is they broke up) and now they are falling for each other again (second chance)?

Of course I would love a Red Dead Redemption (Arthur Morgan) fanfic 🩷

The gender is female, and if you could make her ginger with brown eyes (like me) I would love it 🥺 And if Arthur calls her angel, even better 🩷🩷🩷

Feel free to add smut, fluff and anything you would like!

Thank you for tagging me! You know how much I love your writing 🩷

sweet angel hello! thank you for participating, i got so many ideas for your love story with our pretty cow boah

come celebrate 1k followers with me!

arthur morgan // second chance + friends to lovers

you two have been sweet on each other since the moment you met, the day you joined the gang. arthur was brave enough to ask you on a date after only a short three months of pining after you

he took you to the saloon, you beat him at poker, and in that moment he knew you were his soulmate. a forever love.

you were together for a few months, and it was that kind of love you only thought existed in the stories you read. it was celestial, ethereal. a wild burning flame extinguished far too quickly.

when he found out about isaac and eliza's deaths, arthur really struggled. he drank a lot and lost himself for a while.

you knew the best thing to do was to just be there for him, so you both decided he needed friendship right now.

"you're my best friend, arthur. that ain't ever gonna change."

but the feelings didn't just go away as easily as your plan relied on, that flame too furious to be extinguished by simple "logic"

you wanted to respect the space arthur asked for, and he never thought he was good enough to have you after letting you go the first time

unworthy of your love

if he couldn't protect isaac and eliza, how could he ever deserve you?

and thus ensued years of pining

the very best of friends, unable to stay away from each other while this silent love roared

you'd work jobs together, go hunting together, have midnight chats by the fire, save each other's asses from time to time

years went on like this, where everybody in the gang and their mamma would share glances and roll their eyes at the two fools who couldn't just admit they were made for each other

you were the first person arthur wanted to see whenever he got back from a job, the one he rode home to even if he never said it aloud

and as much as your heart ached a little every time you looked at him, you would have stayed like that forever if it meant getting to keep arthur in your life

until the day he left it

when he didn't come back from the 'chat' with the o'driscolls, you were out of your mind with worry

the thought of never seeing arthur again flipped a switch in your mind and you finally realised that this life stuck in limbo wasn't enough

you were sneaking out in the dead of night against dutch's orders when you saw him, beaten and bloody, riding home to you

it broke you, the relief washing over you like a wave that breaks the walls you've built as though they're nothing but paper

he practically falls off his horse, but you catch his weight and support him

you take him to your tent and patch him up, holding him and crying with him when you see what they did to arthur. your arthur.

he winces when he reaches up to push that stray rebellious hair out of your face, but the way the candlelight glows in his eyes has your own breath hitching in your throat

"i was so worried, arthur... i-i thought-"

"i know, angel, i know... i'm sorry...

but i'm here now

and i ain't ever leaving you again."

that nickname... from all those years ago when you first found eachother

whispered for the first time in a moan, you and him tangled together in sheets for the very first time

"goddamn... you're an angel, how'd a dirty sinner like me ever get so lucky?"

when you broke up, you never thought you'd hear it again

and yet here you are

the sweet name echoing in your ears as he kisses you, reuniting your lips after far too long apart

it's a desperate kiss, the kind that holds two lifetimes of context

like you're scared if either one lets go the moment will disappear

so you don't

you tangle your fingers in his hair, he cups your cheek, your bodies moulding together

being any closer would be impossible

"this is it, angel, you hear? no more messing around, this is it. this is us, cause i ain't letting you go."

"you better not, mister."

you’re both crying, breathing each other in, never wanting to let one another go

and you never do again

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 #arthur morgan imagine #arthur morgan rdr2 #arthur morgan x y/n #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan drabble #margos 1k celebration #rdr2 drabble #arthur morgan headcanon #arthur morgan headcanons

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emepe · 6 days

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— Pairing: Eren x Reader, friends to lovers

— General info: series, 18+, modern AU, serial killer AU, smut, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort

— Summary: Fate is a tricky thing. Certain situations can’t be avoided as much as certain people’s lives can’t be kept from intertwining. With a serial killer on the loose, and unexpected relationships blooming, how will the universe intervene?

— Chapter summary: The news of the recent murder takes a toll on everyone, leaving each to cope in their own anxious ways.

— Content warnings: mention of murder, mention of self defense weapons.

— Notes: Hello, everybody! Welcome to chapter 6 <3 Thank you so much to everybody who has shown support for this story, especially those who have joined the tag list. If anyone else would like to be added, lmk. Happy reading!

Links: Read on AO3 | Chapter guide | Masterlist

conversations on love and fear

The next morning at work, you're surprised to find Armin leaning back in your chair when you arrive at your desk.

“Shouldn't you be crunching numbers somewhere?” you tease, shrugging off your jacket.

“I'm here for our daily gossip session,” he pouts.

You laugh softly and gesture for him to follow you to the break room. He jumps from your chair and eagerly follows your lead.

“Since when do we have those?” you ask, taking out your mug from the cupboards to fix yourself a cup of tea to have while you go through your morning to-do list.

A sly grin is plastered on his face.

“Since you started dating Eren.”

Normally, you're good at hiding your emotions. A neutral expression and an unfazed manner are your go-to for any situation. A blunder at work, a rude client taking out their anger on you, misogyny, unwanted flirting — you handle everything with grace and composure. But normally, you're not as emotionally invested in someone as you've quickly come to be about Eren.

You're quick to hide your face, embarrassed by how easily shy a name can make you when just a few weeks ago you were still your stoic self.

You understand their friendship dynamics well enough to figure Armin wouldn't be kept out of the loop for long, but this is fast.

Armin chuckles airily. It's cute, this new side of you.

“I didn't mean to keep it from you,” you murmur, your cheeks burning as you bob the tea bag up and down in your mug before sweetening your drink. “It just kind of happened.”

“No, I get it,” he grins. “I'm happy for you two.”

You bite back a smile but nod appreciatively.

“Eren really likes you.”

“I know,” you murmur, heart fluttering at the memory of Eren's honesty. You bring the mug to your lips, blowing into it before taking your first sip.

“And you seem to really like him, too. I've never seen you like this.”

The tea gets caught in your throat, eliciting a brief fit of coughs.

Armin can't help but laugh once you're out of immediate danger.

“Oh, you really really like him, then. Way to go, Eren,” he teases.

Your face burns tenfold.

Worried that someone might overhear you, you usher Armin onto the smoker's balcony on your side of the floor. It's too early for anyone to be out there, so it's the perfect spot for you to be honest.

“I… I really do.”

Your entire body is burning up now. Much so that the warmth emanating from your mug overstimulates your senses and you've no choice but to set it down on the concrete railing.

Gaze low, wandering eyes, fidgeting hands — Armin's surprised.

“You're serious about this,” he concludes.

Peering up at him through your lashes, you nod.

“I don't know what to do,” you murmur. “I didn't expect to like him so much and now every time I think of him I feel like I'm about to pass out.”

Your voice quivers but your eyes shimmer brightly as his face inevitably comes to mind. His warm hands, his gentle voice encouraging you to trust him, his boyish laugh, the blush on his cheeks whenever you praise him. You're always so confident when acknowledging his fondness of you, and you kept joking about having many admirers but now it gnaws at your brain to think about someone else looking to get his attention. It's all too much.

“Goddamn, that must've been one hell of a first date,” he exhales.

Armin's choice of words pulls an amused giggle from you, easing the tension that squeezes at your heart.

“It was.”

Your gaze wanders off as you lose yourself in thought.

Eren hasn't left your mind since he dropped you off at your apartment door yesterday evening. The carefully planned date, the honest conversation and the kisses you shared even found a way to sneak into last night's dreams, your subconscious further feeding into your swooning frenzy and leaving you to wake up unusually happy.

But as life has taught you, having something good doesn't mean you get to keep it forever, and if you want Eren to stick around you have to be more open about the things that haunt you — for both of your sake. You want to keep talking to him, to know him, to see more of his face, and to witness every side there is to him. You haven't outright said it because though you might appear to be, you're not as brave as he is.

So hearing him say he wants to know you just as much leaves you thinking his wish might be twice as strong as yours, for him to express it so many times in so many ways.

“You okay?” Armin's voice pulls you back.

Your lips part for you to spill what's heavy on your mind, but you fumble to find the right words without feeling more shy.

“Hey, Eren's my best friend but if you need to talk shit about him, I can listen. You're my friend, too.”

You giggle. He smiles.

“Though, I guess now I've lost you both to each other,” he theatrically sniffles as he pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes his head. “I really didn't think this through when I introduced you to each other. What am I gonna do with no friends?”

You laugh.

“Actually,” you softly call for his attention. “Is it okay if I ask you about some things? About Eren… and about myself?”

His head tilts in confusion at the last part, but he smiles and nods nonetheless.

“Shoot.”

Nursing your mug between your hands, you carefully take another sip of your tea before speaking.

“First… um.”

You blink nervously as the uneasy warmth starts crawling up your neck again.

“Do you know if Eren is talking to other people? Aside from me?”

The question feels stupid once it falls from your lips, but Armin gives off no indication that he views it the same way.

With a firm shake of his head and furrowed brows, he clicks his tongue in disapproval.

“Eren? No, definitely not. I love the guy but even if he wanted to, he can't flirt with multiple people at a time for the life of him.”

You nod, letting the information sink in.

“Don't get me wrong,” Armin continues. “He has a line of people wanting to get close to him. It's been that way forever.”

Your heart sinks with dread. You figured as much. After all, Eren is an attractive guy and his personality makes for someone desirable in all aspects.

“But he's never been one to give in to any attention just because it's there, you know?”

You nod slowly, though you don't fully understand what that means.

“What I'm saying is, Eren's the kind of guy who doesn't care about that kind of thing. He only pursues someone he genuinely wants to know. And once that happens, he's all in. Other than that, he just keeps to himself.”

With more clarity on the situation, you nod with more certainty. But Armin's not done.

“He hadn't liked someone in years until you came around. That should tell you something,” he smiles.

You flush in embarrassment.

“Oh, but don't feel pressured!” Armin exclaims. “I just meant you shouldn't have to worry about this sort of thing.”

He throws an arm around your shoulders, squeezing your frame affectionately.

“Anything else on your mind?” he asks.

You hum as you go through the ideas in your head.

“It's not really a question,” you say. “And now that I think about it, it probably doesn't make sense to bring it up because I haven't been exactly open about it with you, either.”

You shrink into yourself, wincing at the memory of Armin's fallen demeanor the night he found out about your parents.

“That's fine,” he reassures you with a smile, petting your back in a comforting manner. “I know some things are hard to say sometimes. It's not really my place to call dibs on who you should trust.”

“But still,” you murmur. “We're friends, right?”

He nods.

“I just don't want you to be disappointed by my lack of honesty.”

He frowns.

“I wouldn't call it that,” he sternly replies. “You don't have to tell me more than you already have for me to understand you had a rough upbringing. And you're not being deceitful or purposely hiding things… but it doesn't come easy, that's all. Some things are better kept private, it's your call.”

Tears prick at your eyes as your body releases tension you weren't even aware of. For the longest time, you've tried your best to avoid being a liability. At the same time, once Armin came into your life, you struggled to reciprocate his open nature. Once Eren was in the picture, so desperate to know you, you scrambled to cement boundaries. But truth be told, you were consumed by the anxiety that he might walk away from your stubbornness and you'd lose his affection. Being told you're not an awful person for being closed off brings peace to your weary heart.

“That being said, I promise it wouldn't be the end of the world if you chose to let someone in. Have it be me, Eren, or anyone else. We're all here for you as your friends. I don't think it compares to professional help but for a support system, we're pretty solid. You can trust us.”

Quietly, you nod with a serious expression.

Armin contemplates your pensive features for a long, quiet minute.

“Is that what you're having trouble with, with Eren?”

Meekly and with your bottom lip between your teeth, you nod.

“I've told him some stuff. Nothing too serious, just pretty surface-level things but… he keeps saying he wants to know everything about me.”

Armin smiles crookedly.

“Is that a bad thing?”

The question echoes in your ears as you force yourself to contemplate it.

It's not a bad thing for someone to be so willing to figure you out because they care. But the never-ending worries always slip through the cracks. Will he be okay dealing with the weight of your past? Will it somehow change his mind and push him away? Will he somehow empathize with everyone else's point of view and ultimately decide you're difficult to love? Not worthy? That you're too much trouble?

“I want to be good for him.”

Armin’s gaze softens. It’s inappropriate given the tone of the conversation, but he can’t ignore how much more adorable your demeanor has gotten in such little time. Eren must have saved a country in his past life to have you so smitten.

He pats your head affectionately, like that of a father comforting his kid.

“What makes you think you’re not?”

Your bottom lip quivers as you open your mouth to emit a string of fearful but honest whispers.

“Eren’s so nice… I just worry I have too much baggage and he’ll feel obligated to stick around. I don't want to be a burden.”

The mug of tea has grown cold in your hands and the autumn wind sweeps away your confession, carrying it to unknown destinations while its ghost lingers between you and Armin.

It’s a long, painful silence before Armin’s voice slices through it with the wisdom you’ve come to admire.

“Listen. I think you're a pretty remarkable person. And nobody gets to pick the cards they're dealt. I don't think you have to conceal parts of yourself and if someone makes you feel like you do, then you leave. There’s no perfect right person but a right person for you will stick around because they want to… baggage included.”

Eren’s computer screen is littered with multiple tabs and video-editing software. The fan practically sounds like it’s about to lift the CPU into a different dimension. It doesn’t help that his mind keeps straying from the workload before him by conjuring the headlines he saw earlier this morning.

Normally, he’s so efficient. He loves his job so much, it’s basically a fun time. But not when someone he cares about is in potential danger. Now, it’s just work.

“Just two months ago, our city was struck by the brutal murder of twenty-six year old Ilse Langnar. And now another woman was murdered? What is going on?” a comment on a public forum read.

His knee bounces incessantly as his eyes aimlessly wander his screen through his glasses, and he’s continuously forcing himself to go through the same clips over and over again because he keeps forgetting what’s been done and what needs to be.

For the umpteenth time, he huffs in frustration, running an anxious hand through his hair.

He simply cannot focus today.

As if someone out there can sense his lack of discipline today, they come in with an easy distraction. Eren’s phone buzzes on his desk, promptly pulling his attention from the loopy chaos in his head.

“Is mace the same thing as pepper spray?” a masculine voice comes from the other end.

Eren pulls the phone from his ear just long enough to get a look at the name on the screen.

“Jean?”

Normally, Jean would quip a comment about how offended he is that Eren can’t even recognize his voice through the phone. But not today. His words are rushed and there’s plenty of movement from his side.

“I’m at a store buying some stuff for Mikasa but I can’t figure out which one is better. I think Mace is the brand? Because it says pepper spray in the description but there’s also one that says water trainer… what the fuck is that?”

Eren’s already pulling on a jacket before Jean can even finish venting his frustrations on other confusing terms.

“Which store?”

“Huh?”

“Which store, Jean?”

“Ammo. It’s on Reiss. Why?”

With his phone snuggled between his ear and shoulder, Eren clumsily pulls on his shoes and snatches his keys from the small dish in the foyer.

“Send me the location. I’ll be right there.”

He hangs up the call, trusting Jean to fulfill his request as he walks out of his apartment and to the parking garage.

Eren walks into the shady-looking shop. There’s an arrangement of weapons everywhere his eyes fall, the most dangerous ones displayed behind hefty locked glass doors on the other side of the counter.

Upon entry, Eren’s hit with several once-overs from the clientele scattered through the aisles closest to the door. He nods politely at the buff man in his immediate view, hoping he doesn’t seem too lost.

His eyes search for a familiar tuft of ash-brown hair over the aisles. As soon as he finds him, he makes a beeline.

“Jesus Christ, Jean. Why’d you pick this place?” he hisses. “You couldn’t have gone to a sports goods store or something? The grocery store, even. They have stuff there, too.”

Jean dismisses him with a wave of his hand and instead shows him the collection of items in his basket.

“Look, I got some pepper spray for the girls.” He holds up a package with two different colored products bound in plastic and cardboard. “Turns out the water trainer is just a cartridge with water so you learn how to use it without wasting any product.”

Eren peers into Jean’s basket, making note of every product he’s picked up. Pepper spray, tasers, and personal safety alarms — all in sets of three.

“What?” Jean asks, looking back into the basket on his arm upon noticing Eren’s wandering eyes.

“There’s three of each,” Eren simply says.

“Well, duh,” Jean scoffs.

One by one, he raises three fingers, listing off a name for each — Mikasa’s, Sasha’s, and yours.

“She’s gonna need this stuff, too,” he adds.

Eren’s lips curl inwards, but he follows up with an appreciative smile.

“Thanks, buddy.”

Jean mirrors his expression, tying it off with a brotherly pat on Eren’s back.

“You can pay me back in installments, I don’t mind.”

Jean walks off toward the cash register, leaving Eren to contemplate the nearly endearing exchange with pursed lips.

The men go through the line and exit the store together.

“So you saw the news, too, huh?” Jean asks as he absentmindedly swings his keys around his index finger on the way to the consecutive spaces where both men’s cars are parked.

“This morning,” Eren murmurs. “I haven’t been able to focus on work.”

“Me neither,” Jean mutters. “I drove over to Mikasa’s at two in the morning to make sure she was okay because I kept freaking out every two minutes.”

“How is she?”

“She was a little annoyed I woke her up but she let me stay the night.”

Eren chews on the inside of his cheek as he contemplates whether or not it’d be weird for him to show up unannounced at your apartment like Jean did with Mikasa. If he had known about the recent murder the night before, he would’ve definitely raced back to your place. But he supposes you’re not at that place in your relationship yet.

They reach their cars but neither makes a move to part ways. They both lean against the trunk of Eren’s car.

“Has Levi said anything, though?” Eren asks.

“Nah, just keeps telling her to stay safe,” Jean replies with a shake of his head. “It’s a little weird, though. You think it’s the same person from September?”

Eren shrugs but Jean sees right through his dismissive behavior.

“I do, too, to be honest. It’s pretty scary shit,” Jean’s voice shrinks with every word.

“Yeah, it is,” Eren admits. “And if Levi is being so cryptic it’s probably because he has to.”

Both men stand together in silence for a moment, unsure of how to part ways on such a somber note but finding too much comfort in each other’s company to bid goodbye.

Eren sighs heavily as he mindlessly traces the line of a crack in the asphalt with the tip of his foot.

“Hey, congratulations, by the way,” Jean says.

Eren looks up at him, eyebrows knit in confusion. It’s not until Jean pronounces your name that he understands what he’s referring to.

“You guys are going out now, right?” Jean grins.

Eren blushes, a smile instantly working its way onto his face upon hearing the words from someone else’s mouth. It’s a good feeling, to be reminded of this new beginning in his life.

“Thanks,” he laughs. Then pauses. “Wait, how did you know that?”

Jean nervously scoffs as he avoids Eren’s piercing emerald gaze.

“Um… you told me? How else?”

Eren’s eyes narrow; Jean gives in easily — partially.

“Fine, Armin’s been yapping away about it but he made me promise I wouldn’t say he told me. He’s a huge blabbermouth, you know?”

He discreetly breathes a sigh of relief when Eren doesn’t press further, seemingly accepting his word as the truth. After all, Armin was supposed to be the only one to know the details so far.

“Figures,” Eren mutters with a shake of his head, but a pleased smile threatens to tug on his lips at the thought of everyone else finding out.

“You think she's the one?” Jean abruptly asks, already preparing to tease him.

When Eren turns to look at him, he's got a shy smile playing on his features.

“Come on,” he says.

Jean throws his hands up in the air.

“Come on, what? It's a valid question. We're on our way to thirty.”

“We've only been on one date,” Eren replies, as if that's an answer in itself.

“So? You were into her from the start, weren't you?”

Eren blushes, still embarrassed that everyone was aware of his crush.

“Yeah,” he meekly replies.

Jean looks off into the distance, smiling over Eren's bashful demeanor. Though not blatantly obvious about it, he cares for Eren like a brother. It's just a lot more fun to bicker and annoy each other. That's not to say he lacks appreciation for heart to heart conversations like this.

“I knew Mikasa was the one pretty fast,” he confesses.

A chuckle escapes Eren's lips.

“Well, yeah, but you guys were years in the making.”

“Even so,” Jean murmurs. “I knew she was the one since we were kids.”

“Jean, she used to bully you in fifth grade,” Eren reminds him. “She beat you up because you wouldn't stop following her around like a lost puppy.”

Jean bites back a grin, cheeks dusted with pink at the memory.

“What can I say? I have a thing for pretty girls with a killer punch.”

The two men share a laugh.

It's moments like this, that break the chaotic pattern in their dynamic, that reminds them their relationship goes beyond eye rolls and snappy comments.

“You know I'm proposing soon?”

Eren turns to look at Jean, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Seriously?”

Jean glances at him proudly.

“Mhm… This December. I've got the whole thing planned. We're spending the holidays at her family's cabin. I'll do it then. I already talked about it with her parents.”

An immense sense of pride swells in Eren's chest at the news. He always figured his friends were on their way to forever, but the admission to something concrete makes him incredibly happy.

“What if she says no?” he teases, dipping into his usual ways out of habit.

“She won't,” Jean firmly states without missing a beat. “I love her and she loves me. It's like you said, we're years in the making.”

He throws his head back to look at the cloudy pale blue sky.

“I'm gonna give her her dream wedding. It'll be the event of the century,” he gushes, then side-eyes Eren with a smirk. “I'm sure someone will invite you as their plus one.”

Eren rolls his eyes.

“Haha.”

“I'm kidding,” Jean laughs. “But with all this… what I mean to say is, when you know, you know.”

Eren thinks for a moment.

Has he ever known?

He certainly feels something — a very special way about you. There's not many experiences to compare it to but it certainly feels different somehow when he recalls his last and only girlfriend so far. His caring persona has always been present. The blushing cheeks, the shy confessions. But was instant nature enough to call your situation different? He's never been so eager, never felt so hurt at the thought of someone in pain, never felt so inclined to embrace someone with everything he has, never felt so fascinated by someone.

But that's normal in the honeymoon stage, is it not?

Jean slices through his thoughts.

“And you don't have to think so much about it because it really just hits you out of nowhere. One day you meet a girl and you just can't bring yourself to stop looking at her because she's the prettiest human you've ever seen. You'll come up with excuses to spend as much time as you can with her. You'll want to know everything about her, see every side to her there is — the good, the bad, the ugly… you won't want to miss a single thing. You'll feel yourself falling so deeply in love it drives you crazy. She'll be everything. Your world will start and end with her. It sounds insane but trust me, it's the best feeling ever.”

Eren peers at Jean's expression. He's got a ditzy air about him, a lazy smile stretched across his face. He meets his gaze, suddenly serious.

“I know Armin's your number one for everything but… if one day you decide this girl is the one… call me up first, for once.”

Eren's features soften.

“I'll fucking blow up a thousand balloons to celebrate.”

He laughs at the offer, recalling an image of himself rushing to blow up the balloon letters for the night Jean made things official with Mikasa.

“I will.”

An accomplice's smile is exchanged between them. Jean is the first to stand.

“Kay… well, I should really get back to work,” he says, fishing his phone out of his jacket to look at the time. “My boss is gonna kill me if I go over on my lunch— dammit!”

Eren watches amusedly as Jean rushes to the driver's seat and starts his car, throwing a hasty goodbye over his shoulder.

Before he can peel the car from its spot, Eren walks over and taps on the window, calling Jean's name.

“What?” Jean huffs, annoyed at the delay. But Eren only smiles.

“Just wanted to say thanks.”

Jean's features twitch in surprise, but he's quick to replace it with an amused eye roll.

“Anytime, Jaeger.”

Armin's back at your desk at the end of the day, hands in his jacket pockets and waiting in silence.

“Give me a minute,” you say, briefly glancing at him in between placing an order for office supplies before you leave.

He nods, wandering off to a cluster of cubicles and slumping into the chair of an empty desk, spinning around a few times while you finish up.

Several clicks later, you head to the building's lobby together. As the elevator goes down, Armin turns to you with concern.

“Hey, you want me to ride the bus with you?”

You tilt your head in confusion.

“Just to make sure you make it home safely,” he explains.

You wave your hands in front of you, dismissing the idea.

All day, the office has been rattled by the news of the Halloween party murder. It started with a simple ‘Did you see the news last night?’ and went on to become a trending topic amongst your coworkers.

It was a bit off-putting that everyone seemed so eager to talk about it, like they'd been waiting for someone to bring it up first so they could go through the details of the story over and over in one morbid loop, until they could feel themselves growing numb at the tragedy.

It's true you're still a bit rattled from last night's news, which is likely to be the same reason Armin's offering to do much more than walk with you to the bus stop, but you don't want to give him any trouble.

“I'm good,” you say. “Besides, by the time you get back it'll be dark out.”

Armin parts his lips to ask if you're sure, but his question is cut off by the sound of your phone buzzing in your pocket.

He catches a glimpse of Eren's name flashing on the screen.

“Hello?”

Armin watches you exchange a brief series of quiet words into the call. When you hang up and he asks you what happened, you seem mildly flustered.

“Eren's waiting for me in the parking lot,” you murmur.

The two of you make your way out the building, searching for Eren's navy blue sedan. It's a quick task, given that Eren's standing right in front of it, looking out for you as well. He waves you over once your eyes meet.

Armin and him share a brotherly handshake before he steps closer to you and murmurs a gentle hey.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, taken aback by his sudden appearance.

“I thought you could use a ride home,” he explains nonchalantly.

You hesitate, a hint of guilt gnawing at you from the inside. You're grateful for the offer, but it bears a weight on your shoulders that he went out of his way to pick you up. It's the same as if Armin had kept you company on the bus. He doesn't have to do that, it's out of his way and it would only get him back home later than he needs to be, while you're the only one who ends up benefitting.

Eren senses your hesitation and glances at Armin for clues.

He's quick to recall the conversation you had this morning, where you let it slip through the cracks that you don't want to be a burden to anybody.

“Come on,” Armin smiles at you. “He's dropping me off, too. Right, buddy?”

Eren's quick to follow his lead, nodding with vehemence.

“Yeah, of course.”

Your gaze flickers between both men, who just smile at you — one with concern, the other with encouragement.

Finally, you nod and slip into the copilot seat as Eren holds the door open for you.

The ride is quiet on your end, save for when Eren asks about your day and you briefly tell him it was fine and ordinary, leaving Armin to do most of the talking.

Armin's the first to be dropped off, as he lives a mere five blocks from the office. But the journey to your apartment building is much longer than a couple of minutes, and it's consumed by silence most of the way there.

Eren allows you to keep to yourself during the ride, though he can't ignore the concern that weighs his stomach down at the idea that showing up so suddenly might’ve caused you discomfort.

But if it means you'll for sure make it home in one piece while there's a criminal running wild on the streets attacking women of your likeness, he'll bear the uneasy consequences.

“Here,” he says, holding out a plastic bag for you to take once you're both at your apartment door.

“What's this?”

You peer into the bag, eyes widening slightly at the self defense weapons inside. When you look back up at him, he's got a stern air about him.

“It's dangerous right now. I want you to be safe.”

“You didn't have to spend your money on this,” you murmur, brows furrowed. “I'll pay you back for everything.”

Eren shakes his head, holding your wrist down to keep you from pulling out your phone.

“Just take it,” he sighs. “Please.”

Eren's pleading gaze scans your features, heart shrinking at the detection of a hint of discomfort on your behalf. You blink several times, a sign that you're nervous about something. But you murmur a strained thanks in the end as you hook the bag on your wrist.

He exhales a sigh of relief.

“I better get going,” he says, brushing a hand through his hair before leaning closer to kiss you goodbye, but you turn your face at the last second, letting his lips press into your cheek instead.

Eren steps back, embarrassed by the exchange but choosing not to say anything. Just worriedly searching your face, hoping you'll meet his gaze with the same tenderness you granted him just yesterday.

But you don't. You keep your gaze low, so he can't even try to get a read on you, and murmur a solemn goodbye before shutting the door behind you.

Eren's parked in front of your building when you walk out the main entrance the next morning.

He calls your name gently, careful not to startle you when you nearly miss his presence.

You slide into your designated seat without a hint of protest this time, but you keep to yourself, much like the night before.

Eren keeps glancing in your direction at every red light, racking his brain for a way to get you to talk to him. It's just the two of you in the car, after all.

His mouth opens a few times, only to be promptly shut when he fails to find any words.

Surprisingly, you're the first to speak.

“You really don't have to do this.”

Normally, when people make such a polite rejection it's because they secretly want the other person to stop — because their actions make them uncomfortable or because it's annoying — or simply to seem polite because, truth be told, they enjoy being tended to.

But you actually like that he wants to take care of you this way. You like it so much it scares you that you'll start relying on his kind nature too much. The guilt that stems from his willingness to do things for you is suffocating. No matter how pleasant it is for you, you're far more worried about robbing Eren of his time and energy. Even if it's his idea, you don't want him to think you're spoiled.

“I'm doing it because I want to,” he murmurs, stepping on the gas pedal as soon as the light turns green. “There's someone out there attacking women… You're safer this way. You don't have to take the bus anymore.” He smiles. “Think of it as one of the many perks you get out of dating Eren Jaeger.”

The reminder of a criminal freely roaming the streets you've walked on sends a shiver down your spine.

Eren spares quick glances at your troubled expression.

Why do you seem so conflicted over him trying to keep you safe?

“I'm allowed to worry about you, you know,” he gently expresses, his voice as warm and comforting as ever.

It only makes the knot in your stomach tighten.

“And I'm saying you don't have to.”

You didn't mean to sound harsh, but Eren's upturned eyebrows tell you otherwise.

“Why are you so upset over this?”

He doesn't mean to raise his voice the slightest bit out of frustration, but it makes you shrink in your seat anyway.

Eren's features shift from upset to defeat. Neither of you exchange a word until he pulls up in front of your office building.

“I'm doing this because I care,” he murmurs, voice falling back to the gentle tone he reserves for you.

“I can take care of myself.”

You intended to sound confident — defiant, even. Like some rebellious teenager who refuses to be taken as a child.

“I know,” he says. “But that doesn't mean I can't.”

Your bottom lip is caught between your teeth, which chew nervously on the skin while you find a way to retaliate.

“I don't want to burden you.”

Eren's heart sinks, gaze softening as he reaches over the center console to lift your chin between two fingers.

“You could never.”

You shake your head.

“Saying that doesn't mean anything to me.”

“I'll show you I mean it, then.”

There's so much warmth in his cool-toned gaze. He looks pained almost, silently pleading through his eyes to allow him to do something as simple as drive you to work. To him, it's far from a bother. In fact, it brings him peace. Not to mention he enjoys the extra minutes he gets to spend with you.

An annoyed honk from the car pulling up behind you startles you from Eren's warm stare, forcing you to pull away from his touch to gather your things.

Eren's hand latches onto your wrist before you can open the door to get out.

“Wait.”

You look back, ready to remind him someone is waiting behind you. But his upturned eyebrows and the concerned glassiness in his eyes stop you from uttering a word.

“Are we good?” he murmurs, voice laced with helplessness.

It's the look of a kicked puppy that has your stomach churning with guilt.

You nod, quickly leaning over to press a kiss onto his cheek, but without the bright expression that would calm his nerves.

“I'll be back at six,” he calls behind you before driving away, still confused and anxious.

The hours of your day go by slowly, consumed by the exchange in Eren's car.

All too overwhelmed by the idea of potentially becoming a nuisance to him, it never occurred to you that you could cause him equal distress by refusing any act of service he offers. Being good for him also means granting his wish to take care of you.

You're such a jerk, you think to yourself. What happened to craving his care?

There's a fine line between relatively good traits morphing into negative ones. Devotion can transform into obsession, loyalty can turn into blind foolishness, confidence can evolve into arrogance, and so on.

There also comes a point when one's insecurities evolve into genuine fatal flaws if you don't do anything to handle them with care. So much concern over being a liability might just end up costing you your relationship with Eren before it even reaches the good part. If you keep pushing him away and make him feel as though there's no room in your life for his kind-natured feelings, you may as well continue living in solitude.

The ride back to your apartment at the end of the day is as silent as the last time.

There's no flirty banter, no teasing, no laced hands as you find the way to your apartment, no shy smiles.

Eren waits for the lock on your door to click open, as per usual, before stepping back and forcing a smile.

He murmurs a goodbye and you helplessly stare at his back as he takes the first couple of steps down the hall.

But just as he's about to take a third, he turns on his heel and makes his way back to you.

“I know you're mad,” his voice is weak, and a nervous stutter slips through but there's a determination lacing every word. “I get that it might be weird for me to show up out of the blue at your job and insist on driving you wherever you need to go, but I already told you that you can't stop me from worrying about you, I want to make sure you're safe an–”

You desperately wish to hear everything he has to say, but the need to kiss the sadness from his face outweighs it.

Your lips slot carefully between his, your guilt relieved by his sudden call-out. You hate being scolded. It makes you feel small and worthless, drained of any confidence that would allow you to defend yourself. But he's done it so kindly and while wearing such a vulnerable expression, it makes your heart soften.

He melts into the kiss, his hands instantly finding a home around your waist, pulling you closer while he tries not to spill any tears that were already threatening to stream down his face while laying down his convictions.

His eyebrows furrow in concentration as you cradle his face in your hands, tenderly kissing him, absorbing his relieved sighs.

After two days of scarce physical contact, thinking you've been too upset to kiss him as you usually do, this is absolute heaven.

“I'm not mad,” you murmur, as you pull away, brow furrowed and eyes lined with tears.

“Well, I know that now,” he sniffles as he caresses your cheek. “Talk to me.”

You clear your throat, unsure if the middle of a hallway is an acceptable place to have a heart to heart conversation, but unwilling to put a stop to the feather-like strokes his thumb traces on the apple of your cheek as he waits for you to speak your mind.

“Everything between us is so new,” you begin. “You have to give me some time to get used to this.”

He blinks several times as he tries to understand what you just said.

“Dating?” he asks.

“Everything.”

You blink up at him, tear droplets clinging to your lashes.

“When I say you don't have to do certain things it's because I don't want to make your life harder. I don't want to be a nuisance.”

“You're not, baby, I swear.”

The affectionate term slips from Eren's tongue without premeditation.

“Not yet,” your voice cracks. “I don't want you to get sick of me, I already like you too much.”

The tears spill down your cheeks as suddenly as your trembling confession rolls off your tongue.

Your words form a lump in Eren's throat. Though your admission is sweet in nature, no force could keep his heart from crumbling at the sight of your weary eyes, glossy with tears that continuously stream down your cheeks. Nothing has ever hurt so much.

His strong arms envelop you in a warm embrace so tight you're positive he's trying to glue you back together by force. Your childlike sobs are muffled against his chest — hiccups, shuddered breaths, and all.

“I'm selfish and I like it too much when you take care of me but if I start relying too much on your kindness, I'll start burdening you and you'll leave,” you cry into his shirt. You're almost certain you've messed up his clothes with your tears and streaks of your makeup, but Eren couldn't care less.

“That's not going to happen, I'll make sure to prove it to you,” he vows while pressing velvet kisses onto your hair. “I'll be happy if I'm the first person you run to for anything you need.”

Loosening his hold on your frame, he leans back to look at your face. It's full of streaks of dried tears traced with makeup, your eyes puffy from your brief but intense crying, and a ghost of a pout on your lips.

A hushed chuckle bubbles up his throat. His eyes crinkle in further amusement when you accentuate your pout at him for laughing.

“You silly girl,” he murmurs, pressing you back into his chest. “Don't you realize how much I like you?”

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marzgurl · 9 months

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Hi there, @katkit-42 , just saw your tags and thought, actually, that's not a bad thing to elaborate upon.

This is another kinda long post, which I think most people should read, too, but I'll be kind and put the bulk of this behind a cut here. Please do take the time to open it up and read it, though.

The real answer is, this whole experience has been me balancing out being mortified by a lot of the things that have happened to me with the fact that everybody involved in the whole thing has also been a complete and utter moron. Any time I even slightly start to get scared, I have to remind myself (or even have my husband remind me) that these are the absolute stupidest people we're talking about, none of whom are wholly capable of completing something so horrific, no matter how serious about it they might be.

I hadn't said it in the previous longpost, but in 2019, it was very clear that Vic had intended to sue me along with Monica, Jamie, Ron, and Funimation (although that never happened). I had received an E-mail copy of a letter of preservation from Vic's very, very stupid lawyers. I'll go ahead and share that here.

It was moronic for a number of reasons. One, I was told it was sent to two different E-mail addresses I have, one of which never arrived. Two, it's written REALLY badly. Three, it supposedly was also delivered via certified mail. Here's the problem: they mailed it to an address in Inglewood, California.

I have never lived in Inglewood, California.

But I know why they THOUGHT I did. Because in 2018, while walking from where I was living to my car to go to work, I got mugged! I had just recently moved and had been filling out paperwork for new jobs and things, and the bag they took still had my social security card, ID, and even my passport in it, which somebody later used to steal my identity. I remember the cops calling me back in a week or two after my mugging asking me questions because they believed they'd found people associated with who mugged me, and they asked me if I'd ever lived at an Inglewood address, and I told them no, and they were like, "Okay, great, pretty sure we know exactly where they are, thanks." So, I hope the guys who mugged me enjoyed having my identity and receiving a letter in the mail saying they were possibly gonna get sued. Thanks for taking one for me, muggers.

I mention this to say Vic has had me in his sights for a LONG time. A good four and a half years now at this point. Although I'm not the one that had any stories of him assaulting me, I was the one who made sure that people could SEE the stories of other people telling THEIR stories, and he HATES that. Clearly, he hates that a LOT.

Vic has vaguely mentioned me NUMEROUS times on his livestreams, saying, "I'm not gonna name names," but clearly intending everybody to know it's me he's talking about. In 2022, he referenced how I have a donation button on my Twitch channel and in the past have occasionally had drives to help me make ends meet. This is despite the fact that my husband and I were both working full time, but life in Los Angeles is hard. Despite this, Vic has this to say:

"These are people who start crowdfunding campaigns to pay their bills. What does that tell you about them? These are losers, everybody. These are people that are for whatever reason so disgusted with their lives--so unhappy with their lives, and instead of, like, working or going out there and, you know--and building something or creating something, they want to sit at home on their computer and look for ways to trash me an other people they don't like. And then they ask you to give them money to pay their bills. Pathetic. Pathetic. *weird snarl* Anyway--"

I feel like a donation bar isn't a "crowdfunding campaign", but we don't have to nitpick here. Vic has also expressed though private E-mails with various individuals that he believes I used crowdfunding to pay for a "cat funeral", which he also found to be distasteful. So, this was clearly a jab at me, but he got the details of it wrong. In 2019, my 14-year-old cat Siren was very sick. I was trying to get her healthcare and wasn't sure how I was going to pay for it. My friend--NOT ME, SOMEONE ELSE ENTIRELY--asked me if it was okay if THEY set up a GoFundMe to help me find a way to save my cat. THEY created the GoFundMe, and some people donated, and we did all we could to save Siren before it was clear that she was too far gone, and we lost her. We did NOT raise funds to have a funeral for her. Not in the slightest. The fact that this is what Vic is telling people is disgusting, and cruel to the idea of somebody who has ever had to deal with the loss of a beloved family member. On top of this, if you have ever struggled to make ends meet, let's not mince words here--Vic thinks you are "pathetic". He thinks if you don't make money, you just aren't working hard enough (even if it turns out you and your family all work full-time and take side gigs just to cover everything). Of course, he also seemed to believe that I didn't have a job at all (a long-running conspiracy theory among his fans, just because they couldn't figure out who my employer was), when I was providing hard evidence of being actively credited for my work as a subtitle and closed caption editor in the anime industry (the very same anime industry Vic was kicked out of).

But it's weird that he thinks you're a loser if you crowdfund to pay your bills! Is that not precisely how you managed to sue the very women you assaulted, Vic? To this day, the "Vic Kicks Back" GoFundMe is still open, and has raised nearly $300,000 dollars--a significantly higher amount than anything I've ever earned via Twitch donations.

In May of this year (which is exactly when Farah was ramping up her online harassment campaign against me), Vic once again vaguely talked about me, but got all the details wrong yet again. Since I can only embed one video, I'll link to this second clip here, which someone else has uploaded to Twitter.

Everybody knows Vic means me when he says that prior to 2019 I only had about 800 followers and now have more like 18,000, all because I was talking about him. Which he's very much over-inflating. I'd already had several years of a career of being an online content creator. By 2019 I had 16,000 followers. I've had my account for something like 14 years. I'm now over 19,000, pushing 20,000. That growth from 2019 to 2023 seems relatively normal to me. It was a very gradual growth that honestly doesn't look all that much different from the growth I'd had since 2009. Even one glance at Social Blade will confirm this is true.

He also keeps saying we've never met (such as in the video clip linked above). But we have! We very much have! I have video of myself--video from EIGHTEEN YEARS AGO--walking up to Vic with a camcorder and him talking directly to me. Feel free to go and watch it for yourself. You can hear my voice and everything!

AND SO! I say all this to say that I have long been aware of how much Vic Mignogna hates me. Vic Mignogna HATES ME SO. SO. SO. FUCKING. MUCH. He has done everything in his power to belittle and discredit me as somebody so much smaller and weaker and completely different from who I actually am, deliberately lying about facts of my life that I can actively prove false at any given moment with a plethora of receipts.

But you wanna hear the real eye-opening thing? In April of this year, just before Farah started going on the attack, Vic was on his livestream yet again making a very ominous statement. Once again, I link directly to it here since I can't embed it for you.

"I'm already in the middle of looking into some very aggressive retaliation and resources to deal with that."

Now, at the time, we all just thought he meant he was FINALLY gonna pursue a lawsuit against me, which, let's go bro, I'm fuckin' ready to go any time, man. But as it turns out, this sure does line up a whole lot more with the timing of Vic's Red Lobster dinner conversation with Farah about starting a cyber warfare campaign against me, on top of maybe possibly probably murder!?!?!? We know that Farah started her cyber warfare just later that very same month, so that sure sounds like convenient timing to me!

My husband and I had joked for a long, long time, like, "You know, he hates me SO damn much. You think he wants me dead?" And it was always kind of a, "Haha, yeah, we're joking, but what if for real?" And then when Farah started E-mailing me and telling me it was probably very real, I mean... yeah, katkit, that did shake me for a bit. I got the E-mail from Farah while my husband was at work, and it stopped my productivity for the day dead in its tracks. Even though it was clear that they had seriously overlooked really obvious facts (like the fact that I was literally not even going to be in the same state as Anime Expo, the event where Vic wanted me hurt), the fact that he wanted me hurt at all was concerning. Also, it was concerning to me that, if Vic at all stopped being a complete and utter fucking moron and realized I'd VERY PUBLICLY already been announced as a guest at a convention in Texas that very same weekend, it might actually be EASIER for him to have someone come to that event and hurt me, because Vic also still lives in Texas. He himself used to live in Houston, where the event was taking place, and likely still had connections there. Delta H Con is really little, without a lot of security. There was only one possible hotel for me to stay in. I was scheduled for panels and to be at my table all day, every day. Where I was going to be at all times was easily tracked for the entire weekend. To that extent, yes, I was very scared.

In fact, over that first weekend of July, I was very prepared to die.

I started trying to spend more time with my husband, trying to be more conscious of how I spoke or reacted to little things, just in general trying to be nicer and more loving. I started spending more time loving on my two cats who I love very dearly, wondering if I only had a limited time left with them. I started preparing folders of information I wanted to make sure my husband had if for some reason I didn't come back from Houston alive.

In the end, obviously, none of that was necessary. Though I guess I can't say that it was in any way a bad thing to spend more time focusing on and loving my family.

Ultimately, I guess I was saved by the stranger who sent me all those screenshots from Farah's Discord server. Surely, they have no idea what they did. To that person, I thank them. I had no idea it was going to save me, either. Had I not had those screenshots to post online and knock Farah loose from her war path, she might have continued to pursue me until she had something she really could have done to harm me for real.

Now, that's just disrupted that specific plan. Whether Vic will continue to want to pursue my death in some other way, I have no idea. I guess I am a little bit more on guard now than I was before. But also, I know there's only so much I can do. All I can do is just keep going and pretending there isn't this weird dude with a life that he could totally control all on his own and live in peace but instead wants his ability to prey on young women so badly that he would literally kill a woman to be able to continue to get away with doing it.

For right now, though, I'm mostly okay. I'm continuing to do my work, I'm going to see a movie tonight that I had a hand in localizing, and I'm feeling grateful for that success. Thank you for checking in on me. It's very kind of you. I hope you're doing well out there for yourself, too.

#anime #vic mignogna #assault #cheating #cw #death threats #harassment #voice actor #youtube #murder plot #update #updates

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beelmons · 1 year

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Escapade 1

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!reader Rating: NSFW, readers under 18 are not advised to read this story. Tags: smut, best friends to lovers, possible angst at some point, porn with plot, mentions of weapons, minor OC appeareances for plot purposes, mentions of death for plot purposes, unprotected sex Summary: The stress of the job can take a toll on one’s mind and body, and as your friend Spencer and you come to realize: there’re many fun ways to cope up with it. Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 / 3: Bonus | 4 | 5 | 6 A/N: This was supposed to be a one shot but people on AO3 asked for continuance and now I have made a very interesting mess. The format used dashes instead of quotations for dialogue since it's more AO3 friendly. Responting so it can appear on spencer tags. Enjoy and let me know what you think.

The most interesting part of working in the BAU was definitely the bouquet of personalities that the team had to offer. Not one of them was similar to the other, not in how they talked, nor thought or behaved; granted, that happened to be the biggest asset of the unit and what got them through most of the cases they had had so far.

Dynamics were always different, from one member to another, and certainly everybody seemed to fit the best with someone else. Prentiss and JJ, Garcia and Morgan, Rossi and Hotch, everyone but Spencer Reid. Or so he felt, until he met you. Being closer to his age than any other agent around him, he felt a slight relief knowing that you would join as the expert negotiator, finally someone that could relate to the struggles of what youth and inexperience could bring into this high-stress job.

Since social interactions were not really his forte, getting to know him was a bit of a challenge. And yet, it was the easiest part. A man who overshared and couldn’t hide his excitement about certain topics, smart like no other, and easily shaken by the vile nature of many of the subjects he got to study, you could read him like he was a children’s book since the moment you were introduced by Hotchner. Shortly after, and thanks to Morgan’s efforts to nudge the two of you into talking more, you became friends. You enjoyed his nerdy presence around you so much, he was fun in his own way and never ran out of topics of conversation, for obvious reasons. Spencer Reid was your FBI partner and friend, and as hard as it was to admit, you would even consider him your best friend.

Aware of said fact, you couldn’t stop asking yourself why, then, were you in this utility closet, standing with your chest against the wall, barely able to see your partner as he pounded inside you from behind, the waistband of your pants down to the mid of your thighs and feeling the way the fabric of his own brushed against your ass. Spencer leaned back trying to get a better view of his work, even when the darkness of the suffocating room would not allow much vision, his moans reduced to quiet but quick breaths. You missed the heat of his body once he pulled away, having been flush against you seconds before, and you let him know with a whimper. He was quick to emit a “shh” from his lips, knowing that if you got caught it would mean the end of your careers. Feeling him slide in and out of you was blissful, and the thrill of being found out was just adding to the knot forming in your stomach. He felt the twitching of your walls and quickly bent forward again, his clothed chest rubbing against your blouse as he whispered into your ear.

— Hold on — he let out — I’m almost there, too.

The restraint in his voice sent chills down your spine. He was trying his best to keep himself quiet, even when his hips wouldn’t give you a second of rest, you clung to the pores of the wall trying to hold back your climax as you felt his tip hit to the very end of your insides, he kept your lower body still with his fingers, his palms tightly gripping onto your clothes to avoid changing the angle he knew was driving you crazy. It took only a couple more deep thrusts to send you over the edge, you couldn’t help a moan at the feeling of your orgasm, and he was quick to cover your mouth with his hand as soon as he heard your voice start to come out, his free arm wrapped around your waist, pushing your ass further against him as he kept still to release inside you, burying his face into your neck with a low and quiet groan.

Your bodies pulled apart and you gave him a second to dispose of the condom he had previously put on, in the meantime you fixed your clothes and inspected the blazer you had removed and hung from a shelf before the act just to make sure it was not messed up from any cleaning materials. Spencer mimicked your actions and tidied himself up before you finally turned around to check on him and grinned for a bit once you locked eyes.

— You okay? — he inquired.

— Yes, Don Juan — you chuckled at his concern — It was nice. So much for “it was a one-time thing,” huh? — He responded to your question with an awkward, almost uncomfortable, laugh. This was not the first time you had done something like this with Reid and it most likely wouldn’t be the last one. — Okay, doctor, do me. — you said as you stood straight after sliding on your blazer.

— I… — Spencer furrowed his brows in slight confusion — I… think I just did?

— Not that, smart-ass — you snarked back playfully — the profile. Look at my outfit, my expression, my hair, everything that could not match the story that we came up with. Listen, we work with some of the brightest, most observant minds of the FBI, if we don’t cover our backs, they will find out pretty soon about it, so to keep this quiet we need to outsmart them.

— Right, right — he reminded himself of the pact you had made a couple of weeks before. With a prolonged glance he started to examine your body, head, chest, bottom, legs, anything that could give away the fact that he had just had you up against the wall doing your best to not scream his name outright. — Your shirt looks too tidy, if we were out buying coffee, it would have slipped out of the pants a little bit from the walking. It rained yesterday, but the mud of your shoes has already dried up from being inside, so you should probably damp it up in the bathroom, you usually don’t button up your blazer after midday so it would be odd if you just came back with it buttoned up — he made a quick motion with his finger to have you turn around, to which you happily obliged — your hair is slightly messy from the back… hold on. — you thought he was going to fix it himself, but instead you heard him type something into his phone — It’s windy today, so it’s okay that it remains like that.

He grabbed you by the shoulders to gently spin you once again, and his hands ruffled the top of your hair slightly. He retracted his arms once he was satisfied with his work and tensed up for you to examine him next. He looked oddly nervous and avoided eye contact, guess he wasn’t used to being an anatomy skeleton for students to observe. You observed his shoes, pants, shirt, everything on him intently, and you didn’t like to admit you spent a couple milliseconds more on his face than needed. Once you had gotten your verdict you began to talk.

— Even if it rained yesterday, the sun is out, so it’s a little bit hot today, it’s better that you remove your sweater vest, you rarely wear it outside because the heat makes you grumpy, so it wouldn’t make sense to put it on outside.

— I thought about that too but… — he said as he pointed at his shirt — this is way too wrinkled, and I ironed this morning before I came to work, Morgan or Prentiss surely noticed.

— That’ fine. — you said as you continued to observe him — We will drop a bit of coffee on your shirt, which will give you a perfect excuse to not remove the vest. Make sure to drop some on your shoes too and a bit on your pants. Also, your zipper, it’s too far up to the top, once you start walking it slides a little bit because the safety grip gives in slightly. Your hair also… — you reached to ruffle it roughly, to which he responded with an “ouch!” — Sorry, your hair is just always getting too messy with the wind, so we must keep that in character. Also, roll your sleeves up, you do that when you carry coffee trays.

— Wow. — he exclaimed as you helped him roll the shirt as you mentioned — I mean, I knew we observed everyone in the team a lot, but this was pretty impressive.

— Yeah. — you said absentmindedly — Hurry. We’ve been out here for eight minutes, the coffee shop is a four-minute walk, and the delivery boy is already outside the building.

— Right, right.

You stood behind the door as you often did. That was the modus operandi, he would go out to grab the coffee and let you know if the hall was clear, which it almost always was since it was a service hall, and you would go out after his text, often grabbing a cloth that you would claim having gone get it if any of the janitors happened to see you go out. You had everything planned, brilliant minds coming up with brilliant plans to get away with what they needed to do, or rather wanted to do. After sneaking out of the closet you headed to the bathroom. Shirt, shoes, blazer, hair, everything was fixed to the way Spencer had told you.

You met him halfway back to the office and he handed you one of the coffee trays. Morgan’s, Prentiss’s, Rossi’s, none for Hotch, JJ’s with cream, and Garcia’s caramel macchiato, you looked over the orders once again, everything seemed in place, nothing they could read on you that would be out of the ordinary. Steady pace, not too fast not too slow, just two partners walking back into the office.

— Glad you two are back. — Hotch said as soon as you entered the BAU floor — We’re adjusting schedules for the upcoming guest lectures we are meant to give during law enforcement week in DC, they are meant to be given to a group of selected universities.

— Why are you wearing you vest? — Morgan interrupted all of a sudden as he scanned Reid up and down. — It’s like a million degrees outside.

You froze in your place and did your best to not show the panic in your eyes, hoping all the attention would be on him instead of the muscles that had tensed up involuntarily. You looked at Spencer as well, trying to join the questioning look of everyone else. You had told him about the vest, why did he decide to ignore you? You were beginning to spiral into the scenario where Morgan found out and you were kicked to the curb and eventually ended up homeless before a motion from Reid pulled you out. He pulled on the neckline of the vest to awkwardly reveal a huge coffee stain on his right pec. Everyone seemed to either laugh or at least smile at the way he ashamedly pursed his lips. You joined in the teasing as to not arise suspicion, since in any other situation you would do exactly that.

— Don’t worry, Reid, the day will come when you win your endless battle against slippery sidewalks.

— Something fun always happens in your coffee escapades — Emily mentioned.

— Actually, — Reid began to ramble — “escapades” comes from the Spanish “Escapar” which means “to escape from a place or a situation”, and in English it can be translated as “to part into adventure” which implies that the objective of the travel is unknown, “Crusade” is a mission to retrieve something, more specifically the holy grail, that could compare to coffee-

— Reid. — Hotch said firmly when he noticed the rest of the members confusedly staring at the blond doctor.

— Sorry. — he said as he cut himself short, pursing his lips embarrassedly as he used to.

— As I was saying, the lectures that the BAU will be imparting in different universities have to cater to the needs of each student bodies, since we’re looking to recruit future members with them. Look over the files on your desks and propose topics to lecture on before the end of the day so we can start working on the actual content. We will meet later to discuss how we will split to do the tour without spreading our workforce too thin. Get to work.

With a single hand movement, Hotch finished the briefing of the uninteresting task and grabbed the cup that was meant for Rossi, likely to take it to his office since he had shut himself in there working on something unknown. Morgan and Prentiss grabbed theirs too, and JJ mentioned something about bringing Garcia’s to her. Before heading back to your place, and making sure no one else was looking, you leaned back onto Reid’s desk with him resting comfortably against his seat. You looked at each other with a slightly smug smile. It was the first time you had gotten away with it at work, and it had been nothing short to exciting.

— An escapade. Doesn’t sound too shabby. — you said, your lips still curled up. — New code word?

— I do think that “escapade” is a way better code word than “let’s do the thing". It’s not very FBI-y if you ask me. Although, I still have to argue that an escapade has no apparent purpose and it’s just for the thrill of the adventure, as for what we’re doing we clearly have an objective in mind.

— Sure, that’s a good point of view, but also, you never know what’s going to happen in this adventure, and of course won’t be the same every time.

— Well, yeah, but the goal of the adventure doesn’t really change, it’s still to achieve the holy… — he stopped himself, threading carefully over his words, trying not to sound too tacky — the holy grail?

— Well, it certainly felt holy. — you took a sip of your coffee as you spurted those words.

— Hey! — he darted out loudly before lowering his voice. — Someone could hear us.

He stopped you mostly to avoid getting any redder on the face. He would so confidently take you in a utility closet, but being praised for his performance was making him shy? God, you found this man so amusing.

— Whatever, I’m not discussing the etymology of our code word with you. Let’s get to work if we don’t want to end up with boring lectures.

You pushed yourself away from his desk and walked back to yours, just a couple meters from his, to obey the orders you had given yourself. You buried your nose into the files that the boss had left for you, so much that you didn’t notice the way he kept slightly grinning in your direction. He knew he needed to wipe it out soon, or all the planning, sneaking, and stealth would go down the drain. Whatever it happened at work from now on, there was something for certain, you could always look forward to the next escapade.

#escapade #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid/you #spencer reid/reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reidxreader #fic: mine #fic: spencer #fic: criminal minds

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alannybunnue · 1 year

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Ok, Imagine: The Targaryens as yanderes Part 2

You guys asked for this, which scared me to think that so many people enjoyed my before coffee thoughts on yanderes (O-O). Not gonna lie that i loved the attention that the first part got.

T.W: The Targaryens(yes, they still have the trigger warning right), depression, child death, lots of grief in this, and death by birth.

Again, thank @missglaskin for this random thoughts at 10AM this time

Tags: @rosaryos (😎💖)

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Jaehaerys!Reader:

Rhaena swore to your mother to protect you in case anything happened to her. So it was no suprise that as soon as she heard of your mother's passing and that her younger brother Jaehaerys was claiming his right as heir to the Iron Throne, she took you, Aerea, and even stole the Blackfyre from Maegor and ran away on her Dragon.

She raised you as her own, knowing that you had no one. Your father was a monster and your poor mother paid the price for that, thankfully, you inherited many features from her, except for your eyes. The violet valyrian eyes were the only connection between you and Maegor, but it's a classic Targaryen feature, so it didn't mattered much.

The rest of the family didn't have hate in their hearts when they heard of your mother's death, they put the blame on Maegor and welcomed you with open arms.

However, the first 6 years of your life were pretty eventful with Rhaena and her court. From the moment that she married Androw Farman, until after they moved to DragonStone.

Rhaena also kept the tradition of the dragon egg, and once it hatched, your Dragon "Starfyre" was born (That's it everybody, we have a dragon)

You were too young to remember Elissa. Androw and Aerea, even Alyssa. You only remembered somethings about each of them, like the moments when you visited Alyssa when Rhaena couldn't watch over you for a while, the few times were Elissa or Androw would hold you, Elissa had more right for it than her brother, since Rhaena never trusted him with you, the times when Aerea would play with you as a pastime. Even the times were your "mother" would lock herself in her room and the day when Aerea begged Alyssane to take you two away, and Rhaena refused to let you two go.

By the time that Aerea left on Balerion, you barely saw Rhaena, you were frightened and alone. So as soon as they discovered this, Jaehaerys and Alyssane brought you to King's Landing to life with their family. You only got to see Rhaena two years later, after receiving the news of Aerea's death.

Your life became more peaceful, but filled with grief. You became an older sister Jaehaerys' children, which made the deaths of some of them more painful to you. It also made you more close to those who remained alive: Aemon, Baelon, Alyssa, Daella and Saera, especially.

You never agreed to Saera's rebellious personality, but you also never made her feel bad for it. Unlike her father, you always tried to confort her and try to guide her into behaving like a proper princess without pressure, however, it was all in vain, as Saera was sended by Jaehaerys to Old Town to become a silent sister. However, she did sended you letter a while after, informing that she escaped and is now living far away not planning to come back. At least she was still alive.

You saw the marriages and the birth of Jaehaerys grandchildren: Rhaenys, Viserys, Aemma and Daemon. Being close to each one of them, even if you had a soft spot for Rhaenys and Viserys. You tried not to play favourites, especially since Daemon was pretty clingy with you, earning for your affection, while his brother enjoyed simply spending time with you, especially when you read stories for him.

You spended most of the time with Baelon and Alyssa throughout their marriage life, and even more when Alyssa died, to confort both the boys and Baelon. Which made you spend less time with Aemon/Rhaenys and Aemma.

As for your own marriage life, Jaehaerys did not think of it until Alyssane brought up the idea of you marrying Boremund Baratheon, their half brother. Jaehaerys wasn't too keen on the idea, since it meant that you would have to live in Storm's End (And your cousin can't have you away from him, what if something happens to you?) But Alyssane hitted some sense onto his head, saying that it would be better than nothing.

Boremund was more than pleased to marry you, you grow up together and he always was affectionate with you, so he was pretty excited to be your husband. And you weren't against it either, promising Jaehaerys to visit most of the time, since you could come on dragon back, so everything was great.

You gave birth to a son not long after, named Boros (Ah yes, he is gonna be a fckin disappointment by the way). But he inherited all the Baratheon features, which suprised you a little.

Life was pretty good...until Aemon died.

Alyssane sended you message asking you to convince Jaehaerys to make Aemon's daughter, Rhaenys, heir to the Iron Throne. And you can't say you didn't tried, but Jaehaerys simply sat you down and warned you of a immense conflict that this could cause. But him denying Rhaenys made his and Alyssane's marriage fall apart, so you decided to stay with Alyssane for a while.

Baelon was made heir, and you couldn't help but be happy for him, but you were sad for Rhaenys, since it was her right taken from her because of her gender.

And then Baelon died.

You again begged Jaehaerys to accept Rhaenys as heir, but he shut you down carefully (he doesn't want to make you more upset) reminding you that no woman has ever sat on the Iron Throne, and this could cause a major conflict in the realm.

Jaehaerys, then, called the Great Council to decide over the succession, over all the 14 sucession claims, only 2 were considered, Rhaenys and Viserys. But you knew the truth, no lord would choose Rhaenys, even your husband.

The Council chose Viserys to be the heir, and even if you should be happy for him, you weren't. You still believed in Rhaenys' claim and you know that Viserys never wanted to be King, he couldn't handle the stress of political duties. You only prayed for the best.

You remained by Jaehaerys and Alyssane's side on their last years of life. You couldn't help but feel stress over all the recent events, but knowing on how your cousins' health deteriorated, you felt indebted to remain with them.

After Jaehaerys' death, you turn your attention to Viserys one more time, in order to support him. But a suprise came after you returned from Storm's End to visit your family...You were pregnant?! (WHAT IN THE MOTHER'S NAME?!)

No one could believe that you were pregnant, considering your age, it was nearly impossible. The Maesters even suggested The Moon Tea to evict a risky pregnancy, but you refused, deep down, you knew that you had to do this.

The pregnancy was, as expected, difficult, many try to convince you to end it in the beginning, but you couldn't. However, you did made your family swear that in case you didn't survive the birth, they would still love and care for this child.

And as the day came, your life went. You gave birth to a baby girl but didn't survive afterwards.

Boremund didn't have the courage to look at his daughter, nor care for her, breaking his promise to you. Instead, he asked Viserys to raise her, knowing of his adoration for his aunt.

Viserys, as much as he grieved for your death, he also swore to care for your daughter, and after seeing her in person, he felt a deep platonic connection with her. So he agreed to take her as his own.

Also, it didn't help that she also had the iconic violet eyes.

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Viserys!Reader:

You grew in the care of the King and the Queen of Westeros

You knew that they were just your cousins, but they were more of your parents than your own father, who you barely saw in person.

Aemma, exclusively, took you in to suppress the deaths of her own children, and you kept conforting her on the matter throughout the years.

Viserys was the funny dad, even as the King, he made sure to spend enough time with you before going back to work. You also were a good distraction from all the political stress + the death of his children.

Like your mother, you had most of her features in appearance, but your personality was different. Reminding more of your 'sister': Rhaenyra.

Now Rhaenyra, always wanting a sister, was always around you from the beginning. She even tried to name you 'Visenya', but Viserys was against it due to respect your late mother's choice for your name.

Still, even with a few years of difference, you two grew close together. Which in consequence, made you meet Alicent, and consequently, since he is the hand of the King, you meet Otto.

Both have deep care for you as well, Otto becoming a second paternal figure(without being too obvious in front of Viserys, y'know, don't wanna make the King mad) and Alicent took a sisterly role in life, not gonna lie, that made Rhaenyra a bit jealous

Corlys and Rhaenys are also parental figures in your life, having you visit them in Driftmark or them spending time with you in King's Landing, and you also met Laenor and Laena, who view you as their little sister.

Daemon is still that uncle that gets on everyone's nerves except for you and Rhaenyra. You grew close to him, too much for your parents liking (One of the reasons why Otto convinces Viserys to send Daemon away most of the time).

You also loved to fly on dragon back, you did inherited Starfyre from your mother, but you were too little to fly on her yet. Instead, you would fly with the Adults, especially Rhaenys when she would take you to Driftmark, or Daemon just to kidnap fly around with you.

Now your father has announced a tournament in honor of the heir to the throne...that wasn't born yet. Which stressed Aemma even more.

This pregnancy was miserable, and you knew that, as you tried to remain at your mother's side and take care of her. And as much as she appreciated it, Aemma still reminded you that she doesn't need mothering, and even called Rhaenyra to distract you away.

Once the tournament began, you weren't too keen on staying, you enjoy it sometimes, but the unnecessary violence and blood always made you uneasy. But still, you stayed for your father and sister's sake, also for your uncle. Sitting in between Alicent and Rhaenyra, you felt both of them trying to confort you throught the event, but that wasn't the only thing bothering you, something was wrong.

Then it was announced, Aemma passed away due to the complications of the birth and the baby didn't survive. Viserys and Rhaenyra look for your comfort, as you do with them. Everyone else was there for you, except for Daemon. Since you refused to see him after he toasted Baelon as 'the heir for a day'. Daemon understood, but that didn't stop him from being mad, after all, he was also exiled.

Then Rhaenyra became heir, you couldn't help but to feel fear, even at a young age, you already heard on how Rhaenys was denied as heir due to the man of the realm never accepting a woman to sit in the Iron Throne.

So, like your biological mother supported Rhaenys' claim, you would support Rhaenyra's.

The next 6 months were of you and Rhaenyra trying to overcome the grief of Aemma's death, and dealing with the fact that Rhaenyra could lose her claim, if your father got married again and had a son(Something that Rhaenys made sure to remind you of).

And then, Viserys announces his marriage to Alicent, you couldn't help but feel betrayed too, for she would be the reason why your sister could lose the position she was in.

Also, Corlys had to leave, since Viserys confirmed that he would be no help with the Triarchy and would not marry his daughter Laena. But he did promise you that you would still see him and his family independent of that.

You were young, but you weren't stupid. And the price of that was knowing the many possibilities of what could happen thanks to the recent events. You only could pray for your family and hope for the best.

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A/N: Ok, i will stop here, don't worry, we will continue seeing the reader's participation on the dance of the dragons. But for now, i need to rest my head and focus on other things, i am not abandoning this any time soon.

#fireandblood #the targaryens #house of the dragon #hotd yandere #jaehaerys targaryen #Viserys Targaryen #Rhaenyra Targaryen #Daemon Targaryen #x reader #yandere imagine

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oskea93 · 3 months

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Keep it to Yourself (1)

✶ Douglas Booth!Nikki Sixx x OC ✶

Warning: This story will contain scenes of drug/alcohol use, sexual content, mentions of death, overdose, physical and emotional abuse. Please read at your own risk. I do not own rights to Motley Crue or any other famous person mentioned. Portions of this story will be pulled from Motley's book and film The Dirt as well as The Heroin Diaries. There will be parts that are complete fiction as well.

Taglist: @fancywasmyname1, @kaitieskidmore1, @xxisxxisxxis, @sparxx27, @cruecifymesixx, @tempt-ress, @a-sia-san, @x-xinenas, @casualcomputerarbiter-blog, @makaelahdelvalle

Author's note: Hello everybody! It's been a while since I thought about this story but now I want to bring it back to life. I think I rewatched The Dirt about 20 times in the past couple of days (Thanks snowstorm!) and i've been thinking about this story and all the other amazing Crue stories that are on Tumblr. So, with that being said - I have decided to rewrite Keep it to Yourself. I went back and read the original version and I want to revamp it in a way. I've changed a couple things and I hope to make it better than before. If you were tagged in the original version, I went ahead and just tagged you for this new update. If you would like to be removed, just let me know and I will take you off. If you aren't a part of the taglist and would like to be, just let me know and I will get you added. I hope you enjoy the new and improved Keep it to Yourself!

“Bryant –“ He paused. “I know I’m probably the last voice you wanna hear on your answering machine, but I desperately need your help right now.” A breathy sigh blew through the speaker. “I’m at my wits end and I have no idea what to do with him.”

I stared at the device – my hand curled against my mouth as his words flowed through my living room. “The drugs are constant – he’s high 24/7 – Half the time I don’t even know if he’s alive or dead when I get into his room. It’s not just him – they’re all fucked – but he’s the only one with one foot in the casket.”

How he got my number remained a mystery. They made him millions of dollars – more money than the man could even count – yet he was calling me about his issue. From the beginning, I told him that it would only get worse. The guy had issues way before he formed Motley – way before the money and fame came into the picture. Sure - he dabbled in drugs before hitting peak stardom, but the money was there, and he was a kid in a candy store.

“I know the two of you ended on such a sour note, but I feel like you’re the only one that can truly help him get out of this fucking mess. He needs you – I – we all need you, Bryant.” He went on to leave the number to the hotel they were staying at for the night. Begging one last time for my help. I must’ve played the damn message 10 times – each time making my anger rise. Doc was the one who let it get to this point – he fueled the fire when it should’ve been sprayed out years ago. He pushed the drugs in their direction – Nikki was always a step ahead though. He attracted the slime that had the harder, faster drugs. The drugs that would make him feel nothing when in reality his whole fucking world was crumbling down…

I continued to move the spoon around the cup, the sugar long dissolved by now. I was so lost in my own thought – Doc’s words swirling around in my brain.

“You’re thinking about going, aren’t you?” The brunette in front of me asked. “I know that look and that look tells me that you’re giving in.”

Hannah Hastings was the first person I met when I moved to South Carolina. She was an event planner – a free spirit in a Dynasty like world. She would spend hours on my couch, a bottle of wine being shared, as I spilled my entire life story into her lap. She knew all about my history with Nikki – how we met – our marriage – and the demise of our relationship.

I let out a sigh, “I don’t wanna go but something’s telling me that if I don’t –“ I paused. “If I don’t go, he’s gonna end up dead and then I’ll be blaming myself. At least if I go and say I tried and I don’t succeed, I won’t beat myself up if something does happen to him. Like – It’s not even a matter of if – it’s a matter of when.”

“He was such an asshole though, Bryant. The man was toxic to you-“She reached across the table taking my hand in hers. “I don’t want to see you get hurt or worse. You know how drug addicts are – he could get violent and not even realize it until it’s too late.”

During the three years we were together, he never laid a hand on me. I was the one who had the heavy touch. Sure, we had awful arguments that pushed me to the point of slapping and pushing him away, but he always stormed off before touching me. The drugs at the time weren’t as hardcore as they are now though. I could walk in his house and come back out with a bullet hole this time. Hannah was right – drugs fucked with people’s brain – I’m sure Nikki was already there.

“Are you gonna tell Wyatt?”

I slumped back in my seat at the thought of telling my Uncle Wyatt. To say he hated Nikki would be an understatement. He warned me from the beginning that Nikki Sixx would be nothing but trouble, but I didn’t listen. He was used to guys like Nikki – being a kid from the wrong side of the tracks himself. He made a promise that he would do everything he could to protect me from men like Nikki. We only had each other and when Nikki came into the picture, the worst type of thoughts ran through his head. He knew what guys like Nikki did to girls like me – innocent until proven insane. It happened to my mother – her infatuation sending her straight to the grave.

“I figured I would just call him when I got to California-“Her eyes growing large. “You know so he can’t talk me out of it or worse come and get me.”

She shook her head in disbelief, “You know I love you and I’ll support you in any way –“I felt a “but” coming along. “But –“She smiled. “This is one decision I’m very wary about, Bryant.”

I felt the same way. I had multiple scenarios playing like film reels over and over in my head. Some pretty good while others resembled horror movies. Even I knew that Nikki’s reaction to seeing me would not be a good one. He broke my heart, and I broke his even worse. Besides the band, I was his only true constant. He barely had any family – his grandparents living states away – not even aware of their grandson’s antics. Sure, the art of touring and going to different states brought about groupies and so-called friends but he didn’t have anyone to call or return home to. I was that person for him.

“You and me both, sister…”

I waited for the line to connect – the operator being nice enough to connect me straight to his room. Doc and I didn’t really have a relationship. He was Motley’s manager and at the time I was just a wife. I was glad the guys had him at first – their success was growing like a wildfire but that was because of their drive for stardom – Doc was just there lending a helping hand. He was extremely pissed when I ended things with Nikki. His own mouth spewing curse words my way once Nikki was served with divorce papers.

It makes the band look bad when a member gets divorced.

Nikki refuses to get out of bed and it’s all your fucking fault.

Girls all over the world would stay with Nikki no matter what – cheating, drugs – Learn to turn a blind eye.

“Hello?” I sat straighter as Doc’s voice sounded – my thoughts suddenly escaping me. “Hello?”

“It’s me.” My voice cracking. “I – uh – I got your message.”

“Oh, thank God, Bryant.” He sounded relieved. “I was worried that I would miss your call –“He paused. “Or if you would even call at all.”

I stayed silent – not really up for conversation.

“Listen, I know this is a bit of a tall ask, but I really do need your help. Nikki – hell all the guys for that matter – are ticking fucking time bombs. Nikki’s clock is etching closer to midnight ever second the fucker breaths – and I pray every night that he’s still doing so. He’s high ever second of every day. He shoots up when he wakes and right before he passes out for the night. I have no idea what he’s even taking anymore. Shooting up, snorting, smoking – he’s the walking picture of Nancy Reagan’s campaign.”

My grip on the phone tightened as he spoke – realizing that he was more far gone than thought.

“I need you to come out here and help us deal with him. I think Doug and Fred can deal with the other three, but we can’t get through to Nikki. Fuck, it’s not even Nikki anymore that we’re dealing with. He’s so mean and terrible to be around. His moods go from zero to sixty – it’s even worse when he’s coming down. Poor Tommy’s getting married, and I can’t even imagine Nikki standing up there with him when he’s high off his ass. You’re the only one that I think can get through to him – he still loves you, Bryant.”

He still loves you, Bryant.

Maybe the old version of Nikki was still in love, but I can assure you the drugged-up version was only in love with his high. That was Doc’s way of trying to lure me in – telling me that Nikki still loved and cared about me. I still loved and cared for the guy too – the Nikki I met at a 7-Eleven almost 6 years ago. Pre-Motley Crue – before the fame, drugs, egos, and women.

“I’ll pay for your ticket out here and everything if you agree, Bryant.” He stressed. “I’m desperate – he’s gonna die if we don’t do something.”

I let out a sigh, closing my eyes, asking myself if I really wanted to do this. It was a constant battle with my head and my heart. My brain was yelling at me to tell Doc to fuck off, but my heart couldn’t deal with the thought of Nikki no longer being here. “You think seeing me will snap him out of this spiral?”

“I think seeing you will probably piss him off more but at least I know you’ll be there and have the chance to stop him.”

My brows furrowed at his comment, “You’re making it sound like I’m gonna be with him at all times?”

His silence confirming my question. “You can’t expect me to stay in the same house, hotel room, or wherever with Nikki –“

“That’s exactly what you’re going to do, Bryant.” He cut me off. “I need that man to have constant surveillance – can’t put a bodyguard in there with him. He needs to have someone that he’s familiar with – someone that’s gonna remain sober and not give into his advances.”

“Then why don’t you stay with him then?” My attitude starting to come out.

“I’d end up killing him and then all of this would be for nothing.”

I shook my head as I pulled the phone away from my ear. I could hear Doc’s voice as he continued to talk. “Listen-“ I spoke up, cutting his sentence off. “I will come out there but I’m only there for a week. Once that week is up, whether he’s getting help or not, I’m going back home.”

“That’s not gonna work, Bryant.” He huffed. “He gets more fucked up when he’s out on the road than he does at home. These fuckers waiting in back alleys and backstage – knowing that he’s looking to score – that’s where I need you the most.

I’d been on tour with Motley when they were first getting their feet wet. I watched as they performed their first gig at the Starwood and then when they were opening for bigger acts like Ozzy. Going on tour with four men – the four Motley men was not for the faint of heart. I saw more body parts than I cared to see. Drugs, alcohol, and women were being pushed in their direction – more so as their popularity grew than before. Nikki and I shared a bunk and even that got old after a while. Living with four men for months on end would cause any woman to eventually lose it. Nikki and I were constantly fighting. Hell, I was fighting with everyone, even Mick at times. This was their dream, and it was my absolute living hell.

“I don’t th-“

“What do I need to do so you will say yes? Walk on water – swallow arsenic? Please, Bryant. I have never been so desperate in all of my life.” His voice wavering. “You were in love with this man at one point – I believe you may still love him. Just remember the reason why you fell in love with Nikki and do it for that reason."

#nikki sixx fanfiction #nikki sixx x oc #fanfiction #motley crue fanfic #nikki sixx imagine #mick mars #vince neil #douglasbooth!nikkisixx #douglas booth fanfiction #douglas booth #colson baker #iwan rheon #the dirt #the dirt movie #tommy lee #douglas booth imagine

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