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sttoru · 9 months

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𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔.

⟣ sypnosis. you had been in your first ever relationship with suguru for a couple months now. neither of you have taken your relationship to the next level; suguru was extremely patient and never brought the topic of sex up until you one day decide you were ready.

⟣ note. first fic for my event :3 i spent way too much time on this fic so it turned out very detailed, long, romantic and fluffy. i hope you all enjoy and appreciate it teehee. this post contains smut, proceed at own risk ! wc: around 6.1k

⟣ tags. soft dom!geto suguru x virgin!female reader. fluff + smut. slow burn. age gap (reader 20-ish, suguru around 29/30), little talks about insecurity, loss of virginity, breast play, edging, teasing, fingering, lots of praise, dirty talk, size difference!, p in v — unprotected (dont b like reader and use protection please), creampie, aftercare, suguru’s really romantic and just a softie for u, suguru being a good ‘dad’ to mimiko and nanako and teeny tiny bits of him secretly being a pervert.

never in a million years had suguru expected his girlfriend to be so upfront about such a big, personal decision. the thought of having you say those words had never crossed his mind.

“can you repeat that for me, sweetheart?”

could you blame him for asking you to clarify the words you’ve uttered? that man has seen you as an oblivious and innocent woman ever since the start of your relationship. of course, unbeknownst to him, your thoughts were anything but that.

you may be a virgin, but your mind was a place for the most lewd and nasty thoughts. it’s just that you’ve been scared of being intimate with a man—it’s frightening, especially when having heard the many online stories about how badly it could hurt. some say that such descriptions were over exaggerating, however your inexperience still lead you to believe everything you’ve read about the topic.

and then you started dating an older man named suguru. you’ve met him by chance at a mall in kyoto and he was the first one who approached the other. you remember how suguru politely asked you for some advice regarding what type of presents he should get for ‘two teenage girls’. of course, you agreed to helping him out and that’s how you two eventually ended up brainstorming about possible ideas in a cozy café.

once seated, chosen drinks in both your hands, you asked the man whether the gifts were meant for his daughters. somehow, that’s the first connection the neurones in your brain had made once suguru told you about the two teenagers he was picking out presents for.

you remember it vividly; the sweet, gentle sound of the laughter that accounted as your answer, the eyes of the then stranger looking rather nostalgic as they stared into the liquid in his cup. suguru responded vaguely; “i guess you could say that, yes.”

that little ‘date’—if you could call it that—ended on a wholesome note. suguru thanked you for your time and made sure that you safely got into the train you needed to take home. he did want to offer you a car ride, however he kept that question to himself since he knew that no woman would voluntarily agree to be taken home by a stranger. even if suguru had the purest of intentions.

there were a couple more dates that followed after that one; all where you both gradually got to know each other better. you’ve found out so much about suguru—the details about his own life being both fascinating and sad at the same time. likewise, suguru had also learned much about you. he always shows great interest in what you tell him, even if it’s a minuscule detail. he remembers it all as well—a feature which caused you to feel funny things in your stomach.

you realised you were catching feelings for that mysterious yet sweet and loving man; it was inevitable. the way he makes you giggle, his respectful and easygoing manner of speaking, the slight touches you two shared on accident.. all of it added to your little crush.

however, you didn’t actually think suguru was falling for you too. you only met up for a few times, plus, you seem out of his league—both due to your age gap and difference in the things you’re pursuing at the time. you were in college, trying to get your degree whilst he already had a job as a powerful leader of an organisation and was trying to achieve one of many goals with them.

there’s not a chance he’d like you, right?

wrong. you were confessed to a couple weeks after your first meeting and have been in a relationship for over 4 months now. it still felt like a dream; having your first boyfriend be such a gentleman. it truly felt like you already met the love of your life whenever he was near.

suguru’s been nothing but sweet and caring to you, has never asked you to engage in any sexual activities nor even ever dared to touch you in places you haven’t consented to. the furthest you’ve gone in terms of intimacy in those four months, were make-out sessions. just some tongue action here and there—adding sprinkles of neck kisses and hickeys.

there were times where you wanted to let things escalate, however you couldn’t bring it upon yourself to ask your lover. suguru wasn’t the person to decide your feelings for you either—if there was no verbal consent coming from your lips, he’s not going any further. even if he wanted to as well.

you were grateful that suguru was that willing to wait for you, no matter how long it might take. not only were you anxious of the possible pain the sex would bring, but it was partially due to the fact that your lover was much more experienced in that field.

what if you were lacking? what if it wasn’t satisfactory enough for him and he’d eventually leave you for it? it’s obvious that suguru wasn’t the type of man to actually do that, however you couldn’t stop the many possibilities from running free in your brain.

your change of mind was rather spontaneous; it was today when you suddenly came up with your final decision. you were staying over at suguru’s, the sun was out and he was sitting on his balcony, reading a book whilst sipping on his coffee. what caught your eye was his bare back and the muscles which were on display to you.

suguru was shirtless and the seams of light were making his skin glisten—the view making your own body hot and bothered. you bit your lip and approached your boyfriend from behind, wrapping your arms around his shoulders before kissing his neck. that skin-to-skin contact made you sure of your decision; you needed him. in more ways than one.

that’s how you ended up saying what you said. the statement left suguru baffled since you uttered it in his ear out of the blue. he couldn’t deny one thing however; the idea certainly did send a shiver of excitement down his spine.

“i said,” you repeat with a little mischievous grin, leaning in closer to your lover once he turned around to face you properly—as if searching for any hints that your words were indeed not his imagination, “i wanna lose my virginity to you.”

it wasn’t. you actually said it—the words that would take your relationship a step further. although, suguru couldn’t help but wonder where your sudden decision came from. his hands found their way to yours and he held onto them like they were two delicate flowers.

“i’m happy to hear that, though i’m curious,” your lover starts off carefully as he places chaste yet soft kisses on your palms, “why so sudden?”

you shrug nonchalantly like you didn’t feel that twinge of nervousness in the back of your mind as you felt suguru’s lips on your skin. ‘it really was happening now, was it?’—that kind of feeling was the cause of your subtle anxiousness.

“well, ehh— you just looked good.. sitting there.. i guess.” you mumble, voice trailing off in embarrassment whilst your eyes darted around the balcony in attempt to avoid suguru’s gaze. your flustered expression and adorable confession makes him laugh gently. it was not a mocking laugh at all—more of an amused one;

“just when i thought you couldn’t get any cuter..” the long-haired man muses, the locks of his bangs grazing ever so slightly against your hands as he keeps holding them, “you never fail to surprise me, do you know that?”

suguru had a way with words that made you weak in the knees. or maybe it’s simply because he’s shirtless and kissing your palms so romantically. you don’t know which one it was.

“but, love,” suguru continues carefully as he stands up, your eyes following his as he towers over you, “are you a hundred percent sure? i don’t want to do anything you aren’t comf—“

“yes.” your answer cut your boyfriend off and he’s left in shock once more. your eyes were filled with determination, yet the faint glint of nervousness in them didn’t escape suguru’s sight. you’ve given your verbal consent and are even the first one to suggest the idea— what more could he ask of you?

there hung a silence between you two, the breeze blowing through suguru’s dark locks making him look even more majestic than he already was. you had no doubt about it; today was going to be the day. it had to be.

“then, if you’d let me have this,” his low voice sounded more sensual than it had ever been as his hand found its place on your cheek, fingertips rubbing against your ear, thumb softly pressing onto your skin—

a slow and romantic kiss followed straight afterwards. it had caught you slightly off guard, even when knowing fully well that this was what you were longing for.

his lips moved in tandem against yours, the soft touch making you feel certain emotions that you hadn’t even thought existed. this man whom you called your lover had never been unable to expose you to new sensations. and soon, he’ll grant you another one. a much pleasurable one.

one arm circled your waist, the other held up, hand on the back of your head to deepen the passion-filled kiss you shared. his lips parted your lightly trembling ones, the tips of your tongues attentively rubbing against one another as if to test the waters; was it fine to go further? are we actually doing this?

you were. it was set in stone as your throat formed soft noises of satisfaction, shaky breaths being exchanged by the two lovers on the balcony—not one of you realising that the weather was changing in the background. the sun was setting, creating the perfect mood for the situation as you were still engrossed by each other’s moves and touches.

it was only for the sake of catching your breath that you had pulled away. your cheeks felt hot, as did your entire body which was still pressed against suguru’s—chest to chest. the proximity was one you both had enjoyed many moments before, however this instant was unlike any other. you both knew as you stared at each other in silence, your quick breaths doing the talking instead.

“will you let me..” the voice of which you have grown to adore spoke to you, the owner grasping your attention once more by holding onto your hand. suguru’s fingers smoothly slid across your skin until they found the puzzle they were meant to complete—that being the gaps between your own fingers. once your hands were tightly intertwined, the man finishes his sentence;

“will you let me love you?”

his face was still close to yours as he uttered those beautiful words to you, warm breath lightly fanning the thin strands of hair on your cheeks to the side, lips subconsciously trying to brush against yours once more. but, they could wait. they could wait until the agreement leaves your mouth.

“of course.” the answer escapes before you could even register it properly. this makes suguru smile against your lips as he captured them in another sweet kiss. he muttered a small ‘thank you’ and then swept your legs off the floor—strong arms placed under your thighs to hold you up against his body whilst the hungry kisses continue.

suguru doesn’t know how he got there; carrying you over to his bed, settling you down onto the soft mattress, his body caging yours underneath him, eyes fluttering over every detail of your exposed skin. he hadn’t had you like this ever before; he hadn’t had you in his bed for a reason as sinful as this, only ever for cuddles or sleep.

“you’re beautiful.” the dark-haired man whispers as he carefully takes off the clothing covering your figure—the gorgeous skin his hands still have yet to explore. suguru can’t remember the last time he has treated anyone like this; like a treasure he’s had the honour to find and keep to himself. there hasn’t been a single woman in his life that he’s cared for this much—you’re the only one capable of mellowing him and his heart.

“stunning,” another compliment; another breath spent to praise you. your lover’s fingers teased the edges of your bra, lips kissing down your collarbone and towards the centre of your chest—each touch being done with precision. your bra became undone a second later and you let the straps fall of your arms, all the way until your breasts were fully revealed.

suguru’s breath hitches, mouth forming more saliva than in any previous instants, the liquid being pushed down his throat with a gulp. you didn’t have the chance to feel conscious of yourself in a moment like this; the dim light of the bedside lamp shone on suguru’s face, his lips glistening with a mixture of your saliva whilst his gaze was lingering on the new sight in front of him—he was utterly obsessed.

“may i?” his hands were already reaching out for the plump flesh and they came in touch once you nodded shyly. his palms were warm as they kneaded your breasts and his fingers brushed against your nipples, which made you whimper from how sensitive they were now that someone else has finally touched them.

suguru took notice of your reaction and put pressure on both small buds once again, thumbs rubbing your areolas in circular motions, “that good, princess?”

“mhmm— y-yes,” you mutter through a moan. your body was pushed further onto the mattress as your lover put more of his weight on you, your entire chest area getting covered by licks and kisses, slow and deliberate ones that left you yearning for more. suguru’s eyes gazed up at yours for consent once his parted lips hovered just above your sensitive nipples, his breath on them alone making you squirm already.

with another nod, suguru wasted no time taking one nipple into his warm mouth—wetting it with his saliva as his tongue slid around the area. his long fingers squeezed, twisted and pulled on your other nipple to give you both stimulations at once.

“mm, so good.” his muffled voice caused goosebumps to appear on your skin. suguru slowly lets his lips travel across your tits, sucking on them, even kissing down the curves until he reaches your torso. he gives that area the same amount of love and attention whilst your fingers were tangled around his smooth, long hair. suguru clearly seemed to enjoy the sensations; he let out small moans and hums against your bare skin to indicate that you should continue playing and tugging at his locks.

his tongue abruptly came to a stop right above the waistline of your panties—the barrier he was about to reach past for the first time. the hesitation was visible in his body language, however his fingers eventually tugged at the fabric, preparing to take it off.

your heart was beating out of your chest as you watched suguru slowly pull the last piece of cloth away. your thighs pressed together on instinct, stopping your panties from exposing your bare cunt.

“should i stop?” suguru asks with a raised eyebrow, fingers pulling away from your underwear now that he’s seen you close your legs. you didn’t want him to stop—it’s just the nerves that made your body move on its own command;

“please— no,” you shake your head, biting your lip as you swallowed your own saliva out of pure desire. you craved him now that it’s come this far, “need you. need you so bad, suguru.”

those words caused suguru’s brain to shut down. any irrelevant thoughts were thrown out of the window; the only thing his mind was telling him to do, was to take care of your needs. your body was laid out on his bed—trusting eyes looking up at his in anticipation, pretty hands grasping onto his sheets like it’d calm you down.

“i’m all yours, sweetheart.” suguru sighs, fingertips slightly shaking as he pulls your panties down to your ankles, eyes pausing on the revelation. to say that suguru was simply rendered speechless, was an understatement. that man was on the verge of letting loose of any self-control and just dive his face right between your thighs, eating you out like he’s fantasised of doing for a while now.

“fuck.” your boyfriend closed his eyes for a moment to collect himself before opening them to smile down at you—the handsome smile that was one of the many reasons you fell in love with him, “i’ll be careful. i promise.”

naturally, you nodded along. you’ve built up enough trust between one another during the past few months to let yourself be vulnerable in front of him. the palm of his hands patted your thighs slightly before spreading them apart, once again showing your glistening folds, a slight wetness to them from your own arousal.

suguru couldn’t help but lick his lips at the sight. he’d already have devoured your dripping cunt if it wasn’t for his self-control. but, it was your first time. he couldn’t rush into things just yet.

“thank you, baby.” the dark-haired man whispered under his breath. he was showing his gratitude for the sight you allowed him to see—a sight only he had ever seen before. the only man to be able to witness the beauty before him. that fact alone made his eyes darken in lust ever so slightly.

his fingers carefully slid across your vulva, your bodily fluid coating the skin which makes him shiver and his fingers get bolder. the cute sounds that filled his ears were only making this even better for him.

the way your hips bucked up slightly into his touch—just asking for suguru to take you right then and there—was driving him insane. every vein in his body felt like it could pop with how much he was restraining his own self from acting out of line. his finger easily slid into the little hole and suguru almost couldn’t believe it; your pussy was clamping down on his finger, your insides tightly wrapped around him to the point that even he wouldn’t know if his dick would fit in.

“hnnngh, suguru, please— wan’ your cock already,” that dirty sounding sentence was one he didn’t expect to hear from a virgin. it made him shake his head with a small, delighted chuckle; you really never failed to surprise him.

“i know you do,” suguru purrs, pressing kisses against the curves of your tits whilst another finger of his joined to stretch your pussy out properly, “but i need to prep you enough if you wanna take my cock. can you be patient for me, sweetheart?”

“m’kay. gonna try..” his fingers pumped in and out of you, the feeling of them curling up deep inside you made your walls squeeze against them. you’ve played with yourself before, of course, however it was then that you discovered that nothing could ever compare to the real thing: suguru’s long and slightly girthy fingers.

just when you thought that it couldn’t get any better, you felt a third finger—not inside you--but on your clit, rubbing the small bundle of nerves like you could’ve never done to yourself. suguru was so precise and exact with his actions which showed his experience. that’s another reason of why you’ve put all your trust in him. getting your virginity taken by a sweet, older and experienced man was probably ten times better than losing it to any guy your age, who were probably only out for sex.

suguru was there to make love to you.

your back arched once you felt suguru’s fingers increase their pace, the wet and squelchy sounds echoing through the room as they got louder the more your pussy got played with, his thumb almost overstimulating your clit to the point of release already—that’s how superb your lover’s hand movements were.

“no, no. can’t have you cum on my fingers like that.” you whine once you felt suguru take his fingers back the same moment you were about to reach your first orgasm by someone else’s hands. the older man smirks at this and kisses you on the lips, pulling away slowly with your bottom lip between his teeth, letting it lightly flop back into place as he lets go; “i wanna have you cum together with me, okay?”

you couldn’t refuse such a romantic request, thus you nod. suguru smiles back at you once more before his hands move to take off his sweatpants, tossing the piece of clothing to the side. your eyes widened as you were propped on your elbows, gaze lingering on the massive bulge formed at the crotch area, his boxers not hiding much of the shape.

once the underwear was off as well—that’s when you realised that your underlying anxiousness was not for nothing. suguru’s cock sprung free, it was slightly curved near his pink tip, drops of pre-cum flowing down the length. you haven’t ever seen a dick in real life, only ever on the internet, so this had left you stunned. you didn’t know what the average size was for a man, but there’s one thing you knew for sure: suguru was definitely way above the average size.

“cat got your tongue, princess?” he teased, his hand absentmindedly pumping his cock to the sight of your naked body underneath him. suguru didn’t even know that he started doing that in front of you; it was out of pure instinct. he couldn’t hide the excitement in his body, his shaft twitching in his hand as if it desperately wanted to feel your tight cunt around it.

“uhm, s-suguru..” you stammer a bit, biting your lip as your eyes followed his hand motions which got faster once your sweet voice called out to him. something about you looking a tad bit intimidated by his size made him want to destroy your insides to mush—have you beg him to fuck you as he bullies his whole length into your poor, small cunt.

“i know, i know..” suguru reassures you, free hand giving you a few consoling head pats, “i’ll try to make it as less painful as possible, okay?”

you hum and watch how your lover settles between your legs, spreading them enough to kneel before you, upper body bending forward to place soft pecks on your forehead; he was encouraging and preparing you more in his own way.

your arms instantly wrapped around his back, sweaty palms set underneath his shoulder blades—you took a deep breath and closed your eyes, just waiting on that moment. that feeling you’ve been craving, yet also have been avoiding.

you waited for a bit, however the only sounds heard and sensations felt were the slight dent in the mattress near one side of your body, the bed creaking faintly. suguru was leaning on side of his body, one arm stretched out to open a drawer, apparently searching for a condom.

once you realised what he was doing, you shook your head and tapped his back twice to regain suguru’s attention. his gaze immediately flickered over to yours and his head tilted to the side in curiosity; “i want the full experience—no condom, please.”

his eyes widened at the request. you seemed to be dead serious, eyes glinting determinedly, lips forming a little pout— it was impossible to refuse you, although suguru knew that he had to play the role of the older, more wise and experienced lover in the back of his mind.

he parted his lips to list off the reasons why you should let him use a condom, yet the words died on his tongue. you were impossible to say ‘no’ to. not when you’re looking up at him with those pretty eyes.

“whatever princess wants, princess gets.”

suguru prodded your entrance with the fat head of his cock, circling the hole and wetting it more by using a mixture of his pre-cum and your own arousal. you took another deep breath and tried your best to hold tightly onto your boyfriend, arms wrapped tightly around his back with your face nuzzled in the crook of his neck—bracing for impact.

“tell me if it hurts too much,” suguru whispers in your ear, leaving one last kiss on your temples before pushing his hips forward, folds stretching out and apart to allow his cock through and into your pussy.

did it hurt like you expected? yes. it most certainly did. maybe even worse than you were prepared for.

“fuck— nhhh, fuckfuckfuck!” you hiss whilst your nails dig into the skin of suguru’s back, probably leaving red marks because of how much you’re clinging onto him—like your life depened on it. that’s quite literally what it felt like to you; body being forced to part and make way for suguru inside you, pussy feeling like it was burning by how big of a stretch it was to fit him in—if he actually would be able to push all of his inches into your tight hole.

“sshh, shh, it’s okay, try to relax for me, yeah?” your lover comforts you the best he could, stilling his movements for a couple seconds before gently slipping his cock further into you. it pained him to see the discomfort written over your face, however you hadn’t made any clear signs of wanting this to come to a halt. in fact, you were encouraging him to continue whenever he stopped at any indication of hurt.

“i can take it.. p-promise,” you manage to moan out. suguru breathed in deeply at your words and nodded, kissing your lips in hopes to distract you from any pain you’re feeling, “you’re too good to me, sweetheart. really.”

both of you exhaled deeply as suguru finally bottomed out, a long minute of reassurance and pushing now behind your back. your eyes had watered up a little, chest heaving as you tried to accommodate to the new feeling inside of you.

“take your time.” suguru utters gently, voice sultry and sweet whenever its directed at you. his lips graze against your cheeks, smothering the area with pecks to take your mind off anything else. the locks of black hair tickle your chin and nose, the hairtie that usually kept a good chunk of his hair in a bun now out of sight.

suguru hadn’t taken anyone’s virginity before and that’s what also made this opportunity special to him. he didn’t know how to thank you with words, so he showed his gratitude throughout his actions; lips kissing your shiny tears away, moving across your face to your forehead and eventually to your own round lips which had formed a cute pout.

you could feel suguru smile against your mouth, his tongue gently tracing the outline of your lips whilst mumbling words of affection and praise; “you’re taking it so well, baby. such a good girl for me— love you so much.”

you giggled lightly at your lover’s appreciative remarks, focusing on returning the kiss instead of the tingling feeling in your lower body. you pulled away after a bit and looked up at him with nothing but pure adoration; “i love you too, suguru.”

if suguru had the ability to freeze time, he’d want to do it during this moment, just to relive this bit over and over. he’s sure that this exact instant will be engraved into his memory for the many years to come.

and once you’ve given him the green light to move, he did it with caution, slowly but surely. his hips moved back and then forwards, girthy cock dragging along your walls at a leisurely pace, but just enough to make your pain transform into pleasure.

suguru’s big hands were placed on your hips, sometimes they’d leave their position to cup your chin and make you face him. he doesn’t want you to look away from his eyes; he’ll think you don’t like this if you do. besides, the thing he loves most about being in the missionary position, is that he’s able to hear how good he’s making you feel whilst looking into your eyes to see your face scrunch up in satisfaction. it’s so romantic and perfect. just like you.

“my little princess is so pretty.” suguru sighs in content and kisses your tears away, thrusting into your tight cunt in a comfortable pace—not too fast but not too slow, “the way you take my cock and still manage to look beautiful while doing it— you’re incredible.”

if the physical pleasure wasn’t enough, his added commentary would certainly be. you moan and whimper phrases that sound like his name over and over again; you didn’t know what else to say as your mind was foggy with the amazing sensations your body was experiencing for the first time. that was fine with suguru since all he wants was to see you enjoy yourself—this moment was for you. everything he did was for you—every thrust, every kiss, every touch.

“nhhg, too good, so good!” you mewl and leave more scratch marks across suguru’s back, ones which he didn’t mind at all. it only served as further proof of this special moment. the tip of his cock kissed the deepest parts of your insides, puffy folds parted widely to make room for more of his length until it felt like he actually was balls deep.

“mhm—you’re, haah, tight..” the once calm and collected man seemed to let loose of himself the more he felt your cunt swallow him all the way, gripping onto his dick as if you didn’t want to ever let go. suguru grunts and moves down to leave a couple hickeys across your neck, hips non-stop pushing against yours, “don’t think i can last long—fuck, yeah—you feel amazing, baby.”

your eyes roll back as the pleasure seems to build up in your stomach as well. it felt like a coil that threatened to snap at any moment and it’d release another immense wave of pleasure upon breaking. your body was on fire, sweaty and hot, just like suguru’s.

“can you cum with me, princess? can you wait and hold on for me?” he asks, and the questions sound impossible, however you could at least try your best to fulfil his desires. you’d also want nothing more than to reach your peak together with the man you loved.

“okay—mmhh—together.” you nod and your body tenses up, legs subconsciously moving to wrap around suguru’s waist, heels of your feet simultaneously tapping against his lower back along with his hip movements. you didn’t know how much longer you could hold out for as your breathing patterns changes, whiney gasps and choked up moans escaping the back of your throat as your clit bumps against his pelvis over and over.

“almost, almost—“ suguru curses through gritted teeth, his jaw clenching while yours did the opposite. your body rocked back and forth and the bed felt like it was shaking along as well. you could tell by the way suguru’s hips rolled against yours that he was close—his eyebrows were furrowed, eyes half-lidded but not closed to still hold contact with yours and his hands clutched onto your waist. all indications of his nearing climax.

“mnph, gonna cum— shit, shit, shit, i’m gonna cum—“ suguru swears under his breath a couple times more before snapping back into reality at the last few seconds. he realised once again that he didn’t have a condom on, so his first rational thought was to pull out and finish himself outside of your body.

you were also nearing your own orgasm, not thinking rationally due to the intensity of the moment, any other thoughts except for the man on top of you were thrown out of the window. you felt suguru try to pull his twitching and throbbing cock out before it could spurt its cum inside of your dripping cunt.

you whined and shook your head, pulling suguru in for a deep kiss while tightening the grasp your legs had around his hips; “w-want to feel you cum in me— want you to fill me up while i finish too.”

suguru’s breath caught in his throat, almost choking on his own saliva from your bold requests. his only rational thought instantly vanished from his mind, now all that’s left was pure love, pleasure and desire. the mental image of his cum spilling and filling your pussy to the brim drove him to the edge.

“all yours, i’m going to give it all to you, princess, yeah? fuck !” both of you relinquished in the feeling of bliss, the warmth and build up reaching its designated ending— the expected waves of pleasure washing over you both. series of soft moans, whimpers and groans filled the room as your pussy was flooded with lots of hot cum.

it was like suguru hadn’t came in years—that’s how incredible that orgasm was experienced by the dark-haired male. the same thing goes for you; your legs were shaking, hips squirming up in aftershocks as you squeezed down on suguru’s cock, quite literally milking him dry of every drop.

“nhh, haah— suguru, love,” your tired and powerless whispers caught his attention immediately. your trembling hand held onto his cheek in attempt to make him look at you. suguru’s fingers curled around your wrist, turning your hand away from his face and to the side so he’ll have access to your palm. his lips left a ticklish trail of pecks on them until his mouth found its home: your lips.

the two of you exchanged deep, exhausted breaths, your boyfriend eventually pulling out and rolling onto his side to cradle you into his arms—hand placed on the back of your head to rest your body against his chest. the following seconds were spent cuddling as you tried to regain composure.

“you were amazing.” suguru sighs, chin resting on top of your head whilst his hand rubbed your bare back in comfort, “are you okay, sweetheart? nothing feeling off or anything of that sorts?”

you shake your head and snuggle up against your lover, content with how things are right now. the afterglow of your little session—of your first time, made you happier than ever. you couldn’t believe it’d feel this good. maybe it’s due to the one you’ve lost your virginity to.

“i’m okay.” you mumble and lift your head up to look suguru in the eyes, faces only inches away from each other. there were no words in the dictionary that could describe how you two felt. the closest word to explain it would be flawless.

“i’m glad, baby. thank you for trusting me.” suguru flashes you a small smile and strokes your head. you stay like that, bodies intertwined in a deep and comfortable hug, whispers of sweet nothings filling your ears and subtle gestures of love making you feel secure.

a couple minutes later and suguru noticed how you started to doze off. he chuckled to himself before pulling away from your hug and standing up, only to have you pout and complain about the loss of warmth.

“i’m just going to clean you up, love.” the soft-spoken man utters to you, laughing quietly at the adorable state you were in at the moment. you were so dependent on him.

“should i prepare us a warm, relaxing bubble bath as well?” he asks, squatting down near the edge of his bed and taking your hands in his, maintaining eye contact as per usual.

“that’d be nice.” you nod and feel your eyelids close slowly, “can’t promise i won’t fall asleep, though.”

suguru lets out a soft exhale through his nose, corner of his lips curling upwards at your little comment. he couldn’t believe he ended up dating such an unbelievably wonderful girl. it’s a blessing in his life of curses.

“i’ll make sure to at least clean you up if you do fall asleep, don’t worry. you’re safe with me.”

you were sure he was an angel sent down from heaven. it was more than clear to you—even if it may not be to many others out there.

“thank you, suguru.” you murmur as your body relaxes into the soft mattress, “i love you.”

“i love you too. more than you could imagine.”

#ෆ : choose your fate.#jjk smut #jjk x reader #geto smut #geto x reader #jjk x you #geto x you #getou suguru x reader #jjk fic

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arlertwhore · 17 days

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need more paige fics on here it’s criminal atp 💔🥲

pairing: paige bueckers x fem! reader

synopsis: paige invites her sneaky link to a team dinner, but she has an appetite for you.

warning(s): smut, dom paige, sub reader, more power play, pussy eating (p a munch), fingering, spit kink, mommy kink, nastiest public sex ever.

word count: 3.9k, if i read the estimate right.

author note: unedited - based off a request. ty sm for the love on my first post, it made me feel like writing this 🤍 I check every noti and read every comment!! enjoy, inbox open, yk yk. MINORS DNI

Paige wouldn't confess to it openly, but she knew her feelings for you had underwent a significant adjustment following your whole jersey stunt. She — nicknamed Paige Da Pimp by her teammates for her playboy attitude, was not the type to get smitten for girls, and especially not the ones she had just been hooking up with in a casual sense, but after photographing a memento of you in the jersey post-fuck to keep her sustained for her busy week away of back-to-back games, practices, training... etc, all that athlete jazz, she had come to the agonizing realization that it was the biggest mistake she had ever made. And if there was one thing to note about Paige, she HATED mistakes.

Although she hadn't seen it that way at the time, which was totally understandable since it was just a sexy photo, Paige knew she was acting brainless for what she did. You were cute, fucked well, really turned her on, and she liked you as a hook-up, but she knew better than to genuinely like people, girls, in a serious sense while committed to her career. It'd never work out, and it was something she was very forward about the first time you hooked up. Paige had taught you her many rules, making it clear that she was the one in control due to her media appearance. She expected the feelings aspect to be the other way around but had soon found herself blushing as her team teased her about you relentlessly for being her lock-screen and gawking at a TikTok of you, sharing your daily routine. Sure, Paige knew the lockscreen aspect might've been pushing it, perhaps another misstep, but it was faceless due to her penchant for privacy in your affair, and she used it motivationally for her jampacked week, not as a new means to stay fixated over you.

To the tall blonde, that pictured depicted the prettiest girl in the world wearing her jersey, a visual testament to the hard work and perseverance that had brought Paige to where she was.

So, the photo served as a reminder to keep pushing forward despite how difficult it got. Though Paige surely did like you, she was also very cognitively astute, and knew that whatever feelings she had unfortunately accumulated for you would automatically dismantle due to the demands and stress of her career. She might have panicked over her feelings if you guys had an upcoming visit, but since both of your schedules were full, it became a wait-it-out game where you had both been thinking of each other as you tended to your daily lives. Before her Tuesday game, Paige examined her lockscreen before tossing her phone and running onto court, kissing upwards of the arena, plausibly sending the kiss off into the sky, presuming it would fall wherever you were. The net had tried to decipher the action to no avail. You

were at work and witnessed the moment when it had occurred, so the kiss had been retrospectively received. The cycle repeated each day: you worked, studied on breaks, went to the gym late, then came home, and studied again. The sole reason you were able to remember Paige outside of all else was because you waitressed and they played her games on TV occasionally. It was cruel to think you had some good sex just a few days ago before being forced back to your life. Paige was your only escape and you both didn't have any time in the world to see each other. You couldn't shake the thoughts that with each missed day to spend, because you guys were casual, you were running out of time. Like she was going to leave and find somebody better and more convenient. It was mundane to say the least, but that all changed on Friday night. By the end of the week, Paige soon realized there'd been no point in hiding you from her team. Her fans, the media especially, sure, but you two weren't a secret amongst the knowledge of the team.

Some of them: KK, Azzi, Aubrey, and Ice had even spoken to you and met you three months back at the party, where you first met Paige. You were hammered out of your mind and ranted to them about how much you wanted Paige. They had all discussed how hilarious you were here-and-there after Paige gave you a chance. Paige herself had missed you greatly, so she figured it didn't matter if she invited you to a team dinner.

Her friends were inviting their friends too, and it wouldn't have looked weird if fans or the media noticed. So that's how you found yourself scrambling through your closet at 8 PM, clothes strewn around the room as you searched for your black dress, which was Paige's favorite color on you. You had hurried through your assignments on break at work and left early just to make it there, hating that Paige had sprung this on you randomly.

This is something one would need aforemention for; you had to be more perfect than usual. Hair, makeup, nails, dress, behavior—for crying out loud, you were representing Paige freakin' Bueckers, and that meant you couldn't be tardy or shabby in any aspect. You simply had to be PERFECT. You didn't wanna get replaced by someone more convenient for her, and you knew she had only made this gesture because she missed you: typical Paige wouldn't even consider bringing you to a team dinner, so you thought she was crazy for even offering, knowing this opportunity might not arise again if you didn't show tonight.

As you arrived, you could see the team and some other faces present at the grand table. Thankfully, you did look better than the guests, and even though you were aware, you were still incredibly nervous. Seeing Paige's face, giggling with a teammate sat across from her, was the only thing that kept your high-heeled cladden feet advancing, heart pounding senselessly in your chest. The fullness in the restaurant didn't make you feel better, and with all eyes on you, you felt they knew your secret. You were right: most of them did, and as you reached the grand table, the entire team glanced at you knowingly. The last time you saw them all was at the New Year's party three months ago, before the fact you acted on behalf of Paige. It was majorly awkward now, seeing them sober, knowing you had rambled to all of them, especially KK & Azzi, about how badly you wanted Paige. You being here proved Paige had made your dream come true.

"Get over here, weirdo," Paige called out, and at the sound of her voice, you chuckled, feeling the tension ease. After not touching her, tasting her, holding her—seeing her for what felt like years, you had yearned more than ever to kiss her, to do everything to her that you hadn't had the chance to do in the past week, but due to being in public, all you could do was hug like friends in-case others knew who she was and were recording. It was bumming. You engulfed her in a big hug, smaller arms wrapping around her toned body as you tenderly whispered, "Wanna kiss you so badly. Missed you so much, Peanut Butter."

Paige chuckled softly at your clever play on words, sighing, "I know, I know," as she caressed your upper back, cautious of moving any lower, "Thanks for gettin' it, angel."

You smiled, feigning contentment as you released Paige, mindful that your embrace couldn't linger for too long, lest it provoke any speculation. She kindly helped you remove your dress coat, like a gentleman, and allowed you to sit on the inner side of the booth, assuming her new spot on the outer beside you at your right. To your left was a girl whom KK had invited — she sat sorta close, but far enough at the perfect proximity for Paige, in one very swift movement, to place the coat upon your lap and rest her big hand onto your thigh behind the eyes of everybody else present.

The blonde leaned in, her breath warm against your ear and body pressed flush against yours as she rasped, "As long as they don't see, right?" hand inching up your thigh, her inflection, voice, and touch sending shivers down your spine as she stroked your inner thigh preciously. "Paige!" you growled quietly, "Get a grip—this is unlike you." Paige knew you were right. She was losing her marbles because she liked you so much and couldn't control herself for any longer after having to for an entire week. She needed to have you. It was a blooming sign of her ensuing limerence for you. And she just loved that look in your eye too, all high-strung and panicking at the mere touch of her fingers—it was intoxicating.

You screwed your eyes shut briefly as her middle finger pressed against your clit, lightly; barely moving, edging you. Exhaling deeply, you struggled to get your eyes open, forced to pretend nothing was happening as banter and conversation and laughter flowed around you.

Eventually, you knew you would have to join in, but right now, you were consumed by the sensation of Paige's touch. And when she jested, "Hey," lowly, the sound sent tons of slick oozing out of your wet pussy, igniting a fire within you that you couldn't ignore. Her long, delicate finger teased your little clit, sending waves of pleasure throughout the entirety of your body as you struggled to remain still, quiet, and maintain your composure.

It almost set you off when Paige's foot began to play with yours as she admitted, "I couldn't stop thinking of you all week," in this way of raw carnality and blatant desire you hadn't ever witnessed Paige showcase. It was just pure fucking, usually. A fuck that you didn't have to act totally sexy for all-the-time since it was just a mutual thing. This, whatever Paige was doing tonight, was something very different. Her words — "About how I'd get to touch you, taste you, and how your body would look and how you'd sound. Fuck," she says in a low grunt resemblant of pain. "I can't wait for you again."

Paige stopped briefly, and you didn't know whether to be thankful or upset, groaning out in response. Paige tutted thrice. "You aren't gonna look at me when I'm talking to you?" she chided. "Be a good girl, angel, use your manners so I can give you what you want." You were utterly bewitched by her words. Her touch. Her voice. Her body against yours. Her aura. She was just so captivating. Today, she had foregone her glasses, leaving just her raw, intense eyes to pierce through you. Clad in her post-game attire—a sleek black Nike Tech outfit, her hair styled in the signature front braids and ponytail—you couldn't deny the magnetic pull she had on you. You found yourself afraid to look at her for too long, fearing that the sheer intensity of her presence would send you over the edge. She almost did. You were right. When you looked at her, she smirked at you, locking eyes with you in a gaze that was indescribable. The way she looked at you had changed. "Just like that," she cooed, "Keep your eyes on mommy just like that." You let out a small whine, squishing your legs together to unwaver what felt like a climax. You felt like you were going to explode. Leaning forward, you took a second to recollect yourself as Paige's fingers continued to service you. Around you, the conversation was flowing, and as the head of her team, Paige easily inserted herself into it by introducing you to everybody. "Guys, I want you to meet Y/N L/N, Y/N L/N, the team and friends." Used to celebrating excessively, they all clapped for you, and Paige tapped your side with her free hand, urging you to sit up and be polite. You waved to everyone, adorning a smile that had taken every morsel of energy within you to present. "Long time no see, huh?" KK instantly began, "Let's hope you don't drink too much tonight and spill any secrets about how much you want Paige." Laughter filled the air, including yours. Relaxing against the booth, you tilted your head back, a soft chuckle escaping your lips as Paige's fingers began to intrude your entrance, their movements smooth and tantalizing, causing you to clench around them. "Don't gotta be lit to tell you, K," you giggled, diverting your attention to the conversation that had just begun, while also trying to ignore Paige's relentless fingers.

You just didn't know how she could do it so seamlessly -- her beautiful big blue eyes had managed to look utterly focused, absorbed in KK's story as if she hadn't been scissoring you open with purpose in each fervent stroke of her fingers into you. A contented grin was fixed on her face, seemingly listening to KK's recount of the first time she met you intently, but that was not the case whatsoever, and you two were the only ones aware. Paige rested her head upon your shoulder, her left arm hooking around your waist to grab her Shirley Temple, to take a sip.

She raised the glass, offering you a sip, and you disguised a moan in a hum when she began a come-hither motion against your g - spot, savoring the cold drink to assist in cooling down your rising body temperature. "You like that?" she asked, early not referring to the drink. Her tone was cunning, smirk suggesting she knew the effect she was having on you.

You managed a smile, maintaining your composure. "Mhm. I like it." you uttered, your voice resonating with an underlying force, each word carrying the weight of your struggle to sound controlled.

Thankfully, Azzi had interjected KK's story, prolonging it, and you anticipated that Azzi's sociable nature would keep you from speaking for a while longer. However, just as you expected the social buffer, a waiter approached for your order. Being a waiter yourself, you understood why she was there, and you blurted out, "Water," upon her arrival, eager for her to leave as quickly as possible. Fuck! you thought, That seemed bitchy. You resolved to tip her later to make up for it, but you couldn't have cared less in the moment. Your head was spinning; Paige's ring finger had begun to circle your clit precisely, at a steady pace, in a touch and speed you couldn't replicate no matter how hard you tried. Her middle finger had been gathering your wetness and smoothing it over your clit, intensifying the sensation, intensifying the situation.

"So then, besides this intro story, Y/N, why don't you tell us about yourself? You know, the real you?" Paige prodded, her tone laced with subtle encouragement, a hint of mischief dancing in her eyes as she attempted to coax you into speaking. "U-uh," you stammered, clearing your throat, "studying at UConn." It's a line you're programmed to say regularly, especially at work when dumb college goons try to hit on you.

The prompt silence urged you to continue speaking, but you wanted to curl up and pretend to be asleep. Your hole clenched around nothing, and you tried to avoid looking at Paige, fearing you might cum on the spot like you nearly had earlier. Gathering your strength, you said, "I'm studying to become a nurse. I'm from the city just over, but I'm, uh, you know... just an average girl."

You, being at a dinner and getting finger-fucked wasn't just stuff average girls did.

Nothing was average about this dinner experience. Not even the amount of wetness you had accumulated, which had become so much that it began to trickle down your leg. To have the amount of need you were suppressing literally oozing out of you, you moan, an audible one, but mask it as a cough before raising Paige's drink to your lips, taking a sip, and then placing it down. You could hear Paige laugh hushedly from your side, relishing in the power dynamic. "My throat's so dry," you quickly add to compensate for the odd noise, hoping to divert attention away from your unintentional reaction. "Did the questionin' make you nervous?" KK teased yet again, her tone playful as she pointed out, "You're breaking a little sweat."

You wanted to jump for joy. Finally, you had an excuse to excuse yourself. "Oh no, am I?" you replied, trying to hide your relief. "Lemme go make sure my makeup's good, P."

Forced to stand before you could exit, Paige did, and as you rose to your feet, she made sure you saw the image of her fingers in her mouth, sucking your wetness off them.

This, combined with all you had just endured got you weak in the knees as you stood up and made your way out. The sensation of her touch lingered, leaving you feeling so worked up that you felt like you were going to implode.

You weren't even wearing any makeup. You rarely did outside of work. Inside of the bathroom, feeling rather empty, you briefly considered touching yourself but rendered that option pointless seeing as you wouldn't be able to satisfy yourself how Paige did you. You also always failed to replicate it too. Instead, to cool down your body and thoughts, you resorted to flushing your face with cold water. By the time you finished, Paige had appeared in the doorframe behind you, nearly as tall as it was.

"You got sick, I had to take you home, here's your coat," she said, recounting the tale you'd explain for leaving early, flinging the coat at you with a brisk motion, one of an athlete.

You caught it, but urgency pulsed through you. If she wanted to test you, you would test her. High heels clacking as you strode over to the taller blonde, you pressed her against the bathroom door, your kiss fueled by an intense need. The taste of yourself on her tongue drove you crazy and you couldn't deny how intoxicating it was. Her knee was nestled between your legs, and she pulled back to rain kisses down your neck, her voice filled with fervor as she questioned, "Why the hell aren't you wearing panties, hm?" In a rush, but with purpose, you responded, "Can't you see I'm dressed exactly how you like, P? It's all part of the plan."

She picked you up, your body clinging to hers as she placed you on the counter of the sinks. You made out fervently, her strong body no longer pressed against the door, leaving you both vulnerable to potential intruders. This was dangerous, extremely so. Paige kept letting you take dominance, even if it wasn't as blatant as her own, and it was exhilarating. When you placed your legs upon the counter, high heels on, your tits dropping below your dress with your pussy on display, clenching and unclenching as you pleaded, "I want your mouth," Paige couldn't resist. As she dropped to her knees, she reasoned that she was already in too deep to back out. The vodka in her Shirley Temple convinced her it was fine too, and fuck, it felt beyond fine. Her eyes remained locked with yours as she began by licking your hole, teasing the tip of her tongue inside before traveling up to your clit, prodding at it expertly.

"You taste so good," Paige murmured against your clit, sucking it.

"How would all your good-girl Uni friends feel if they saw you like this, hm? Legs spread like the slut you are, begging for my mouth."

Paige was losing control. She was spiraling. You looked too slutty, too good, and the situation was too risky for her not to take a picture of this. Removing her phone from her pocket, she handed it to you, and you already knew what to do.

You eagerly begin a video recording of Paige devouring you, capturing every salacious moment with fervor. Her mouth and tongue work tirelessly, exploring every inch of your dripping sex, her fingers sliding effortlessly into you, curling and stroking in the harmony with her oral ministrations. You moan uncontrollably, your senses overwhelmed by the pleasure coursing through your body. As Paige's tongue dances over your clit and her fingers plunge deeper, you writhe and squirm on the counter, unable to contain the ecstasy building within you.

The sensations are overwhelming, driving you to the brink of madness as you teeter on the edge of blissful oblivion. "Film yourself," Paige murmurs against your pussy, and you obediently turn the camera toward your face and heaving chest. The lens captures your flushed cheeks, your parted lips, and the dazed look of ecstasy in your eyes as you surrender to the euphoria of Paige's mouth and fingers.

"M'gonna cum, baby," you whine, bucking your hips with a primal urgency against her face, desperate for release. "Yes, yes, please," you whimper, your breath coming in ragged gasps as the pressure builds to an unbearable peak. "I need it, Paige, I need to cum." As the climax washes over you like a tidal wave, you cling to Paige's head, holding her against your pussy as your body convulses with the force of your release.

With a satisfied smile, Paige grabs a paper towel and tends to you, then looks up to the camera from her knees, tongue teasingly licking off the remnants of your arousal. You hastily rearrange your clothes, staying put on the counter as Paige rises from between your legs to place her lips against yours. Paige's lips kiss with tender urgency that feels like unspoken intimacy and connection. As her mouth melds with yours, you feel the lingering heat of desire between you guys. In that fleeting embrace, there's a sense of vulnerability and trust, as if the world around you fades away, leaving only the electrifying sensation of her lips against yours. It's a kiss that speaks volumes, a silent reassurance that you're in this together, navigating the waves of need and indulgence as one.

But then again, you're recording, so the moment, while still undeniably sexy, lacks the sweetness of intimacy. Paige takes the phone from your hand, filming as she guides you off the counter by your hand, only to drop it suddenly, spinning you around and pressing you against the cool surface. With her lap pressed against your ass, she asserts control, her hand firmly guiding your hips as she captures the action in the mirror.

As you grind back against her, you breathe out softly, "We're defiling this place, P," your voice laden with desire.

She responds in kind, her voice husky with arousal. "You're right, angel. Come on." With a firm grip on your hair, she pulls you back up until you're tilting your head to meet her gaze. Without hesitation, she delivers a fast, open-mouthed kiss that feels less intimate this time, followed by a daring act of dominance. She spits into your mouth, and you swallow, the act captured on camera for all to see.

With a shared glance, you rearrange yourselves, a tacit acknowledgment passing between you as you hastily fix your appearance. The urgency to flee the restaurant is palpable, both of you acutely aware of the need to escape before anyone catches wind of the steamy encounter that just unfolded in plain sight.

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cybernaght · 9 months

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The fandom echo chamber: fanon, microanalysis and conspiracy brain

As someone who has been in fandom spaces, on and off, for 20 years, I find some fascinating trends popping up in the last decade that I thought to be fandom-specific but clearly aren’t. So, I would like to do a little examination of where those things come from, how they are engaged with, and what it says about the way we consume media. This is a think piece, of sorts, with my brain being the main source. As such, we will spend some time down the memory lane of a fandom-focused millennial.

This is largely brought about by Good Omens. But it’s also not really about Good Omens at all.

Part one. Fanon.

The way we see characters in any story is always skewed by our very selves. This is a neutral statement, and it does not have a value judgement. It’s simply unavoidable. We recognise aspects of them, love aspects of them, and choose aspects of them to highlight based entirely on our own vision of the universe.

Recognition comes into this. There is a reason so many protagonists of romance novels have a “blank slate” problem. Even when they do not, we love characters who are like us or versions of us that we would like to be. And when we say “we”, I also mean, “me”.

(I remember very clearly this realisation hit me after a whole season of Doctor Who with writing which I hated utterly when I questioned why I still clung so incredibly hard to Clara Oswald as my favourite companion. Then I looked at myself in the mirror. Oh. Well. That would do it, wouldn’t it?)

Then, there is projection, and, again, this is a neutral statement. Projection exists, and it is completely normal and, dare I say it, valid way of engaging with — well, anything. Is the character queer? Trans? Neurodivergent? Are they in love? Do they like chocolate? Are they a cat person? Well, yes, if this is what the text says, but if the text does not say anything… You tell me. Please, do tell me. Because, in that moment of projection, they are yours.

And then, there is fandom osmosis, and that is the most fascinating one of them all, the one that is not very easy to note while you are inside the echo chamber. It’s the way we collectively, consciously or not, make decisions on who or what the characters are, what their relationships are, and what happens to them.

(Back when I was writing egregiously long Guardian recaps on this blog I actually asked if Shen Wei’s power being learning actually was stated anywhere in the canon of the show. Because I had no idea. I have read and reread dozen of fanfics where that is the case, and at some point through enough repetition, it became reality.)

We are all kind of making our own reality here, aren’t we?

Back when things were happening in a much less centralised manner - in closed livejournal groups, and forums of all shapes and sizes - I don’t remember there being quite as much universally agreed upon fanon. Frankly, I don’t remember much of universally agreed upon anything. But now, everything is in one place: we have this, and we have AO3, and it’s wonderful, it really is so much easier to navigate, but it’s also one gigantic reality-shifting echo chamber, with blogs, reblogs, trends, and rituals.

Accessibility plays its part, too. If you were, say, in Life on Mars (UK) fandom between seasons, and you wanted to post your speculation fic, you had to have had an account, and then find and gain access to one of the bigger groups (lifein1973 was my poison, but ymmv), and then, if you feel brave you may post it, but also, you may want to do so from your alt account if you wanted to keep yours separate, and then you would have to go through the whole process again. And I’m not saying that fan creations then were somehow inherently better for it than fan creations now (although Life on Mars Hiatus Era is perhaps a bad example - because some of the Speculation Fic there was breathtaking), but there is something to say about the ease of access that made the fandoms go through a big bang of sorts.

(I mean, come on, I can just come here and post this - and I am certain people will read it, and this blog is a pandemic cope baby about Chinese television for goodness sake.)

The canon transformations that happen in the fandom echo chamber truly are fascinating to witness as someone who is more or less a fandom butterfly. I get into something, float around for a bit, then get into something else and move on. I might come back eventually when the need arises, but I don’t sustain a hiatus mind-state. This means that when I float away and return, I find some very intriguing stuff.

Let’s actually look at Good Omens here. Season two aired, and I found it spectacular in its cosy and anguished way; deliberately and intelligently fanfic-y in its plot building; simple but subversive, and so very tender. (I will have to circle back to this eventually, because, truly, I love how deliberately it takes the tropes and shatters them - it’s glorious). And, to me - a person who read the book, watched the first season, hung around AO3 for a few weeks and moved on - absolutely on-point in terms of characterisation.

So imagine my surprise when the fandom disagreed so vehemently that there are actual multi-tiered theories on how characters were not in possession of their senses. Nothing there, in my mind, ever contradicted any of the stated text, as it stood. This remained a strange little mystery until I did what I always do when I flutter close to an ongoing fandom.

I loaded AO3 and sorted the existing fic by popularity. And there it was, all there: the actual earth-shattering mutual devotion of the angel and the demon; willingness to Fall; openness and long heart-aching confession speeches. There was all of the fanon surrounding Aziraphale and Crowley, which, to me, read as out of character, and to one for whom they became the reality over the last four years, read as truth.

Again, only neutral statements here. This is not a bad thing, and neither this is a good thing, this is just something that happens, after a while, especially when there are years for the fandom-born ideas to bounce around and stew. I can’t help but think that so much of what we see as real in spaces such as this one is a chimaera of the actual source and all the collective fan additions which had time and space to grow, change, develop, and inspire, reverberating over and over again, until the echoes fill the entirety of the space.

Eventually, this chimaera becomes a reality.

Part two. Microanalysis

Here are my two suppositions on the matter:

1. Some writers really love breadcrumb storytelling.

Russel T Davies, for instance, on his run of Doctor Who (and, if you are reading it much later - I do mean the original one), loved that technique for his seasonal arcs. What is a Bad Wolf? Who is Harold Saxon? Well, you can watch very very carefully, make a theory, and see it proven right or wrong by the end of the season.

Naturally, mystery box writers are all about breadcrumb storytelling: your Losts and your Westworlds are all about giving you snippets to get your brain firing, almost challenging you to figure things out just ahead of the reveal.

2. We, as humans, love breadcrumbs.

And why wouldn’t we? Breadcrumbs are delicious. They are, however, a seasoning, or a coating. They are not the meal.

Too much metaphor?

Let’s unpack it and start from the beginning.

Pattern recognition colours every aspect of our lives, and it colours the way we view art to a great extent. I think we truly underestimate how much it’s influenced by our lived experiences.

If you are, broadly speaking, living somewhere in Western/North-Western Europe in the 14th century, and you see a painting in which there is a very very large figure surrounded by some smaller figures and holding really tiny figures, you may know absolutely nothing about who those figures are, but you know that the big figure is the Important One, and the small ones are Less Important Ones, and the tiny ones are In Their Care. You know where your reverence would lie, looking at this picture. And, I imagine, as someone living in the 14th century, you may be inspired to a sense of awe looking at this composition, because in the world you live in, this is how art works.

If you, on the other hand, watch a piece of recorded media and see the eyes of two characters meet as the violins swell, you know what you are being told at that moment. You don’t have to have a film degree to feel a sort of way when you see a green-tinged pallet used, when cross-cuts use juxtaposing images, or notice where your focus is pulled in any given shot. This stuff - this recognition of patterns - has been trained into us by the simple fact that we live in this time, on this planet, and we have been doing so long enough to have engaged recorded media for a period of time.

As humans, we notice things. Our brains flare up when they see something they recognise, and then we seek to find other similar details and form a bigger picture. This often happens unconsciously, but sometimes it does not. Sometimes we do it on purpose: finding breadcrumbs in stories is a little bit like solving a mystery. It allows us to stretch that brain muscle that puts two and two together. It makes us feel clever.

So yes, we love breadcrumbs, and, frankly, quite a lot of storytelling takes advantage of this. It’s very useful for foreshadowing, creating thematic coherence, or introducing narrative parallels and complexity. It’s useful for nudging the viewer into one or the other emotional direction, or to cue them into what will happen in the next moment, or what exactly is the one important detail they should pay attention to.

Because this is something media does intentionally, and something we pick up both consciously and not, it is very hard to know when to stop. We don't really ever know when all of the breadcrumbs have been collected. It becomes very easy to get carried away. There is a very specific kind of pleasure in digging into content frame by frame, soundbite by soundbite, chasing that pleasure of finding.

But it is almost never breadcrumbs all the way down. They are techniques to help us focus on the main event: the story. I truly believe those who make media want it to reach the widest possible audience, and that includes all of us who like to watch every single thing ever created with our Media Analysis Goggles on and those who are just here to enjoy the twists and turns of the story at the pace offered to them. And I think, sometimes in our chase to collect and understand every little clue we forget that media is not made to just cater for us.

One can call it missing a forest for the trees. But I would hate to mix my metaphors, so let’s call it missing a schnitzel for the breadcrumbs.

Part three. The Conspiracy Brain.

If you are there with me, in the midst of the excited frenzy, chasing after all those delicious breadcrumbs, then patterns can grow, merge together, and become all-encompassing theories. Let’s call them conspiracy theories, even though this is not what they truly are.

So, why do we believe in conspiracy theories?

One, Because We Have Been Lied To.

All conspiracies start with distrust.

If you are in fandom spaces - especially if you are in fandom spaces which revolve around a queer fictional couple - especially-especially if you have been in such spaces for a period of time, you have most certainly been lied to at one point or another.

We don’t even have to talk about Sherlock - and let’s not do that - but do you remember Merlin? Because I remember Merlin. Specifically, I remember the publicity surrounding the first season, with its weaponised usage of “bromance” and assertions that this whole thing is a love story of sorts, and then the daunting realisation that this was all a stunt, deliberately orchestrated to gather viewership.

And, because we were lied to in such a deliberate manner for such an extensive period of time, I genuinely believe that it forever altered our pattern recognition habits, because what was this if not encouragement to read into things? Now we are trained to read between the lines or see little cries for help where they might not be. Because we were told, over and over again, that we should.

(Yes, I think we are all existing in these spaces coloured by the trauma of queer-bating. I am, however, looking forward to a world where I can unlearn all of that.)

Two, Cognitive Dissonance.

The chain reaction works a bit like this: the world is wrong - it can’t possibly be wrong by coincidence - this must be on purpose - someone is responsible for it.

Being Lied To is a preamble, but cognitive dissonance is where it all originates. In so many cross-fandom theories I have noticed a four-step process:

A) this is not good

B) this author could not have made a mistake

C) this must be done on purpose

D) here is why

(Funny thing is, I have been on the receiving end of the small conspiracy spiral, and it is a very interesting experience. Not relevant to this conversation is the fact that a lot of my job revolves around storytelling. What is relevant is that my hobbies also revolve around storytelling. And one of them is DnD. Now, imagine my genuine shock when one of the players I am currently writing a campaign for noticed a small detail that did not make a logical sense within the complexity of the world, and latched on to it as something clearly indicating some kind of a secret subplot. Their thinking process also went a bit like this: this detail is not a good piece of writing — this DM knows how to tell stories well — this is obviously there on purpose. It was not there on purpose. I created a clumsy shorthand. I erred, in that pesky manner humans tend to. And, seeing this entire thought process recited to me directly in the moment, I felt somewhere between flattered and mortified.)

This whole line of thinking, I think, exists on a knife’s edge between veneration and brutal criticism, relentlessly dissecting everything “wrong”, with a reverent “but this is deliberate” attached to it like a vice, because it is preferable to a simple conclusion that the author let you down, in one way or another.

Three, Intentionality

I believe that there is no right or wrong way of engaging with stories, regardless of their medium, and assuming no one gets hurt in the process. While in a strictly academic way, there is a “correct” way of reading (and reading into) media, we here are largely not academics but consumers; consumption is subjective.

However, this all changes when intentionality is ascribed.

The one I find particularly fascinating is the intentionality of “making it bad on purpose” because, as open-minded as I intend to always be, this just does not happen.

It certainly does not happen in long-form media. Even in the bread-crumb mystery box-type long-form media.

When television programs underdeliver, they also underperform, and then they get cancelled.

If all the elements of Westworld Season 4 that did not sit together in a completely satisfactory way were written deliberately as some sort of deconstruction for the final season to explore, then it failed because that final season will now never come.

(There will likely never be a Secret Fourth Episode.)

And look, I am not here to refute your theories. Creativity is fun, and theorising is fantastic.

But, perhaps, when the line of thought ventures into the “bad on purpose” territory, it could be recognised for what it is: disappointment and optimism, attempting to coexist in a single space. And I relate to that, I do, and I am sorry that there is even a need for this line of thinking. It’s always so incredibly disappointing that a creator you believed to be devoid of flaws makes something that does not hit in the way you hoped it would. It’s pretty heartbreaking.

Unfortunately, people make mistakes. We are all fallible that way.

Four, Wildfire.

Then, when the crumbs are found, a theory is crafted, and intentionality is ascribed, all that needs to happen is for it to catch on. And hey, what better place for it than this massive hollow funnel that we exist in, where thoughts, ideas and interpretations reverberate so much they become inextricable from the source material in collective consciousness.

Conspiracy theories create alternate realities, very much like we all do here.

So where are we now?

I am not here to tell you what is right and what is wrong; what is true, and what is not. We are all entitled to engage with anything we wish, in whichever way we wish to do it. This is not it, at all.

All I am saying is… listen.

Do you hear that echo?

I do.

#fandom thoughts #fanon #good omens #good omens 2 #bbc sherlock #merlin bbc #think piece #it's been years and I still have no idea how to tag #conspiracy theories #fandom content #all fandoms

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psychickiss · 6 months

Text

smile!

— saiki kusuo x reader (gn, 2nd pov)

— summary: Helping out Saiki has its perks—example, he smiles for a picture with you on what would look like a date to outsiders.

— notes: this was an old fic i posted from june! edited it a little and finally remembered to reup here :-)

— things: hmmmm i guess the reader's relationship with saiki is kind of romantic? but the overall dialogue and stuff is platonic :-)

— masterlist | request form

When Saiki couldn’t go to Toritsuka for help, he’d approach you.

You weren’t explicitly aware of his powers, but you’ve had your suspicions. Though, it was something you never brought up in conversation with Saiki.

Whenever you do help Saiki out, you assure him that he isn’t in debt to you. This results in Saiki going out of his way to silently pay you back. He knows your words are true, but he wasn’t okay with a good deed going unrewarded.

Additionally, you were okay with doing just about anything. Help him stay away from the sports festival? Sure, you hated it too. Join the Occult club so there’s a not-so-annoying familiar face? Why not? The club seemed like it wouldn’t be too much work.

Talk to a guy from another class for Saiki? Okay.

You weren’t the best at starting a conversation, and neither was Satou Hiroshi. Why Saiki wants to know his interests, you didn’t bother asking. It wasn’t your business.

Opening a conversation with Satou wasn’t hard at all—you figured you could just lie on the spot. “Hi, Satou. Truth be told, I’ve been wanting to talk to you for a while. I want to make friends from every section, and I thought I’d talk to you.”

Satou looks up at you, surprised. “Me? But, I’m not as interesting as the other guys here... Like Toritsuka–”

You abruptly shake your head. “I’ve interacted enough with him. I’m good. But, you... You just have a calming presence, you know? Puts people at ease.”

Saiki, from afar, listens in on your conversation. You had suggested to be on call with him as you made conversation with Satou.

Listening in on your conversation with Satou was something Saiki could do without the help of technology, but you didn’t know that, so Saiki agreed. This made you one of the really few people in Saiki’s phone contacts.

You pull an empty chair near Satou and sit on it. “So, tell me, what do you like? Any favorite bands, drinks, stuff like that?”

Satou happily answers you. “One OK Rock! I love their songs! Ah, I drink a lot of peach tea, too.”

You smile at Satou. “Oh, that’s nice. Do you have any hobbies?”

“I like to read.”

You nod. Average hobby. I like to read too. Everyone likes reading to a certain degree. You then ask him, “Oh? What kind of stuff do you read?”

Satou hums. “Well, I read all kinds of books. I like to pick up a copy of Weekly Jump on Fridays; kind of a reward for getting through the week.”

“That’s so interesting...! Would you want to walk home with me later? That way, we could talk more.” You put your hand in your pocket, checking to see if your phone was still there. You proceed to stand up from the chair and put it back in its place.

Satou awkwardly laughs in response. “I’m sorry, but I have a few errands to do after school, I wouldn’t want to drag you around with me. Maybe some other time.”

You laugh back. “It’s alright. There’s no need for you to apologize! I’ll be on my way now. Good luck with class, Satou.”

“Thank you, you too.” Satou waves before walking away.

You take out your phone and hold it close to your ear. “So? Is that all?”

Saiki hums. “Yes. Thank you.”

“How are you going to get this week’s Jump? We aren’t allowed to leave schoolgrounds until classes are over.”

Saiki answers you, “I have my ways.”

You furrow your brows. “Alright... Why do you want to hang out with him, anyway? No offense, but he’s kind of... bland.”

“That’s exactly why I want to talk to him. Also, we can stop the call. I can see you walking towards me.”

You sigh and end the call, continuing your conversation with Saiki face-to-face. “Alright... And you’re sure he’ll talk to you?”

Saiki shrugs.

You reply flatly, “That’s reassuring. I’ll be at Café Mami if things go well, or not. The usual booth. I’ll just text you.”

I could use clairvoyance to find you, but that works.

...

You enter Café Mami, alone for the time being, and look for an empty booth. You spot one and head straight to it, setting your bag down. You text Saiki.

You:

Do you want coffee jelly?

Saiki:

👍🏼

You:

How’s it going with Satou?

Saiki:

I’m waiting for him by the gate. I have a copy of this week’s Jump with me, and I bought peach tea from the cafeteria.

You:

Okay. This means you’ll be going to Café Mami though, right?

Saiki:

I’m just going for the coffee jelly.

You smile at his message before closing your phone. Keep telling yourself that, Saiki.

The manager approaches you and takes your order; you order something for yourself, and two cups of coffee jelly for Saiki. One for him to eat here, and...

“The other coffee jelly is to-go, thank you.”

You open your phone again and search up the band Satou mentiond, One OK Rock. You rummage your bag for your earphones, but to your dismay, you couldn’t find it.

You quietly sigh to yourself. I guess... I’ll listen with my phone really close to my ear. God, I hope no one hears.

You choose a song and pleasantly listen to it. This actually isn’t so bad. Might add this to my playlist– the song stops. You check the notification.

Saiki:

Hello. I am on my way there.

You:

Take care. ♡

You see Saiki enter Café Mami, and your eyes dart towards the earphones he’s wearing. You point at it. “Those are mine! Where did you get those?”

Saiki sits down as he answers you, “Your bag.”

“You didn’t ask...!”

The manager approaches you two. “Here’s your order. The coffee jelly to-go will be served shortly.”

Saiki looks at you, confused about that last sentence.

“Ah, I ordered a second one for you to enjoy at home.”

Saiki’s eyes sparkle at your words.

You bring your order closer to you. “So, how did things go with Satou?”

Saiki slumps his shoulders and dejectedly hands you back your earphones. “I’ll be taking both coffee jellies to-go, thanks.”

Your voice was riddled with panic, “Huh–?! No, don’t go! Is it that bad?”

“He didn’t talk to me.”

You laugh. “That’s it? Did you even try to talk to him? You’re not the most chatty person I know.”

Saiki nods. “I had everything he liked; Weekly Jump, peach tea, and I was listening to One OK Rock. I even smiled at him.”

You hold back your laughter, you didn’t want Saiki to feel worse than he already did. “Maybe... Maybe he didn’t talk to you because he knew you stole my earphones.”

Irritated, Saiki replies, “That is totally unrelated”

You shrug. “Yeah.” You decide to tease him, “Maybe your smile was weird. Off-putting. I mean, you don’t smile a lot.”

Saiki shakes his head. “My smile wasn’t weird.”

“I’ll have to see for myself.”

“No.”

“You’re no fun.”

Saiki doesn’t reply to your comment, opting to finally eat the coffee jelly in front of him.

“Here’s the coffee jelly to-go. Your order’s complete. Thank you!”

You smile at the waiter and gently push the paper bag with the coffee jelly inside towards Saiki.

Hm... Maybe if he smiled at Satou like that, then they’d be hanging out like this. Ah, then I wouldn’t be able to see Saiki so happy. Perhaps I’ll be selfish, just this once.

Saiki thought to himself as he ate the coffee jelly. For someone who’s had their suspicions about my powers, you sure think rather shamelessly. You’ve done a lot for me, so I’ll let you have this.

Saiki finishes his coffee jelly. “Take out your phone.”

You do as told, although clueless to Saiki’s intentions. “Okay...?”

“I’ll show you the smile I gave to Satou.”

You move over in your seat so Saiki could sit beside you. He takes the hint and walks over to you.

You two smile and you snap a picture, the smile on your face still there as you examine it. Saiki returns to his seat.

You two were smiling, but you were the only one looking at the camera. You look up from your phone, then at Saiki. “Why were you looking at me?”

He’d then respond, “I wasn’t ready.” You looked happy.

#saiki kusuo x reader #kusuo saiki x reader #saiki k x reader #saiki kusuo #saiki k #saiki x reader

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ghostxrose · 4 months

Text

Dance With a Demon | Bakugo Katsuki x Reader

Summary ~ You thought it would be just another night at work until your eyes met the crimson ones of Pro Hero Dynamight..

Tags/Warnings ~ Minors DNI, NSFW 18+ Content, Charaters are in their 20s, FemStripper!Reader, P in V, unprotected sex, porn with some plot, oral sex, face riding, multiple orgasms, creampie, WC 9k, idk what else to tag

Note ~ Hello Lovelies! I hope you all enjoy this spicy lil fic i've got for ya here! I'm still not all that good at writing smut stuff so don't expect too much of me, haha. I do want to give a quick thank you for all of the hype I got for this fic from my Sneak Peek post, so thank you Lovelies! Anyway, I'll let all you fiends get to reading! <3

You let out a heavy sigh as you stare at the back door to the nightclub you work at from the driver’s seat of your car. You weigh the pros and cons of going inside and clocking in for your shift while you sip on your first Red Bull of the night. It’s not that you hate your job or your coworkers, it’s just that feeling that everyone gets before walking into work. That feeling of “ugh, I wanna go back home and be lazy” that settles over you until you shove it away and force yourself to get out of your car. With your bag slung lazily over one shoulder you lock your car, then head for the door that you’ve been dead-eyeing on and off for the last 30-ish minutes.

Once inside the nightclub, you make your way to your dressing room. The bass from whatever song whoever is on stage right now has chosen thumps through your eardrums and chest. You absentmindedly nod your head to the beat as you enter your dressing room. You close the door behind you and lock it, then walk over to the vanity. Setting your bag down, you grab the tablet sitting at the corner of the vanity countertop from its charging port and sit down. You log into the nightclub’s app and clock in before clicking the “songs” tab within the app.

Once it loads up you scroll through the list of suggested songs but none of them really call out to you or feel right for the vibe you create when you get on stage. You tap the search function then get to typing and looking up songs to add to your list for your sets tonight. As soon as you’ve lined up a pretty nice selection of six songs you submit the list, then shut the tablet off and begin prepping yourself for your first set.

You touch up your makeup and loosely curl your hair. After laying out both outfits you brought for tonight, you decide to flip a coin to see which one you should wear first. Heads is for the lacy dark purple bra and thong set with a pair of black open-toed stilettos - simple but still a favorite amongst crowds. Tails is for the slightly more intricately designed deep wine colored bralette and g-string set with dark red cross strap, heeled sandals - another crowd favorite because of the way it’s slightly more.. sheer as far as materials go.

You toss the coin into the air with a small but knowing smirk because you know that it really doesn’t matter what outfit you wear. What people really show up for are the feelings of dark attraction that the physical traits of your Quirk stirs up inside them. Attraction that makes them feel as if it’s taboo or maybe even dangerous to tamper with, but they enjoy the thrill either way.

Your Quirk is called Hellspawn, but you’ve never viewed it in a negative light. Your Quirk is the product of generations of similar Quirks possessed by both sides of your family. You’ve been taught your whole life to be proud of your Quirk and its traits, no matter what people might say or think. You confidently show off your demon-like horns, wings, fangs, and tail every day.

The coin lands on heads so you put on the dark purple outfit and stilettos, taking your time to make sure everything goes on just right. With one final glance in the full length mirror in your dressing room you smile at your reflection, then turn to leave and head backstage. As you walk through the back hallways of the nightclub you begin to feel excitement and adrenaline thrum through your veins. Just because this is a job doesn’t mean that you don’t have fun when you’re up on stage.

“There’s my girl! How’re ya doin’ tonight, Luci?” Sakura, the nightclub’s manager and owner, cheerfully greets you when you get backstage.

“Ask me that after my set,” you say jokingly. “Better yet, when you see me raking in tons of bills just assume that I’m feeling pretty good!” You add on with a smirk.

“Mmm, always love your confidence, Babes! Alright, now get out there and kill it like you always do!” Sakura says with a wink, then focuses back on whatever she was working on her tablet.

You smile to yourself, amped up by the vibes within the club and your rising confidence, and begin stretching to warm your muscles up for your first set of the night. More adrenaline, and the caffeine from your energy drink, hits your veins when you hear the ending of the last song for whoever is on stage and you wait for your stage name to be called.

“Alright everyone, can I get a round of cheers for our lovely Siren?! Don’t worry, they’ll be back a little later!!” Hikari, tonight’s DJ, says after hopping on the mic.

“You all are in for a real treat now, though! Please help me in summoning our resident hot demon-babe to the stage; Lucifer!!” A wild smile pulls at your lips as you take in the crowds hyped up cheers from the other side of the curtain. “Get your sexy ass out here, Luci!!” Hikari excitedly calls for you and you let out a giggle before taking a step forward.

Pulling back the curtain you slowly walk further onto the stage, emerging from a cloud of smoke and into the dark-neon lights shining onto the stage. You smile and wink over at Hikari in the DJ’s booth and she blows you a kiss making you giggle a bit. Looking back towards the crowd you sway your hips as you walk, your eyes half lidded and a sultry, fanged smile on your face. Your body getting into the flow of the music from the first song of this set. The bass produced from Obsolete Ritual makes you vibrate when it hits and it’s a rush that fuels the amped up fire within you that you’ll never get over.

Getting up to the pole at the end of the catwalk, you wrap your hands around it and walk in a slow, teasing circle despite the song’s tempo having sped up. Your eyes scan over the crowd, running across the familiar faces of regulars and lingering for mere seconds over new faces. For reasons unbeknownst to you, your gaze gets stuck on one new face in particular.

Sharp, crimson eyes connect with yours, the stranger’s handsome face set in a scowl. ‘The hell is he scowling in a stripclub for? If he didn’t want to be here, then why did he come? Or maybe he’s just mad that Siren’s set ended? Whatever, buddy, try to enjoy the show.’ You think to yourself as you pull your gaze from Grumpy Hot Guy and officially begin your routine.

As you bend, twist, and dance your way through Obsolete Ritual, Veins, and Descending you find that Grumpy Hot Guy’s eyes never seem to leave you. His scowl remained but his eyes seemed to burn more with every movement of your body. When you finish your set you have to force yourself not to look at him as you spread your wings and bow to the crowd.

The weight of his eyes on you grows heavy as you help the club’s “Money Grabbers” rake in your earnings. Purposefully ignoring him you smile, giggle, and thank customers as they stuff more bills into your lingerie as you work to grab cash from the floor of the stage. You move to head offstage once all of the money has been gathered when you’re stopped by a tug on your tail. You let out a yelp, then quickly turn around to hiss at whoever the perv is that committed the action. A security guard is already handling the guy but he still has the nerve to shoot you an unsettling and creepy smirk. You hiss anyway, then roll your eyes as you stand and quickly leave the stage.

“Christ, are you okay, Luci?? Fucking hate pervs like that bastard! He’s being thrown out as we speak, so don’t worry! How’s your tail??” Sakura frantically asks, immediately mother-henning you as soon as you’re backstage.

You let out a soft giggle and give her an appreciative smile, “I’m fine and so is my tail, but thank you. Handsy people are very annoying but I can handle it and I’m fine.” You say reassuringly and Sakura lets out a relieved breath, then looks you in the eye with a smirk.

“Ugh, what’s with the look, Sakura? Did I really make that much from the set?” You question with a slightly bored look.

“Way off base with the guess there, Babes! Seems like we may have a few heroes in the house tonight, literally! I was watching the cameras when that creep grabbed your tail and I saw a few customers try to get to you, one in particular seemed especially pissed. Any guesses as to who they could be before I tell you?!” Sakura explains with a playful glint in her eyes.

“You know I hate guessing games,” you say in a forced bored tone that hopefully masks your itching curiosity.

“Oh, you’re no fun sometimes, Luci! Anyways, Pro Heroes Cellophane, Chargebolt, Pinky, Red Riot, and Dynamight were rushing to be your knights in shining armor! How crazy and exciting is it that a few Top Ten Pros are here at my nightclub?! Wild, right?!” Sakura reveals and you mentally kick yourself for not piecing together that Grumpy Hot Guy with the crimson eyes and spiky blonde hair is Pro Hero Dynamight.

“Uh, yeah, that is pretty crazy.. Uhm, I’m gonna go clean up and get ready for my next set, see you back here in an hour.” You say in a slight daze, the shock from Dynamight not being able to keep his eyes off of you clouding your mind.

“Mhm, gonna go make yourself extra pretty for the Pros, huh?” Sakura says with a devilish smirk.

“Sakura, please, I’m hot enough as it is. If I got any prettier customers would start dropping dead.” You say matter-of-factly after you’ve turned to walk away, hoping that Sakura didn’t see your blush. Sakura bursts out laughing behind you telling you to not kill her sources of income. You wave a playfully dismissive hand in the air before disappearing down the hallway back to your dressing room.

Once you’ve locked your dressing room door you let out a long exhale. You had run into a few of your coworkers on your way back to your dressing room and had to reassure every one of them that you were okay. But not only that, you were reminded again and again that there are Pros out in the crowd tonight via your coworkers gushing over their favorites within the group that came. Apparently a couple of your coworkers are major Dynamight fans and you tried your best to keep your cool when they wouldn’t shut up about how hot he is.

Even now, sitting at your vanity touching up your hair and makeup, you swear that you can still feel his burning gaze on you. Thinking about every time you made eye contact with him during your first set stirs something up inside of you and your reflection shows the blush you can feel heating your cheeks. As you change into your second outfit of the night you can’t tell if you’re nervous or hyped to get back on stage.

As soon as the straps of your heels are tied you make your way towards the mini fridge in your room. You grab the small bottle of Grey Goose and a small can of Red Bull from inside the fridge, then a shot glass from the top of the fridge. Sitting back down at your vanity, you pour yourself a shot and crack open your Red Bull. Downing the shot, you give it a second to settle before you pour a second. After shooting the second shot, you put the Grey Goose back and start drinking your Red Bull.

‘Nothing wrong with a bit of liquid courage, right? It’s just to help me through my next set after that creep touched me.’ You reason with (aka lie to) yourself as you look over yourself in the mirror.

A little over five minutes before you are to be called onto stage again, you make your way backstage. The shots you took earlier have succeeded in helping you feel like the confident and powerful Queen of the Underworld that you are. A cat-calling whistle pulls your attention over to Sakura and she gives you a smirk.

“Thought I told you not to kill my customers, Babes! Gah damn, you look hot! Trying to impress some certain Pro Heroes out there?” Sakura exclaims with a shit-eating grin.

You roll your eyes and cross your arms, “Being hot is part of the job, Boss. I don’t need to impress anyone but myself.” You say as you suppress a blush and look at your nails.

“Damn straight, Babes! Preach! Ugh, sometimes I’d really kill for your level of confidence.” Sakura says in all of her dramatic flare.

You giggle and shake your head as you blow her kiss, then turn towards the curtain. You exchange smiles with Siren as they walk through the curtain to head back to their room and wait for your cue.

“Everybody, shh shh, quiet down for a moment,” You hear Hikari say over the club’s speakers and you wonder what she has planned. You stifle an excited giggle and bounce a bit with anticipation.

“Oh, sexy Queen of Darkness, please grace us with your presence!” Hikari half chants, half moans into the mic, and you have to cover your mouth to hold back your giggles.

“Lucifer, hear us and show yourself! We’re on our knees, begging! Get out here you little vixen!” Hikari dramatically cries out and you do your best to not laugh your ass off at her antics.

With smoke clouding the view of the curtain you slip through carefully so you don’t disturb it. Suddenly, you flare your wings out and let your eyes glow, your arms held out to your sides a bit as you slowly walk forward. Spotlights slowly crawl towards you and up your body until you’re illuminated and you flash an “evil” grin at the crowd.

“Oh yeah, baby!!” Hikari dramatically moans out as she starts the first song of this set.

A laugh leaves your mouth and a genuine smile pulls at your lips as you walk to the pole at the end of the catwalk. Each of your steps deliberately heavy so that your breasts and ass bounce to the beat of Hot Demon B!Tches Near U as you walk. You briefly lock eyes with Dynamight and in all of your confidence (liquid and natural) you wink at him before grabbing the pole and getting to dancing.

HDBNU and the second song Slayer are full of fast paced moves and ass shaking, money seemingly raining down like confetti. So caught up in keeping time with the song, you had blurred out the crowd. It wasn’t until the first base drop of your last song, Fill The Void, that you noticed something slightly startling.

You had your back against the pole and slowly slid down it. Your arms stretched above you gripping said pole and your legs spreading as you sank to the ground. Your breathing hitched a bit when your eyes connected with burning crimson, the owner of the eyes standing at the front of the crowd at the edge of the stage. You did your best to hide your surprise but of course Dynamight noticed and he sent you a small smirk.

You smirk back at him, accepting an unspoken challenge of sorts, slowly and sensually standing back up. Wrapping your legs around the pole you do a few tricks before you slowly slide down, feet hitting the floor once more. Swaying and moving your body to the music, you get to the front of the pole where you sink to the floor once again, this time getting on your hands and knees.

You bite your lip seductively and slowly crawl towards the crowd, your tail slowly swishing side to side and your eyes glowing. You stare Dynamight right in the eyes as you crawl and mouth the last few words of the song. You stop about half a foot from the edge of the stage and gently roll onto your back, arching it and sensually running your hands down your body. As the song comes to a close, your eyes glow significantly brighter, you let out a puff of blue-colored fire.

When the song finally ends, you stand up and bow, blowing kisses and smiling at the crowd. You cast one last glance at Dynamight and find that he looks slightly stunned. You smirk, then turn to make your way off of the stage, hips swaying the entire time. Getting backstage, your body feels like it’s on fire in the best way possible and Sakura definitely notices.

“Christ, Luci, I’m gonna have to call every ambulance in Tokyo after that performance! Shit, I think I’m even having heart palpitations! You fucking killed it out there, Babes!” Sakura exclaims, one hand fanning her face and the other on her chest.

“Stop, you’re gonna make me blush!” You say, feigning embarrassment, but ultimately giggling.

“You know who's blushing? Everyone out there who just jizzed their pants!” Sakura says, sending both of you into a laughing fit.

“But for real, great work! Now go grab a snack, get changed, and help out the other servers on the floor, please!” Sakura loosely orders with a bright smile.

“Yes, ma’am!” You say with a mocking salute and smile, then head to your dressing room.

~~~~~~~~~~

Once you’ve changed into the club’s server outfit, aka a top that is basically a bralette paired with what could be the shortest skirt in the world, some cheeky panties underneath, and knee high stiletto boots, you make your way out to the bar.

“There she is; the girl who always makes me regret not bringing an extra pair of underwear!” Ruby, the bartender for the night, playfully exclaims as you walk up to the counter.

“Thought you knew better by now!” You say with a laugh and Ruby rolls their eyes with a smile.

“Alright, Love, here’s a tray of drinks for the group over at VIP table three. I don’t know if Sakura told ya, but the VIP section will be yours tonight.” Ruby says as they carefully slide a serving tray full of drinks towards you.

“C’mon, Rue, of course she didn’t tell me. Do I ever work any other section?” You comment with feigned annoyance and Ruby laughs.

In reality, you love working the VIP section. It’s always full of rich people with too much money to spend and they always tip very generously. It certainly helps that you flirt your ass off whilst serving but everyone does that.

Picking the tray up with the skill and grace you’ve perfected over the years of being in this industry, you send one last smile and wink to Ruby before heading for the VIP section of the lounge. You smile at patrons as you move through the crowd, giggling and thanking them for the compliments they give about your performance. While you truly do love your job, customer service could still be considered a performance and you are flawless at it.. Until you make it past the roped off entrance to the VIP lounge and see the group at table three.

Virtually unnoticeably, your steps falter and you’re thankful that the club's ambience is fairly dim as you take in a steadying breath. Mentally reasserting your confidence, you paint on a cool and flirty smile as you walk over to table three. Your thoughts run through your mind, filling you with the tiniest bit of dread, ‘Of fucking course it’s them.. I mean, they are Pro Heroes, why wouldn’t they be in the VIP lounge.. For fuck sa-’

“Good evening, everyone. My name is Lucifer, or Luci for short, I’ll be one of your servers tonight. I have your drinks here, but let me know if you need anything else.” You say as you set the tray down on the table, your voice coming out impressively even and a bit sultry.

“Yeah, uhm, I’m gunna need your number,” Chargebolt drunkenly slurs out, a dopey smile on his face and hearts practically in his eyes, as he grabs his drink from the tray.

You giggle at his attempt at hitting on you, having to keep from full-on laughing when you notice Dynamight’s jaw clenching out of the corner of your eye. You smile gently at Chargebolt, “Sorry, babes, but I don’t give my number out to strangers.” You say with a sympathetic pout as you try not to join the rest of the group in their laughter.

“I’m not a stranger, I’m Chargebolt aka Denk- OW! Man, c’mon, you don’t gotta hit me!” Chargebolt whines as he pouts at Dynamight while rubbing the back of his head.

“Sorry about him! He hits on anyone who breathes his way! Thanks for the drinks, Luci!” Pinky giggles out over Chargebolt’s whining, said man still on the receiving end of Dynamight’s murderous glare.

“No problem! I’ve got a few other tables to serve but I’ll check back in a little bit!” You say as you pick up the now empty tray and step back from the table.

You hear the rest of the group thank you as you walk away, Dynamight’s grumbled and gravelly ‘thanks’ sending a wave of heat through your body. ‘It should be illegal for someone’s one-worded, grumbled response to sound so sexy, what the fuck?!’ You mentally curse as you walk up to one of the other tables.

The hours fly by quickly as you wait on each of your tables. Every stop at the Pros’ table met with flirty quips from the group, minus Dynamight. In fact, he hasn’t even looked at you the whole time you’ve been off-stage. You’d be lying if you said that you weren’t just a little disappointed, but you shove it down to keep your sultry and flirty persona up. You flirtatiously thank the group at VIP table five as you stick the wad of bills that is your tip from them into your bralette and blow them a kiss as you walk towards the bar.

“Hey Ruby, you got the time?” You ask, exhaustion leaking into your tone.

“A little past one. You’re off at 15, right?” Ruby asks as they wipe off a glass. You nod, relief settling over you as well as exhaustion. It was a good shift but you are so ready to go home.

“This tray is for three, right? I’ll take it to them before I head back to my room.” You say, picking the tray up with a bit of a huff.

“Don’t act like you’re doing any favors for anyone, you just wanna see the Pros one last time before you leave.” Ruby teases with a smirk and you feign offense.

“Or I just want to reem them for tips, but go off I guess.” You playfully bite back, then giggle as Ruby raises an eyebrow at you.

Despite your exhaustion setting in more with each minute passing, you quickly make your way to the table of Pros. Pouring the last of your energy into your customer service persona, you set the tray of drinks down on the table and smile at the group.

“Hey Heroes, it has been an extreme pleasure serving and meeting all of you but it is now the end of my shift. One of our other servers will take over for me, I hope that you all enjoy the rest of your night!” The well-rehearsed spiel leaves your mouth with a pleasant tone and warm smile.

“I know I’ll be back if only to watch you dance again,” Pinky says with a flirty smile and wink that makes you giggle.

“Thanks for being so amazing!” Red Riot says with a bright smile as he hands you a fat wad of cash. You feign surprise as you take the cash and thank them all as you shove it in what little space you have left in your bralette. You spare one last glance at Dynamight and suppress a frown when you catch him looking very intently at his phone. You say your goodbyes, then rush to drop the empty tray off at the bar before heading back to your dressing room.

Changing back into the sweatpants and sweater that you arrived to work in, you feel the bone-deep heaviness that comes with being tired. You throw your hair up into a messy bun and slip your shoes on, then clock out from the tablet in your room. Slipping your bag onto your shoulder you leave your room and head for Sakura’s office to pick up your earnings from the night.

“Hey Boss, I’m outta here,” You announce from the doorway of her office.

“Alrighty, Babes! Here’s your check, you made pretty good bank tonight! Might be a little more than usual, awesome job!” Sakura beams as she hands you the envelope with your check in it.

Taking the envelope and putting it into your bag, you smile tiredly at her, “Thanks, Sakura. See ya later.”

“You want an escort to your car? I can call one of the bouncers back.” Sakura offers like she always does.

“Nah, I’m good. You already know that I’m the scary creature that lurks in the shadows.” You joke as you activate your Quirk a bit causing your eyes to glow while you shoot her a fanged smile. She laughs at your antics then bids you goodnight and you begin your walk to the back door of the club.

You step out into the chilly night air and are nearly blinded by a set of headlights coming from a car parked in the spot right in front of the door. You put your hand up to shield your eyes from the bright ass headlights and try to see who may be in the car. Suddenly the hairs on the back of your neck stand up and an anxious chill shivers down your spine. From your peripherals you see a hand reaching toward you and you try to move out of the person’s reach. Unfortunately, you’re a tad too late and they are able to grab your wrist and pull you towards them. You come face to face with the creep from earlier and your stomach drops as fear begins to course through you.

“Finally, some alone time with the demon-whore herself. Ya know, I’m a real big fan of yers. Wha’ do ya say we go back to my place and commit some sins, baby?” The creep-ass perv drawls out with a sick smile and your fear quickly turns to anger.

“Fuck off, you corny-ass pervert!” You growl out and you jerk your wrist up to your face, letting out a small breath of blue flames aimed towards the creep’s arm.

“Fucking bitch!” The degenerate of a man roars out as he yanks his hand away, continuing to curse from the pain.

You take the opportunity to whirl around and rush back into the club, locking the back door behind you once you’re inside. The door begins rattling from heavy banging against it and you can hear muffled shouts coming through from the man. You stand there shaking and trying to think of what to do now when you hear the footsteps of someone running towards you. Squinting through the dim lighting you nearly cry at the sight of Sakura and Pinky.

“Are you alright?” Pinky asks, her years of being a Pro making her voice come out steady even though she just ran here, and you nod shakily.

“I’m so fucking sorry, Luci! I should have checked the cams before sending you off! Fuck, I’m so stupid!” Sakura cries into your shoulder after pulling you into a tight hug.

“It’s not your fault, Sakura, it’s okay.” You whisper, your voice coming out strained as you try not to cry, and hug her back.

The three of you jump at the sound of an explosion coming from outside the door, and Pinky pushes you both behind her. You all stand there quietly for a few moments until Pinky’s phone goes off. She answers it quickly and you’re only able to catch her end of the call, “Yeah... She’s fine... Ugh, gross, what a bastard… Okay, thanks Red!” She finishes, then hangs up and turns around to you and Sakura.

“Are you sure that you’re okay? You don’t need to be checked out by a doctor or anything?” Pinky questions as her eyes roam over your form to visibly check for any injuries whatsoever.

“No, no, I’m okay. I just want to go home.” You quietly assure the two; Pinky cautiously believes you but Sakura is still suspicious that you’re hiding any sort of pain. A loud bang on the door makes both you and Sakura jump while Pinky just lets out a sigh.

“Unlock the door, dammit!” A voice shouts from the other side of the door and Pinky takes it upon herself to fulfill the demand.

The door swings open to reveal Dynamight, the dim lights from inside the club and the street lamps from outside the only things illuminating his figure. You can still tell that his face is scrunched up into something angry even with the poor lighting if the way he is grumbling about the “fucking creepy pervert” is anything to go by.

“Good job taking down that creep, Blasty!” Pinky cheers with a smile and a thumbs up.

“Shuddup,” Dynamight says with annoyance laced in his tone, but Pinky just laughs it off as she walks past him.

“Miss Sakura, if you could come with me? The police may want to see the security footage or get a statement from you.” Pinky says from her paused position in the doorway.

“Of course! Text me when you get home, Luci! I mean it, like, as soon as you pull into your driveway!” Sakura demands with a stern look on her face as she moves to catch up with Pinky.

“I will,” You promise with a small smile and send her a wave as she leaves.

A few moments of silence pass as you and Dynamight just stand there, an air of awkwardness beginning to settle in before you speak up, “Thanks for.. arresting that guy.” You say quietly, looking at him with a small smile.

“The guy had a pretty bad burn on his arm when we showed up.. Any idea where it might have come from?” Dynamight asks in a low and even tone, his sharp crimson eyes looking into yours.

Your smile drops and panic churns at your stomach, “I-I.. it was self defense! I-I didn’t know what else to do, h-he wouldn’t let go of me!” You fearfully begin defending yourself, only just now realizing that you used your Quirk unlicensed to harm somebody. Your heart begins to race and your breaths start to stutter, mind racing over the fact that you broke the law.

“Calm down, I was just curious. As far as the cops are concerned they think I did it, so you’re in the clear. Even if they do find out it was you, it’s legal if it’s in self defen- Jesus christ, take a deep breath, it’s okay!” Dynamight’s voice raises a bit when he notices you beginning to hyperventilate.

You turn away from him and make your way towards the wall, leaning against it to steady yourself. You close your eyes and take some deep breaths in hopes of calming down. After a minute, you open your eyes and look at anything except the hero in front of you when you turn back around.

“I’d like to go home now, if that’s okay? Or do I need to speak to the police?” You meekly ask as you adjust the strap of your bag on your shoulder.

“I’ll tell them that you’ll go down to the station tomorrow. The security cam footage should suffice for tonight.” He says and you can feel the weight of his gaze on you as you nod your head.

“Well, thanks again.. Goodnight, Dynamight.” You mumble as you move toward the door to leave.

“I’ll follow behind you.. to make sure you get home safe.” You hear Dynamight’s rushed and raspy words from behind you making you stop in your tracks.

“That’s not necessary, really.. Should you even be driving? You’ve been drinking all night..” You ramble out after you turn around to face him, your heart thundering in your chest when you find that he’s right there.

“I only had a couple drinks, plus I’m not weak like Dunc- Chargebolt, I can handle my fucking liquor. I’m gunna go get my car, do not leave this parking lot until I get back here.” Dynamight firmly demands before rushing off toward the front of the building.

You stand there dumbfounded for a moment before you shake yourself out of it and make your way to your car. You get in, hitting the lock button as soon as your door closes, and start it up. You spend a few minutes queuing up songs until you hear a honk from next to you. Nearly pissing yourself, you send a glare to Dynamight for scaring you but he just rolls his eyes and motions for you to go.

With a little bit of hesitancy in your gut, you back out of your parking space and begin your drive home. Looking at the routes on a map, it’s not a very far drive, but traffic always turns short trips into longer ones. Periodic glances at your rear view mirror tells you that you’re not the only one annoyed with the traffic. A small giggle leaves your lips every time you see Dynamight puff his cheeks with a huff or yell at some dick speeding past the both of you.

Finally, you arrive at your house, clicking the button on the gate opener and waiting for it to open fully before pulling up into the drive. Dynamight follows right behind you, pulling up next to you but just sitting in his car. You wonder if he’s going to watch you walk into your house then you wonder why he’s doing this at all. ‘There’s no way the Dynamight does this with even half of the victims he helps rescue..’ You think to yourself as you pull out your phone and tap the call function on Sakura’s contact.

The conversation is short and as soon as you hang up you turn your car off and gather your stuff, then get out. You barely register that Dynamight has gotten out of his car before he’s walking toward you. You look between him and his off car with a confused expression on your face.

“You gunna close the ga-” Dynamight starts but cuts himself off when he sees that the gate to your driveway has automatically started closing, the allotted time you have it set to stay open if you don’t close it yourself having run out.

“I didn’t realize you’d even be getting out of your car..” You comment quietly, and albeit nervously, as you make your way to your front door.

Silently, you take your keys out of your bag, placing the magnetic fob on its spot just above the doorknob. The lock makes a small beep and the keypad above the spot for the fob lights up. You sneak a glance behind you to see if Dynamight is looking but his back is to you as he seemingly surveys the driveway. You quickly type in the code for the lock and a chime rings through the air as the door unlocks. You push the door open a bit before turning around to Dynamight, unsure of what to do or say.

“Uhm, so-”

“Are you sure that you’re alright?” He cuts you off with his question as he turns to face you and his eyes scan over your body as you blink up at him.

“I- yeah, I’m fine..” You say, a little bit shocked by his behavior, and he just nods his head as he stuffs his hands into his pockets.

A moment of silence fills the air between you two before you blurt out, “Why did you do this? Made sure I got home safe, I mean. You.. you barely even acknowledged me after my performance at the club, and it’s a pretty well-known fact that Dynamight doesn’t really follow up with those that he rescues, let alone escorts them home..”

Dynamight’s jaw clenches and irritation fills his handsome features, and you have to remind your body that right now is not a good time to be getting aroused. His eyes meet yours and promptly melt you with their heat, whether it’s from irritation or something else you don’t know.

“Because, dammit..” He starts, dragging a hand through his hair and letting out an exasperated sigh, his eyes flicking to the ground and glaring at the cement.

“Strip joints aren’t my thing. They’re too fucking loud, there’s too many damn people, and I’ve never had any interest in watching people twirl around on a pole.” He continues, but gets interrupted by the scoff you defensively let out.

But he continues on before letting you get a word out, “But it was stupid Pinky’s birthday and that’s what she wanted to do, so I was dragged into going. I sat at that damn table hating every second until.. Until you got onto that fucking stage. And I know, I know, you probably hear this shit all the fucking time but dammit there was just something about you. I couldn’t tear my damn eyes away from you.”

You’re not sure when it happened but suddenly he is so close to you, crimson eyes sending a blazing heat through your body. Your breath hitches when you catch a whiff of his cologne and your panties are starting to feel much more damp.

“There’s some sort of lust factor to your Quirk, right? There has to be because I never feel like this towards anyone right off the bat,” He rasps out, his voice quieter than before and husky.

“Feel like what?” You whisper, playing the dumb-innocence card heavily as you stare into his eyes.

“Like I wanna fuck you until you’re nothing but a drooling mess cumming on my cock,” He rasps out huskily, his face mere centimeters from yours.

You can’t take it anymore, something in you just snaps and you’re smashing your lips onto his. Your moan mingles with his groan as your arms wind their way around his neck. His hands quickly find purchase on your hips and his fingers dig into the fabric of your sweats as he pulls your body impossibly closer to his. The kiss, if one could call it that, is aggressive with sharp canines nipping each others’ lips and tongues fighting for dominance.

In the midst of your devouring of each other, he backs you into your house, kicking the door shut behind him. You absentmindedly hear the chime of your door locking itself over the rush of blood in your ears and Dynamight’s groans. Your bag ends up crashing to the floor and you both somehow manage to haphazardly kick your shoes off.

You both stumble down the hallway as you lead him to your bedroom, pieces of clothing almost literally torn from each other’s bodies littering the floor as you go. By the time you fall back onto your bed, you’re both in nothing but your underwear. Dynamight stands at the edge of your bed seemingly entranced as you drag your hands along your body up to the front clasp of your bra. You slowly and sensually unclip the bra, making a show out of taking it off even though the Hero’s focus is solely on your tits.

His eyes then meet yours and his tongue darts out to wet his lips, “Are you sure you wanna do this?” He asks, his voice rough with lust but you hear the slight hesitance.

“I kissed you, didn’t I? Listen, I know I’m a stripper but I don’t usually fuck the patrons, I simply have no interest in it. I want this, I need this, and I’m clean if that makes you feel better. Plus, I’m on birth control, so please Dyn-”

“Katsuki. If we’re gunna fuck then you at least get to call me by my fucking name.” He bites out with fake annoyance, rolling his eyes as he shoves his underwear off.

You smirk up at him, toying with your breasts and moaning his name, just to test it out on your tongue and goddamn is it delicious. His eyes darken yet seem to glow at the same time like a whole new level of lust flowed over him, and you give him your real name.

“So, Katsuki, are you gunna fuck me til I’m a drooling mess cumming on your cock or am I gunna have to call Charg- shit, ahh, fuck-” You try to taunt him but are quickly cut off when Katsuki is suddenly on you, mouthing at one of your breasts while his hand kneads and squeezes the other.

He grinds his hard cock on your clothed pussy, right on your clit, the friction of it all making you pant and moan underneath him. Your hands sink into his hair, your claws scratching against his scalp and pulling more groans from him. He gives both your breasts equal attention, biting and sucking and leaving hickies in the wakes of his lips. His kisses begin to travel down your body until his hot mouth is sucking and licking over your already soaked panties.

It’s a slow kind of torture when he finally decides to drag your panties down your legs and off of your body. Needy whines and breathy begs leave your mouth as he uses one hand to slowly drag your panties down your legs while the thumb of his other hand rubs torturously slow circles into your clit.

“Fuck, you’re soaked.. You that needy for my cock, baby?” He husks out as he settles on his stomach between your legs.

“Y-yes, ah, been wet since, fuck, since my second s-set when, a-ah, wh-when y-you were by th-the stage,” You barely manage to get out between the slow stripes he’s licking up your pussy.

He sends you a cocky smirk before fully diving into your wetness and one of your hands flies to his hair while the other grips the sheets. He drinks you up like a man dying of thirst; going from sucking your clit and flicking his tongue against it to dipping lower and slipping his tongue in and out of your slit. Every ministration pushes you closer to that edge and you can’t stop your body from squirming as moans fall from your lips.

An idea manages to slip into your pleasure-addled mind and you pull at his hair to get his attention. This only results in what could only be described as a growl leaving his mouth and vibrating against your clit, nearly sending you. You fight off your impending orgasm as much as you can manage and try to use your words instead, “K-Katsuki, w-wait! I-I wa-wanna ride your face!” That gets his attention immediately, making him pause mid-lick to lean back a bit and give you a wild smirk.

“Fuck yeah, baby,” His lust-laced voice carries through the room as he shuffles around to get into position.

Once he’s comfortable, his lust-darkened and excited eyes catch yours, a devilish smirk sitting on his lips. You send him your own fanged smirk and carefully climb over his body, the shuffling of limbs resulting in your body facing your headboard as your pussy hovers over his mouth. His hands come up to grip your thighs as you slowly seat yourself onto his hot and waiting mouth. A half moan, half gasp leaves your lips when Katsuki immediately gets back to devouring you and one of your hands buries itself in his hair.

You let yourself drown beneath the waves of pleasure for a moment or two before forcing some clarity into your mind. You smirk down at him and his ministrations falter a bit as you trail the tip of your tail down his torso. He questions your action with his eyes until they widen a bit out of surprise as your tail slowly gets increasingly closer to his cock. His groan vibrates against your clit as you wrap your tail around him and his eyes flutter a bit.

You start jerking his cock slowly, your hips moving in sync, and both of your moans start filling the room. Katsuki becomes more aggressive with his licking and sucking, his tongue delving into you every now and then as you grind against him.

“Hah.. ah.. I-I’m g-gunna f-fucking.. cum..” You pant out between moans, your grip on his hair tightening as the overwhelming sensation of your orgasm begins flooding you once again.

“Fucking hell.. Cum, then, baby. Cum on my fucking tongue.” Katsuki’s muffled command is followed by another groaned out curse, his hips bucking a bit off the bed as you continue to jerk him.

“Aah, Katsuki,” His name comes out as a high-pitched moan as your orgasm hits you. Your pussy clenches around his tongue as you double over, your free hand sinking into the mattress next to his head. He tongue-fucks you through it as your eyes squeeze shut and your nails scrape against his scalp. In your bliss, you hear and feel him let out something between a groan and growl, and you’re not sure if it’s from pain or pleasure.

He continues swiping his tongue against your pussy as whines from overstimulation leave your mouth. Something more begins building in your abdomen and you forcefully lift your hips from his face to keep from potentially drowning the man beneath you.

You're both panting as you stare at each other with the same look of feral lust in your eyes. The moonlight shining in from your window making it look like his eyes are glowing and you feel just a bit envious over how fucking effortlessly attractive this man is. A playful smirk pulls at your lips when you squeeze your tail around his cock and he lets out an unintentional moan. Suddenly, in a blur of motions, you’re flipped onto your back with Katsuki hovering over you, his lips still shiny with your cum.

“Ya know, teasing isn’t nice.” Katsuki comments huskily with a smirk as he grinds his cock against your wet pussy, his tip catching your clit with every stroke.

In an instant his lips are on yours, swallowing your whines and moans. He holds himself up with one arm while the other leaves its position from beside your head. His now free hand runs down your body until he gets to your pussy. His fingers rub at your clit a bit before moving further down where he slips a finger into you. Your moans go up in volume as one finger becomes two and his lips suck hickies into the column of your throat. Your body begins to writhe a bit as his fingers brush over your g-spot and his teeth nip at your hot skin.

Soon enough two fingers turn into three and the tsunami-size waves of your next orgasm crash against the poorly built dam you’ve built. All the while, Katsuki just swallows all of begging and pleading for him to just put his cock in you already. His hot, hard cock that is currently weeping pre-cum all over your thigh.

“I-I think I l-learned my lesson ‘bout teasing, Ka-Katsuki! Oh fuck.. J-just put it in!” You demand when his mouth goes back to sucking more marks into your shoulder.

“Demanding little slut, flip the fuck over.” Katsuki commands after he pulls his fingers from your pussy.

You flip yourself onto your stomach, ass up in the air and tail swishing sensually slowly behind you. You look back at him with a smirk that quickly falters when you meet his gaze dead-on as he licks your cum from his fingers. A cocky smirk pulls at his lips when he finishes and uses that same hand to smack one of your asscheeks making you cry out. Pain and pleasure tingle up your spine and your pussy continues to leak.

“Yeah, kinda figured you were a pain slut by now. Only fitting for someone with a demon Quirk, huh?” Katsuki husks out following another smack to your ass.

Finally, without any further commentation, the fat head of his cock nudges its way between your pussy lips. He enters you slowly, groaning as you pant through the welcomed invasion of every inch of him. When his hips finally meet your asscheeks you understand why he had taken his time fingering you. Of course, you had noticed that his cock is big but you weren’t quite prepared to feel this full. There isn’t a single complaint that runs through your pleasure-melted brain, though. Only praises intermingled with moans fall from your mouth when he gives an experimental thrust.

“Shit, you’re so fuckin’ tight.” Katsuki grits out as he sets a steady pace, moving in and out of you while his hands grip your hips.

“So.. fuckin’.. good.. s-so.. full..” You moan out as you push yourself back on his cock, absentmindedly wrapping your tail around one of his wrists.

The room becomes hot and stuffy, the smell of sex and Katsuki’s cologne on every breath you breathe in. Your eyes are half-lidded, wanting to roll back, and your mouth hangs open as Katsuki begins drilling into you. You nearly cum from the sight of him throwing his head back and groaning at how your pussy squelches and clenches around him.

His cock hits your g-spot over and over, making that overwhelming feeling inside you unbearable. You don’t get anything other than a high-pitched moan out of your mouth as your second orgasm crashes into you. Your eyes roll back as you squirt all over Katsuki’s cock and pelvis. You become a babbling, drooling mess as he fucks your through your orgasm, his pace somehow getting faster. His exhales become grunts and growls as he pounds into you, his hands now gripping you so tightly that you nearly cum again thinking about the bruises they’ll leave.

“Fuck, I’m gunna fucking cum!” Katsuki groans out, his thrusts beginning to falter slightly.

“Ah, please cum, a-ah, pleasepleaseplease,” You mindlessly beg as you cum on his cock again.

“Sh-shit.. I-I.. fuuuuck,” He stutters out as he thrust hard into you one last time before stilling. You moan softly as warmth fills you, your eyes shutting from all of the bliss and pleasure you felt throughout the night.

Katsuki is hunched over you for a moment just trying to catch his breath before he kisses your shoulder and straightens up. He slowly pulls out causing both of you to groan, then he collapses onto the mattress beside you. You lower your hips down to the bed and stretch your body a bit before shuffling over to lay on his chest. With his eyes closed, Katsuki wraps an arm around you and begins lightly rubbing your lower back. It’s a peaceful and calm silence between the both of you, the only sounds being both of you breathing and your house’s A/C kicking on.

“There’s no lust factor,” You say quietly, your chin resting on his pec as you look up at his face.

Katsuki cracks an eye open and tilts his head to peer down at you in confusion, “What?” He rasps out.

“My Quirk, Hellspawn, is just demon traits. I don’t have any succubi traits or powers, so there’s no lust factor to my Quirk.” A teasing smile plays on your lips as you explain.

Katsuki is silent as he glares down at you, his face unamused until his lips twitch and a chuckle escapes him. You let out a few giggles yourself and Katsuki runs a hand down his face.

“Well, shit, there goes that explanation. If you’re telling the truth, that is,” He says as he gives you a look of feigned suspicion.

You gasp with feigned offense as you sit up a little, “I would never lie to a Pro Hero such as yourself! What’s the matter, Mr. Dynamight, you don’t believe in lust at first sight?” You can’t help the giggle that escapes you at your bad pun.

Katsuki groans as he rolls his eyes, “Jesus Christ, ‘lust at first sight’? I can’t tell if that's the stripper in you talkin’ or the succubus.”

“I’m not a succubus!” You exclaim as you playfully push him, a laugh leaving your mouth as you stare down at his smirking face.

“Where’s your bathroom, Succubus? We both need a damn shower,” Katsuki asks as he sits up.

His question feels like it’s muffled in your ears as thoughts of not wanting this to end flood your brain. You wonder if he wants this to be a one night stand. If he’ll get dressed, then ask you to not tell anyone about what you two did tonight. If maybe he doesn’t want the fact that he slept with a stripper to get out and ruin his grand reptati-

“Hey, we gunna get this shower over with so we can sleep or what?” Katsuki’s voice breaks you from your thoughts. “I’ll help ya change the bedding and shit after we get done ‘cause I’m sure as hell not sleeping in the puddle you made.” He says with a teasing smirk. You blink dumbly for a moment, then move to stand up to lead Katsuki to your bathroom.

‘He’s spending the night? Maybe he doesn’t want this to end just yet, either..’ You think as you step into the warm water of your shower, Katsuki stepping in right behind you. His arms wrap around you as he pulls you back flush against him, being mindful of your wings. He sighs as he kisses the crook of your neck and you lean back into him, closing your eyes and just enjoying the moment.

Note ~ Welp, there we go, Lovelies! This was a fun fic to write even though I'm not familiar with the workings of a strip club. I did recently watch the movie Hustlers and felt a bit more confident about what I was writing, haha. Hope it was a good read and y'all stay tuned for more fics! Love and appreciate all of you, Lovelies! <3

#bakugo brain rot #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki x you #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x y/n #bakugo katuski #bnha bakugou #mha bakugo katsuki #mha bakugou #bakugou katsuki smut #mha smut #smut #bakugou smut #smut fic #fem reader #pro hero bakugou

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serawritesthings · 7 months

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AS FAR AS DREAMS GO, second part

Pairing | arthur morgan x fem! reader Summary | It hadn’t been a dream that night. Despite you and Arthur’s efforts to steer clear from each other, it proves futile as a horrible incident brings you to the realization that your misunderstanding that once hurt so severely paled as you realize you might lose each other forever. Tags | sexual content 18+ minors dni, angst, fluff, smut, graphic description of violence and wounds Word Count | 17.5k A/N | Hello everyone! It’s about time I posted the second part of this fic, which will be the last part. Sorry for taking craaazy long to write it, but I have been working a lot recently, so it’s been taking me some time to put it together. I had some trouble writing this and didn't really know where I wanted to take the story, so I hope it’s still readable. Thanks for reading! Part one

You saw love for the first time in that cold, desolated cabin. However, the moment was brief when it was swept away from you, too fast for you to bask in the warmth it brought to your untouched heart. Just like the candle lit up the cold house with its all-too-quickly fading light, it had ignited something in you - something you hadn’t felt in a long time. You had been sure it was a good dream finally coming to you, a dream to heal the troubles that plagued your mind endlessly, saving you from the hold your memories have on you. Every touch of Arthur’s fingers had done that, and they had been so kind, so gentle. They grasped every part of you, filling you with a comfort that made you feel completely safe, even though it had felt like the whole world was against you outside of the wooden walls.

Eyes have a language of their own; you were sure of it. Though it’s hard, you’re always trying to grasp that actions and thoughts may not match. It has made your perception of the world more straightforward, allowing you to see people for what they are. Just like you - but with unique experiences and thoughts. Despite all this, you failed to consider Arthur’s thoughts as you basked in the warmth and safety he emitted to you. That’s why it wounded you to see his eyes speak so differently from the words that left him. He spoke indifferently, but his eyes were angry, ever so stoic. A whisper of shame taints the memories as his now obvious disdain towards you weighs heavily on your mind. You had stepped too far, misunderstanding his signals, turning his kindness into something it wasn’t.

It was selfish; you knew it. And now, you had to pay the price for being greedy with a man who didn’t even want you–a man who couldn’t even look at you anymore. Was his touch a momentary weakness he now regrets? You fear that in seeking refuge within his arms, you’ve shattered the already fragile bond between you. The small crack you had made in his tall, stony walls once again filled, this time sharp thorns creeping around the surface and prickling your skin as you tried to grasp the edges so you wouldn’t fall off.

You and Arthur were just like you had been in the beginning, treading carefully around each other like the other didn’t exist - like it was inconvenient to be in each other’s presence. You ache with every second of the prolonged silence, replaying every stolen glance and shared breath. Arthur was the fire that kept you warm that night, but did you scorch his heart in return?

The night air still lingers, but now it’s wrapped in a chilling fog as the morning breeze hangs heavy with unspoken words as you prepare to leave the shelter of the cabin. Your encounter still weighed deeply on you, and although you tried to keep your mind on other things, it proved futile. With every thought of him, it was as if the ghosts of the night before hovered between, whispering secrets that danced just out of reach.

You hadn’t slept the rest of the night; instead, you spent the small hours before dawn treading quietly through the house to distract your mind from the constant thoughts that circled in your head. The atmosphere was calm but uncanny, a lingering sense of emptiness filling you while striding through the distant memories you knew lay deep within these walls.

It was a smaller cabin, and nothing exciting hid in the dressers and side tables, as you might have hoped. You don’t know what you were looking for–maybe some letter or long-forgotten notes. Although you found nothing, everything else was in perfect shape despite the dust laying like a blanket over every surface, meaning the only person who probably knew about this place was Arthur. The house was lonely enough, and through your adrenaline-filled ride, you knew the site strayed far away from the path as only tightly grown trees surrounded you, right in the middle of the woods.

As you stepped into what looked to be the bedroom, you saw the bedside table filled with smoked cigarettes and ash surrounding it in heaps. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Arthur often stayed here, his not-so-healthy smoking addiction being a telltale sign.

“So, this is where he stays? And, smokes?” Your observation made you giggle through your lingering sadness at the thought. He was here more often than he had insinuated, it seems.

There were traces of him everywhere, more than you had seen in the camp. It wasn’t often he left shirts to clean or dishes to wash, nor did he have many possessions littered around. When Arthur was out, he was gone for long periods; when he wasn’t, he kept to himself most of the time. But here, his presence was overwhelming; the warm, familiar scent of him lingered, hitting you intensely. You could even see a gun lying on the floor and his all-to-familiar, blue, worn-out shirt hanging on the chair.

Filthy was an understatement, as the dirt and sweat on it made you scrunch your nose, a displeased noise leaving you. The amount of holes in the fabric made you want to gasp and gasp even harder when you saw the blood on it. What had Arthur done to the shirt? And what had he done to himself to leave the shirt looking like that? Striding hastily from the door, you picked it up, examining it with wide eyes. You could almost fit your entire hand through the patch.

Judging from the blood fading to a faint brownish color, it looked like the shirt had been here for quite some time. You could see a horrible attempt at stitchwork as you examined the blue fabric, but the moment you stretched it slightly, the stitches came undone as the needle that still hung from the thread fell to the floor.

A loud voice brought you away from your thoughts as the shirt fell from your hands. Arthur shouted your name, and suddenly, you were brought back to your current predicament. The thought made you sigh heavily as you stared out the window, now blurry with frost. Facing him right now didn’t feel entirely right, but you didn’t have a choice; if you didn’t want to walk back, of course.

With one last glance around the room, you quickly closed the door behind you and fished up the jacket you had borrowed on your way. Stepping out on the porch, you felt heavy and aching in the brisk morning breeze, gazing beyond the trees as the warm lights of the sunrise painted your surroundings with a golden hue. In front of you, Arthur was silent as he stood tall and formidable with his back towards you, adjusting the reins of Boadicea. With a clenched jaw, the brim of his hat cast a shadow under his eyes, obscuring the thoughts that churned beneath.

The horse shifted in front of him, restless, as if sensing the charged atmosphere. You knew he heard you step out, but he made no incantation of acknowledging your presence as anxiety filled you, words leaving you before you could stop them.

“Do you think it’s safe to go back now?” How he heard you was beyond you as your voice was slightly above a whisper, your insecurities wrapping heavily around your words. You shamed yourself for the stupid question you asked, mentally hitting yourself on the head.

His response was a quiet grunt, barely audible, and if you were facing him, you would see the brief flicker of uncertainty that crossed his face. It was a rare glimpse of vulnerability, a crack in his armor as his heart ached at your voice. Unbeknownst to you, of course. Seeing you so careful around him now made it seem like you had just met, your anxious gaze staring uncertainly at the outlaw in front of you like the day you met.

Hesitating momentarily, you searched for the right words, but the weight pressed against your chest, choking the words before they could form. You felt so tiny where you stood, like a small ant before a giant bear. The choking of tears waited to pour out, so you kept quiet. With briefly closed eyes, you took small steps down the porch, nearing him slowly, like he would leave if you moved too hastily.

He didn’t help you up the horse, and the action made you hesitate. Usually, Arthur would have been there, a steady presence at your side, always doing his utmost to help you. Instead, he swung onto the horse briskly and waited for you to climb on behind him. You moved tentatively; you weren’t sure if your overthinking or his daunting presence made you clumsy, but it was a challenge.

With a shaky breath, you attempted to swing your leg over the saddle, but the simple act you’d done countless times before suddenly felt impossible. Heart pounding in your chest, you cursed how your hands seemed to have a mind of their own.

Your foot slipped, and you stumbled, your heart skipping a beat as you fought to regain your balance. The horse shifted before you, sensing your unease, and you bit down on your lip as embarrassment burned your cheeks.

Suddenly, you heard a sigh above you, and you dared to steal a glance at Arthur. His gaze remained fixed ahead, his expression unreadable, but there was a resignation in how his shoulders sagged ever so slightly like your struggle was the last thing he had the patience for.

Without warning, a warmth enveloped your waist. Your eyes widened as his hand gently steadied you, his touch firm yet gentle. He held onto you for a fleeting moment, his fingers warm against your skin as he helped you into the saddle. Quickly, he released his hold on you, like scorched by fire.

Now, you were the closest to him you had been since last night, although the chasm between you felt wider than ever, a gulf of unspoken emotions that you were too afraid to bridge. With a gentle nudge from Arthur, the horse moved, the rhythm of its hooves a melancholic symphony.

You stole a glance at Arthur, his jaw still set, gaze focused on the path ahead. His unreadable expression starkly contrasted the vulnerability he’d shown you just a few hours ago. What was going through his mind, you wondered to yourself.

You could have never guessed the shame that littered his thoughts with every move; the thought of you now acting apprehensive made him want to disappear into the ground. He had shown you a part he always kept to himself, a part he only relished when the last light of day disappeared.

God damn it, he was so foolish to think it was a dream since you had felt more real than you had ever felt. His mind raced as he tried to wreck his sense of what he could have said in his sleep for you to wake him up suddenly in the middle of the night, wondering if he had been talking about you.

He felt embarrassed, not letting himself touch you for a moment more than necessary, as he knew it would make you uncomfortable. Now, he longed for how you acted around each other before the night came, with you blabbering adoringly on with some nonsense that seemed to always lighten his mood, even though he didn’t respond most of the time. He felt stale now, shoulders hunched and hands gripping tightly on the reins as he tried to shake the thoughts of you away from his mind, unsuccessfully as per usual.

Still wary, you soon realized you didn’t know where to put your hands, fearing to touch his rigid body that tensed at every jump and unexpected movement from the horse. With a tentative exhale, you finally rest your hands on your thighs, fingers tracing the fabric of your skirt. It was a slight gesture, a silent admission of your uncertainty. The thought saddened you, and you should have appreciated his allowance of your touch the night before when you rode with him. It had been comfortable, and it was like neither of you had minded being that close to each other. It felt like years ago, but it was only a few hours.

As the horse’s movements continued to sway beneath you, a gust of wind tugged at your hair, sending strands dancing in the breeze. Instinctively, as if seeking an anchor, your fingers brushed against the fabric of Arthur’s shirt. The touch was unintentional, almost accidental, and your heart raced as you realized what you’d done. When Arthur didn’t react, your hands stayed there, the cotton of his shirt soft against your skin.

You didn’t exchange a single word for the rest of the way, both fear and apprehension filling the air around you as it breezed. The journey felt longer than you remembered; the anxiety and adrenaline had probably clouded your judgment last night. Although it felt longer, Arthur had set a fast pace, and you wondered if it was because he wanted it to be over and to escape your presence quickly. The thought hurt you deeply, and you wished for nothing more than to be back at camp.

And that’s how it went; the pair of you grew further apart the longer time went on, choosing to ignore every chance of reconciliation, instead opting to go about your day as if nothing had happened. The embarrassment inside of you should have grown into disdain for the man as you brooded at the thought of his actions. Instead, you couldn’t change your thoughts about him. You adored him, even though you know he didn’t share the same feelings. It all feels melancholy, but you can’t help how you think; your emotions always have the upper hand.

Like before, all traces of him grew faint as time passed, and to be honest with yourself, you missed him. As days stretched into weeks–an unsettling awareness that Arthur’s presence was becoming ephemeral, like a fading echo in your day-to-day life.

It started with the little things, the subtle traces of his existence that usually wove themselves into the fabric of camp life. His worn hat resting on his bed was absent. The constant smell of tobacco that lingered in the air was no longer there, replaced by the emptiness of his absence. The worn books he used to read lay untouched, collecting dust, pages waiting for fingers that never turned them anymore. The cup of coffee he’d drink in the early morning hours as you watched him from your place by the tree was now empty, cold, and abandoned.

Insignificant as they were, these traces spoke volumes to you. They were remnants of a man slipping away, consumed by a world that demands his attention at every turn. You had noticed how the weight on everyone’s shoulders had grown heavier recently as if treading down those mountains had unleashed an avalanche on your unsuspecting shoulders.

The workload was severe, and it seemed more often than not that things went wrong nowadays. Although it had appeared to lighten the mood for everyone to have some distance from the law, you didn’t feel like the recent time had been doing you good. More so, the lurking shadow of Micha that now constantly lingered seemed to dampen your mood even more.

Having to move from Horseshoe Overlook was one big reason you felt uneasy. You had grown quite fond of the place but were also used to change, which made it less arduous. However, dealing with Pinkerton’s and Cornwall’s men made your stomach turn.

All of you appeared to be in more trouble than before, and it seemed like you only increased your danger with every turn you made. You couldn’t argue that this place was better, though; the area’s remoteness makes you feel safer than you had ever been. Enclosed by a thick forest and looking out at a bay filled with small islands, you felt as if you were miles away from the closest living person.

Huffing to yourself, you closed your eyes momentarily as you leaned back into the makeshift chair you made from some boxes behind your tent. Although you had a bed, which you made yourself stubbornly since you refused to sleep on the ground, you found work more peaceful here. You were deathly scared of bugs, and if you slept on the floor, you were sure you would become a nest for the filthy, petty demons.

Although not a proper bed, just a blanket over some boxes, it wasn’t too comfortable, but you had to pick your poison despite the chuckles you got from your newfound friends. Oh, how you envied the others who had a proper bed. The thought made you sulk, but to be fair, the workload on the ones with a bed was heavier than yours, naturally.

Once again, your thoughts led you to him. It was the case more often than not recently. Although you had both had some more distance between you with Arthur never being around, it had only made you think about him more than you wished. You guessed it would give you more space and room to breathe, but it made you feel cramped like the surrounding air had become tighter as the days passed.

You had also been pondering how well you had fallen asleep in his arm that night with no hint of a nightmare following the closing of your eyes. It was strange to you, and you couldn’t help but miss the shut-eye that had made you feel more at peace than ever since you were a child. There was something so comforting about his arms around you, and you felt safer than ever knowing he was there, and you had missed it and now longed for it.

Over time, it felt like the hinting of love had been creeping towards you as you tried with all the strength you had to push it away, but your efforts remained useless as the thought of him only made your heart race. It felt hopeless to you that you had to go around pining for a man you rarely saw these days, but you couldn’t help the longing from your heart that prompted you to run into his arms whenever you caught sight of him and worry immensely when you didn’t see him return to camp.

Without Arthur’s knowledge, you had been eying the shirt you brought back from the cabin, wondering if you should fix it. If you did, he would know you stumbled into his room. You don’t know why, but you pondered if doing so would make him mad. He would probably view it as an intrusion on his privacy, but he didn’t tell you not to go in there. You had concluded that you would stitch it up for him but not give it to him.

The stitching proved difficult as the fabric’s tear was just as massive as you noted when you first saw it, along with some smaller holes that were easy enough. Apart from your troubles with it, you were pretty proud of your handiwork, and the shirt now looked wearable again. Well, it’s wearable enough for a cowboy, at least. With a sigh, you let the fabric fall on your lap and ran your hand through your hair as you gazed into the tightly grown forest towering before you.

“I didn’t take you for the lovesick type.” A giggling voice reached your ear, and when you turned your head to look beside you, a smiling Mary Beth filled your vision. Your brows arched at her words, surprised. “Lovesick? I’m not lovesick.” You said calmly, feigning innocence. You knew indeed what she meant, but you were not lovesick. The guilt from that night still filled your every thought, just like the embarrassment at your actions rose in you every time you heard his name. You didn’t know your actions mirrored your feelings, but to be fair, Mary Beth was always reading those romance books that probably gave her a picture of the signs of being in love.

“But maybe you are, seeing as you’re mending his shirt for him. It’ll make him happy, you know. He wore it an awful lot before.” A faint blush spread on your cheeks as you made no move to hide the shirt; the damage was already done. She was more observant than she looked; you had to give her that.

“Mending a shirt is hardly a sign of love, Mary-Beth. If that were the case, we’d all be married by now.” Your words grew into a giggle, the thought amusing you and your romance-obsessed friend.

“Could you imagine? I married to Bill? Or worse, Uncle?!” You erupted in a loud laughing fit after Mary-Beth whispered the words to you when she sat beside you, eyes around you now observing you. Putting her arm against your back, you both gossiped the evening away enthusiastically as you hid away from the rest of the camp, cheerfully blabbing til the darkness filled your surroundings. It was nice, the conversation you kept keeping your thoughts away from the sadness that had lodged itself in your chest, a now constant reminder.

In moments like this, you appreciated having a close friend like Mary–Beth around, for she was incredibly clever and better at knowing when you needed distraction. You hoped she thought the same of you, knowing her life wasn’t exactly rainbows and sunshine. You also knew she valued Arthur greatly and knew him well, much more than you did. The questions churned underneath, as you had to stop yourself from spilling your situation to her as you laid all the cards on the table, begging her to make sense of your emotions. You weren’t familiar with relying your feelings on others. Instead, you took pride in your extraordinary listening abilities.

He appeared in the corner of your eyes as you glanced up amidst your hushed voices. Menacing, he looked where he sat tall on his mount, body slumped backward as he lazily swayed with the horse’s movements, leaning back in the saddle. A sigh left you as he appeared unharmed, and the slight fluttering that spread in your body made you feel like throwing up. A sharp shiver rushed through you when his blue eyes met yours, the distance doing nothing to reduce the coil that twisted your stomach at his gaze. They were fiercely soft when they met yours, dark even through their vibrant shine. He looked intimidating; there was no doubt about that, and you cowered under his stare, eyes flickering between his and the dirtied ground before you as he disappeared into camp.

It reminded you heavily of the day of the robbery and how his gaze had pierced dangerously into the poor man’s frame. Somehow, you had convinced yourself that despite the severity of his actions, he was a good man. You were unsure if it was to justify the feelings you harbored for him or the will to think of everyone as good-natured that made that the case.

It had made you second guess what you were doing here, wondering if it did you any good to stay, but every time you pondered walking out, you found yourself unable to. You didn’t want to admit that Arthur was the reason for your staying, but somehow, the thought seemed to linger in your mind, reminding you of it every so often.

You felt Mary-Beth’s hand circle your forearm as she waved at the other men coming back, although glancing at you as she did. Straightening your back, you looked away. This time, you kept it that way as his eyes did more damage than good to you, a warmth having spread low in your stomach at the look of him.

Clearing your throat, you raised from your spot beside Mary-Beth and gave her a tight-knit smile. “Let’s get something to eat, yeah?” Nodding, she dusted off her lap slightly before hooking arms with you, humming as you walked off. You headed deeper into camp, finding Arthur’s eyes examining you as he spoke to a beaming Mr. Pearson, joined by a pessimistic Dutch.

Scratching his beard with his thumb, he looked deep in thought, like he wasn’t even recognizing that he was looking at you. For the first time, his eyes didn’t avoid you; instead, he looked at you shamelessly as your frame grew closer. Staring ahead, you felt your heartbeat pick up–it felt nice to have him looking at you again, although you couldn’t quite figure out what could be the reason for his stare.

You found yourself in a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts, the questions tumbling through your mind like a storm. Mary-Beth’s voice grew into background noise, her words a distant echo as you tried to steady your racing heart that only grew faster as the world became stifling.

The atmosphere had shifted, charged with a tension that seemed to envelop everything. As you continued the short distance, you couldn’t help but steal glances in his direction, each filled with curiosity and uncertainty despite you telling yourself to pay him no mind. God, you felt like a teenager again with no self-restriction.

“Hey.” A deep rumble traveled through camp as the distinctive voice reached you, your mind going numb at the possibility of him speaking to you. Mary-Beth turned her head towards you in confusion while you raised your shoulder slightly in uncertainty, head turning towards the ground as you came to a halt. You heard the clanking of footsteps draw near as the conversation between the three men ended.

“I’ll let you speak in private. Join me later?” Nodding slightly, you kept your head down, wishing you could shrink and run out of sight of the man towering behind you as your friend left you to your demise. You cursed at her under your breath as she half-ran to grab a bite to eat, probably to watch the entertainment before her unfold.

A short, rough cough brought you out of your thoughts, and straightening your spine, you turned around to face Arthur, motioning for him to speak as a slight smile graced your lips politely.

“I- we brought Ada back. I’m sorry we couldn’t get her until now, but roaming around there could get us into quite the trouble.” Scratching his neck slightly, he grabbed his belt buckle like he always did when he didn’t know where to put his hands.

You almost gaped at him when he spoke to you, used to him ignoring you, but recovered quickly by nodding slowly to show him you heard him. Eyes flickered up to yours soon before they faltered just as fast, sniffling before continuing.

“She seems alright, so you don’t gotta worry about that.” Suddenly, his words sunk in, your mind too focused on seeming indifferent to realize. Relief washed over you as you glanced towards the trees, and there she was, unhurt and now safe. Your legs began moving towards her before you could stop them, but before you got too far, you turned to the man who had brought her back to you.

“Thank you, Arthur, really. I know you have a lot on your shoulders right now, so…” You wanted to continue, but your mind grew blank as his blue eyes stared straight into yours. Nodding hastily, he told you not to worry about it and left you with Ada.

Smiling broadly, you ran up to her to thread your fingers through her mane, soft as it was when you last saw her.

“Welcome home, Ada.”

After your small interaction, the days passed, the slight contentment you felt bled into settled panic nestling in your stomach. Dread filled you as you walked towards the men saddling their horses, not giving you a second glance as your quick steps grew closer.

“I rarely involve myself in your business, as it’s not my place. But I and many others deem this to be a set-up!” Panic laced your words even though you tried to hide it, hoping they couldn’t detect it as you tried to keep a steady voice. Abigail trailed behind you, putting her hand calmly on your back.

She had seen the unsteadiness on your face when she told you of their recently planned actions to make up a deal with Colm O’Driscoll and end the year-long feud between them; worry also heavy on her face as she told you of her doubts about the situation.

“Now, now, my dear girl. You have nothing to worry about. We are just going to chat with old Colm, nothing more, nothing less!” Dutch’s ardent voice was loud as he spoke confidently, patting your shoulder as he walked past you, not failing to give you a reassuring smile only he could give in a situation like this. You felt like rolling your eyes at him but decided against it; the action was not like you and most definitely disrespectful towards the man.

“I get I might not know much about his character, but from what I’ve heard, he’s not the most reliable man. I’m asking you to consider instead of hasting through it.” Chuckling slightly, the man raised himself into his saddle expertly, beckoning Micha to do the same as Arthur stayed firmly on the ground as you spoke, staring indescribably at you. You could see the thoughts that ran through his mind. Who did you think you were to talk to in Dutch like that? With shame long forgotten, you stood your ground.

“My, my. You could give a man the wrong idea by worrying like that.” Sneering down at you with a sleazy smile, Micha crouched his form down towards you as he pulled on the reins. “I’ll return to you in one piece, darling.”

His offensive breath reached your nose as he leaned in close to you, and with an appalled face, you stepped back quickly to put some distance between you, back-hitting Arthur’s chest by accident, unaware he stood so close. His hand closed around your upper arm to pull you away from Micha. Sending him an unimpressed look, he grabbed your shoulders and turned you around as he stared you down with raised eyebrows.

“Listen, we know what we’re doin-” Before he could continue, Dutch interrupted him.

“Just a talk, darling.” Flashing you a suave smile, he beckoned the horse forward with Micha on the trail. “Come on, Arthur. We got a deal to make!” Hands left your shoulder as you closed your eyes and took a deep breath.

“Arthur, please listen to me. I have a bad feeling about this! What if you get hurt?” Your tries of reasoning grew into pleading as you trailed behind him, grabbing onto his leg as the horse, who kept a slow trot, rose still, huffing at the abrupt standstill. Staring up at Arthur with begging eyes, you thought you might have seen a slight hesitation deep within them.

“Hey, we’ll be alright, darlin’.” Leaning down, he grabbed your hand firmly on his thigh with a tight squeeze. “I wouldn’t dare get a scratch on the shirt you fixed for me, so I’ll have no choice but to return unharmed, do I?” With that, his warm hands left yours as the dirt swirled around him, gazing ahead with a small smile you failed to see amidst your confusion.

Shirt, you pondered for a second. Glancing behind you, you now noticed a few more had walked up a few meters away as they watched the men leave, Abigail pulling you back towards the camp with a sad gaze. Amidst them, you found a smug Mary-Beth shrugging her shoulders as you gave her an accusatory look, shrinking away quickly before you could question her.

A palpable tension stayed after their departure; it had continued into a sleepless night as anxious whispers and worried glances punctuated each passing hour cast toward the horizon.

Ultimately, it turned out that they all had been wrong, and you had been right. Despite this, Micha and Dutch returned in one piece, but Arthur did not. Arthur was the reason you were worried about this meeting from the start. Whenever you thought about the severity of the situation, your heart picked up, and the feeling of having to do something filled you but being held back by various gang members.

“We can’t just sit here! What if they have Arthur!?” You walked around restlessly with your hands trembling slightly in worry.

“And they might not have him. We don’t know. If we don’t see him back before tomorrow, we’ll go out after him.” Charles’ calm voice did nothing to ease your stress. Glancing up at Dutch in the distance, you grew weary as you didn’t see a trace of worry on his features. “This happens sometimes; we have to wait it out for a while. Arthur would have said the same thing.”

The only response Charles got was a clear view of your back as you stalked off to your tent, restlessness coursing through you amidst your slight panic. How they could be so aloof about this made no sense to you. From the moment when Dutch and Micha returned to camp, it was as if everything had returned to normal, with only a few inquiries about Arthur’s whereabouts.

Were you overreacting? They had been exposed to these situations for much longer than you had, so was your worrying unnecessary? Charles might have been right. Maybe you should give it some time before the worrying was justified, choosing to believe he was safe and sound. It would be the more logical thing to do, which didn’t surprise you since the thought came from Charles, but your head refused to work with it.

As night and day passed, your thoughts were consumed by the man now absent, everything you did useless since you couldn’t focus. It blurred past you, a fog-like cloud covering your mind.

Only when the moon cast a silver sheen over the camp could you hear it—a distant, solitary set of hoofbeats approaching. Your heart leaped into your throat as you swirled around with the half-packed bag. It was the unmistakable cadence of Arthur’s horse you had grown to remember.

With a sense of urgency, you rushed to the camp’s perimeter, your eyes fixed on the approaching silhouette. Arthur’s unmistakable figure emerged from the shadows, hunched over in pain, one arm clenched tightly to his side. He looked battered and bruised, the soft glow from camp revealing the weariness on his battered face.

As he drew nearer, your heart constricted in your chest, the relief of seeing him again, nothing against the fear now flooding your senses. The world seemed to slow to a crawl as you watched him approach, his usually steely resolve replaced by a weary vulnerability. The sight of him wounded and weakened, stirred emotions within you that you struggled to put into words. All you could do was stand in shock, frozen in time, as he emerged.

Arthur’s horse carried him closer, but his strength gave out, and he tumbled from the saddle to the ground with a painful thud. You felt a shiver of anguish as the impact sent you rushing forward, and others from the camp alerted by the commotion joined you. In the dim moonlight, you could see the strained lines of Arthur’s face, the sweat that clung to his brow, and the pallor of his skin being drained of its usual color. His clothing was stained with dirt and dried blood, and his breaths came in ragged, pained gasps.

Amidst the concerned voices and hurried footsteps surrounding him, Arthur summoned the strength to speak. His words were laden with exhaustion and a grim determination as he recounted the treacherous encounter with Colm O’Driscoll. His suspicions about betrayal were tragically confirmed that he had relied on Dutch before despite his reassurance to you.

“Ah, I told you they would betray us, Dutch!” His voice was strained as he spoke, his eyes shut tight. Your hands trembled as you knelt beside him, your fingers itching to reach and touch him, to reassure yourself that he was here and not a figment of your imagination. The fear that had been gnawing at you during his absence, the dread that he might never return, had taken a toll on your nerves, and now that he was back, it threatened to spill over.

“We were comin’ for you, Arthur,” Dutch shouted as he made his way over, his voice tinged with relief. “But you made it back. That’s what matters.” As he spoke, your gaze remained locked onto Arthur’s face, your heart aching as you ignored his words. The sight of him, usually the epitome of strength and resilience, brought low by his injuries, shook you to your core.

The campfire’s flickering light cast eerie shadows on his battered form, accentuating the wounds and weariness on his face as his eyes stayed on you. Pain and exhaustion dimmed his usually vibrant eyes. Beads of sweat glistened on his forehead as his face scrunched up in pain, and your heart ached at the sight of him in such agony.

You moved closer to Arthur, inspecting his injuries as discreetly as possible. His injuries were rough, and the gun wound in his shoulder was cauterized. Instantly, you grew worried when you realized he had sealed the wound on his own, but you shook the thoughts away for now.

Leaning closer to Arthur, your fingers moved carefully; you swept away the sweat-dampened strands of hair that clung to his forehead, your touch a soothing caress against his heated skin. The sensation of his sweat-slicked hair sliding through your fingertips sent a shiver down your spine, but you pressed on, driven by an irresistible need to provide him with some relief.

“You’ll be all right, Arthur. Just hang in there.” You whispered, your voice filled with warmth and worry, trying to discern his pain despite knowing words wouldn’t do the job. Your fingertips traced a path down to his cheek, where the roughness of his stubble met your touch.

Miss Grimshaw’s voice cut through the tense atmosphere of the camp like a whip crack, her stern tone leaving no room for argument. “Enough of this dawdling!” she barked, her eyes blazing with authority as she glared at the men gathered around Arthur. “Get him to his cot, now!” The urgency in her command left no room for hesitation, and the men scrambled into action, realizing the gravity of the situation. They carefully lifted Arthur, who winced in pain and carried him to his cot.

“Miss, you know what to do?” Her stern voice grew softer as she looked at you, already gathering materials you kept by your tent in a calm frenzy. You stilled as you looked at her, absentmindedly nodding as you pondered how to keep the man alive.

As you set to work, the camp grew into a tense silence; you preparing to tend to Arthur’s wounds when everyone had finally left you alone. Despite this, you could almost feel the tent vibrate with the heaviness of the other’s curious and worried eyes, closed flaps not helping.

Cauterized. That’s what Arthur had done. You closed your eyes momentarily at the horrifying thought. “What a fool you are, Arthur Morgan.” As the anger-rid panic spread through you, the loud buzzing in your ears grew louder. The flickering glow of the campfire cast shifting shadows across his worn face, highlighting the pain etched there. With anger and concern fueling your determination, you gathered the supplies, each movement deliberate.

As you sat on the chair beside the bed, the scent of smoke and charred flesh lingered in the air, a haunting reminder of what he had done to survive. Hastily, you unbuttoned the top of his union suit–the once white material a dark red, wet with blood. The wound was now exposed, the charred edges and angry redness a testament to the dangerousness of his actions. Your heart ached at the sight, emotions swirling within you as your fingers traced the contours of the wound with gentle reverence, feeling the heat that radiated from his skin.

“Why in the world does it look like that?” Miss Grimshaw had crept up hurriedly behind you through the closed flaps of the tent but stopped when she was presented with the sight before her. Her gaze was set straight on where the bullet had dislodged from his right shoulder. The flesh was both burned and black. A gruesome sight, indeed.

She handed you a clean cloth, her hand hovering over her mouth as you dipped it in the cold water Pearson had handed you. Gently, you cleaned the wound, the fabric stained with a mixture of dirt, ash, and dried blood. You made sure the touch of the cloth against his skin was tender as you glanced up at his still contorting face, pain heightening as time passed now that the adrenaline had lessened.

“Cauterization.” You told the woman, disbelief still brimming through your mind. “It’s not a very common practice, and many aren’t aware of it. A good thing, though, I would say. It’s only used when there is no other way to survive.” The thought made you hesitate as you wondered what could have happened to Arthur for him to think that was the only way.

You got a confused look as you peered up at Miss. Grimshaw. Sighing lightly, you continued. “To avoid bleeding to death, you remove the bullet lodged in your skin from your wound and then blow up the skin with gunpowder to seal it. While it theoretically works, gunpowder is unpredictable, meaning you could get into more damage than you first were. When you blow up the skin like that, the skin tissue dies–and the immune system doesn’t work on that area since the skin is dead, essentially.” You glanced at him again as you shook your head, finding his eyes already on yours.

“With no immune system, the infections you can get are severe. There’s no way for your body to help protect that skin. In the end, it leads to death, most of the time.”

With a steadying breath, you reached for a bottle of alcohol salvaged from the camp’s supplies. Soaking the cloth in the liquid, the potent scent fills the surrounding air. “If the fever doesn’t take him, the infections will, Susan. How in the world did he think this was a good idea?” Though steady at hand, your voice shook as you found it increasingly difficult to speak.

You placed one hand on his forehead that felt worryingly warm under your palm as you glanced around to see if you had brought a wet cloth. Catching your drift, Grimshaw handed you one she got from the bedside table. Giving her an appreciative smile, you place it on his forehead.

“I can hear you, you know.” Gritting the words through his teeth, he spoke in a slur amidst the sharp pain, keeping his gaze locked on you. As you stared at each other, a silent exchange passed before you gently pressed the alcohol-dosed cloth against the wound. His inhale was sharp, a flinch betraying his efforts to remain composed, and you couldn’t help but feel a pang of empathy for the suffering he endured.

Looking at you, Grimshaw shook her head slightly as appreciation shone in her sharp eyes. “Well, good thing we have you here, miss. God knows how he would have fared if that weren’t the case.”

For the first time since you met her, Miss Grimshaw appeared wildly unsure of herself, uneasiness coating her every move. If not for the severity of the situation, you would have found humor in her now ghostly pale face contradicting her ever-so-harsh interior. She probably felt so, too, for she put her hand on your shoulder encouragingly and left you to tend to Arthur, promising to call for her if you needed anything.

Her words were encouraging, yet the fear stayed persistent. What if you couldn’t help Arthur? Trying to stray from the thoughts consuming you, you focused on keeping a delicate balance of care and caution in your hands. The alcohol someone handed you before served as an antiseptic. Although not as valuable as a legitimate antiseptic, you had to make it work to sterilize the wound and ward off the threat of infection.

Arthur’s eyes remained fixed on yours throughout—a gaze that seemed intense and challenging to describe yet unwavering in its focus as they grew tired. In another instance, it might have rendered you nervous about being so heavily observed, but the adrenaline that still coursed through you made your focus solely on his wound. When everything appeared clean, you grabbed the bandage you brought to wrap it around his shoulder cautiously.

After some time, you carefully withdrew as nothing more could be done, but your fingers lingered against his skin for a moment longer than necessary. Despite his fatal injuries, feeling his skin under your hands had been an immense comfort–a constant reminder that he was still with you for the time being.

The moonlight glows gently over you, soft shadows dancing across his features as you gaze over his form. He appeared to be knocked out now, eyes closed and breathing even. Indeed, this was a common enough occurrence in this gang as you thought back to all the other misfortunes they had to be saved from, but the thought of Arthur being the one at the receiving end of it made your chest cramp slightly tighter. Sure, he had been in scrapes before, but never this bad.

Shaking your head, you tried to get rid of the thoughts bothering you and instead worried about how you were about to keep his fever down. He was still burning up, face red and layered with sweat. As you glanced at Arthur again, pity settled low in your stomach. His expression was laden with discomfort and pain, even though sleep had rendered him motionless on the bed.

Bringing your hands away from his smoldering skin, you quietly threaded over the ground to the bedside table to grab the supplies, now soaked in blood and ash. Preparing to leave, you took what remained of the alcohol so you could sterilize the small portion of materials that were still usable.

That’s when you heard a barely audible, hoarse grunt piercing through the night’s stillness. Surprised, you looked behind you, and staring at you were a pair of blue eyes, half-shut with exhaust coating them amidst a desperation you had never witnessed before. Your breath hitched as the moment suffocated your lungs, the air around you growing thicker.

“Don’t go.” Arthur’s words were a whisper, laced with a quiet vulnerability that made your heartbeat pick up its pace. As you looked down at your blood-soaked hands to avoid his gaze, a calm moment passed where you assessed where the following string of actions would lead you, but ultimately, you sat back in the chair beside him.

Gently, you brought your still trembling fingers through his hair, combing it away from the cloth covering his forehead. His half-closed eyes watched you, and the warmth lodged in them almost made your breath stop.

Humming slightly, you remained beside him until your soothing caress lulled him closer to sleep. His breathing gradually slowed, the pain-filled haze lulling him into a fitful slumber. Features relaxed, his body finally succumbing to the desperately needed rest.

–

The camp grew shrouded in quietness. Arthur was still lying in his fever-induced haze, features now softened by the gentle pull of slumber. By his side, you sat with a tired mind, a flickering lantern casting a warm light that danced across your features. You had been awake for a few hours, watching over him in hopes his fever would stay down. Although your eyes showed intense fatigue, you combated sleep with determination and worry. How could you possibly leave him now?

Frankly, you were just as terrified now as when he stumbled into camp. As told before, if a severe infection took hold of his body, you had no way to help or treat him like you would if you had the suitable materials and not in the middle of nowhere. It was severe, not the usual gashes and bruises you were used to tending to with your time with the gang.

As you gently switched the damp cloth on his forehead for a new one, its cool touch contrasted his heated skin greatly. Arthur’s eyelids fluttered open slightly, revealing eyes clouded with fever and something else–perhaps even warmer amidst the haze. Chastising yourself for not being careful enough, you stroked his cheek softly with the back of your fingers, cooing at him calmly.

“Go back to sleep.” Your voice was calm, praying that he would fall back asleep. He didn’t answer you, only looking at you in that indescribable way. A fleeting vulnerability had seemed to wash over him in the quiet space between wakefulness and dreams as his fingers stirred.

Before you could fully grasp his intentions, his trembling hand found the one you had been resting on his cheek, his touch warm. A rough thumb brushed against your inner palm in a tender caress as he brought the soft skin of your hand to graze it over his lips. Your heart raced a tumultuous rhythm as his action surprised you tremendously.

Despite your attempts to stay strong, the weariness that washed over you and the toll of the day’s events fell from your shoulders when his eyes stared so tenderly into yours. The fear that had knotted your chest when you first saw him writhing in pain, the nagging anxiety that had gnawed at your insides during those uncertain hours of tending to his wounds, and the overwhelming relief that he was now here, still with you—all surged to the surface at once.

Silent tears welled in your eyes, their shimmering trails tracing the contours of your red cheeks. Your breath quivered, and your shoulders shook with the sheer intensity of the emotions building inside you. It was as though a dam had burst, releasing the pent-up feelings that had threatened to overwhelm you throughout the night. In the soft, dark tent, you surrendered to this moment of vulnerability, letting your tears flow freely.

Arthur’s lips, usually quick with wit or stern in resolve, now held a slight parting as if he wanted to speak but found himself at a loss for words. Witnessing him in such a state was rare, his gaze carrying a depth of emotion without explanation. Though trembling with the lingering pain of his injuries, his fingers maintained an unwavering hold on your hand as he pulled on it, beckoning you closer to him.

“No.” You mumbled through your tears, eyes clouded with a panic-induced frenzy when you understood what he wanted from you. “I need to watch over your fever.” Sobs mingled with your words, shaking your voice as tears glided down your skin, hand leaving in hesitation as you tried to create distance between you. A sigh escapes Arthur as he stretches his arm towards you and grabs your hand yet again, pulling you closer to him.

Although the pull was weak, it didn’t require much strength to succumb you to his will. Your determination disappeared instantaneously as your mind longed to be comforted despite the man before you in more need of it, leaving the chair to be embraced by his scorching body, the smell of sweat and blood filling your nostrils when you felt him underneath you. You didn’t care, though, the feeling of his bare skin against your cheek letting you know he was alive as you rested in the crook of his neck.

In the peaceful silence, you could hear the labored rhythm of his breaths, still showing signs of pain and the toll his injuries had taken on him. His heartbeat remained steady, though, a reassuring cadence that echoed in your ears like a comforting lullaby as you rested your hand on it. You grew aware of the rise and fall of his chest, the gentle thud of his pulse against your ear. Your heartbeat slowed as his cradle unconsciously calmed you, the tears not as persistent as they once were.

His uninjured hand found sanction on your waist as he gently stroked it with his thumb, the action comforting. If that meant he was alright or not, you could not tell, but likewise, you basked in the moment of having him close to you.

You looked up at him and stroked his temple soothingly as you wiped away the sweat that ran down his face. Arthur was already observing you when you met his gaze, the look in his eyes making you warmer than you already were, as the stifling air in the closed tent made no way for the chilly breeze to come through.

“You scared me, Arthur.” As the moment grew more intense, your eyes fell to the scruff on his neck as you spoke, fearing to look at him after your revelation. You felt the coarseness of his hand land on your cheeks in a gentle motion, the pads of his fingers gliding across your skin thoughtfully.

“You ain’t got to be scared anymore,” His raspy voice spoke out as his touch slowly caressed your lips, eyes zoned in on the soft curves. “I’m right here.”

Then, as if guided by an impulse deep within him, he raised on his unhurt arm and leaned forward as the back of your head found sanction in the crevice in his arm, his lips finding yours in a kiss as delicate as it was poignant.

The world seemed to recede in that instant, time slowing to a standstill as the feeling of his lips against yours sent a jolt of emotions coursing through your veins. The exchange was not fleeting; it was a lingering dance of lips and breath, a dance that ignited embers that had been smoldering between you for longer than you dared to admit.

When he pulled back, his eyes locked on yours with a blend of sleepiness and an ember of awareness that pierced through the fog of his haze. You grabbed his shoulders softly, beckoning him to lie down again and rest on his already shaking body, quivering from the power of trying to stay upright. His fingers retreated to the bed, his gaze unwavering, as if he was etching you into his memory. A hand came to rest in your hair when he softly brought you to his lips again, your breath hitching as you fell into his arms again, your legs on either side of him when he pulled you closer.

His lips moved with more fervor this time, the arm holding you tighter against him as a deep hum left his throat at the feeling of your hands on his neck. His eyes were half-open as he kissed you, gazing softly into yours as the candle beside you flickered its light deep into his eyes. Together, your lips massaged one another, now desperate, as your hands gripped the strands of his hair at the nape of his neck.

The feeling of him gripping your hips against his middle made you squirm, the bed creaking underneath you as you moved your legs further up his sides to reach him better. You didn’t give yourself a chance to ponder what you were doing, feeling delirious and too exhausted to question your actions.

“Arthur.” His name came out in a breathless whine; though desperate, it was quiet. There was no reaction as his lips barely left yours to breathe, then once again warming your insides as you felt his tongues slip into your warm cavern, a nonsensical rumble deep in his chest going through him.

“Arthur,” Once again, you whispered; this time, despite your will to keep falling into him, you removed your hands as you tried pulling away. “You need to rest.” He placed his hand on your back and pushed you back towards him, stroking down to your waist as his palm caressed your curves.

“I’m serious!” Yet again, another whine left you, words contradicting your body as your hips moved hesitantly above his. Biting the bottom of your lip at the pleasant feeling creeping up your stomach, you returned to him with an urgency that rendered both of you merciless as you found comfort in each other’s arms.

“I thought I’d never see you again.” It took a while to process the words he spoke as the moment you shared filled your every sense, but when you did, you froze in his arms. Blinking your eyes slowly, you soaked up his words, and when you glanced up at him, his eyes were shut tight in pain. Your once beating heart slowed down as his confession squeezed it tightly, your breath now heavy as it grew loud through the quiet of the night.

“When, when I…” His forehead creased in frustration as he tried to get the words out. “When I got shot, all I could see was you.” The last few words he groaned out in strained breaths, teeth gritting as his hand flew to his shoulder. “And I, I could see you in front of me like you were right there. You felt so real as you fell into my arms, and I thought that was it.” A long pause endured before he let out a sigh and spoke. “I thought I’d gone to heaven, ya know.”

With now strained, open eyes, he looked into yours, and for the first time, you felt like you could see straight through the thorny walls of his soul as he bared himself to you. He had always been a man of few words, the last couple of days a firm reminder of that, but the way he spoke now filled you with a shock that made your blood run cold despite the scorching heat that surrounded you.

A long moment passed, and your breathing was barely audible as it mingled with Arthur’s. Despite being the words you have wanted to hear for a long time, they weren’t what you expected. The warm feeling in your stomach turned into a slight prickling as it rose in your chest, and you had to lean back as it spread through you.

“Now, I know.” A loud breath left him, the world growing blurry before your eyes as he continued, stress evident in his words as you put some distance between you. “It’s selfish of me to tell you this, to burden you with having a man like me love you. But I had to feel you one last time, in case I,” A slight hesitation filled his voice as he kept his eyes shut, fearing the look on your face as his hand squeezed your thigh. “Won’t make it tonight.”

The heavy stones resting on his shoulders for a long time fell, and relief shot through him as he finally found himself telling you what he never imagined he would. Could is a more fitting word; if not for the fever-induced haze he found himself in and the near-death experience he had just witnessed, he wouldn’t have spoken a word. He would leave you none the wiser than you were before, still having to live with loving a man who didn’t love you while he would dream of you forever, within a distance but still so far away—a light in his forever darkness.

Now, he was telling the truth. Aware of the fatality of his wound, he was sure dying was a possibility in the coming hours. After all the bad things he had done in life, the man down below had chased him for a long time, and Arthur always escaped him with pure luck.

To have you one more time as he did in the cabin was his dying wish, to once in his life feel the embrace of someone he loved in the bleak world he had lived in. He felt pathetic as he begged you to stay with him, rest his hands on you, and listen to the pitiful words that made him feel more like a beggar than a man.

He thought it was for the best when you didn’t speak up. He didn’t want to hear the words that he always imagined you would tell him were he to voice his feelings to you. Instead, he wished to live in blissful ignorance, to hear your breath in his ear as your hands touched him in pity for his pining and longing with eyes filled with anything but love. That’s where his heart had brought him now, craving your touch; whether it was filled with hatred or sadness, he would take it all as he lived his last moments. He would let you do anything to him, only if you stayed close to him.

When he had returned to you at the table in the cabin, the look in your eyes left his heart cold, filled with sadness as you gazed at him. A look that reeked of regret, wishing that you had never let him put his hands on you. He didn’t need you to tell him, for he already knew. To leave you in silence had been the best way for him to protect the small part of his dignity he had left.

He had wanted so badly for you to keep laughing then, beckoning him to return to your embrace as the monumental fright turned into a laughable memory and a loving one as you held each other warm for the remainder of the night. The thought had brought chills up his spine, and as he longed to return to you, he knew it wasn’t possible. If he put another hand on you, your words would burn his heart into ash on the wooden floor. He was sure of it.

As Arthur’s thoughts raced, yours stood still. What could you say that would make sense? You thought it had to be a dream, for you were sure you would never hear those types of words coming from Arthur. You brought your hands up to his cheeks with your palms against his warm, wet skin as you focused your gaze on his, finding his eyes now looking at you.

“What?” That’s all you could manage to let out, voice small and confused at his sudden confession. You felt a hand engulf your own, holding it against him as his gaze faltered when you leaned back toward him. You brought your forehead against his cloth-covered one and closed your eyes, soaking up his presence.

Loved you? He loved you? The thought rose fast, and your blood that had run cold earlier was replaced with a warmth that shook you through and through. Had you been so wrong to mistake his love for you with hatred and regret? Looking at him now, you could see that every word he spoke was accurate as he opened up to you and how glad you were that he did; for now, you wished to hear those words leave him forever. Amidst your tear-filled eyes, a toothy smile grazed your lips as you pressed them against his unexpected ones.

They were warm and inviting, fitting perfectly against yours, as if they had always belonged there, and as your mouths melded together, a profound sense of happiness surged within you. His hand, which had been so gentle with you, cradled your face, thumb brushing against your cheek in a tender caress that sent shivers down your spine. Leaning into the crook of his neck, you shut your eyes as a surge of tears broke through your eyelids from the emotions that wrecked through you.

“Hey now, I thought I told you not to cry.” Arthur shushed you as a choked sound left you, frowning as you let tears fall. You found it unbelievable to imagine that this was why he withdrew from you, and at this moment, you felt the stupidest you had ever felt.

Why had his thoughts led him so astray? Thinking that you would pity and loath him for the feelings he harbored for you? A damn outstanding actor, he was, for he had you a complete fool. You were sure he regretted everything.

“I thought you hated me.” As you murmured the words meekly against his skin, a scoff shook your body when Arthur glanced at you in disbelief.

“Now, how in the hell did you get an idea like that?” Even though his words grew harsh, his tone remained soft. He was surprised that that’s how you had perceived him lately. He held no contempt for you in his whole body and wasn’t sure he could, even if he had all the right to.

“I just, you.” Stammering, you found it hard to explain yourself, now realizing how easily this could have been if you weren’t so stubborn. “I thought you regretted being with me. You know, that night. And I, I thought I’d taken advantage of you and that you didn’t want to see me anymore.”

You were greeted with silence as Arthur let your words sink in, the quietness deafening. You waited for an answer with your head still cowering under his neck. His hand left its place on your waist and covered your cheek under its rough palm. Lifting your head, he forced you to look at him, an incomprehension visible in his expression.

“I’d be a fool if I even considered, even for a second, to regret being with you. More of a fool than I already am.” He saw that his sentence only confused you; a painstakingly labored breath left him before he continued. “Jesus, woman. You should be the one to regret being with me. A man like me should never put his hands on a woman like you, you know.”

“No, Arthur.” You mumbled as you stared at his chest in defiance. So this was why he had been acting like this? Was all that ignoring and indifference just a facade because he thought he didn’t deserve you? You almost wanted to laugh at the thought, but the worry you felt for him for his poor view of himself grew.

“Listen, I can’t be that for you, even if you wanted me to.” Shaking your head, you began to silence him.

“No-.”

“No, you listen to me. Today was a perfect example of who I am and what I do.” He shook your head to get you to look at him as he craned his neck to look deeper into your eyes. “You shouldn’t even be here, for your own sake. You could be safe, married, and live away from all this shit. Every time I see you, I see that you’re too good for us; you’re too kind, too warm.” He stroked your wet cheek with his rough palm as he murmured. “It ain’t something an outlaw like me deserves, alright?”

How do you even respond to that? You had no choice but to gaze into his eyes, the warmth deep within the blue orbs rendering you silent. So you didn’t answer him, lowering your lips closer to his. Your breaths mingled, the enticing distance speaking volumes at the want for each other still lingering in the air.

Arthur’s breathing grew unstable, and the already heavy strain his body was going through grew bolder as your enticing lips appeared so close to his, both mouths opening slightly as hazy eyes adorned your blushed faces. Everything that had just been said between the two of you disappeared from his mind; the only thing making sense to him now was your plump lips barely touching his.

You heard him rumble your name soundlessly, but it turned into nonsense in your ears as they buzzed, your heart beating so heavily in your chest you were sure you could feel it rattle your whole body when his lips finally touched your own. The first few seconds felt like a song, his fingers on you, picking at the strings of your heart as your breaths turned into a beautiful melody. Your caress was delicate as it ran over his shoulders, avoiding his bandages as they traced over the soft skin of his arms.

“You’re not dying tonight. You’re staying here with me whether you like it or not.” You let your lips connect again before he could speak, the desire in the kiss growing heavier, electricity zapping in the surrounding air. Now that you had him, you felt your heart soar at the revelation. Arthur loved you. Oh, how stupid you had been to think he despised you and regretted being with you.

You turn your head to the side to catch your breath, but as you do, Arthur takes the chance to place small, loving kisses against the corner of your mouth. Now that he had you on top of him, he only grew desperate for more, even though he knew the meaning behind your willingness was pity seeping through you from his words.

As you gasped for breath, his wet trail descended from your chin to your neck, sloppily massaging his tongue against your soft skin. Despite your attempts, his touch made it harder for you to regain your composure as a pitiful, quiet whine left you when you felt his teeth gently scrape on the already blushing skin.

His hand that never left the swell of your hips felt increasingly more lewd now than before, the broadness of his palms kneading the doughy swell of your curves as he spread your cheeks with fingers that grew closer to the warmth of your lower region. Your hands found sanction in his hair yet again, bringing your lips to his as your hips moved against the motion of his hands restlessly.

“You don’t need to do this.” Arthur’s voice was dangerously low when he spoke through your lips pressed firmly against his, and although laced with want, the uncertainty was noticeable. A suppressed moan left you as his finger accidentally ran over the delicate part of your lower region through your skirt, your face contorting at both the muted pleasure and confusing words he spewed.

“Hmm?” Once more, you zoned out for a minute, completely forgetting his injured state that had only been brought back to camp a few hours ago, and ran your hands down his neck and over the broadness of his shoulders, muscles tensing at your sensual caress.

“I know you pity me, but-” Barely listening to him, your eyes remain closed as you memorize the curves of his upper body. “-but you ain’t got to do this. I know what I said about having you one last time, but that was just wishful thinking, sweetheart.” Feeling the air thicken as you breathe, you gaze at him with clouded eyes, brows furrowing with bewilderment. “You ain’t got to do this just because you feel bad for me, alright?”

Raising, you sit down on his middle as you inhale deeply. “What are you talking about, Arthur?” A moment passed when his eyes closed, bringing his uninjured hands to his face to remove the cloth still covering his forehead as he let out a curse word under his breath. “You think I’m doing this in pity? No.”

Leaning forward slightly as you shook your head, you grabbed his cheeks with both hands to make him look at you. “Ever since you left me in that cold cabin, I thought you despised me, Arthur. I felt so ashamed and didn’t know what to do, but I couldn’t hate you because I love you too much.” Silence followed your words as he stared at you like they had gone in the other ear and disappeared through the other. “Trust me, this is not pity, Arthur.” Softly, you kissed his forehead, lingering there for a while as you didn’t, even for a second, ponder over what you just said.

You felt two arms circle around your waist tightly as a gasp left your unsuspecting body when you fell on your back towards the sheets, the large body of Arthur encasing you as your lips connected in a hurried kiss. Shocked at the sudden change of events, you grab onto his arms to find stability, the fabric of his bandages reminding you of his state.

With your eyes shooting open, you try to push at the man above you so he would lie down again, the thought of him over-exerting himself a horror in the back of your mind as the severity of his wounds was apparent. This wasn’t good; you shouldn’t have let him move a single muscle when he rose from sleep; instead, prompt him to go back to sleep so he could rest his defeated body. Your emotions had gained the upper hand, and with every stroke from his broad hands, they threatened to take over again, surrendering you to his want.

You were tapping his chest in despair, but he didn’t let a single word leave your mouth as he almost swallowed you whole, a deep rumble going through his chest as he thought your moans of protest were from pleasure. Shivers wrecked through you when you felt his hands drag their way up your sides, thumbs resting just under your bosom as they stroked tenderly, ghosting over your sensitive nipples, the touch electrifying despite the layer of clothing separating you.

“Arthur! What do you think you’re doing!?” Managing to get ahold of yourself amidst his adamant touch, you find a moment to escape the onset of his lips left on you. Your hushed words didn’t seem to phase him as a lazy grin grew on his lips, staring at you with lidded eyes; no sadness in his gaze, but a deep longing that spread like a fog over his blue orbs. Ignoring you, his mouth enveloped you as a warmth radiated through your whole body, melting like butter in his embrace.

“Say it again.” Caught up in your lips, he begged you to say the three words that fell so beautifully out of your mouth–a sense of euphoria filling his body as he basked in the moment that just passed.

“What? Come on, Arthur, you’re hur-” A had found its way into your hair, tugging slightly as the other held you from squirming against the mattress. “Please, sweetheart. Tell me you love me again.” Your breath hitched when you heard what he called you, something so fiercely pinching your heart at him, yearning for you. You never thought you would have Arthur Morgan, known for his bullheadedness and unyielding ways, begging for you. Yet here you were.

“Say it.” His words were heavy with a desperation so fierce it backtracked you for a moment, his resilience rendering you motionless for some time. His otherwise calculating eyes grew darker with a deep want, your toes curling tightly as the hold he kept on your hair grew tighter, although not firm enough to hurt you.

Your body felt afire at his sudden desperation, not understanding how he had the energy to hold you this intensely when his whole body was trembling. The worry you held for him in this moment paled as he rendered you completely willful in his arms, the constant nagging about his state that always seemed to stay in the corner of your mind being washed away by his loving caress.

“I love you.” Succumbing to him like you always seemed to do, the three words fell from your lips earnestly, face contorted as your mouth fell ajar. Your heart beat wildly against your chest like you had just run a marathon and only increased when a loud groan left the man perched on top of you, burying his head in your neck, face now concealed by your hair that was displayed wildly on the pillow.

“God.” A strangled sound left him as he sucked in a sharp breath, hands coming down to lift your legs to rest by your side so he could fit his hips against your delicious warmth, skirt falling around you as he pushed your plump thighs apart. “Again.” Arthur’s voice grew firmer, not begging now but demanding it of you. Lost in pleasure, you didn’t hesitate to answer him, though this time softer as you observed the frustration filling his expression.

“I love you, Arthur.” His stomach churned at the warmth that swirled in your eyes when you spoke, feeling like the only thing keeping his miserable being alive was your words as they pierced through his heart. It wasn’t enough, though; every time you told him you loved him, a more profound urge to hear you say it grew, urging him to leave you screaming the words. It would only be enough when he had captured your entire body and soul in the prison of his hands, the only name left in your mind his. Just like it always should be.

Caught up in his intoxicating lips, it felt like there was nothing but the two of you in the entire world, everything having been pushed away by the intensity of the desire now burning within you. Eager to be even closer to you, he sought any friction to alleviate the sharp pleasure he felt spreading in his lower stomach. The hips nestled between yours sunk further so they fit snugly against yours, now unable to escape the blissful sensation that left your mouth open in a silent moan.

“Again.” Almost all his weight was against you now, your body pressed firmly on the mattress as he almost seemed to melt into your grasp when your hands gripped his shoulder blades in wavering suspense.

“Oh, Arthur. I love you so much.” You whimper out, finding it more challenging to keep quiet as he now ruts his hips against yours like in a trance, heavy puffs of breath leaving him as he struggles against the force of his actions.

His head fell limp on your shoulder as his arms circled your waist tight, sweat dampening the cloth of your blouse immensely, seemingly having trouble breathing as he panted loudly.

God, it felt so good, but seeing his arms shake in exhaustion showed you it was certainly taking a toll on his body. It took much of your self-control to try to get the rugged man off you, but the mere thought of him falling dead on top of you didn’t appeal to you even though every fiber of your being longed for him to continue despite his state.

“Arthur.” You got no response even though you ran your fingers through his hair to coax him away from you, whining when he rubbed against that one spot that made you jerk slightly. “Arthur, listen to me. We shouldn’t be doing this right now.”

You weren’t even sure he had heard you as the groans leaving him made your voice a distant reminder, but it proved to have gotten to him as the pressure of his body lifted from yours. Seeing he was out of your face, you felt your mind clear when you took a deep breath, though the pleasure he warmed your body with still left you in shambles, your voice shaking every time you spoke.

Grunting, he rolled over beside you on his back, eyes closed as he tried to regain his composure. As you looked him over, his whole body was covered in a deep blush, muscles flexing in exhaust.

“Arthur.” You sighed as you saw his appearance, still high on his touch, that left your whole body sensitive. “Why won’t you listen to me?” As he opened his half-lidded eyes, the determination you had failed to see before shone brightly in them as he raised his shaking arm toward you.

“Ah, come here, sweetheart.” He cooed at you, his voice irresistible even though it came out in a slur, speaking like he didn’t understand why you were so resilient. “Let me take care of you.”

Your eyes shot open as he spoke, growing speechless as the obscenity of his words backtracked you. A blush covered your face, and you grabbed your hands on your chest as you shied away from his poignant stare; suddenly, the embarrassing motion of clenching around nothing made you whimper out a no. Although your words contradicted your actions, Arthur knew, and an acknowledging grin spread lazily on his lips.

“I’m alright, darlin’, promise. I’ve got in worse scrapes before; this is nothing. Now come here.” He said, patting his thighs as he coaxed you closer. That was a lie. Never in his life had he been so close to death as he was today, and never had he been gripped by a fever that seemed to shake up his whole body as bad as it was now. The world around him was blurry as the slightest motion made him dizzy, every fiber begging him to rest, as he could feel his psyche and body hanging on a thread.

So, he understood where your hesitation came from, but he’d rise from the dead again and take you if he passed away without having you. Especially now that he knew you loved him. So it didn’t matter to him if he was half alive as he pounded you; he would see it through and ruin you for every man you came across.

“You’re lying to me.” You exclaimed aghast, remaining seated on your knees beside him as you gave him a concerned look. It was easy to see, for he looked more dead than alive, and while every fiber of your being begged you to force him to rest, you knew you had no chance against him. You have never had the strength to stay away from him.

When he realized you weren’t giving up, he pushed himself up on his elbows, eyes set heavily on you like you were his prey. It made you feel small in his poignant gaze, breath hitching slightly as you felt like backing away, only to be dragged closer to him. He winced as his shoulder sent a searing pain through his body at the pressure, so you had no choice but to crawl towards him in panic and push him back on the bed as he resigned, trying to put his bandage that had slipped back in place.

Ignoring your worrying tendencies, Arthur grabbed your more petite frame in contentment when finally having you closer again, hoisting you up on his lap as his arms pushed you to lie on him, hands resting on his chest.

Choosing to resign when you realized you couldn’t get your way, you placed a few nimble kisses on his neck under his ear where a gash had been reopened, now a deep red running down his side. He pushed you flush against him, knees raising suddenly to pull you further up his body so he could gather your skirt above your waist. Arthur’s rough hands ran over the softness of your behind before wandering up to grab your underpants. Gasping at the sudden tug, you felt the material slink down your legs, the sudden exposure covering your face in a deep blush as you kicked the material off your ankles.

“Rest your arm, Arthur.” You reminded him quietly, feeling both his arms at work as they ran over the flesh of your inner thigh tenderly. If you were going to do this, you had to ensure at least he wouldn’t hurt himself more than he already was.

Pleased when you saw him put his arm to his side, you raised on your knees so you could start unbuttoning your blouse. It was too warm here as the night air could not enter the tent, and you hadn’t realized how scorching it left your body until now. The material clung to your wet skin as you removed the buttons, sighing in relief as you grew more exposed.

That’s when you felt him rise, helping you remove the blouse over your head as you stared at him with a bemused expression because he didn’t listen. He didn’t pay you any mind, though, burying his face in your chest as his hands ghosted over your inner thighs. Trying to stay quiet, a hushed whisper of his name left you when you felt his cheek rub against your nipple when he placed a few kisses between your breasts. Your body was running in anticipation, already on high alert, as you had gone too long without feeling his hands on you, remembering how he had touched you before.

You gasped as his tongue circled your nipple, the wet touch gliding effortlessly along your sensitive skin. Immediately, your face contorted into pleasure as your hands tangled themselves in his hair while you gripped tight on the strands, back arching as his fingers ghosted over the wet lips underneath your skirt.

God, it felt like he was eating you alive as he let his mouth feast on the soft skin, hearing your attempts at quieting your small noises with your plush thighs pushing against his sides. One of his arms travels to your hip, trapping you in the enclosure of his hand as he grinds you down further onto the bulge, erection straining painfully against his pants.

An audible whine leaves you amidst your panting as you bring one hand to your mouth, chastising yourself for being unable to be quiet. It was impossible, though, when you could feel his clothed bulge under your exposed cunt that grew moist–slick now, rubbing against the fabric.

He helped you drag yourself back and forth as his hand fell to the side in resignation to the pain, his movement slow as he savored the feeling of having you entirely at his mercy. You felt him mumble something against your skin as he rolled the sensitive bud on his tongue, huffing as he felt your hands grip tighter on his roots. The sudden drag of his finger against your slit made a whine leave you, pulling his head closer against you as the pleasure now running through you rendered you unable to control your body.

“Good?” He mumbled as he massaged your clit with his fingers, although not adding enough pressure as you tried to move your hips against his hand. A quick nod left you as he planted his mouth at the juncture of your neck, wheezing as he felt your body go limp in his arms. He brought his thumb lower to feel how wet you were, the rough pads of his fingers so good against your heat as they made warmth spread through your whole body, toes curling when he suddenly spread your lips and pushed his middle and index finger into your entrance.

Gazing down from your shoulder, he grabbed the fabric that had pooled around you and lifted it up hastily so he could see more of you. The sight of your bottom moving against his hands made him want to scrunch his eyes tight if he didn’t try to memorize the sight in front of him. The soft plumpness of your thighs looked so beautiful against his bloodied and dirty clothes, skin clean and soft. Ignoring the pain growing harsher, his other hand raised so he could run his hands along the warm skin, your back arching slightly as you rose on your knees.

Placing soft kisses against the side of your waist that was now presented in front of his face, his hand trailed over to your bum as he slowly pumped his fingers into you, kneading the flesh roughly as he pushed your middle against him.

“Arthur.” Your quiet whining made his vision blurry, adding one more finger into your clenching hole as your nails marked half-moons into his skin. The tent was becoming scorching hot as you could feel the fever emitting heat from Arthur’s body, but his touch made you forget all about it, as you could only see white pleasure when his fingers massaged your inner walls.

Grabbing his shoulders, you tried to push him down, but your protests were in vain as he slowly withdrew his fingers from you and gently laid you down on the mattress. For a moment, he stopped in his actions and stared at you, your blouse discarded on the floor as your plump breast had grown red from his assault and the skirt resting on your waist exposing your heat as slickness from your arousal covered your cunt and the sides of your thighs.

But your face grabbed most of his attention as your eyes, which he had grown to love, stared back at him lovingly amidst the pleasure and want. A blush covered your face and ran down to your chest, which raced with your breath, hands restless as they seemed to almost reach out for him again. God, never had he thought you would actually look at him like this.

An appreciative rumble left his throat as he grabbed your skirt and hoisted it down your legs, casting it hurriedly to his side as he grabbed your ankles and pushed you towards him, where he sat before you. To you, he didn’t move quick enough. Instead, he placed small, tender kisses on your ankles as he stared you down, seemingly etching you into his memory. Growing shy under his intense gaze, you try to push your legs together as he runs a finger down your slick heat, suddenly feeling very exposed without your skirt and the thought of someone entering the tent lingering in the back of your mind.

“Shh, shh, shh,” Arthur cooed at you as he pushed your thighs apart gently, your strength nothing against his as he did it with ease. “It’s okay.” A short moan left you at his words, staring at him through lidded eyes as your hands gripped the pillow under your head, not knowing where to put them. “Come ‘ere,” He whispered as he lowered himself over you, pressing his weight slightly against you as his bare skin against your nipples made your body jump, another moan leaving you from the pleasure.

“Easy now, sweetheart,” As he rested his arms on either side of your face, he lowered his lips to yours as he pressed them against the soft skin, humming when he felt your legs wrap around his waist automatically. “You gonna be a good girl for me, hmm?” He asked when another blissful whine left you as his hand stroked up the softness of your stomach to your breast, gently rubbing your nipple with his thumb.

“I will.” The words left you breathless as you suppressed the moans that wanted to escape you, your body growing restless against his teasing as your legs tightened against his waist, prompting him closer to you. The friction against your core felt incredibly good, but only lasted so long for Arthur to raise his hips to remove what was left of his union suit.

As he pushed the fabric down to rest on his thighs hurriedly, your hands crept over his shoulders to run over his back, the skin still wet from the sweat running down his body under your fingers as they grew filthy from the dirt covering him and blood that had dried on his skin earlier. Grunting at your actions as you momentarily distracted him, he returned his hands to rest under your back so he could grip your shoulders. He’s probably going to get killed shortly, and if not from his injuries, from the sweet, hazy memory of you planted underneath him, staring at him like he was the only man in the world.

You were his obsession, if not a full-fledged addict, after tonight, and he had trouble keeping his hands off you even though he knew he shouldn’t have you. Although, those thoughts were far gone now, for he yearned after you. Craved to bury himself into you–like injecting himself with that sweet high only you could bring him.

Unable to help himself, he captures your lips again as he feels you giggle when his beard scratches your skin–a stark contrast in texture. The sound made him smile amidst his desperate actions as he tickled your waist slightly to feel you squirm against him. God, he had become soft.

You are interrupted by the slow drag of his cock running over your puffy lips that glisten with want, eyes scrunching together as the anticipation of feeling him inside you grows more intense. He prods it around as it slips between your cheeks; you’re so slippery that it drives him right through and slides smoothly between your thighs, coating his hardness with your wetness.

Your eyes are blown wide as you look at Arthur through hazy eyes, gazing at his heaving chest as his whole body trembles. You could almost taste his desperation as the same one course through you when he grabs your hips and bends his own so he can find you–holding the weight of his cock as he slips it right in.

A gasp leaves your mouth, and he swallows the noises by planting his lips over yours. Immediately, he feels you clasp around him as you clench, the spongy, slippery walls hugging him tightly as he curses. It felt painful to press something so ugly into someone as beautiful and kind as you, but he was far too selfish to care; the need to keep the end of his promise of fucking you good was not something he was going to break, even though he could feel the lingering exhaustion threatening to make him pass out any second from the pain littering his shoulder.

Gritting through his teeth, the combined feeling of pain and pleasure coarse through his body as he slowly dragged himself out before sheathing himself into you fully. You welcomed him openly as your hands gripped his shoulders, his hands hustling your thighs up to rest beside your body as he almost folded you in half.

Your mouth opens wider, lids dropping to cover half your eyes, with no hint of pain on your face. It leaves Arthur satisfied as he reminds himself to be gentle with you, his cock throbbing as his gaze flickers between your breast bouncing with each thrust and eyes hazy with pleasure–pleasure he was bringing you.

The lewd sound of him entering you fills the tent, and while he hopes it’s not audible outside, he isn’t sure he cares now. Although your quiet whimpers that you couldn’t help but let out, he wanted to keep to himself, pressing his hand against your mouth as he pounded into you harder.

“Tell me, sweetheart. Tell me how I make you feel.” He fails to conceal the possessiveness in his words as he mumbles out without thinking, too drunk in the feeling of your moans vibrating against his hands and pussy fluttering around his thick cock. He grits the words through clenched teeth, lifting his hands from your mouth so you can answer him.

You look at him as he keeps thrusting, eyes glistening with unshed tears as you swallow him more profoundly into your cunt. “Arthur.” His name comes out in a broken, almost nonsensical voice as you find it hard to speak amidst his harsh thrusts that push you further up the bed every time. “Please, so good.”

Your confession makes his eyes roll back, uninjured arm gripping the headboard as he repositions his hips, suddenly plowing into you harder as his face rests on your neck, body trapping you to the mattress to keep you in place. A slight sound left you from the sudden force, biting into your hand in desperation so you wouldn’t make a sound.

“Arthur!” A quiet gasp left you as he only groaned into your skin, breathing in your scent as his hips stayed relentless. “Ah, Arthur! Be careful!” Amidst your pleasure, you couldn’t help but worry when his arms extended limp beside you, and his weight grew even heavier on top of you as he almost laid down entirely if it wasn’t for his legs keeping him going. He was far too gone to comprehend what you were saying, though, as he fucks you hard but sweetly amidst his pain.

You shudder with every thrust now, his uninjured arm on the bed circling around your waist as he pulls you tighter against him. You weren’t going anywhere from him as he planted a wet kiss against your pulse, the sweet sound of your pleas from both pleasure and worry surrounding him. God, if he didn’t know any better, this felt like a dream, your soothing hands caressing his skin as he panted above you, sweat running off him like a river and soaking the bed underneath you. You made a sound through your broken whines like he was torturing you with his cock, even though you were offering your cunt to him so willingly, the thought making his body grow taut.

Arthur’s hair was soaked entirely as you gripped it, hand looking for something to hold on to as your legs tightened around his waist. You couldn’t even move with his thrusts now–only able to lie there and let him take you.

“Arthur–god!” You tighten around him one more time, and all you can see is white as he buries his head in your neck, groaning desperately as he ruts into your heat at a pace you didn’t think was possible in his state. Raising himself up on his knees, with the last ounce of his strength, he grabs your hips and lifts up your lower half as he rams his throbbing cock into you, balls unbearably tight as they slap against your skin.

“Jesus- that’s it, hold on to me,” He grits out as your cry is muted by his hands when your walls flutter around him as you come, shattering all over him through broken sobs. Your tender hands, made to mend people, both heart and skin, grip onto his rough ones, created instead to destroy. The feeling of them running so softly over his battered body made him feel like the most undeserving man alive. Despite this, he reveled in the thought of being the one to feel your hands on him.

When you came, it became the final straw for him as he could finally feel the pressure release into a sharp pleasure that nearly blinds him. Falling helplessly into your arms, he pushed your lower half into his as he ruts mercilessly into you, walking you through your own orgasm as the first spurt of cum seeps into you.

He almost felt like a dog as you pulled him deeper into you, unable to help the way his hips pushed against yours as he thrusts into you, a white ring of his cum seeping out from your hole as your hands gripped his waist tightly. His cock still moves slightly even when there’s nothing left as the high still courses through both of you, you lying limp and frail underneath his weight.

Arthur knew he should move, but he spent all his strength, noticeably as the black dots that had filled his vision for some time grew bigger, panting like he had run a hundred miles into your skin as his body grew heavy on yours.

Every dream he had of you could go to hell because this was the only remedy needed in his unlawful life. Now that he had a taste of you, you grew into his own brand of morphine as the haze Arthur found himself in would erupt his whole being into an addiction. It was heaven, unfiltered and raw and so beautiful to be inside you, and he knew that if he died now, heaven would be no match for what he had in his arms.

As your high lessened and your mind grew more apparent, you cradled Arthur’s head. You nuzzled your face into his hair, rubbing his shoulders tenderly as you basked in the aftermath, finally having him in your arms after months of uncertainty and pining. You rested your heels back on the mattress, sighing as his now softening member moved inside you, leaving you both satisfied and full. You stay like that for a while, basking in the afterglow, until you notice his whole body shaking terribly as he struggles to breathe.

“Oh, Arthur!” A worried expression filled your face as you tried sitting up, although his weight made it difficult for you to move him. “Arthur, I can’t move you on my own.” Resting your hand on his cheek, you try to examine his face as he buries it further in your neck, forehead scorching under your palm.

“Shit.” You rarely swore, but now you chastised yourself for letting this progress, although you knew you did at least put up a fair fight against the headstrong man. Strained breaths left him as he rose slightly from you and rolled on his back, a short gasp leaving you as he pulled out of your suddenly too-empty walls.

Shaking away the feeling, you turn towards him as you realize his shoulder is bare, the bandage discarded on the bed. His wound looks wildly irritated and inflamed as a harsh redness surrounds his injury. “So stubborn.” You whispered as you threw the bandage down the bed, crawling over him to grab some fresh ones you had planned to take with you when you had tended to his wounds before. “You should be resting, but instead, you think it’s the perfect moment to have sex?”

As you looked over at him while redressing his shoulder, you found him gazing at you with humor in his weary eyes. You couldn’t help but lift the corner of your mouth as the reality of the situation dawned on you, chuckling as he poked your sides–your hand coming to slap his away jokingly.

“God, you’re so beautiful.” His voice came out in a shudder as he stared at you, tripping over his words as a groan of pain left Arthur, having not let his body take the rest it desperately needed. Setting into motion, you swing your legs over the bed and grab the bottle of alcohol.

“Here, drink up.” He raised his eyebrow as a strained smirk played in the corner of his lips. He got a bemused look at his attempt at lightening the heavy mood that had washed over you.

“You try’na get me drunk?” Sighing at him, wondering how he had the energy to make jokes, you brought the bottle closer to his lips. Hesitating, though, you questioned yourself if Arthur waking up with a hangover tomorrow amidst his pain was a good idea, but there was no other way to dull his pain.

“Do you want me to knock you out instead so you won’t feel the pain from overexerting your body?” Feigning horror, he still complied as he chugged the bottle empty. You grabbed it from his hand when he was done.

“You already did, darlin’,” He rumbled as he beckoned you to lay down with him, your head resting on his outstretched arm as you stared up at him. You grew quiet for a while; the only sound audible was your shared breathing as you traced circles on his stomach. Despite you worrying to death, you felt more content now than you had ever been. His confession had filled you with more happiness than you had ever thought possible, and now, as you lay in his arms, you felt dumb for ever thinking he despised you.

You had been so stupid, but you also pointed some of your anger at Arthur for being such a brickhead and thinking you felt less of him for who he was and what he did. Well aware of who he was, you weren’t so innocent either to be too good for him, but you knew he didn’t see it that way. You could never leave him now that you had tasted how wonderful love could feel, especially after the scare he had brought you tonight.

“I dreamed of you, ya know.” You turn your head to look at him as you are brought from your thoughts, hand ceasing its motion on his skin as it rests on his hand. Leaning his head down to the top of your hair, he kissed against it as he breathed in. You were like raw whiskey straight to an empty stomach. The way his mind goes blank from sliding his nose over the softness of your hair.

“What? Me?”

“Mmh.” He rumbled out, chest shaking as the indistinct sound of his voice vibrated through his body. “Every night, you came to me like a goddamn angel or somethin’.” He knew he wasn’t good with words, and as the words left him, Arthur realized they didn’t do his clumsy confession justice, but the way you looked at him like he was the most wondrous thing you had ever seen made him believe it wasn’t too bad.

“Every night, I dreamed of you. Your eyes when you stare at me in that way you always manage to do, your hands that are always so unknowingly soft-” His eyes glint with mischief as he continues. “-your round ass pressed against me-”

Gasping, you motion to hit him, but retract your hand when you remember his injuries. “Arthur!” You whisper harshly. “-your big words that make you look smarter than you are-” Raising onto your elbow, you give him an unamused look as he chuckles slightly at your reaction to his blatant teasing.

“If you’re planning on being so funny all the time, maybe you should have become a jester instead of an outlaw.” Squinting your eyes at him, he only brings his arm around your back to push your body against his once more, still shaking slightly from laughing. Settling down, he continued.

“Christ, I longed for you in ways you couldn’t even imagine, sweetheart.” As his voice grew low, he returned his half-lidded eyes to you while stroking your hair softly. You felt a lump in your throat forming at his words. The sweet words that felt so unfamiliar coming from his mouth did nothing short of making you putty in his hand, now finding it hard to be mad at him for the apparent strain he had put his body through.

“Every night felt easier when I had you to dream about, but that was all I let it be, for we both know I really don’t deserve you.” This was unmistakably true to Arthur, for even though he had you in his arms right now, he knew you shouldn’t be.

“Don’t stop, Arthur.” As you whispered, you gazed into his eyes, a fluttering erupting in your stomach as you wrapped your arms around his neck, hugging him slightly as he pulled the blanket over your naked body. “Never stop dreaming of me.” Your voice trembled slightly.

“Why would I dream now that I have you?”

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan imagine #red dead redemption imagine #red dead redemption smut #red dead smut

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gffa · 5 months

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Over the last week, I decided to go ahead with bookmarking all the fics I've recommended over the years on AO3 since I abide by tumblr poll results always (and man pour one out for all the fic that never made it to AO3 or has since been deleted, sooooo many gems lost to time!) and it was a bit more than the ~3,000 I was expecting:

Hopefully, this will be easier than browsing the hundreds of recs posts I've made, since you can filter for any of the author's tags now! These are mostly focused on Star Wars and DC fandom, but I did my time in the anime mines and occasional tours through some TV fandoms or movies. You can dig into everything unfiltered and start your own filtering, or the bigger fandoms you'll find:

MAJOR FANDOMS: Each of these should have 100+ at minimum and, in the case of Star Wars, literally almost half of them are in that fandom. Look, Star Wars fandom might be a trash fire in a lot of ways, but it is ON FIRE with some good fic. (Older bookmarks not guaranteed to match my current sentiments, especially re: the Jedi, but they did catch my fancy at that point in time!)

STAR WARS: - All Star Wars -OR- All Star Wars minus the Obi-Wan/Anakin ship - OR- Nothing BUT Obi-Wan/Anakin

BATMAN/DC: - DC can sometimes be tricky, but you can do a Batman* search and get most of them (though, sometimes Nightwing* or Young Justice* or Superman* will catch some of the others). Honestly, though, you might want to just do a search for what character or dynamic you like and have fun from there, because otherwise you're getting a face full of my Dick Grayson Is The Center Of The Universe And I'm Making That Everyone Else's Problem agenda. ;)

MARVEL/MCU: - Marvel* will probably get most of the various properties, though you may want to filter for Defenders* or Guardians of the Galaxy* if you're interested -OR- Marvel* without the Thor/Loki - These focus a lot on the Thor* fandom if you want to witness the results of like 8 years of constant voracious reading in that fandom (Minus the ship), because, seriously, I read a LOT of Odinson family fic. - Bonus, just do a search for Maximoff* to find some really good X-Men: First Class-verse because, listen, I have been ALL ABOUT the Maximoff twins since long before the movies or MCU brought them over and I will DIE ON THE HILL of "Marvel, make Magneto their bio-dad again or I'm never reading another comic of yours ever".

TOLKIEN/LORD OF THE RINGS/SILMARILLION/HOBBIT: - Tolkien* -OR- Hobbit* -OR- Lord of the Rings* searches will turn up most of my Elf-hunting, I primarily focus on the Sindar Elves, but look I can't resist my problematic Feanorian faves or that I will die on the hill that Fingolfin is the best ever. (You have NO IDEA how sad I am that so much fic on Stories of Arda or FFNET is not easily bookmarked on AO3, sob. I externally bookmarked a few of the bigger ones, but sooo many shorter faves are missing from my recs tag.)

CLAMP: - X/Tokyo Babylon legitimately bums me out because it's not a huge fandom and yet so much of what was written was pre-AO3 and lost when CLAMPesque went down or was never brought over from Livejournal, yet this fandom (well, the Seishirou/Subaru pairing) still burns brightly in my heart.

BOOKS: Chrestomanci | Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint

DRAMAS: Nirvana in Fire | The Untamed -OR- Modao Zu Shi

VIDEO GAMES: Dragon Age: Inquisition | Final Fantasy 8 | Genshin Impact | Okami

BANDS: Arashi

All right, whew, that was actually a fun project, despite how much work it was to hunt down a lot of older faves to see if they were on AO3, hopefully you'll find this useful!

#lumi.txt #fic recs #star wars fic recs #batman fic recs

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cinellieroll · 2 months

Text

☆ random obey me headcanons part 2!

asmodeus, levi and barbatos ♡

part one (lucifer, mammon and simeon)

part three (beelzebub, belphegor, solomon)

part four (satan and diavolo)

cw: some small nsfw on asmo's part :p

small note: thank you so much for the likes and reblogs! i never expected such a large majority of people to enjoy my content so it's very dear to me. once again, thank you!

☆ asmodeus:

- kinda bad at cooking. his way of slicing and dicing vegetables is very mediocre if not clumsy looking. there are days where his cooking is acceptable and days where it's to seasoned or too bland (always convinces himself its good tho and posts it on his devilgram)

- though he's kinda bad at cooking, his baking skills are okay! his favorite pastry to make are cookies because he can design them the most.

- "ofcourse mc! you'll always be the first one to try my desserts! unless you want to taste something else?~ ♡"

- he has a collection of sanrios, hironos and sonny angels in his room. ESPECIALLY sonny angels. crazy thing is he always gets them for free from his fans and its always the limited edition ones

- he really enjoys watching old movies from the human world especially the romcoms. mean girls, notting hill, pitch perfect. he will pester you to rewatch it with him even though you guys have seen it multiple times already.

- he keeps a small jewelry box in his room but instead of jewelry its full of pics of you and him and the gifts you give him. theres some pics in there where the other brothers were cut or crossed out so it'll be just you and him lmfao

- he is a yandere and i stand by this. it's not as obvious but if he's really into you he'll constantly mark you with his scent and the stuff he wears. he'll leave a hickey or a bite mark if you're lucky ;)

- the type of guy to only bring a purse to school. if you ask for a pencil the bitch is gonna open his bag and say "oopsie! i only brought my makeup pouch and mirror today. sorry babe!"

- has his own private concert in showers every goddamn day

- he'll either fangirl with you about celebrities or he'll get extremely jealous because you're simping for someone else.

☆ levi:

- sometimes his ass crack will be on display when he's sitting down on the floor

- wears booty shorts religiously. sometimes he'll casually just walk out his room wearing a hoodie and booty shorts with prints on it

- has a tumblr account where he posts a bunch of hc, drabbles and other shit and until now no one knows its him

- had an amino and discord phase where he always roleplayed with other people. till this day it haunts him at night

- he livestreams twice a week on twitch and has been scolded by lucifer on stream once. there was also a time where mammon barged in his room half naked and suddenly all the views went up 10x

- trolls on roblox like it's a 9 to 5 job

- every once in a while he'll stay in lucifers room while lucifer is doing paperwork. he'll just lay down on his bed, watch and play games and even fall asleep

- makes his own persona in every fandom he gets into and writes very detailed backstories (dw levi, same)

- only reads "x reader" fics for obvious reasons

- went insane because human world games and animes are better than the ones in devildom. dont get me started about aot. (his favorite is levi ackerman obvi)

☆ barbatos:

- wishes he could get piercings but since he's the demon prince's butler he obviously can't

- started tweakin when you said some humans keep rats and bugs as pets. like he stopped polishing some plates and looked at you like you just dog shitted diavolo's name

- really enjoys your spotify playlist filled with metalhead and grunge songs. he really likes slipknot

- likes to order those cute, fancy tea sets when he has the time. when you gifted him tea leaves and a limited edition teapot set his love for you sky rocketed.

- gets annoyed when solomon manspreads

- has a really good voice when he sings. he used to sing diavolo lullabies when his father would get angry at him

- scrolls through levi and mammon's post for educational purposes cuz he wants to learn slangs just incase diavolo asks him what a specific word means

- "barbatos, what does 'runnin from da opps' mean?"

- "my lord, 'runnin from da opps' is a slang made by the new generation. it means fleeing from your haters."

- loves to tailor and iron his bed sheets so he can have a peaceful rest after a long day of non stop errands.

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yeonjuns-beanie · 1 year

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Mirotic

warnings: college!au frat party setting cuz i live vicariously thru fics, chan and reader are music majors, mirror sex, dirty talk, oral(f receiving), hair pulling, semi-rough sex, cocky chan, slim thick reader(really i just mention readers ass a lot), some self deprecating comments, weed usage, unprotected sex, squirting, having sex on someone else’s bed, i think that’s it lol

a/n: this has been sitting in my drafts forever and I just never finished it. think imma start working on an ateez fic after i post this one but we’ll see. hope whoever reads this is having a good day/night and that you enjoy it! ~ nero

chan x female reader

word count: 5.4k

You parked your car on the side of the street knowing that it would be the easiest way for you to get back after leaving the party. You were coming up on the end of the semester and your friend Jisung was adamant that you needed to take a break. Take the edge off the imposing doom of finals and come to the party his frat was hosting. The aura frat parties brought was never really your essence, but you’d never turn down a free drink so you thought why not.

Stepping out of the car and brushing out your skirt you shut the door and began the trek to the building. You could hear the bass from the music echo outside, neon lights adorning the front of the frat and you felt your stomach drop a little. Suddenly feeling somewhat nervous.

I wonder if Chan is gonna be here tonight

You thought to yourself and suddenly you became critical of your outfit. It’s not that you looked bad, it’s just now you were wondering if it would catch enough of his attention.

Chan was one of Jisung’s best friends. He wasn’t in the frat technically, but he was around so much that they almost considered him an honorary member. Chan had also been in your music theory classes for the past three years and over time you developed a small crush on him but had never done anything about it. You’d much rather chew on your crush, hiding it in the deepest parts of yourself and keep it platonic rather than embarrass yourself by outing your feelings.

You finally reached the front steps of the frat house only to be greeted by none other than Chan himself.

“Hey! Y/n, how are you? I didn’t know you were gonna be here tonight.”

He held his red solo cup out to the side so he could give you a hug

“Hey Chan, I didn’t know you were gonna be here either. Ji insisted that I needed to take a break from preparing for finals.” you chuckled out

“Ugh, tell me about it. I know juries are coming up in a few weeks but I have no motivation to work on my pieces.”

“That’s exactly how I feel! But ya know we’re so close to being done we might as well just power through, ya know.”

Chan sighed

“Yeah, you’re right, but still.”

Letting out an airy chuckle, his attention seemed to divert for a moment. You looked at him trying to figure out where his mind went and you almost didn’t catch it, but you caught him raking over your body.

“Wanna go grab a drink? I feel bad keeping you right here at the door”

You nodded, following him inside the front door. Passing through the entryway, you realized how packed it was this time around. This wasn’t your first party Jisung invited you to, but it was definitely the first one where the house was almost completely packed. Forcing you to slide sideways through crowds of people

Guess everyone needed the night off

“Y/N, do you want punch or something from one of the coolers?”

It wasn’t Chan’s voice that brought you out of your thoughts but rather his hand resting on your lower back and his head coming to your ear so that you could hear.

“Ummm, I think I’ll do the punch for now. Are there any truly’s in the cooler?”

“I think so yeah.”

Walking over to the cooler you bent down to sift through all the cans. What you didn’t realize was that while you were digging through the variety of drinks, Chan was watching your every move. Watching every curve of your body bend with the way you moved. He almost lost his composure watching you finally stand up from your crouched position, your skirt riding up a tiny bit and your ass being accentuated. Turning around he had a solo cup waiting for you.

Shaking the truly can you looked at him and smiled

“Gotta add just a little extra”

“Oh, my bad I guess I should’ve asked”

You furrowed your brow wondering what he meant until you looked down at the cup and saw that he had filled it nearly to the brim

“God damn Chris! I know you’re a giver but shit!”

You laughed out. Taking the cup, you brought it to your lips and sucked down about a quarter of the punch so that you’d have room to add your truly to the mix in the cup.

“It will never not amaze me how you put away alcohol. It’s impressive honestly.”

You looked up at him after meticulously topping off your drink and finishing the truly in one go.

“It’s just cuz I’m fat, it takes a lil longer to metabolize for me. I feel it but not quickly.”

Chan rolled his eyes and looked at you with a slight glare.

“I’m kidding, damn! You don’t gotta eat me alive with your eyeballs”

“Y/N, you know I don’t vibe with you talking bad about yourself”

“But is it really talking bad about me if it’s a joke? Cause if that’s the case, I got a lot of beef with how you talk about yourself.”

Chan went to open his mouth but then immediately closed it after he considered that you were also right.

“That’s what I thought”

You smiled to yourself, finding amusement in the situation.

“Have you seen Ji, by the way? I wanna say hi to him before I forget tonight.”

Chan whipped his head towards you

“You plan on drinking that much??”

“Only if I get left unattended.”

“Well, then I guess that means you’ll be stuck with me for the rest of the night. And actually, I think he’s upstairs at the pong table.”

“Shall we go?”

Chan nodded and held his hand out. You eagerly took it while he led you through the house and up to the second level in the loft where the ping pong table was. There was already a game of beer pong in play so you just watched off to the side, noticing that Jisung had his turn next. Walking up to the edge of the table he noticed the two of you standing off to the side.

“Hey lovebirds! Lemme get this shot real quick”

Chan removed his hand from yours, Jisung’s comment making the blood rush to his ears. You paid no mind to it, even though you did kinda miss the feeling of his hand in yours. Jisung tossed his ball and it sank into a cup almost in slow motion

How is he always so good at this game?

He threw his fists in the air and walked over to you guys. Giving Chan a bear hug, he softened his body language when he turned to you.

“You made it!”

“Yes, I did. I figured you were right”

You giggled out.

“So what was with the hand holding? Y’all finally together?”

Unbeknownst to you, Jisung was teasing Chan. Chan had told Jisung in passing that he may have a crush on you. You also had told Jisung about your crush on Chan but never expected him to do anything about it. Obviously, Jisung had other plans that he informed neither of you about. He was trying his best to take advantage of this information and see if he could get it out of him in front of you. But before Chan could answer, you but in, saving him from his own embarrassment.

“Ji, it’s not like that! He just gave me his hand so it’d be easier to come up here. There are hella people downstairs. It’s crazy!”

You widened your eyes as a small warning to Jisung not to push it any further. He laughed and ran his fingers through his hair.

“Uh huh, whatever you say.”

You sucked your teeth and looked down the hallway trying to hide your own embarrassment. Searching for another topic quickly your eyes widened again.

“Ji! Is your balcony “off limits” tonight?”

“Yesss. Why you ask?”

“Well I might have a lil something something that I’d like to put to use”

“If you’ve got an extra joint to put in my nightstand by all means head to my room”

You hugged him, more than excited to get faded tonight as well. You looked over at Chan trying to get a gauge on where he was, but you couldn’t quite read him.

“Channnn, what you wanna do right now?”

“Huh, uhh, I kinda wanna play a round of pong”

You and Jisung spoke in unison

“For real?!”

Your mouth hung open and Jisung took the reigns

“Dude I haven’t seen you play literally since freshman year. You think you still good?”

“I used to whoop your ass at this Hannie, don’t get cocky now.”

Jisung laughed, bringing his hands together to rub.

“Well, if you’re playing that means Y/n’s gotta play too.”

“What?! Why me?”

“Cause baby, you never play and you should”

“Well, what’s in it for me?”

Chan set his cup down on the banister he was leaning on and faced you fully.

“How bout we make a bet? You be on Jisung’s team 'cause he’s gonna need help and then we can bet for the winner.”

Jisung’s mouth hung open.

“You’re wrong for that one man.”

Chan just laughed.

“If you guys win, you can pick a punishment of whatever for me. I’ll give you time to think about it since I know how you are. But if I win…I get to smoke whatever you brought over and..”

He paused, leaning down to your ear to whisper the next part

“...I get to fuck you.”

Your eyes widened and your heart rate sped up. Heat immediately pooled between your thighs and you weren’t sure whether it was the alcohol finally taking over, Chan’s bet throwing you into an overdrive, or both. You took a deep breath and held your hand out.

“Deal.”

Jisung was looking at the two of you, wondering what the second part of the bet was. Narrowing his eyes he walked back over to the table to set up the cups for another round.

Needless to say, having Jisung as a partner was straight ass. He’d get a few good shots here and there, but Chan was a beast at the game for no reason. You really didn’t stand a chance from the beginning. With one last cup on either side, it was your shot. Your ball hit the edge of the cup on Chan’s side and you dropped your head in defeat.

You didn’t even wanna give Chan the chance to shoot his ball because you knew he’d make it anyway. So, you picked up the cup and began to bring it to your lips, but before you could, you felt liquid splash into your face. Looking down in the cup you saw the ping pong ball floating in your cup and you looked over a Chan to see his tongue in his cheek smiling.

“Asshole.”

You called out over the music.

“Ji you fucking suck!”

You laughed while pushing him on his shoulder

“Hey, I never said I was good baby. I just said I liked to play.”

Jisung came to your ear to whisper something

“What was the second half of his bet?”

You moved so he could hear you.

“I’ll tell you later.”

You giggled and chugged back the liquid in the cup. Chan walked over to your side of the table and motioned down the hallway.

“Wanna go smoke?”

“Uhh, yeah sure. Ji, you cool if we go?”

“Yeah that’s fine, just don't fuck on my bed.”

“Ohhh my god, dude.”

Chan chuckled but you were already making your way down the hallway, Jisung called out to you

“Make sure to leave the joint please!”

“Got it dickhead!”

“Love you!”

“Sure you do”

You mumbled under your breath. Making your way to his door, you walked in and waited for Chan to catch up. Once he did, you locked the door to make sure no one else would try and come out to the balcony as well. Digging in your bag, you found the joint and left it on his bedside table, and left an extra lighter. Knowing Jisung he probably lost the last one anyway. Turning around, you looked at Chan.

“Okay so I only have my bubbler because my pipe is gross, are you cool with that?”

“It’s your weed how am I gonna tell you how to smoke it?”

“Well part of your bet was to smoke my shit so I just wanted to make sure”

You chuckled a bit to make sure he knew that your comment was said in jest. You walked to the balcony door and laid out your stuff so you could pack a bowl. Chan followed you outside but didn’t say anything. You could tell he wanted to but he was holding back.

“Sooo, about your bet…you wanna fuck me?”

“Y/N, I- I don’t know what came over me when I said that, I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable. Really it’s up to you and if you don’t want to then that’s cool too. Really, I don’t wanna ruin shit between us.”

You smiled to yourself as you finished filling the bubbler with water.

“Who said I didn’t want to?”

You looked up at him, eyes doe-like. The angle that you were at making him feel a little unhinged. You were on the floor setting everything up in fear of something falling out of your hands. So the way your eyes translated from the floor up to him, he felt his cock twitch behind the stiffness of his jeans.

“Wait, you want to?”

“Don’t you hear good? I just said that.”

You laughed again, your heart racing and now nerves were getting to you. You felt it on the tip of your tongue. You wanted to say it, to finally tell him but you didn’t want him to run away.

Fuck it.

“I… kinda like, like you like you. So I’m not terribly opposed to the idea of having sex with you. I want to actually”

Silence. Your heart dropped to your ass. You just fucked up. Handing the bubbler up to him, he simultaneously was coming down to your level to sit across from you. Wanting to change the subject you spoke again.

“Winner hits first. And please corner the bowl and not set the whole thing on fire, you dork.”

He looked up at you and something in his eyes had changed. He looked a lot less nervous. Before taking his hit he looked at you again and opened his mouth to speak.

“I like you like you too.”

He smiled and took a hit from the bowl.

“Shut up.”

“I do!”

Even in the pale moonlight shining on the both of you, you could tell he was going red again.

“Gimme the weed before I start screaming. I can’t believe this. How long?”

You took a long hit.

“How long what?”

Holding in the smoke and exhaling slowly, you handed the bubbler back to Chan.

“How long have you liked me for?”

“Since our second semester in freshman year…”

“Freshman year?!! Dude you’ve been holding out on me.”

He took his drag and handed the bubbler back to you.

“What about you?”

You looked up at him, hinting at your answer.

“It’s the same time wasn't it?”

“…yeah.”

You bowed your head embarrassed once again

“So You have no room to talk!”

Before you spoke you felt your body fall into its state of being crossed. Suddenly your eyes became heavy and you felt your reservations begin to melt away.

“Yeah but you’re the man! You’re supposed to tell me first!” you said giggling

“Yeah, and you’re hot! So I was nervous every time I came around you. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t wanna mess up our friendship.”

You took another hit before handing it back to Chan.

“God. We’re both idiots.”

You slammed your face in your palm and waited for Chan to finish. He went to hand it back but you passed your turn, knowing you had already hit your peak.

“You finish it, I'm gone.”

You watched him light the last of the bowl and something about the way he looked doing it sent palpitations straight to your core. You were fluttering around nothing and couldn’t do anything about it. You wanted him and you wanted him bad. But you refused to make the first move, you couldn’t. You had too much pride. You shifted your position, and the pressure from your legs made your eyes wanna roll to the back of your head. Watching him clear the smoke and blow it away from you sent you over the edge.

He’s so hot

As if he knew your thoughts, he turned to look at you, his tongue buried in his cheek again with a smug grin.

“Whatcha thinking about Y/n?”

“You.”

Your mouth moved before your brain did and you didn’t entirely regret it.

“Really now?”

Chan leaned forward and you bit your lip looking at him through hooded eyelids.

“Mhmm”

Chan placed the bubbler on the ground and you placed a hand on his knee, slowly making your way up his thigh. You looked at him again head on, and the look in his eyes was completely blown over by lust.

“Why don’t you come over here”

He chided. His smirk annoyed you but also set you ablaze. You untangled your legs and moved to straddle yourself across his lap. You wrapped your hands around his neck, one of your hands finding solace near the nape of his neck playing with his hair. Your eyes dropped to his lips and traced his face back up to his eyes, teasing him while also searching for permission. But again, your pride wouldn’t let you make the first move. You wanted him to show that he wanted you, but you so desperately needed friction.

You moved to reposition yourself, but in doing so you felt his bulge. His hands moved down to your ass, grabbing handfuls of the fat. Your eyebrows furrowed upwards, desire wreaking your sense of self.

“You’re hard already? I haven’t even done anything”

“Can’t help it when you’ve got the sexiest girl sitting in your lap. And this ass… fuck”

He moaned out and guided your hips to roll over his jean clad cock one more time.

“I need you, Y/N. But I need you to tell me you need me too because once I start I won’t be able to stop.”

“Then have me however you want, Chris. I need you so bad. Please, make me feel good.”

You whined out, rolling your hips against him one more time. He grabbed your face and his lips were on yours. Years of hidden desire and pleasure unleashed the moment your lips touched. You both had wanted this for so long and now the feeling of finally having him on you was almost too much to handle. His hands found their way back down to your ass again, squeezing and molding the flesh however he pleased. You moaned into his mouth, the licentious amalgamation of his mouth and his groping was enough to have your panties begin to stick to your lips.

Chan swiped his tongue across your bottom lip, seeking access to something that was already granted. Your tongues didn’t battle for dominance but rather battled all the lost time you two had created. There was lust, love, and a burning need for each other being expressed. His hands moved toward the hem of your shirt and you swiped it off your torso immediately. His hands reached around your back to remove your bra and as it fell his lips wrapped around your nipple. You moaned out, throwing your head back and grasping his hair in your hand.

“Shit~Chan.”

You felt him smile against you and you pulled away to look at him. He motioned you to move back, and as you stood up, he followed you and then pressed your back against the door to the balcony. His hands wrapped around your face and neck again, cradling you as he smashed his lips against your own.

His hands traveled down your ass groping you once more, but what surprised you was what came out of his mouth next.

“Jump.”

“What?”

“You heard me baby, jump.”

“But ion wann-”

“I said jump. I promise you, we’ll be fine.”

Shutting your brain off for a moment you listened to him. The tone of his voice sent a shiver down your spine and another flutter to your core. You jumped and instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist. He opened the door and placed you on Han’s bed. Chan crawled up to you, his face lingering over yours. He left a trail of kisses starting from your collarbone, down the valley of your breasts and he found himself again with his lips wrapped around your nipple. He continued his trail down to the hem of your skirt before you stopped him.

“Chan, wait. Ji said to not have sex in his bed.”

“What, are you gonna tell him?’

“Well, no.”

“Then we didn’t do anything in his bed.”

He smiled and almost made his way back to his destination before you stopped him with a whine.

“What is it, baby?”

“You still have your shirt on, it’s not fair”

Chan chuckled but swiftly removed himself from his shirt.

“Better?”

“Much.”

You smiled before he made his way back to the hem of your skirt and pulled it down exposing your black lace lined panties.

“Aww, how cute. You were expecting something weren’t you?”

“N-no. I just wanted to wear them.”

“Whatever you say, baby. But I have to ask, can I take them off of you now?”

“Fuck, please do.”

You moaned out and as soon as you gave the okay, you felt the cool air greet your wet pussy.

“Such pretty little pussy. Can I eat you out, baby?”

“Fuckin hell Chris, please. Please do whatever you want to me. I want you in every way you can imah~!”

Before you could finish your sentence, Chan’s tongue swiped up your folds and his tongue played with your clit like a little bell. Swiping back and forth, up and down, he was eating you out as if you were his final meal.

“Shit shit shit, Chris. Oh my god”

He smiled against you.

“Fuck princess, say my name like that again.”

“Ch-chris! Shit, you’re so good at thi-”

You moaned out again, your back arching away from the bed as he entered two fingers into your wet cavern. Gripping at his locks, you felt the heat begin to stew in your lower body. It was like electricity was flowing through your lower half and you wanted nothing more than to implode on yourself.

“Channie, I’m about to cum, please don’t stop.”

“C'mon Y/N, you know what to call me. Don’t slip up or I’ll have to stop.”

“No no no Chris, please, please don’t stop. I wanna cum. I wanna cum so bad.”

“You sound so pretty when you beg.”

He dove back into your center, picking up the pace slightly as he curled his fingers inside of you. You began to flutter around him incessantly, your orgasm just on the precipice. The pressure that was building was almost unbearable and you couldn’t hold out for much longer.

“Chris, I-I”

“C’mon baby, cum for me”

That was all you needed. His permission and with that you came around him. It felt like such a big release. You couldn’t tell if your orgasm was that intense because what you had been wishing for had finally happened or if the fact of you being crossed was the culprit.

“Y/n, that has to be the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. Han’s gonna be upset though.”

You looked at him confused.

“What do you mean”

Chan looked down and you followed his eyes to the puddle that was seeping through the duvet cover on Han’s bed. Mortified you shoved your face in your hands. You were about to apologize when Chan moved your hands away from your face.

“Don’t you even think about apologizing. That was one of the sexiest things you’ve done this entire night and I kinda want to see if I can make you do it again.”

He smiled at you, but you could see the devious intent behind his kind facade.

“Now I’d love to sit and admire you, but I really need to be inside of you Y/N.”

Chan moved from the bed to peel off his pants and he climbed back over you.

“Condom?”

“I’m uh, I’m on the pill”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, 100%. I want to feel you, all of you.”

“Fuckin hell baby, alright.”

Chan looked at you one last time before lining himself up with your entrance. He teased just his head and you mewled against him, trying to shove yourself down onto him. He chuckled before fully sheathing himself within you. You both moaned as he entered you fully, your breath hitching as he did. He started with a slow pace, so slow that it was agonizing.

“Chris. Please, faster. I can’t take it.”

“I’m not sure if you can take it, baby. I need to stretch you out a bit more, get you used to me”

You gripped at the sheets moaning again

“I can take it. Please, please just go faster! Have me however you want. Make me yours.”

At the end of your begging, you saw a switch flip. As if the sweetness that was Chan faded away and the person you were left with was far more immoral. Left with someone stricken by the pangs of lust and willing to do anything to satiate it.

“God, you’re so fuckin hot”

Chan picked up his pace and you realized you really weren’t ready. Chan grabbed your hips and began drilling into you. His cock was reaching you in places you never thought of. The tip of it kissed your cervix with every thrust and the pain transformed immediately into paramount pleasure. You could feel the ridges of his cock sliding in and out of you and you felt your senses start to become overstimulated.

“Chris, fuck. Fuck oh my god!”

Chan looked down at you

“Yeah? You feel good baby?”

“Yes, oh my god. Fuck you’re so big”

You began fluttering around him again and your nails found themselves sliding down his back. Marking him as your own. He moaned out at the stimulation.

“Wanna make sure everyone knows I’m yours, baby?”

You whimpered with a nod and rolled your head back into the bed. Suddenly he pulled out of you. Before you could complain why he had you flipped over on your hands and knees and reentered you from behind.

“Fuuuckk. Chris!”

“Oh, baby. Look at this ass, you’re so fuckin sexy.”

With each thrust, the fat of your ass rippled against him and it made him feel just a bit more untamed. Chan was grabbing at your ass, moving it counter with his thrusts. His hand then trailed down your back to wrap in your hair and when you looked up you saw yourself in the mirror behind Han’s bed.

“Look at my baby. All fucked out just from me, hmm?”

All you could do was moan in response. Thoughts were not coming in full, especially with the view of yourself looking right back at you.

“Too dumb to answer me Y/N? Have I fucked you dumb, baby?”

Moaning out again you found your voice

“Yes, yes! Just for you. All for you. You make me feel this good, Chris.”

Chan removed his hand from your hair and wrapped it around your neck instead, pressing on the pressure points underneath your jaw. You squeezed around him, the choking sensation bringing you to your peak faster than you thought.

“Aww my baby’s a little filthy, isn’t she? She likes being choked. I wonder what other filthy things you want me to do to you”

You moaned out his dirty talk bringing you right to the edge.

“Chris, fuck. I’m gonna cum. Please, please let me cum.”

You practically sobbed. He was making you feel so good and you couldn’t handle it. His hand came down to rub your clit and bring you to the release you’ve been craving since he entered you.

“Cum baby. Cum around me. Just one more time I know you can do it.”

And there it was. Just as abrupt as the last, your orgasm shook you. Your core vibrating with waves of pleasure and your pussy squeezing around Chan’s cock. You began heavy breathing as Chan fucked you through your orgasm.

“Please, cum inside me, Chris. I wanna feel you fill me up.”

That was what pushed him over the edge. You felt his ropes of hot cum splat and pool against your walls. His moans landing right in your ear with his head resting against your shoulder blades. He slowed his pace down, riding out the waves of his orgasm. Pulling out slowly he rolled over onto his back and you did the same.

“You squirted again.”

“Again?!! What the hell.”

He laughed

“I don’t know why you’re embarrassed by it. It tells me I’m doing a good job. So I’m not complaining.”

“You’re gross”

You punched his arm lightly.

“Says the one that begged me to fill them up”

“God please don’t repeat what I said out loud I’m gonna wanna run away.”

“But it’s so hot Y/N. You’re so beautiful and then the dirty little things that fall from your mouth. God. I can’t help but replay it.”

You rolled on your side to look at him

“Soo…”

“Sooour”

“I do not say it like that”

“Yes, you do Chan.”

Now the both of you were laughing both glowing in the aftermath of sex and finally confessing to each other. He moved a piece of hair from your face and looked at you with eyes full of wonder.

“So I don’t want this to be a one time thing. I really do like you and I want us to continue this beyond just sex…so be my girlfriend?”

“I think that’s the most forward I’ve ever heard you be.”

“Oh shut up, just answer the question.”

“I’d love to”

He made a small yes and double fisted at your answer

“I think we should get food in the morning to celebrate our discovery about each other.”

You laughed

“You’re such a dork. I think we should get food now because I am suffering severely from the munchies”

A hearty laugh left him. His eyes crinkled and that smile that you love so much was plastered on his face.

“One problem though.”

He turned and pulled you closer to him, to which you moved to straddle him again.

“We somehow gotta change Jisung’s sheets before he finds out.”

Chan sat up and you felt his cock begin to harden again.

“We’ll I kinda want another round with you before we fully clean up.”

“I’m up for that”

“Yeah?”

You nodded quickly and smiled at him before landing your lips on his. Grinding against him you felt him become fully hard again and before you two could continue you heard the lock on Jisung’s door turn to open.

“Oh, c'mon! I thought I said to not fuck on my bed.”

#bang chan smut #bang chan x reader #bang chan imagine #stray kids smut #stray kids x reader #stray kids imagine #bang chan fanfic #stray kids fanfic #bang chan #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #kpop imagines

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farfromstrange · 2 months

Text

Weed Cookies | Matt Murdock x F!Reader

PART 3 of The Vault

See this post for more information on my Valentine's Day Special & Follower Celebration, but these fics can be read separately!

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: Karen receives a box of cookies from one of their clients. Foggy and Matt take a bite. Even with his heightened senses though, Matt doesn't realize what's wrong with the cookies before he's absolutely wasted, and you have to babysit him. Yes, they were edibles.

Warnings: Fluff, faint hints at S3 depressed!Matt and suicidal ideations, attempt at humor, crack fic, accidental drug use, for the sake of this fic we are going to pretend that the edibles were made well enough for Mister I-Know-Everything to miss it

Word Count: 3.4k

A/n: I wrote this after watching the episode of Grey's Anatomy with the Weed Cookies. I took some behaviorisms from my own experiences and exaggerated them a little to fit the vibe of this fic. I scraped parts of this and once again adjusted them because this was even more poorly written before than it is now, and I added the Nelson, Murdock & Page Season 3 narrative again because that's now the running theme of this event. Anyway, if you choose to consume edibles, stay safe! (Also, I'm just copying and pasting my usual tag lists. if anyone wants to be added for this event, do let me know)

“We just got cookies from Ms. Lebowsky next door,” Karen announces happily when she enters the office, balancing the transparent Tupperware in one hand and her handbag in the other.

“She told me to thank you for helping her get out of that hellhole,” she says. Her eyes crinkle in the corners as a mischievous grin takes over her face. “There’s plenty for all four of us. Although she did mention Matt a few more times.”

“Ms. Lebowsky?” Foggy asks. He stands in the doorway of his office, holding a freshly brewed coffee. “Isn’t she the elderly lady we helped last week?”

“Yeah, that’s her. I think she has a crush on Matt.”

He rolls his eyes. “Of course, she does. Who doesn’t? Not that I do, but—well, you get the gist.” The blood rushes to his cheeks, and Karen giggles in response.

From the office on the left, Matt’s voice rings out, “We just did our jobs,” he says. “She made us cookies, dude!” Foggy inspects the box on Karen’s desk. “They’re chocolate chip cookies. Our favorite. See what good looks can buy you?”

Matt chuckles, his fingers tracing the Braille indentations in the documents that are starting to form a mountain before him. “I think we got them because we’re good lawyers, Foggy.”

“Yeah, right. No way! That woman was smitten the second she came in. I really gotta get that blind thing going. I mean, she’s way too old for you, but come on! You’re in a serious committed relationship, and women still come piling at your door. It’s not fair.”

The way he whines like a little kid who has just been denied his favorite candy makes Karen laugh at his antics, and even Matt can’t help but join in. No matter how stressed he is, and how badly he wants to focus, Foggy never fails to lighten the mood.

Ever since moving offices, things have been going well for the trio.

When Matt met you, he was at his lowest. You helped him climb out of a dark hole that was threatening to swallow him whole after losing Elektra and almost losing everything he worked so hard for to Wilson Fisk. Thanks to you, he found the will to fight again. You brought him back to life.

He wanted to die. He hated himself for the longest time after the building collapsed and forever took the first woman he ever loved down with its ruins, but then you came into his life, and you didn’t care about his baggage. You were far too good for him, but that didn’t matter to you.

He fell for you hard and fast, and maybe the timing was a little off because what he needed was therapy and not someone new to get attached to. Still, if you hadn’t pulled him back to his feet and encouraged him to fight back against Fisk, saving his friendship with the people he cares most about in the process, he would have never made it far enough to get therapy.

Matt trusts you with his life because he feels like he owes it to you, but he also loves you more than anything. You’re the best thing that has ever happened to him. You’re his soulmate, and he couldn’t be happier.

Nelson & Murdock added Karen to their permanent repertoire. With her, things are flowing much more smoothly, and they’re actually making money now. They’re expensive, as Foggy likes to say it. Matt’s friends are just as happy as he is, giving him hope for the future.

“Hey,” Foggy snaps him out of his trance, “Earth to Murdock.”

Matt blinks behind his glasses, his fingers halting their frantic movements along the paper. “While I don’t disagree with what you’re saying,” he says, “please don’t let my girlfriend hear you say that women are piling at my door.”

Karen snorts. “Trust me, Matt. She knows,” she says.

“Yeah, but you shouldn’t remind her of that.”

“My lips are sealed. Foggy?”

He sighs, once again dramatically. “As long as you don’t sleep with them, you have nothing to fear, my friend.”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” says Matt. “The one I’m sleeping with is incomparable.”

Foggy grimaces. “Oh, dude. Gross! You know, God made conscious thought as a mechanism for humans to know when to shut up.”

“To be fair, ninety percent of the population don’t know how to use that mechanism,” Karen jumps to Matt’s defense.

As he laughs, he takes a whiff of the air surrounding their new baked goods. Matt can smell the sweet chocolate of the cookies, and somewhat of a herbal essence, but he can’t quite pinpoint why the scent seems so familiar.

Karen walks around her desk to drop her bag and her coat. “So, do guys want a cookie?” she asks, swiftly changing the subject.

“I’ll take one,” Foggy is quick to answer.

Matt nods from his desk. “I’ll try one, too.”

The innocent decision to indulge in a sweet treat soon comes back to bite them in the ass though. Heavily.

When Matt first bit into the cookie, he didn’t think there was anything wrong with it. It tasted like chocolate mixed with basil, sugar, honey, and the kind of flour Ms. Lebowsky used, but he didn’t find much else wrong with it. Perhaps if he hadn’t allowed himself to get distracted by his phone calling out your name and the sweetest text he could have possibly received this early in the morning from the love of his life, he would have noticed that something tasted off about these cookies. And that what he believed to have been basil as a secret ingredient was something else entirely.

When lunchtime finally rolls around, you drop everything you were doing before and make your way to Matt’s office. You always spend lunch together. It’s your favorite time of the day. For an hour, you can forget the stress of your workplace and focus on him. He’s your safe haven. Your home. You crave to memorize his features anew every day so that you will have something to carry around with you when he has to work a bit longer, or when he goes out at night and his Daredevil duties drag on beyond what he planned.

You need to be with him as much as possible because you’re scared that your happiness will shatter on a white cloth, and you will be forced to move on—you can’t imagine losing him. You dedicated your life to loving him, and the thought of ever losing that privilege kills you.

On your way out, your phone vibrates in your pocket. You smile, thinking that it’s Matt, but when Karen’s number pops up on your screen, you frown.

‘We have a problem,’ she texted you. Without context.

All the alarms in your head start blaring, and you start to walk a little faster. You start imagining all possible scenarios. When you ask Karen what’s going on, she doesn’t even reply. What if someone got hurt? What if something happened to Matt? You almost lost him once; you can’t go through that again.

You burst into the new office space that your friends share a few minutes later, your chest heaving and sweat dripping down your pulsating temples. You’re ready to fight whoever dared to hurt the man you love, or possibly threaten your friends, or both, but when you look up and see your darling boyfriend with his cheek pressed against one of the leaves on their gigantic office plant as if the overgrown Calathea were the coziest pillow he has ever touched, you understand why Karen texted you that you—both you and her—have a problem. A big one, too, judging by the looks of it.

“What is going on here?” you ask the dreaded question, shutting the door behind you.

Only then do you notice Karen to your right in Foggy’s office, trying to get him off of his office chair. He’s belting the chorus of Defying Gravity at the top of his lungs, and he’s got a broom clutched tightly in his right hand.

Oh boy. Your wide eyes drift to Karen’s desk in the middle of the room. As soon as you see the chocolate cookies inside the Tupperware, it slowly begins to dawn on you.

You’re not sure which is worse: Matt cradling a houseplant with his glasses discarded and the first three buttons of his dress shirt undone as he’s coated in sweat, or Foggy singing one of Broadway’s greatest ballads so off-key that the Calathea is starting to wither.

It takes Matt much longer than usual to sense your presence in the room. He calls your name, and his lips curl into a bright grin. Even completely out of it, he looks like an angel on earth.

“Matthew,” you say. You approach him like you would approach a little kid. He’s on his knees, so the analogy isn’t far off.

“Hi, honey. What’s going on?”

“Sweetheart,” he greets you, and you have never heard this man sound so relaxed. His hazel eyes are red-rimmed and glazed over, but the most obvious change lies in his behavior.

“Feel that.” He reaches for your hand when you’re close enough for him to smell you, but he misses. “Where are you?” Matt pouts. “I can’t see.”

You want to laugh, but this is not the time. “You are blind, baby,” you remind him.

“Since when?”

“Over twenty years.”

“Oh.” He finally gets a hold of your hand. The conversation seems to go right over his head. “Feel the power of nature,” he tells you. “It’s so soft.”

You want to drag him away from the potentially dangerous plant if he decides to eat it, but the sight of him is one to behold. He looks downright adorable.

You have to focus though. You gently pat his hand. “Maybe later,” you say, and then you make your way to Karen’s desk to inspect the cookies.

Behind you, she calls your name. You twirl around. From the looks of it, she managed to get Foggy down from his chair, but he remains singing at the top of his lungs. All the signs point to one thing, and one thing only.

“Did you give my boyfriend weed cookies?” you sound a lot more condescending than you planned to.

Karen shakes her head. Her face is pale, and she looks just as panicked as you do. “Those are not mine,” she says.

“But you knew they were edibles?!”

“Of course, I didn’t! I started questioning it when Matt started cuddling the plant because his Braille felt like boobs and he didn't want to cheat on you, so he decided that he needed to touch some grass.” She points to him, exasperated. As if on cue, Matt lets out a happy little sigh.

Your brain struggles to process all of the information at once. “I’m sorry, what?”

“He said that his Braille feels like boobs. I don’t know! I thought he was messing with me until Foggy turned into Elphaba, and that’s when I took a bite and realized there was weed in them,” she says.

You groan, your worried eyes momentarily flicking back to your high boyfriend. High. That’s not a word you thought you would ever associate with him. “How did this happen?” you ask.

“Ms. Lebowsky, the lady next door, we helped her out the other day, and this morning, she gave me these cookies. I called her when these two started acting like idiots—more than usual, anyway. Turns out, she confused them with the ones her niece made for her birthday party tomorrow.”

“Her niece made edibles for her birthday party?”

“Please, don’t ask. I don’t have all the details. I just–”

“It’s fine,” you cut her off. “Just tell me that you’ve got Foggy under control.”

Karen peeks in through the window to his office. “More or less, yeah. You’ve got Matt?”

“Yeah, I’ve got him.”

You have to take care of him. He’s your responsibility. But as calm as he is right now, his heightened senses make the situation a lot more complex than the mere accidental consumption of edibles.

Walking over to him, you try to haul him up. He protests, at first, but then he feels the fabric of your shirt, and he slacks.

Matt wraps his arms around you, burying his face in your neck. “You’re so soft,” he coos. “You smell like honey.”

With his entire weight on you, you have to widen your stance so you won’t fall over. His usually quick reflexes are nonexistent right now; he won’t be able to catch you if you trip, and then you’re both going to get hurt.

“You know what’s even softer?” you ask.

“The plant,” he answers confidently. He sounds like a more careless version of himself. You can’t deny that it does something to you.

“No, silly,” you chuckle softly, “I meant your bed.”

“Oh. But I’m not tired.”

“You’re high.”

He pouts. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know.” You stroke his back. “It’s okay. I’m not mad at you.”

He stiffens and relaxes at the same time. You swear you can feel the electricity in his veins as his nerves respond to the feeling of your skin on his. It’s like he’s on fire. Like your touch feels a million times more intense, and he’s being crushed under the weight of it in a way that makes him crave more.

He squeezes you tighter, trying to get swallowed by you, consumed to the point that you are the same person. The drugs are doing a number on him, and his already heightened sense of feeling has increased tenfold to the point you’re not sure if it’s pleasurable or painful or both. It must be agonizing, yet at the same time there is a high chance that the weed is calming his nerves and dampening his perception to the point he’s taking everything in without the added weight—he’s enjoying the newfound sensations in limbo, and he’s unaffected by it. You wonder how long that is going to last.

After bidding farewell to Karen, wishing her good luck with Foggy who has now reached a point of his high where he’s lying on the floor, demanding to listen to Bohemian Rhapsody and cry over Freddie Mercury. She assures you that she has got it under control, apologizes again, and then sends you on your way.

“Bye, Karen,” Matt says. “You have very nice hair.” His hand tangles in yours, and his face lights up like a Christmas Tree. You managed to convince him to put his glasses on, at least, or he might get irritated. “Never mind,” his voice turns into a pur.

Usually, you would shiver at his fingers in your hair, tracing the strands and sensually massaging your scalp only he knows how to, but today is not one of those days. You’re still concerned about the effects that the weed might have on him, so you want to be careful, although you’re not sure how much longer you can keep yourself from laughing.

As you maneuver Matt through the streets of Hell’s Kitchen, his cane hovers above the ground and his arm is hooked around yours. Without you, he would have run off into traffic by now. He has absolutely no spatial awareness anymore.

Every sound, scent, and texture seems to capture his attention, but there's one sensation in particular that he can't seem to shake: thirst. You’re not even home yet, and you had to stop by a convenience store to get him a bottle of water. He shed his coat, which you are now carrying for him while also guiding him while simultaneously trying not to attract any unwanted attention.

You can’t help but look at him as though he is your whole world. He is. He is everything to you, even high on edibles he never meant to consume, and acting like a feral toddler. If anything, you are even prouder now that he is yours.

“Hey,” he whispers, leaning close to you, “do you think fire hydrants taste like licorice?”

You shake your head. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but Matt, don’t lick the fire hydrant.”

He pouts. For a moment, you think that you have steered off any possible disaster, but that was only wishful thinking.

Matt’s curiosity knows no bounds, and he’s soon reaching out to touch anything that catches his eye. He runs his fingers along the rough brick foundation of a building, marveling at the texture, and he stops to sniff a flower, declaring, “This is the most beautiful flower I have ever smelled.”

You pluck it for him, and he carries it in the pocket of his coat with a happy smile.

You’re both exhausted when you finally make it to his apartment. Getting his large frame through the door is one thing, stopping him from tearing the tap off the sink as he desperately searches for liquid with the words, “Water!” is another.

“Okay, okay,” you try to calm him. You grab a bottle from the fridge, open it for him, and force him to take it. “Drink.”

One touch is enough for him to drop it. “It’s cold,” he recoils in agony.

You sigh. “Tap water it is, then.”

You have never seen him down so many glasses of water. He is severely dehydrated and sensitive to changes in temperature. It’s either too hot or too cold, and you’re so glad that Karen texted you when she did.

You manage to get him to the couch with some snacks that he devours within seconds. If he moves one more inch today, you may not be able to catch him again.

His lip twitches. “Chickens don’t have any arms.”

You pause in the process of wrapping him in a blanket, staring blankly ahead at him. “Excuse me?” you ask.

“Chickens don’t have any arms,” Matt states. “Every American citizen has the right to bear arms under the second amendment in the constitution. If an egg was fertilized on US soil, and the chicken hatched there as well, technically, that makes them a citizen of the United States of America, therefore allowing tiny creatures without arms the right to bear arms, but who gives the bears their arms?”

You’re so flabbergasted that the absurdity of the situation eludes you. The words process only slowly in your mind, and when they do, they cause a wave of confusion to wash over you before it turns into genuine amusement, and it takes every ounce of self-control to keep yourself from laughing at him.

You can pinpoint the exact second the thought escapes his mind and something else replaces it. His hand brushes over the leather couch. “Smooth,” he observes. You haven’t even fully processed his very philosophical question about the animal kingdom before he drops his cheek down on the couch.

The man who has been carrying the weight of the world in bricks on his back for years is finally relaxed; it shouldn’t leave such a bitter aftertaste in your mouth.

You kneel in front of him, reaching out to touch his cheek. “Do you need anything?” you ask.

Matt’s gaze is filled with an odd sort of clarity. “Nah. Just you,” he mumbles.

A soft smile tugs at your lips as you brush a sweaty strand of hair away from his forehead. "I'm right here," you reassure him.

He nods, his eyelids drooping as the effects of the edibles start to take their toll. “Good.” He searches for your hand, and you help him intertwine your fingers. A giddy smile finds its way onto his face. “You’re warm.”

You lean in to press a gentle kiss to his forehead. “And you’re high,” you tease.

Matt huffs out a breathy laugh. “Mmh, yeah,” he says. “But it’s okay. ‘Cause you’re here.”

Despite the chaos and the unexpected turn of events, there’s a sense of contentment settling over you as you watch him drift off into a state of bliss. He deserves it more than anyone.

You stay by his side, watching over him as he succumbs to the pull of sleep that you’re all too familiar with after a sudden high.

“Note to self,” you say to yourself, “never eat a stranger’s cookies without drug testing them first.”

And love has funny ways of making even the most absurd moments feel strangely beautiful.

Matt Murdock Tag List: @littlenerdyravenclaw @yarrystyleeza @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @sya-skies @amberritonicole @thatonegamefish @norestfortheshelbywicked @mattkinsella @itwasthereaminuteago @linamarr @gpenguin666 @acharliecoxedfan

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock #matt murdock x f!reader #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock x you #daredevil #daredevil x reader #reader insert #from the vault #charlie cox #weed cookies

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f-t-e · 6 months

Text

I started watching SUPERNATURAL in November 2020. I know, I know. My partner and I had been isolating alone since March. The timing felt right. I went though a wild amount of upheaval and trauma over the next year and SPN was there for me through it all. It was THE show at THE time and it kept me afloat when I needed it the most. Since November 2021 I've written just about 110,000 words of SPN fanfic, a number that seems unbelievable to me, and that too has been a real blessing to my creative life, no matter what haters say. (why didn't I write my own novels in that time? Because I have a hobby, Karen, and I love it.) And I've read about 500000x that much fanfic, which has been the biggest blessing of all. (ETA: oh right, if you want to read my fic, you can find my stuff here, I wrote a fic where Dean reads books. Lots of books.)

I know I'm a nobody in this fandom but I thought on this, our #DestielDay, I would submit my own humble rec list. I've curated this very deliberately: every fic here has just about 4000 hits or less (most under 3000) and all were published in 2020 or after. So, sort of a rec list for some lesser known and newer fics, something you maybe haven't stumbled on yet. Especially thank you to @jewishcharliebradbury, her rec lists gave me a place to start back in the day and I have tried to model the depth and quality they brought to their lists. I tried to link to everyone's tumblr, but if I missed one, let me know.

Most of all, thank you to everyone who has EVER created something for this fandom, from 2005 to 2023. I am so thankful and, honestly, honored to be among your number. You're not supposed to be cringe and say a show saved your life...but SUPERNATURAL saved me, it really did. See y'all when the movie/reboot drops, to quote Ryan Gosling in The Notebook: IT WASN'T OVER, IT STILL ISN'T OVER. And I'm glad.

-----

Finale Fix-It & S15 and Beyond

What The Moon Was Saying by Amiril (@runawaymarbles)

This is hands-down one of the coolest “Dean Rescues Cas from the Empty” fics I have ever read and the concept is brilliantly structured to mirror the literal and metaphorical things Dean needs to give up and let go to get free. Every scenario is very satisfying and they make sense, is there any better feeling? Dean is very open in this, but in a believable way that still has edges. And, oh, the reunion is so good. Plus all the family stuff. Just excellent, exactly what you want in a fic like this: lovely, well-written, smart, fulfilling, all the pieces clicking, the show but better.

Awake and Annoying by skycruise

I love the use and passage of time in this one, it has some real impact, and I love the way Dean gets into the Empty (so smart, fits just right) and what I REALLY love in this one is the way it lets Dean be really clear-eyed and honest about his relationship with Sam, both the strengths and the weaknesses. And the last line, very clever and moving inverse of one of fandom’s favorite things.

Living the life you chose by allthismusic

THEEEEE post finale Sam Winchester-Outsider-POV this fandom needs. Sam is absolutely awesome in this, the most believable, loving, realistic mix of “I knew all along” and “I had no idea” versions of Sam, landing somewhere I think that’s really true and in character. It fills in and develops so many gaps and silences in what the show let Sam know in the absolute best way. Best Brother Sam is a weakness of mine and he really shines here, there for Dean in the best ways but also coming into his own, I love it so very much. (this author also has a very great 2022 Big Bang fic, hugely recommend that one too.)

your ear to the wound that whispers by EmandFandems (@lazarusemma)

Who doesn’t love a HANDPRINT FIC?!? And boy this is such a good one. It follows Dean and his thoughts on the handprint from the first touch all the way to fixing the finale and it simply buzzes with longing and desire, tenderness and rawness. It’s great insight in lot of ways into Dean’s journey. It’s short but fulfilling and oh that very perfect last line. (this author also has a lot of great Jupernatural content.)

Somewhere Off in the Dark by magickastiel

Another awesome fic that traces Dean’s shifting/growing feelings for Cas from when he shows up in his hotel rooms to a HEA fix it after canon. Dean, again, is handled so deftly in this one, his confusion and sorrow at all the times Cas is slipping away from him all the way through the things he won’t let himself know. He feels really true in this one, sharp and tender in the best Dean ways. Also it has an agonizingly romantic end, you love to end up there.

Pins and Feathers by theskywasblue (@buttherewasnogod)

This author has so many freaking good SPN fics, omg it was almost impossible to pick just one to include on this list. Go treat yourself with their entire list because there’s so much good stuff there! But this one, oh I am a sucker for a finale fix-it that lets Dean be this tender. While I LOVE fics where he just jumps right into Cas’s arms (and write them lol) I also feel like this is so true to Dean too: that “maybe I misunderstood, maybe I shouldn’t say anything, maybe he doesn’t still –” And on top of all that, it’s a “they go the beach” fic and it gets the details of it so right, sand in your toes and all. Tender, amazing slow-burn, real, hot, full of heart and longing and everything unspoken and just waiting. Very satisfying!

i loved you first by kalmialatifolia

A set of four short fics that create an entire world of feeling and emotion. These feel like little whispered stories told under the covers, very atmospheric. There’s one very sexy one, a haircutting one (so good) and they’re just intimate. All together a great set and did I mention they’re in the “Cas saves himself” genre which is mmmm an underrated treasure.

no other faith is light enough for this place by anonymous

A fix-it fic that has a particularly unique and beautiful visual of both how and why Cas comes back. The mechanics behind it are fairly standard but the way this author creates the visual of it, the sheer emotion and force behind it and how it happens, it really stood out to me and stuck with me. It’s Dean being brave enough to really feel and the way that just blossoms – lovely, aching, full-tilt wonderful.

no proof, one touch by TakeThisWaltz (@watchinghimrakeleaves)

One thing I absolutely cannot get enough of is fic where Cas is hiding out from Dean in heaven. It just hits. And the only thing better is Dean chasing him down and the WAY he does it in this fic, methodically and – well the method (sobs) it is so endearing and OBVIOUS and gives Dean a chance to shout in all the best ways. This one is just real sweet and kind of goofy and if they have to be in heaven, I want them to still be these same two dorks.

Stay by redbrickrose

This is a post S15x18 from Cas’s POV and I think it’s very true to where he would be in the moment of getting yanked out of the Empty: resigned, hesitant about what he has in front of him, still a little in shock. And then. And then. Sweet and simple and Dean gets a chance to say, say, say it. This author has a good post series AU and a lovely little spate of S15 codas, all good. And then wrote this in real-time in the week after 15x18 Despair and right before 15x19 Inherit the Earth aired (could you just sob over the possibilities?!) and then hasn’t wrote anything since and that’s a shame but, like, yeah I get it.

like a one-two punch by Muir_Wolf (@muirmarie)

Don’t you love a short fic that feels like it’s a whole novel? This goes AU after 14x20 Moriah but it is a truly delightful twist on how Chuck could’ve reacted there and it makes Dean sharp as a knife, which is one really resonant image woven through this fic. Great imagery here and so many clever solutions for the lazy plotting of S15, including simply one of my all-time favorites in any fic ever solutions to Cas’s deal (genius) and getting rid of Chuck. Brilliant like a puzzle box yet still full of so much fucking joy.

maybe i like pleasure pain by tothewillofthepeople (@kvothes)

The fact that this was written in October 2023 and is so agonizingly good fills my heart with joy and tells me Destiel will never die lol. Cas, in particular, is great in this – he’s having a hard time adjusting to being in a body and with all the fuzz of the world. I love fics where Cas struggles with coming back from the Empty and this uses a really unique approach to it: Cas facing sensory overload and not knowing how to feel but wanting it all. Lovely, hot, Dean is just right in this too.

Earlier Canon (pre S15)

Proverbs 13:12 by starlingcas (@angelcasendgame)

Many might say I am biased because Renu has beta’ed everything I have written in the SPN fandom and they can read my brain and make everything I write better. But it’s not just that. Renu has done something beautiful and delicate in this fic, which is about Dean and Cas getting trapped in a net together (forced proximity trope, yes please) and weaves a web of its own; pulling you in just as they are pulled together. This is set mostly in early S14 (before fixing the finale in the most heart-healing way) and captures that feeling so well. There’s so much that’s unsaid between them yet still conveyed and Renu absolutely nails that, along with the tender longing that was always there. This is a fic to relish.

you may tire of me (as our december sun is setting) by deludedfantasy

You know how the show just sometimes is like “uh so anyway uh then Cas…uh…left.” and it just doesn’t make one lick of sense? FINALLY FINALLY a fic where Dean says “I’ll go with you,” and then goes because he actually would do that. This is a post Tombstone fic so it is exactly where/when he WOULD go and it is tender and hesitant and aching in just all the ways it would be between the two of them at this time. It’s about needing to keep someone in sight, it’s about having another chance to say something so important, it’s slow and soft and just right for the characters in this place. I could read this one about 100 times.

the anatomy of flightless birds by cowlovely (@dollhousemary)

This fic is basically the way you feel when you get all cozy and snug underneath your favorite blanket. This is a domestic-life-in-the Bunker S9 fic where everyone behaves like they are in character and not just like they have to get Cas off screen because the writers panicked. You’ll just want to curl up in this fic and savor it the way you wrap your fingers around a hot beverage on a very cold day, there’s no better way to describe it.

virtue by JenTheSweetie

I think I’ve read this about 100 times and it still gets me everytime? It’s a five things fic about Dean and Cas hooking up and it’s all you’ve ever wished for. This is set in an amorphous S8 and it is not just agonizingly hot but also romantic and very funny. It feels really in character! Sam is hilarious, Dean is clueless but bowled over and letting himself be swept up, Cas is delighting in every second and smarter than he lets on and it ALL feels fated and lovely and sexy and just splendid. (this author only has 3 SPN fics but they are all so good and if you try sometimes, well you just might find is an absolutely brilliant deconstruction of Dean learning the differences between “needing” and “wanting.”)

Romance at the Motel 6 by shelia_amour

This fic makes me feel like Stefon from SNL. This fic has everything: Cas and Sam pretending to be married, just the right amount of jealous Dean, Dean randomly pretending to be married to Cas, Dean realizing maybe this isn’t so fake after all, motel vibes, Cas in Dean’s clothes, Cas getting bee slippers. If you are not sold on this already, we are very different people. So good, aches just right. (set in a kind of “whenever” of canon, but I like to put it somewhere in S8.)

que sera sera by Purple_Starflower (@hauntedpearl)

The epitome of how fanfic unfolds for us all the things that COULD happen. You can’t PROVE to me Dean and Cas never snuck off to snuggle and feed Dean’s touch-starvation early in S13. I had to check when I finished because I just couldn’t believe this fic was under 4000 words because it feels so full of touch, longing, the things unspoken, and all the ways Dean was reaching, reaching, reaching. The best kind of ache, and everything by this author is lovely.

the hard edge that you’re settling for by lesspopped (@trekkiedean)

This is some S10 Demon!Dean that made my stomach hurt and my heart ache and I absolutely loved it and I absolutely hated it and it all felt so REAL with who Demon!Dean was and could have been. There’s a TW for mildly dubious consent in this, but to me, Cas was so agonizingly true to who he was/where he was at this point in canon too. This fic is gloriously, claustrophobically intimate. I say unbearable because as a reader you know that this closeness, this intimacy, is what Dean wants/craves/deserves but can only give himself as a demon and the author does an exquisite job at getting all that across. Hurts so good!

four of swords by sundryvillians (eurythmix) (@perenial)

Can the world ever have enough post 12x12 fic? The answer is, of course, no. Dean and Cas bake bread and in the soft space of creating something with their own hands, get so close to the words Cas said. It’s about healing and anger and making something just because you are so tired of everything breaking. If that alone isn’t enough to convince you, let me also throw in this is another one of those “possible off-screen moments in canon” that gives them something honest and tender and raw and it feels so very possible.

Fifteen Prayers From the Faithless by koyas_cat

Short, achy, that sweet sting. A set of prayers for Cas from the beginning to the end, full of all the things Dean doesn’t let himself say outloud and just reflecting the changes in their connection over alllll the years. So good.

#spn #spn fanfic #destiel fic #fic recs #destiel day #deancas fic recs #supernatural #destiel #happy anniversary #don't forget you're here forever

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thelastofhyde · 5 months

Text

you cut your hair, and take some space.

pairing. narcos!javier peña x fem!reader

synopsis. an anthology of events that precede and procede the termination of you and your father's best friend's sexual relationship. this is part 1 of 2 !

warnings. no use of y/n, age gap , student!reader, dbf!javi, post-s3!javi, officer!javi bc i said so, break up au, mutual pining, forbidden lovers kind of vibes, reader has a healthy relationship with her parents, so much crying ( reader spends half her time crying over javi p which is honestly a mood ), violence, undetailed depictions of sa ( not javi ), smut ( creampie, breeding kink through the roof, domesticity kink?? javi just wants to love and be loved and start a family, dacryphilia, indecent use of a credit card, spanking, dirty talk, prostitution kink?? i feel like i'm making these up at this point, + a hell of a lot more ) this fic is based on bsc by maisie peters except this has a happy ending bc im a sucker for mr. peña :( not all warnings listed here appear in this part, these are warnings for the fic as a whole !

word count. 15k

hyde’s input. this was written over the course of four months and could easily be used in court to prove i am, in fact, unequivocally in love with one mr. javier peña. if you take the time to read it, just know i appreciate it so much. i really poured my heart and soul into this and, as someone who's been writing for years, it's been so long since i've written something so self-indulgent that's brought me nothing but joy to write. as the fic has surpassed 30k words, meaning it would likely crash the tumblr site for anyone trying to read it, i've decided to post it in two parts. part two will be posted within the following weeks.

(it'a nearly 4 am as i post this, please look the other way at any typos or editing errors.)

“i told you, corazón mia (my heart),” he can't meet your eyes. “made it clear from the start i wasn't looking for anything serious.” “i know,” you heave in a breath, hold back a sob. “but if it wasn't serious, why'd you treat me like it was?”

I cut my nose to save some face You cut your hair and take some space.

The mirror is not clean enough to see yourself.

Where there are usually your eyes, there’s a discoloured splotch of brown. A crack runs down the left of what should be your face. Someone’s taken it upon themselves to draw a cartoon penis just where your mouth is. But in your drunken haze and laser focus, you don’t care enough to notice. All you see is the spot where your nose is, a tiny ball of silver nestled just above your right nostril.

It’s something new to fidget with.

On the flip side, it stings like a bitch. Or, more appropriately, like the tequila shots that led you to this run-down tattoo parlour.

You wonder if, come the morning and mental clarity, you’ll regret it.

If you do, you’ll blame him.

Your night was going fine. Good, even. And, with a lack of good nights in the recent week, that was an accomplishment.

You’d dressed up, let loose, had fun. A friend on either arm and a drink close at hand, you’d giggled and gossiped your way through this impromptu girls’ night.

They’d ambushed you, in a way, forced their way through the barricade of tissues and take-out boxes into your apartment. A skimpy dress tossed at your head and four hands dragging you, limb by limb, into the shower.

Get some dinner, hit the town, get fucked up. That was the plan they set out for you.

You skipped dinner, dove head-first into the town.

You were careful all night to never speak of him.

One part fearful it would summon him, another part embarrassed to admit just who you’d gotten tangled up in. A third part, tucked away in a locked closet, ready to do it all over again.

And then it happened.

You didn’t say his name, no.

Not aloud.

You thought it, for just a second, hearing the person beside you at the bar order the same drink you’d watched him nurse time after time. It wasn’t him but, instead, a man far too short and a clean-cut kind of handsome to even begin to compare to the ex-agent.

But it was enough to make you want to leave.

Giving up your space, you’d made your way back to your girls and made up some little white lie, surprised neither of them called you out on it- what kind of bar doesn’t have white wine?

They left to find someplace with wine, you left to find some peace of mind.

The bar they dragged you into was familiar, the setting of many of your father’s stories. It only took you walking through the door, tugging down the dress-too-short, to hear your name called across the floor.

“Hey kiddo!” Your dad’s a tell-tale kind of drunk, his eyes giving away even the smallest sip of alcohol he has. He was just tipsy, scooting his way out of a tattered booth to wrap you up in his arms. It felt as nice as it did guilt-inducing, knowing you’d been avoiding his calls all week since The Incident. A punishment to yourself more than one aimed at him. “You here yourself? Could join us for the night, if you like. Ain’t that right, boys?”

It was only then that you’d realised two men were sat within the booth, collars undone and ties loosened after a week’s work.

There were usually three of them.

"We’re just waiting on Peña." Oh god, it makes you feel sick. Heart in your throat, stomach at your feet. His name no longer feels real, not when spoken by anyone but you.

“And raising bets on his tardiness,” one of your father’s friends said. You recognised him from a few of the barbecues and Christmas parties your dad's thrown. He's nice, responsible. Married, to a woman his own age. “I’m saying he’s chasing some tail. God knows he could use some stress relief. Boy’s been wound up all week, nearly bit my head off for asking him about some files."

It’s a wonder none of the three men- one a retired lawyer, the other two members of the force- noticed the blood drain from your face.

“My guess is he’s pulled some muscle in his back and can’t get himself out of bed,” a nudge from your father’s elbow, delivered straight to your ribs. “Whatcha think, kiddo?”

You didn’t have an answer.

You didn’t get to give an answer.

“You need to quit speaking ‘bout me like you’re not a whole decade my senior, viejo (old man),” it came from behind you and threatened you to look. Like the foolish final-girl in a slasher, you ignored your basic instincts and glanced over your shoulder.

You’re not sure what you were expecting, but you know what you were hoping for.

Tired eyes, chewed lips, unkempt facial hair. A twitch of sadness drawn between his brows and the stains of cigarette ash on a worn-out suit.

Javier Peña was none of that.

The suit, grey. One that fit him all too well and had you wishing you could stain it with your drink.

The signature moustache, perfectly groomed, sitting perched above the bow of his pouty lips, rosy-red and fresh for picking.

His eyes have always given him away but, staring down at you in that moment, they read only as passive, unaffected.

It was like, nothing.

And, yes, that’s what you’d asked for- from now on, whenever you see me, can you at least pretend that none of this happened?

But he's smart enough to know you didn't mean it, right?

“Hey officers, sorry to interrupt but,” a hand curled around your arm. It tugged and you let yourself be inched away from heavy brown eyes and your father’s smile. “She’s ours for the night. We’re going clubbing!”

That was never part of the plan.

Neither was skipping dinner, though.

You caught the back of him as you were dragged away, some pleading from your father to take it easy and call me in the morning, and noticed it only then.

His hair, freshly cut.

“‘S getting too long,” a mumbled sort of thing, hidden in your neck, spoken against your pulse. A kiss placed upon it, and then another for extra measure. Fingers dragging through his hair, ridding him of the knots your very same hands had worked into them an hour of passionate touching ago. “Lo sé (I know).”

A pause of silence. The blissful moan birthed from nails on his scalp. And, then, “no. It’s nice, I like it.”

That puppy-dog stare, so particular to the cool-down moments between you, meets your own, chin propped up on your sternum. He’s sweet like this, honeyed skin and pleasant smiles.

“Yeah?” He asks, like he even needs to. “You like it, corazón (sweetheart)?” You opt for a hummed confirmation, finger tracing over the arch of his nose. “Guess I better keep it this way, then.”

Now he’s gone and chopped the overgrown curls off.

In a way, it feels like he’s cut you off with them.

We don’t speak cause it’s too tricky But if I’m tricky, why’d you kiss me?

The next time you see him, a wedding is taking place.

He sits on the groom’s side, you sit on the bride’s.

It feels unreasonable to be surprised by his presence. Why wouldn’t he be here, sitting four rows from the back, at his cousin’s brother-in-law’s wedding?

The bride is gorgeous, the groom is in tears. The priest drones on a little too long.

Somewhere between the exchanging of vows, and the ceremonial kissing, and the cheering of guests, your instincts get the better of you and you glance back at him.

He’s already staring right back, eyes ignited with something that weakens your knees and shakes your confidence. The newlyweds walk down the aisle, cut through your line of sight. He’s still staring at you when they’ve passed.

The reception takes place in the events room of some glammed-up hotel, the kind you can barely afford the one night you’re booked in for.

An open bar, a local band. The catering is tasteful, handpicked by the couple, and the table you feast at is so far away from his that you don’t get that chance to see if he chose the chicken or the beef.

You find a friend behind the bar, in the shape of a bottle and toothpick-impaled olives.

You dance till your feet hurt, slip away to your table, take off your heels. You’re back on the dance floor in time to catch the bouquet, too busy basking in the envy of the other women to notice his eyes burning a hole in the back of your head.

If it weren’t for the dent in your bank account made by the room you booked, you’d gladly dance away the whole night. But if a bed with a view costs double your rent, you’ll be damned if you don’t get to sleep in it.

So you stumble to the elevator.

Clutch your heels and flowers to your chest, struggle to remember your floor number. The fifth floor seems to ring a bell, but it might’ve been the eighth floor. Your room key! Maybe, you hope, that’ll have your floor number on it. You struggle with your purse’s zipper, trying your best to pry it open.

You succeed, but at what cost? Heels and bouquet tumble to the floor, thumping and clunking as they knock against it, flower petals falling loose.

You try to bend down, stretch your fingers out to grasp the clasps, seize the stems. A wave of exhaustion mixed with too much alcohol washes over you and you stand up straight again. Take a calming breath, do a little song and dance before reaching down again.

“Déjame. (Let me.)”

Scuffed shoes come into view as you’re halfway down, bent at the waist and holding your balance with one arm against a wall. You stand up straight, too fast, lose your balance and stumble forward.

He catches you.

For a moment, it feels like you’ve never left his arms.

“C’mon, let’s get you to your room.” You hate the way he ends his sentence, no term of endearment and no impure intentions.

He asks for your floor, you give him your key. He punches the number into the elevator and it shakes to life.

Neither one of you makes an attempt to part. There’s a chance he pulls you closer to him. You let yourself melt, regardless, muscles relaxing and sinking into his arms.

He’s still warm. He’s still steady. but his cologne’s different and it makes your eyes sting.

You’d warned him he was about to run out of his signature bottle, made a note to buy him another one for his birthday or Christmas, whichever came first.

“You look like you had fun,” he rasps out, eventually, as the elevator slips past the fifth floor.

“I did,” you tell a partial truth. You would have had more fun, if he’d stood at your side, ate at your table, danced in your arms. But you can’t say that, because he doesn’t want that.

“I’m glad.”

It turns out your floor is the ninth. He’s careful to guide you out the mobile-box, hand on your hip, pressing you to his side. Your heels dangling from one of his fingers and the bouquet gripped in his palm, smacking against his thigh every other step. A little down the hall and there you find it, your precious and expensive home for the night.

It’s easier to let him open the door, he tells you.

It’s easier to let him guide you to bed, you tell yourself.

Dropping the heels on the floor, he disappears out of your line of sight and you stare motionless at the ceiling above, buzzing in your brain and pain in your heart.

You’ve never shared a space like this with him, one that’s hollow and decayed. The shell of a creature that’s long abandoned it, grown too big for its home.

Your eyes sting all over again, this time enough to brim with unfallen tears.

A thud against the nightstand.

You roll onto your side and find he’s still here, a glass of water and some painkillers lay to rest at your bedside. The first tear gives way, running down your cheek and dropping to the crisp white sheets below. Even more fall as he raises a damp cloth to your face, wiping away smudged mascara and bringing your lips back to their natural colour.

The undressing is gentle and so unlike his usual impatience.

Fingertips drag down each inch of skin released as he unzips the back of your dress, tugging it down and folding it by your heels. The weight off your chest helps you breathe as he unhooks your bra. Left only in your underwear, the sheets ruffle as he drags them up your tired limbs and tucks them under your chin.

“Get in bed, please,” you plead like you have any right to ask that of him. “Javi.”

It’s the first time you’ve said his name since that night in May. His shoulders tense and release, his fingers smooth down his moustache. He looks like he’s going to fulfil your request, slip in behind you and wrap you up in his soft but steady embrace.

He looks like he wants to.

His back cracks as he bends down and presses a kiss.

Against your forehead, lips that linger.

Then, he stands up straight and walks out the door.

On the forehead, way up north Pressed the scar and found the source

Vermont, ‘98.

That’s where it all began.

Your dad, turning fifty.

Javi just hit forty.

It was someone in the station who had the wild idea they celebrate it together. The sheriff and the station’s rookie- really, a hardened, inching-out-of-a-fresh-retirement former DEA agent your father manipulated back into the force, some promise of a light workload and a hefty pension. With no need for money, you wonder why he ever accepted the offer.

Plans were set, money was put in a pot, and a wheel of fortune was spun. It landed on the northern state, a downpayment to rent a ski lodge placed within a matter of twenty-four hours.

Somewhere along the way, you’d been roped into joining this boys-only trip. Your dad argued you needed a break from studying. Your mother argued there needed to be a responsible adult to supervise your dad. and, well, a free holiday never hurt nobody, right?

Wrong.

The final evening, with a constant pounding of a hangover never-quite-nursed, a litter of bruises down your back from falling and a firmly closed chapter on any possible career as a ski prodigy you may have had, you trailed your way down to the only bar in the tiny ski town.

Textbooks on the table, glasses on your face.

A half-drank glass of cabernet, an empty plate.

Peaceful and quaint, until it wasn’t.

The cheer of a frat-boy out in the wild warrants the same response as hearing a lion’s roar in the dark of the Saharan night.

The kind you hear them before you see them, spilling through the door in their obnoxious jerseys and their face-painted cheeks. one wore the badge of honour, a giant Soon To Be shackled Married printed poorly onto the back of his jersey.

You put your head down, breathed more subtly.

The pride stormed their way over to the bar, pounding their fists onto the surface and gnashing their teeth, spit spilling down their mouth as they brutally tore into the bartender, demanding pints of beer and rounds of shots.

The key was to avoid eye contact, keep low and out of sight.

They dispersed through the area, sniffing out free booths and the occasional local to irritate out of their seats.

One of them found the jukebox and wasted his coin on blasting Pour Some Sugar On Me. The group of older women playing bingo scowled and made their way out of the joint, calling it for the night.

You got up to follow suit, hands slowly packing up your belongings and slinging your bag over your back.

Inching towards the exit, footsteps light as a feather.

“Woo! Look at you,” just as you were close to slipping out the door, a single member of the pack spotted you, prowling his way over. He already had his chest puffed out by the time you turned around. “Ain’t seen an ass like that since we left the city!”

Hardly charming. Tame, compared to other things frat boys have said to you.

“Why don’cha come join me and my buddies over there?” He nodded back at them, like they weren’t the obnoxious centres of everyone’s attention.

You were not scared of him, exactly. But you’ve seen where things can go. Heard about it, countless times, from your own father.

So you spoke with caution, gripping your bag a little tighter, “thanks, but I’ve got an early flight. Have a nice night-” He told you his name, like you cared. “Yeah, thanks, bye.”

And then you were stepping out into the quiet of the night.

Fresh air, cold enough to sting your lungs. You breathed it in like it was going out of fashion.

You barely got a moment to compose yourself before that grating voice was back in your ears.

“Oh don’t be a buzzkill!” He whined, you cringed. Took a step back, watched him move an inch. “It’s early, stay. Have a drink.”

“I’m not in the mood.”

“To have fun?! C’mon, it’s too cold to be out here by yourself.”

“I have an early flight.”

“It’s just one drink, sweetheart. I ain’t asking you to sign your life away.”

A couple bumped past you both, weaved their way between you. His eyes trailed after them, your feet twisted around, carrying you away from him slowly, carefully. Best not to make yourself look like prey, not to this predator.

“Hey!” He called after you. Your steps sped up. “Where you going, sweetheart?”

It didn’t even matter that you were walking in the opposite direction of the ski lodge. You told yourself you would find your way back, once this lion was off your back.

“I ain’t done talkin’ to you!”

The lion pounced, sank his claws into your back and ripped through you.

Your hand flew out to break your fall, the contents of your bag spilling out onto the sidewalk.

Pain, the kind that stings. It nipped at your knees, and your hands, and your eyes. Pushed it down, pulled yourself up.

He froze, maybe surprised at his own actions, maybe waiting on the chance to pounce once more, this time with his fangs instead of his claws.

You wouldn’t give him the chance. Filled your bag, collected your senses and ran.

It was tricky on frozen ground, trying so hard to not look back.

He followed and you knew it, heard it. Roaring and growling, chasing you down streets you’d never walked.

You slipped, momentarily, slammed into a wall. A crossroads, go right or go left.

You don’t remember which direction you turned.

“Quit running, you bitch!”

He was still following, how was he still following?

Caving in, you glanced over your shoulder and saw the blurry figure of him running after you.

He was getting faster. Maybe you were getting slower.

You came to a screeching halt, body smacking into something solid. Eyes shut, mind alive. You feared the worst, hoped for the best, expected to open your eyes and find yourself trapped in a dead-end, nowhere to run from this predator.

Instead, you heard your name. Called softly, at first. Gentle, coaxing you to pay attention. The second time it was more urgent, worried and aggressive. You sank deeper into the wall, felt your feet shuffle on the gravel below.

“...Gotta let me know, nena,” the wall pulled you back from it, a firm grasp on your forearms. Your eyes opened and met his. “Fucking Christ, look at the state of you.”

You’d not known much about Javier Peña at the start of the trip.

Your dad had mentioned something about a family ranch. Your mom let it slip that he’d enjoyed the pumpkin pie she’d brought to the station’s Thanksgiving feast.

There’d been one time you’d caught the end of a conversation between him and your dad. Nothing concrete, just some shameful mutterings about Colombia and Los Pepes. You’d left once you heard your dad start to comfort the man, deciding your intruding on the moment had already gone too far.

You now knew he liked his whiskey, no ice. His coffee, no milk. His bread, no butter.

He didn’t like the mess of mixing things, and you had to wonder if it had always been this way. Or had he learned his lesson, the hard way? Mixed the wrong things, burnt his own blessings?

“You’re bleeding,” he announced it, fresh news for you.

A pleasant warmth thrummed through your veins as he took hold of your hand, inspecting it under his scrutiny.

His thumb swiped over your palm.

Your mouth winced, your arm pulled back.

He held you in place.

Something visceral shifted in him, enough to coax you to glance at him.

He was looking past you, eyes a deadly killer stalking their prey. You followed their line of sight and found the lion at the end of the street. Standing still, arms at his side, eyes a little wider than you remembered them. You’d not really been looking, in the first place.

The former agent twisted you behind him, an effortless shield. Took an urgent step toward the frat boy, and then another three.

You grasped at his sleeve and tugged him back, didn’t let him stray too far.

“I’m fine,” you lied. He didn’t believe you, furrowing his brow. “I’m just cold.”

He seemed to hesitate, softened by a tremble in your voice.

He glanced back to see the lion was retreating, staggering his way back to the pride of frat boys. A perfect opportunity for him to attack, from behind and unexpectedly.

“Leave it, he’s not-” The sting in your eye got the best of you and a tear tracked itself down your cheek. You wiped it away with your scraped hand, leaving behind a smear of gravel and blood. “It’s not worth it.”

You said it not for the agent’s sake, but the boy’s.

The agent puffed out a breath of frustration, then followed your plea. Turned back to you, licked his thumb and swiped off the dirt on your cheek. Pulled you in, against him once more, and pressed a deliberate kiss against your forehead.

It was instinctual, no thought placed behind his action.

He did it because that seemed to be in his nature: to nurture.

“C’mon, the lodge is this way,” he pointed in some direction.

You didn’t bother paying attention, more than willing to follow wherever he led.

“Put this on.” It was not posed as an option, not when the agent tugged off his coat and draped it over your shoulders.

Somewhere along the path, you realised you’d lost your key to your cabin. Your dad carried the other.

Officer Peña offered to take you to him, drinking down in the ski lodge’s bar with the rest of the men.

You shook your head, told him your dad couldn’t see you in that state.

He took you back to his own cabin instead.

Cleaned up your hands, put on the fire, poured you a drink.

Then fucked you into his bed, till you clawed and sobbed around him.

If you don’t love me, Why’d you act it?

Late june brings nothing but gloom.

You get bored quick, no college to fill your days. Pick up extra shifts, hope to combat the empty feeling in your chest with the rush hour traffic that torpedoes it’s way through the cafe.

Friends invite you out, you rarely go. They tease you’re becoming a recluse, and that just makes you want to shut yourself in even more.

Tonight, you’re appeasing them.

Some line dance event, downtown in a bar that’s only gimmick seems to be a worn-down mechanical bull. It’s missing a horn and no one seems to know why.

Truth be told, you don’t want to go.

You want to stuff your face with take-out while you melt into your couch, watching reruns of the first season of Friends and drooling over Joey till you forget about another smooth-talking, raven haired man.

Here you are instead, fighting against the cheesy cowgirl hat till it sits on your head correctly.

In the mirror, it’s still lopsided.

The clock sits at eight forty-seven.

They’re 2 minutes late.

You give up, decide to pretend you want the hat this way. Slip on your jacket, do a sweep around your apartment: windows locked, flat iron off, fridge closed. Grabbing your purse, you unzip it and wrestle around in it’s contents, searching for your keys.

You pull on something and- it’s a pack a gum.

Dive back in, search again.

An empty tube of lipbalm.

Third time’s a charm, you think, and try once more. Something scratches your fingers, coaxes you to tug it out and inspect it.

A broken earring.

A familiar car honk’s outside, you stay frozen in place, staring at the broken hoop and counting one, two, three.

Bile burns the back of your throat.

He opens on the fifth knock.

Any other night, he practically rips the door off it’s hinges and tugs you in, before you can so much as raise your fist for a second knock.

Maybe he was busy, on the toilet or on the phone. You don’t think too much into it.

He steps aside, lets you in. Stands so far away, it’s hard to read his eyes.

The air’s uncomfortably quiet.

You think’s it’s all in your head, self-doubt at an all time high after a bad day.

“My earring snapped today,” there’s a growing pit in your stomach, just from staring at him. He looks so distant, not present. Mind a galaxy away. "Your favourite ones, too. You know, the little hoops with-”

“The hearts dangling from them.” He finishes, on your behalf, and it’s the first green flag you see. Green enough to lull yourself into a faux calm.

The silence returns.

You rock backwards on your heels, glance around the apartment. Try to find what has changed, because this no longer feels like the place you’ve grown so familiar with. And neither does the man observing you from a distance, hands glued to his sides.

He should be touching you by now, in any way he could: his foot bumping against yours under his dining table, his hand trailing patterns over your shoulders as you settle into his side on the couch, his tongue delving between your folds as you lay splayed out on his sheets.

You notice his bedroom door is shut.

It’s never been shut before.

“Is- Am I-” You don’t have to find the words, but the courage to speak them. “Do you have someone over?”

He blinks, slowly.

It’s hard to tell if it’s from guilt.

“Because if you do, that’s fine!” It’s not. “I understand,” You don’t.

He doesn’t answer.

You keep talking.

“Totally chill, I’ll comeback some other night. Or, you can just come by mine! Yeah, actually, that sounds better. Won’t risk interrupting again-”

“This needs to stop.”

You don’t have to question it.

You do, anyway.

“What?”

“Us. This-” He’s pointing between you both, a little haphazardly. It’s like he’s rushing to get the words out, get it over with. Get you out his apartment. “Thing we’re doing. It’s done.”

“I don’t underst-”

He cuts you off with your name. “Why’d you come here tonight?”

He’s stern.

Not in the way that makes you want to bend to his will and indulge in all his sins. But in a way that makes you feel dirty, wrong. A child scorned for touching fire and getting themselves burnt.

“I,” you’re beginning to wish there was someone else in his bed, so she could stroll out of his room in one of his stupidly soft shirts and interrupt this conversation. “Uh, I had a bad day.”

“Okay,” he nods. Smooths a hands over his chin, pops out his hip. “What’s that got anything to do with me?”

Everything, you want to tell him.

For every single thing that went wrong throughout your day, seeing Javi gave you something to look forward to.

“I just thought-”

“You thought, what?” His face twists up, just like your insides. He’s angry and you’re the one to blame. “This isn’t a- I’m not your boyfriend.”

I know, you mouth.

Because you do know. Repeat it to yourself all the time.

When he calls to make sure you got home safe.

When you sneak off to pee in the middle of the night and are welcomed back to bed with a forceful tug into his chest, a sleepy, gruffed out ‘where’d you go?’ whispered into your neck.

When he picks up on the things you say, remembers silly things like your favourite toilet paper brand and the exact milk to cereal ratio you enjoy.

Javier Peña is not your boyfriend.

So why does he act like it?

“Look, kid, you’re young, and I know-”

Kid.

That makes you angry.

He wasn’t calling you kid when he bent you over your parents’ bathroom counter.

“Don’t call me kid.”

“And I know,” he pushes through your protest, keeps up the distance. “This can be a lot at your age. Don’t blame you for getting caught up. But whatever you think you’re feeling for me, it’s not-”

“Is this about the p-” The word won’t come out of you, so your change the verbiage. “The hospital? Because I told you, Javi. We’ve been safe. Safer than a pair of purity-ring wearing teenagers-”

“No, this is about me needing to do the right-”

At this point, you’re just interrupting one another.

Fighting to get in the next word, frowning at what you do hear.

He tilts his head back and pinches the bridge of his nose, a groan leaving his cracked lips. You’d imagined him doing that tonight, but not like this.

Eventually, the back-and-forth stops.

Silence.

You take the lead.

“So, what? That’s it just... over?”

“I told you, corazón mía (my heart),” he can’t meet your eyes. “Made it clear from the start I wasn’t looking for anything serious.”

“I know,” you heave in a breath, hold back a sob. “But if it wasn’t serious, why’d you treat me like it was?”

It takes him a few minutes to answer. There’s a twitch, in his hand, reaching up only to drop back down at his side.

Usually, he wipes your tears before they get chance to fall.

The rug at your feet turns darker with each wet spot that drops.

“I got caught up,” his eyes seem so sad, so lost. Staring across the ocean of his living room, searching for a lighthouse to pull him safe to shore. But he won’t let you be that. “In the way you deserve to be treated, instead of some sleazy secret.”

He breathes out your name, the most painful melody you’ve ever heard.

“This has to end,” you’re unsure if it’s only you he’s attempting to convince. “Before someone gets hurt.”

Too late, you want to say.

You’re already being torn apart by his hands, and he’s standing ten feet away.

“Corazón, I’m so sor-”

The car honks, again.

You breathe in, and find it’s hard, snot piling up in your nose and tears splashing down your cheers.

Another honk.

You never make it to the line dance.

You curl in on yourself, instead, and fall asleep to the sound of Joey and Chandler’s bickering.

Love’s a verb And not a bandage

In retrospect, it’s hard to tell where the lines begin to blur.

A promise of casual, turned into something fragile.

Whenever you think about it, for too long, your mind carries you back to the same night. A few months after Vermont, you don’t recall the exact date.

All you remember is a pounding at your front door.

1 am. Too late to be causing ruckus.

You nearly trip over discarded shoes, curse earlier-you for assuming you would remember their existence. Undo the bolt, grab the key and then-

Pause.

This could be anyone, anything.

You check the peephole, find exactly who you were hoping for.

He’s on you like a moth to a flame, pressing you flush against him the instant he can fit through the crack in your doorway. Mouth on mouth, hands on waist. The door thuds as he closes it behind you both, you’re too distracted to notice.

You let him invade your senses.

Smell his aged leather and nicotine thrill. Feel his strong arms and bulging crotch. Hear his laboured breaths and muttered pleasantries. Taste his whiskey tongue and metallic lips-

You pull back. He follows.

It’s flattering, his inability to get enough of you, but you halt him nonetheless.

Cup his cheeks, pull down his face, and stare.

“My dad finally figure out who those panties in your glove-box belong to, Peña?” It’s meant to be a joke.

There’s nothing funny about his bleeding lip and split eyebrow.

He graces no response, dives back into you and submerses himself in your touch. Kisses you slow, with deliverance, his final mission to arrest all your sense of self till you turn yourself in to his embrace.

Only as you pass by those discarded shoes do you realise he’s inching you both deeper into the dark of your apartment.

This time, you do trip over them.

It’s okay though, Javi’s there to catch you.

He finds refuge in your neck, burrowing in deep, mouthing at the skin like a dog does a wound. Your arm shoots out to find a light-switch. A warm glow fills the apartment, bathing you both in an orange hue.

The gold of his skin shines brighter.

The red on his skin appears darker.

“What happened to you?” You don’t need to worry about him. And, yet, doing so comes naturally.

“S’not important,” it’s spoken against your skin, as if he intends to seep his gravelled tone into your pores and have it grow a new life for itself within you. A gentle scraping of his teeth sends a shiver down your spine. “I’ll tell you later.”

Later with Javi never seems to come.

‘If you’re not busy, I’ll make you dinner later.’

‘Keep it up and I’ll be fucking that attitude out of you later.’

‘I’ll get these back to you later.’

He’d never made you that dinner.

He’d dragged you into the station’s bathrooms and fucked the attitude out of you only seconds after.

You’d never gotten those panties back.

You decide to grant him no time for later. Shove him down into a seat at your dining table-for-two. Roll your eyes as he asks if you’re “gonna put on a show for me, corazón?”

The makeshift first-aid kit put together by your mother resides at the back of a cupboard, hidden by mugs and cups. It takes several minutes and a smashed glass to manoeuvre it out. You step over the pieces of glass and head straight back to the table, dumping out the contents.

You click your tongue, point your finger. He scoots the chair back from the table and you slip between the space. Press back against the surface, stand between his parted knees and do your best to not look down at the jeans that grant him no modesty.

Distractions are not welcomed, your patient needs tending to.

He’s insisting he’s okay, yet he’s hissing when you dab at the tears in his flesh with betadine. His hands find a place upon your hips and give a tight squeeze as you press butterfly stitches to his no-longer bleeding brow.

“I,” he starts up, an indefinite time of silence passing between you both. He shakes his head.“It’s stupid.”

“Javi,” you stroke your finger over his jaw, tilt his head back to meet your eyes. “The less you tell me, the more I’ll worry.”

It does the trick, unlocks his tongue.

“I was just wanting one drink, was gonna head home... Or to you, after. I had a shitty day at work and... You probably don’t care about that,” he has no idea you’ll hang onto those words for the weeks to come, wondering how to lighten his workload, ease his tension. “Heard some loud-mouth kid beside me at the bar, he was talking to this girl. She gets up to leave, he follows. I was just gonna go back to nursing my drink but-”

He hisses.

You’re pressing too hard on his fragile lip.

There’s no malice in his eyes as you pull your hand back, only soft and tender. He must sense your remorse for hurting him, chasing after your fingers and grazing a gentle kiss upon them.

A splotch of red stains your skin.

“Corazón,” he croons, shifts himself closer to you. His hands grip the backs of your exposed thighs, his chin presses into your lower stomach. A few movie-strand hairs cover the molten brown eyes that stare up at you. “You’re exhausted. Vamos, basta de preocuparte (C'mon, stop worrying), I’m fine. I just wanna crawl into your tiny bed so I can wake up to your bedhead and more back pains.”

It’s a tempting offer, and one you’ve given into far too many times acceptable for the casual agreement you both share.

A deep breath. Your hand lands on his cheek, his eyes flutter shut.

There’s bags under them. Heavy, dark. Bearing the exhaustion he hides behind charming winks and dashing smiles. Your thumb grazes over one and you ache to give him the rest he deserves, the rest his body craves.

“But, what?” You persist, pleading for him to continue his story.

Javi sighs, gives in.

He always gives in, to you, eventually.

“I just- I don’t know, it’s crazy, but I kept thinking of you,” his eyes reopen, sorrow buried deep in his soul and a worry-line etched into his brow. “In that bar. Alone, in Vermont, when you...”

He doesn’t finish his sentence.

He doesn’t need to.

“So what did you do?” It’s best to keep him talking, drag his mind away from whatever dark thoughts those memories bring up.

“I followed them outside,” he admits with a tinge of shame. “Tried to be subtle about it. Lit a cigarette, took a few drags, scoped out the street. Neither of them were around,” you’ve long abandoned the first aid kit, transfixed by the tight grip he holds you in, his hands smoothing up and down the backs of your thighs in an attempt to soothe himself. “I thought I’d maybe read into it wrong. Maybe she was into him, and they’d got a cab back to her place. Or his.”

He’s rambling.

Stumbling through words he deems unimportant, rushing to push out the thoughts that clog up his brain pipes.

You listen closely, swallow up every morsel he offers.

“It was just as I turned to go back inside that I heard something,” his hands no longer dance over your skin. They sit stagnant, halfway up your thigh, fingers flexed and nails digging into flesh. He’s burying himself into any part of you he can, rooting himself in your solid figure. “Rustling, or something. Coming from the alley. And I just... I felt my stomach drop. Followed after it. Found them, him-”

He chokes.

On his words, on his breath, on his failure.

You run a hand through his curls, soothe the lines off his face.

Bend down, drag him up, press your lips to the arc of his nose.

“Didn’t think, I just dragged him off. Punched him, a few times. Felt his nose crack under my fist.” He’s still pushing through, his earlier unwillingness to talk now a streaming fountain you can’t switch off. “I must’ve tripped on some glass, lost my balance. Gave him the space to get a few hits in, and-”

“Did you arrest him?” You cut him off.

He nods.

“Did you help her?”

Another nod.

“Did you get her someplace safe?”

This time, a reply.

“An officer checked her in at the hospital, stayed till her friend arrived.”

“Then Javi,” you make a point of saying his name, remind him of who he is when he’s not on duty. Not parading around with a badge and a gun, and answering to Officer Peña. The shift in his stare tells you it helps. “You did enough.”

A weight slips off his shoulders and he slumps further into you, eyes squeezing shut.

“I didn’t,” frustration steals the show, coursing through his voice.

“What more could you have done?”

“I don’t know... I could’ve-” He groans, like something pains him, and purses his lips. “I should’ve helped her sooner. Followed them, the minute they left. Shouldn’t have let...” A whiff of whiskey reaches your nostrils. Javi pulls you in tighter, breathes in the mixture of sleep-sweat and lingering cologne on the shirt you wear- Pink, the top buttons undone, left behind by him. “Shouldn’t have let you go out alone.”

You whine out his name.

The air is miserable, dragging through your lungs and staining them.

The chair creeks at the loss of his weight, knees straightening him up to his full height. Instinctually, you lean back into the table, head tilting to meet his broken eyes.

He’s searching for comfort, in the only way he knows how.

Slap a bandage over a bullet-hole, place a kiss upon his gaping-heart.

“Not everything about that night was so bad,” you play into his game, splay a hand upon his shirt. Trace a finger over a stained blood spot. “If I hadn’t gone out, then maybe we wouldn’t be...”

The words catch in your throat.

Partially because you don’t know what you are anymore. Boundaries crossed, lines blurring. Hands that hold and eyes that linger. Too close to be nothing, too reckless to be something.

But mostly because he kisses you.

Desperate, hungry. Groaning into your willing mouth.

He’s a man on a mission, to consume your soul right out your willing body. Unravelling you where you stand, he takes pleasure in peeling his shirt off you.

Hot mouth to hot skin, the tip of his tongue meeting the peak of your breasts. Your hands pull at his hair and he grips at your waist.

The descent into madness is quick, bodies melting together in a dance that’s unique, improvised, and yet always in sync.

He tugs at your panties and you undo his belt. He hooks your thigh over his hip and you anchor yourself to his chest. He teases you with a pinch to your clit and you torture him as you cup his heavy balls.

When Javi fucks you, he fucks with purpose.

The table thuds and scrapes along the floor with each punctuated thrust he gives, driving his cock deeper and deeper into your welcoming cunt, the coarse hairs at its base gifting you the occasional thrill of friction on your aching clit.

He’s slurring out curses and pet-names, lavishing you with delightful proclaims of what a pretty girl you are when you 'shut up and take my cock'.

When he does manage a full sentence of logical wording, his forehead’s pressed to your shoulder, his cum coats your thighs and the sweat between your frantic bodies holds you both together.

“There’s not a universe where this doesn’t happen, corazón,” you feel him softening against your thigh, yet you still delight as he drags a finger coated in his own spend up your folds. “Want you too damn much to miss out on you.”

Curling up into your bed that feels too big these days, you grip at the pink shirt and wonder when that changed.

When did Javier Peña stop wanting you?

And I’m spiritual cleansing (but the truth) Is I’m good at pretending (oh and you)

By July, things change.

The stud in your nose is traded out for a silver ring.

The lonely nights in your apartment turn into stumbling back home from some nameless club in the early hours.

Boredom leads to hobbies.

At first, you try pottery.

Four plates broken and a crumbled mug later, you put on your dance shoes.

Slip. Almost break your arm. Wrestle with the doom placed on your budding dance career. Throw out the dancing shoes, bring home running shoes.

You hate it, running.

You sweat, you ache, you exhaust.

But when you’re gasping for a breath and your feet pound into concrete ground, you don’t think about it.

The heartache.

The headache.

The agent.

You drop a few pounds, tone up your muscles. Watch your body’s shape outgrow your wardrobe, investing in a new one while clinging onto the items you love too much to lose.

Like the dress that now rests just below your ass, instead of it’s usual place mid-thigh. Or the sweater that once hung loose, that now hugs new curves and creases. The jeans that were tight now sliding off your hips.

The pink shirt still lives on one of your hangers.

But you’re not thinking about it, or it’s previous owner.

Not right now.

Now, you’re balling your fists and counting your breaths. Music blasting through your headphones, sweat dancing on your forehead.

The sun is warm on your back, even as it makes way for night to begin. This is the best time to run, dusk, you’ve discovered.

No kids loitering on park grounds, no threat brought on by the dark, no slow-walking pedestrians crossing your path.

You run your self-made circuit with freedom, switching off all your senses and emptying your mind.

Today, however, it’s more challenging.

The thought of him creeps through, no matter the effort you put in to fight it. Your father’s the one to blame.

You have to come, kiddo.

The phone-call still echos through your thoughts.

Because it wouldn’t be the same without you there.

You’d wanted a better explanation than that.

Then, you tried some lame excuse of already having plans.

You had no plans.

Bring your friends then! The more the merrier!

You nearly groaned out loud at his enthusiasm, but held back. Your father’s light didn’t deserve to be dampened by your shadow.

C’mon, kiddo! I’ve not hosted the annual barbecue since you were still wearing your braces!

You bit your tongue. Fought against telling him that, back then, there were no pretty-eyed, heart-breaking agents for you to worry about.

The whole station’s gonna be there, you have to come!

He said it, like that would persuade you.

Keep asking about ya, the whole lot of them.

The more he spoke, the less you wanted to go.

Just last night Javi was asking how you’re doing!

You’d hung up.

Immediately.

Called back, 3 minutes later. Mumbled an apology and an excuse- I lost signal!- and ultimately agreed to going to the damn barbecue.

Now, you run from the phone call, from the impending doom it brings.

All this heartache and pain, it’s not good for the soul.

Of course, being dumped is a lot easier when the person isn’t your dad’s closest confidant.

It gets hard to breath. Each pound against concrete shakes the cassette player glued to your hip. There’s a sting of tears in your eyes.

Until you come to a screeching halt.

Double over.

Place your hands on your knees.

Dry heave.

You pay no mind to the figure sitting a few feet away on a bench.

Nor to the dog that’s chasing it’s ball back forth between it’s owner’s throws.

You let the sadness flood your soul, deflate you like some discarded party-balloon.

You’ll have to see him.

Spend time near him.

Watch him laugh, and smile, and share beers with your father.

It’s unfair, and you hate him for putting you through this.

For not quitting the force.

For being your dad’s friend.

For not wanting you the same you wanted him.

Want him.

You wipe your face with the back of your hand. Try to stand up straight, get lost in the knots you’d tied into your laces. Sloppy and uneven.

You’re usually more careful.

You catch, in your peripheral, the figure on the bench move. Take it as your sign to compose yourself, get over yourself.

You pick your pace back up.

Manage only a handful-or-two steps.

Your feet fly out in front of you.

Land ass-first on the gravel below.

Beneath the sounds of Olivia Newton-John demanding you get physical, you hear a muffled sorry! yelled out. Spot as the dog rushes to grab it’s ball, halfway down the path thanks to your kick.

You groan and prepare to get back on your feet.

You’re met with a hand in your face, palm open and waiting for you to accept the open offer. You take it, no hesitation.

Big mistake.

The hand tugs you.

You glance up.

And meet the eyes of Javier Peña.

“Easy, tiger,” he coughs up a laugh, like you don’t wind him as you slam into him, full-body force, nerves on fire and all systems shutting down. “You trying to break my ribs?”

It’s no less than you deserves, you think.

And instantly regret it, heart turning blue at the thought of him hurt at your hand.

You take a few steps back, create a safe distance where you can’t smell the remnants of his last cigarette or count the eyelashes that line his eyes.

He asks you how you’ve been, and tries his best to smile.

It comes off as awkward. A crooked line across his lips.

You try to remember the last time he smiled at you and meant it.

You come up empty handed.

Maybe it was back in April. A hospital hallway, one hand clasping yours, the other peeling through the leafs of some medical pamphlet.

Or, was it after, on the drive home, back to his apartment, hand still holding yours while the other spun the wheel?

There’s a vague memory that toils in the depth of your mind.

Sharing an elevator, your heels in his hand, his lips on your forehead.

Wedding attire, a post-party glow.

It’s toyed with you since you woke up in that hotel room, driven half-mad by an image you can’t quite form of him tucking you into bed.

Had he smiled, then?

Had he even been there?

Or was he merely a product of martinis and negronnis-

His fingers grasp your chin, no warning, and tilt your face.

His eyes don’t greet your own. Instead, they’re focused on the centre of your face, inspecting you like a piece of evidence.

“Hmm,” he’s so close, you smell the mint of freshly bitten gum on his breath. Dart your eyes down, catch the glint of his badge poking out his pocket.

He’s still on duty, a tailored uniform contrasting the hair roused by stress. Maybe at his desk, in the office next to your father’s, hands running through his tresses to express frustrations, tensions.

Were they his own hands, or someone with longer, brightly painted nails? Your stomach turns at the thought, your loins warm at the memory of writhing in his desk chair, legs thrown over his shoulders whilst his own dug into the ground below, eager to please mouth and a happy to taste tongue working you to a orgasm muffled by your own hand.

He’d slapped your ass, kissed your cheek and sent you out his office door, wiping your own wetness off your cheek just in time to greet your father.

“You suit the ring,” his voice and a gentle breeze bring you back to the present. To the park. To the heavy feeling that hangs between you both. “I prefer it to that stud.”

“I- What?” Confussion.

You furrow your brow, wipe your sweaty palms over your thighs.

He just smiles, still crookedly, and brings his hand up to your nose.

Adjusts your piercing, swipes his thumb over your cheek.

It’s hard to breath, but you do it anyway.

Thank him, in a struggle to find your voice, with a whisper.

His eyes bore into your own, chase them as you look off to the side, watch the dog still chasing it’s ball and failing to catch it.

You wonder if it’s a cruel metaphor sent by the universe, a symbol of you and Javi.

And then you wonder if you’re the dog or the ball.

Or both.

“You never answered me,” his voice, honey, sweet on your ears. It melts away your other senses, turns you blind to anything other than him. “I want to hear how you’ve be-”

“Peña, if you don’t report your skinny ass to my office in 5 minutes and share a celebratory drink with me, I’m putting you on cleaning duties at our next poker night.”

A static-filled voice blares out his walkie-talkie.

Your father’s voice.

It’s enough to set things right, force your body to retreat from his.

He’s not your Javi anymore, desperate to hear about your day and kiss any aches away.

He’s Peña, your dad’s best friend, meant for nothing more than to be a passing figure in your life.

His eyes are heavy with emotion as he fishes out the device.

Maybe it’s sadness you see.

There’s definitely remorse.

Guilt, too.

“We... Your dad caught the guy that’s been breaking into college girls’ apartments.” He tells you, shares information that should help you sleep better at night. You’ve not done that since the last time he lay next to you. You watch him press down on the call button, hold the speaker up to his mouth. “Do that and I’ll shit in your shower, pendejo (asshole).”

It wouldn’t be the first time he’d commit an indecency within your parent’s bathroom.

But none of that matter, anymore.

You’re already walking away.

Wringing your hands and hoping the tension in your limbs falls out.

He calls out your name, loudly.

Attracts the nosy eyes of people around.

People who know fine well who your father is, who Javier is.

You turn in time to see him half-jog, half-pace his way over to you.

He reaches out for your hand.

And quickly gives up on the thought of holding it.

“I’ll, um,” his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, grinds his teeth in an attempt to say something. “I’ll see you at the barbecue, right?”

He knows the answer.

You still give him it, “yes.”

Smile, uncomfortably brightly, before you turn and walk away once more.

You feel his eyes on you.

And pray he takes no notice of the sob that shakes your shoulders.

Broke me big time It’s funny and I’m laughing baby You think I’m alright

You’re laughing but it’s mostly fake.

A courtesy, a polite gesture. A signal that you’re still listening, despite tuning out her voice five minutes ago.

She’s a nice lady, someone who works alongside your father. Specialised in forensics, she balances the darkness of her job with the brightness of her wardrobe.

Today, she’s paired a lemon-yellow skirt with a vibrantly orange camisole. She looks like a walking cheese cube.

You’ve known her since you were a kid, even if you can’t remember. She claims you used to stand on her desk, make a big spectacle out of nearly matching your dad’s height.

You’d got to talking to her after she helped you wipe ketchup off your chin.

That was half an hour ago, and the discomfort of wanting to be anywhere but here is finally settling in.

It’s not her fault. You know.

She’s not the one who roped you into going to this barbecue.

Your dad is.

And right now he’s stood on the other side of his backyard, half-drunken beer bottle in one hand and Javier Peña’s shoulder clapped under the other.

Even from here, you can hear him bragging.

So then Peña’s on his ass.

Chases this guy, whilst he’s driving down the street!

Catches him at an intersection, physically rips him out the car.

All while the man in question shrugs, sheepish. Dismisses your father’s praising.

He’s exaggerating.

The guy was barely going 5 miles an hour!

He stepped out the vehicle at his own will.

Sweat lines his forehead, shirt-sleeves hug his biceps, joy wrinkles his eyes.

He’s happy, at ease. Enjoying himself, in a way he was always meant to.

Something about him fits so perfectly in this picture: laughing with your father, complimenting your mother, playing fetch with your dog.

If you step inside the frame, it cracks.

Shatters.

And maybe he knows that.

Knew it all along.

Broke things off before you could try find a frame large enough to fit you all in.

And, though it hurts, you see why things had to end between you and feel relieved it happened before it was too late.

The feeling lasts all but four seconds.

“Kiddo!”

Your father’s voice is obnoxiously loud. Several of the party-goers turn their heads, follow his line of sight. Spot you, frozen in place, glass full of watered down lemonade and a belly full of dread.

It takes a moment, but you wave.

“Come over ‘ere!”

Not the response you were hoping for.

Still, you do as he asks. Smile at your mother, shuffle your feet, make your way across the yard. Do everything in your power to not look at Javi.

Even if the weight of his stare threatens to crumble you.

“You having a good time?” Your dad’s got this smile, big and dopy and oh so caring, that you can’t bring yourself to ruin with the truth.

“I’m having a great time,” you barely manage out before he’s squeezing you into his side.

The condensation on his bottle of beer seeps through the shoulder of your top, his arm secured safely around you.

He must be tipsy already, a buzz in his veins making him more affectionate than normal.

“I can’t believe it,” he laments, speaking to no one in particular.

In your peripheral, you fail to ignore tight jeans and a loose-fitting shirt.

It’s hardly buttoned, the top three undone and leaving a golden plain on display.

Perhaps you’re going crazy but he seems thinner, skin drawn a little tighter against his ribcage.

It’s not a sight you want to see.

It fills you with dread.

Pulling you out of your own head, you father continues to drone on.

“My little girl’s spreading her wings soon, going on her first adult holiday to-”

“London.”

Javi’s voice, interrupting your father, finishing his sentence.

All eyes snap to him.

Your own, wide and panicked. Scared. Trying so hard to dismiss how intensely he’s staring back you.

Your mother’s, amused and curious. Flicking back and forth between his face and her husband’s.

Your father, confused and perplexed, “I- Yeah...” He speaks slow and the arm on your shoulder slips down. “How’d you know?”

“I’ve been, you know?” Two hands dance in front of you, somewhere in the dark, intwining and unwinding. It’s a nervous habit, of Javi’s. You welcome the contact of soothing touches. “To London.”

That peaks your interest.

Enough to shift positions. Rip your hand out his own, roll onto your side and rest a hand under your propped up head. Your other, inevitably, finds its way upon his warm chest, rests over his no-longer-racing heartbeat.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I’ve been a few times, actually. I’ve got some friends out there.”

With Javi, friends could mean anything.

A fellow agent, a government official, a moonlight lover.

For all you know, this friend could be the Queen of England.

So it’s best you don’t inquire on it.

“Where do you recommend I visit then, Mr. Bond?”

“Mr... Bond?”

The room is dark, but you still notice the furrow in his brow.

You can practically hear it, in his voice.

“You know, like James Bond.” That’s the thing about jokes, explaining them makes you realise how dumb they are. “‘Cause you were an agent and you like London, and he’s an agent in Lon-”

He cuts you off in the way you like best: his mouth against yours.

The kiss is brief, and leads no place further than the simple act of wanting to silence you.

And, though it goes unaddressed, because it’s been too long since he’d last done it.

Even if he’d done so less than an hour ago, naked bodies intertwined on ruffled bedsheets.

“That was the worst pun I’ve ever heard, corazón,” somehow, the words don’t bruise your ego.

Instead, they make you giggle and burrow your heated face into the crook of his neck.

His lips press against your hairline before speaking again.

“I’d need to write you a list of places to go, too many for me to pick one.”

“Maybe I need a tour guide,” a hand of his greets your back, strokes soothing motions back and forth. It’s lulling you to sleep, at last. “Y’know, show me all the places a real Londoner goes.”

“I could,” he pauses. Clears his throat. Pulls you a little tighter against him, till your limbs are tangled and it’s hard to tell where he stops and you start. “I could check my calendar. See how many holiday days I’ve got left. Could come with you, to London, if you want me there.”

It’s too late though.

You’re already snoring against his skin.

“How does he know?” Your mother shatters the silence, tone incredulous. “I mean, seriously, are you blind!?”

For a minute, it feels like she knows.

She knows why Javi knows.

You should be panicking.

Both of you should.

Should look away from one another, should wipe the guilt off your faces, should already be working on some excuse for when your mother exposes what once was between you.

But you aren’t. Neither of you are.

You’re just staring at each other, as if you’re working to commit each other’s face to memory.

“He knows because you won’t shut up about it!”

Your dad gives an unceremonious oh.

Your mom rolls her eyes.

Javi takes a sip of beer and looks off to the side, eyes breaking contact from your own at last.

“Ok but,” your father’s back to talking before you can fully work up the courage to leave. At least that’s the excuse you try give yourself, anything to distract from Javi. “I bet I’ve not told you what she’s decided to do on her travels!”

“You have,” your mother’s tone is pointed.

Javi laughs, sputters up a little beer back into the bottle. Tilts his head back, accepts his own backwash.

There’s a worn-out cigarette box squeezed tight inside the front pocket of his jeans.

You try ignore the fact he’d promised you he was working on quitting.

“Shh,” your father waves a hand in your mother’s face, dismisses her teasing with a playful wink.

Pulls her close, kisses her shoulder.

Gives both you and Javi a display of what a relationship is.

Open, celebrated, acknowledged.

Not secretive, dirty, scandalous.

Javi cuts the tension with a chuckle and a gentle shove to your father’s arm.

As his hand retreats back to his side, his knuckles brush your skin.

“She’s gonna get herself a christmas-tree decoration every holiday,” your father reveals. You’re frozen at the fact he even remembers you mentioning it. “What was it you said again, kiddo? So in the future, when you’re decorating the tree with your kids, you’ll think of the places you’ve been and tell them all about it?”

Your heart drops.

Javi’s seems to do the same.

For a moment, you worry he’s stopped breathing.

Till his chest rises and falls, no thanks to your father’s stupid rambling about you, and the future, and kids.

“Uh, yeah,” the ground can’t swallow you sooner. You’re already planning your exit, from this conversation and, hopefully, this party as a whole. Your dad’ll understand. You just need to tell him something came up. Or came out. Tell him you’ve got food poison. Blame it on some dodgy take-out the night before. “Something like that.”

But I’m actually bloody Motherfucking batshit crazy

There are moments in one’s life where they must question their own sanity.

You’ve lived plenty of such moments.

But none quite like right now, half-crouched in the middle of a grocery store aisle, peeping into the next one through a gap between two cereal boxes on the shelf.

And all because you heard his voice.

“This is what you’re craving?” Through the crack, you see him wave about something in his hand. It’s hard to see what exactly he’s holding, though.

He’s facing a woman.

She’s pretty.

With dirty blonde hair, piercing blue eyes that not even the shelves and produce between you both can block the shine of.

And a well-rounded belly.

“No, Javi, this,” she doesn’t say his name the same way you do- did. There’s a jovial tone, but there’s no awe, no seduction. Maybe that’s just what your bias hears. “Is what the baby is craving.”

You’ve never seen her before.

Not on the mantel of photos that line Javier’s television. Not at any of the station thrown parties. Not in his wallet, tucked behind the picture of his mom.

She’s a total stranger, to you.

But that doesn’t mean she’s a stranger to him.

A very pregnant, non-stranger.

“We gotta get this kid some better taste.”

His hand rests on her bump.

She welcomes it, placing her own against it to hold him in place.

The image of the American dream, a beautiful woman and a handsome man. The promise of a child, soon, half her and half him.

The blood drains from your face. There’s a lump in your throat and a sting in your eyes.

You won’t let it fester.

Take deep breaths, pretend there’s no shake in your exhales.

It’s not enough to stop the vicious thoughts that sink their jagged ends into the soft tissues of your brain.

Was she the reason things between you and him ended?

Had he got her pregnant, decided to stand by her, and found love along the way?

Was he with her, all along, while he was with...

Surely, he couldn’t have.

But, then, why couldn’t he have?

You were never exclusive.

You were never anything.

“Did-” Somewhere, between the aisles, Javi speaks in amazement. The smile is practically dripping off his words. “Did it just kick?”

Your heart’s palpitating.

Your hands are sweating so badly, they threaten to drop the box of Cap'n Crunch in their grasp.

Jealousy turns to misplaced anger, irrational in every form but impossible to conform.

Because, how could he do this to you?

Make a mockery of you, turn you into the other woman?

Love you so deeply and leave you so easily?

Settle down with this woman and her baby, yet run from you at the first scare of a-

“He’s a real kicker, ain’t he?”

At first, you think it’s spoken to you.

But, no, it’s too distant. Too far.

A third person enters your view through the window in the shelf.

He’s handsome, in the typical sense.

Blonde haired, a nice smile.

There’s a little girl in his arms, resting on his hip, half asleep and clinging to a worn-out giraffe doll.

“He?” It’s Javi who echoes.

“Don’t get him started,” the woman seems to beg, rolling her eyes.

The man nods, pride on his face, “I’m telling ya, Peña, it’s gonna be a boy. It needs to be a boy, ‘else I’m gonna be overrun by little girls.”

The woman must give him a pointed look, or a gentle nudge, for not two seconds later he’s following his words up with a tickle to the sleepy girl’s side and “little girls who I love very much.” Pause. He leans closer to Javier, hand covering one side of his mouth as if to block the woman and the child from hearing him. “I still want a son, though.”

“Olivia,” the pregnant woman strokes a hand over the little girl's head, coxing her to keep her eyes open. It’s hard to tell if there’s a drool mark on the man’s shoulder. “Why don’t you show uncle Javi your favourite toy?”

The bile in your throat burns more than ever before.

The misplaced anger bleeds into sadness, shame, embarrassment.

Here you are, going stir-crazy over a man who never wanted much of you in the first place, raising your heart-rate at the thought of him moving on from something that never even existed.

And there he is, fine as can be- in every sense of the word-, sharing laughs and exchanging smiles with old friends in the grocery store.

Friends his own age.

Worlds apart, yet nothing but a shelf between you.

Through the gap, you watch him lean down to the little girl’s eye-level. A twinkle in his eye, he happily tugs at the stuffed giraffe’s tail.

“Glad you liked it, Olive,” curse him, and his soft voice, and his gentle touch and his everything, for still forcing you to swoon over him, knees weak and ovaries treacherously screaming. “I had to go all the way to Africa to find him.”

The little girl perks right up at that.

Eyes widened, head off her father’s shoulder.

“Really?!” She’s amazed, and how could she not be? Javier Peña is beaming at her, ear to ear.

“Mhmm,” he nods, feeds into his own lie, ignoring the disapproving looks from the other man. “If you’re lucky, maybe I’ll go back next year and get you a zebra.”

“Quit lying to my kid, Peña.”

Javi, undeterred from keeping the little girl’s smile, rolls his eyes and pokes his tongue out at her father, huffing under his breath “Your dad’s a right grump, Olive.”

You begin to wonder how long Javi’s known this couple, how he knows this couple.

“Just wait till you’ve got your own kid and I’m feeding it lies.” The man punctuates his empty threat with a dull punch to Javi’s forearm. Javi barely flinches, unfazed. “Speaking of, when are you making me uncle Steve?”

In sync and apart, you and him both physically freeze.

Your breathing stops.

Javier stands up straight. Rolls his shoulders, scratches at the back of his neck, clears his throat and, “not any time soon.”

“Really? What about that girl you’ve been seeing, the-”

“That- We- It didn’t work out, we wanted,” you begin to see cracks in his facade. Fake laugh, solemn eyes. “Different things... I want, wanted to settle down but, yeah, no it was for her best that we-”

“Sorry, can I just,” your heart jumps in your chest, flying back so quickly from your peep-hole that you nearly knock over the person behind you. “Grab one of those?”

You nod, gain composure, watch the stranger pick up a box of cereal off the shelf.

They walk away and you’re left alone, again.

Your eyes flicker up to the shelf and-

He’s no longer standing on the other side.

You turn on your heel, ignoring your half-filled cart and book it out of the store before you fall apart.

Try as you might, you can’t shake off the weight of his stare as you pass by the check-out.

I kept it in, but it wrecked my organs So pour the gin and call Graham Norton

You wake up early.

You tell yourself it’s because you’re seizing the day.

Making the most out of your time upon foreign land.

The early bird gets the worm, and all that proverbial bullshit.

The truth lies in that you can not sleep.

Jetlag. Your body clock is at odds with the timezone.

Which lands you here: strolling upon the cobbled streets of Notting Hill.

A quarter past six.

Its barely light out, the sun still fighting to rise over the horizon and the streetlights still shadow your every step.

Colourful houses, cosy shops, a melodic thud each time your feet meet the ground.

It’s picturesque, straight out of a romantic comedy.

Yet, somehow, you’ve never felt more gloom.

In the silent bustle of a city awakening to a new day, you’re startled.

Trip over a cobble, nearly meet the floor, and just about save yourself from rolling your ankle.

Your ringtone is the culprit.

Loud, imposing. It scares a flock of birds off a wire and gains you a stare from a man stepping out his home.

Scrambling to get the clunky cellphone out your bag, you spare the screen a fleeting glance.

You question if it’s one of your friends, awakened back in your shared hotel room to find you’re not there, and press the green button.

“Corazón.”

It’s funny how one word can drain the blood from your face.

You swallow the lump in your throat, made of equal parts anger and sadness.

Anger that this is the first time you’ve heard Javier Peña’s voice in nearly two months.

Sadness that it sounds so broken down the line.

“I- Shit, I can’t tell if I’ve even dialled the right number...” He’s muttering in your ear, confused and at odds with himself, mouth a fountain his thoughts pour out of. “... Probably changed it or- Can she even receive calls all the way in-”

“I’m here,” it’s only a whisper.

It’s enough to shut him up.

Silence rings down the line, a static buzz that reminds you of the distance between you.

“You’re in London,” he states.

“I am,” you affirm.

He hums, sips something.

Ice clinks against glass, and you feel a little sick.

“How have-” His voice sounds strange. Muffled. Different. Maybe it’s the poor connection. “Was your flight okay?”

“Yeah,” you spare him the details.

The truth.

The boredom, the turbulence. The fact you’re dreading the flight home.

“I’m glad,” he sighs the words out, worry going with them. “Know you’re not the biggest fan of planes, kept thinking of you alone and afraid on it.”

“I wasn’t alone,” it’s defensive, and ironic.

You sure felt alone.

“That’s right, corazón, you weren’t,” something slips, rolls, smashes. Glass shatters and is met with cursing anger, an oh, shit! followed up by hollow laughter. “You’re never alone.”

“Are you...” The street’s a little brighter, a few cars have begun to back out of driveways and you’re still there, frozen in the middle of the street, phone pressed to your ear. “Drunk?”

“No, I’m javi.” If his laughter is anything to go by, he thinks himself the comic of the century. “Had a few drinks with your dad, sweetheart, that’s all.”

For a moment, it feels like you shouldn’t be here, in London.

You should be home, in Laredo, dragging a drunken Javi to bed.

Stripping him of his clothes, kissing his rosied cheeks, urging him to go to sleep. Leaving him a pair of painkillers and a glass of water for his breakfast before curling yourself into his soft arms.

You blink, and feel the familiar weight of a tear on your lashes.

“Why’d you call me, Javi?” It’s a desperate plea.

For answers, for clarity, for closure

“I wanted to hear your voice,” that’s too vague of an answer, too unfair of an answer. Your heart swells nonetheless. “Wanted to go to London, with you. I should be there.”

“It’s your fault,” that’s as cruel as you can bring yourself to be towards him.

Even then, it kills you to do so.

“’S half my fault. Joder (fuck),” you can picture him, leaned back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes closed. You wonder how much he’s drank, and if he spoke to any women. Maybe he took one home, fucked her nice and good before dialling your number. “Wanted to give you my answer, too.”

Someone bumps your shoulder on the street, walking past you.

You pay them no mind, vision blurred to the world around you.

“What answer?”

“Where you should visit, Mrs. Bond,” he says it, like it doesn’t send you into cardiac arrest.

You miss the nights like that one, tangled in your bed, smelling him on your sheets and feeling him against your skin.

He’d woken up first the next day, coaxed you out of bed with the promise of homemade pancakes and his head between your legs.

“There’s this little bar in Inslington, called the Distillery Club. The owner, he makes his own gin. You like gin, don’t you, corazón?” You nod, and it’s almost like he feels it. “It doesn’t look like much from the outside. Or the inside, either. But it’s some of the best gin I’ve ever had, in the greatest company.”

You try to picture him, sat amongst friends you’ve never met. Friends who don’t know your dad.

You try to picture yourself, next to him, scooting your bar stool closer to his.

The image doesn’t quite form.

“Want you to go there, get yourself a drink. Tell him Javier Peña sent you, and that you’ve not to pay.”

It’s like he’s given you a piece of his soul. A piece of his history, someplace he’s sought out refuge in his lowest moments.

Refuge he’s willing to share with you.

That tear finally gives way, dropping off your lash and rolling down your cheek.

You wipe it off with the sleeve of your sweater, before anyone can see.

“Promise me you’ll go, corazón.”

Your reply is instant, “I promise.”

“Ok, I’ll let you go,” it’s solemn, regretful, devoid of truth. You almost beg him not to, but that didn’t work last time. “Enjoy yourself, okay? Come home, safe.”

“Javi, I-” the line cuts off, disconnecting before you even finish. “Miss you.”

I’m gonna throw you down the river Your mum can watch it over dinner

“How you feeling, kiddo?”

You startle awake at your father’s voice, eyes heavy with exhaustion.

Before you can give him an answer, you erupt into a fit of coughs.

“Not good,” he grimaces and slowly steps into your room. “Got it.”

Stepping off the plane, you’d managed only one night back in your own bed before the fever had taken over.

All it took was hearing your nasally voice over the phone for your mother to demand you come stay with them.

Just till you’re back on your feet, she’d said, like she ever needed an excuse to have you over.

She’s not quite adjusted to being an empty-nester.

Neither of them have, really.

“Actually,” your tone is matter-of-factly. “I almost smelt something earlier.”

“That’s great, kid!” And he means it, you know he does. Even if his shoulders slump at any sign of you feeling better and returning to your apartment. “Now we just gotta figure out if it’s your sinuses unclogging or your stench just growing more rancid.”

Try as you might to aim the pillow right at his head, he still manages to catch it inches from his face.

“Hey, I’m just saying! You’ve got the flu, you ain’t dying! Could be a little courteous to those who’ve gotta be around you and take a shower.”

“You’re literally in my room!”

“Which is literally in my house!”

Downstairs, your mother yells something unintelligible.

Likely, she’s telling you both to shut up and to quit behaving like children.

Making eye contact, you both can’t help the roll of laughter that comes out.

He steps a little closer, and that’s when you spot it.

Tupperware, clasped in his hand.

The contents are hard to decipher.

Luckily, your father spots you eyeing it.

“Your mom said ya wouldn’t be up for eating much but, if you’re hungry,” he pauses, at the foot of your bed. Tugs a little on the homemade-blanket you’ve had since you were in grade school. You wonder if he remembers making it with you. “One of the guys down at the station made you some stew.”

Your stomach growls, hungry and unfed.

The prospect of a hot, boiling bowl of brothy stew suddenly peaks your interest.

In fact, you can’t think of anything better.

“It’s a family recipe, he said it would cure ya right up.”

He’s popping the lid open, presenting the delicacy before your eyes.

Immediately, you spot chicken.

Some corn cob, a couple lumps of potato, flakes of chilli.

You wish you could smell it, ingest it through your nasal canal and get a taste of it before you even put it in your mouth.

Your father continues, practically talking to himself.

“What’d he say it was called again, ga-sue-lay day ah-vay?”

“Cazuela de ave.”

A change into warmer, drier clothes.

Your hair still sits wet upon your head, but it no longer drips puddles onto his floor.

Thirty minutes it took him to drive from where he’d spotted you, walking soaked upon the sidewalk.

It would’ve only taken him seventeen minutes if he’d dropped you at your apartment.

And that fact is partly what warms your insides.

You watch him, tie discarded and the top buttons of his shirt undone, strutting around his kitchen.

Objectively, you think, he’s gorgeous.

Yet the word somehow doesn’t seem like it’s enough to summarise him, when he’s making his way round to you, two ceramic bowls in his hands and a look of pride in his eyes.

He put his own bowl down first. Sloppy, uncaring, spilling a little of it’s contents over it’s edge.

And then yours. More careful, slowly, both hands guiding it down.

The scent alone is enough to have you salivating.

Warmth and care, all encased in a bowl of brothy goodness.

“It smells delicious,” you inhale deeply, for dramatic effect.

And to get more of that meaty, comfort-food goodness.

Javi sits on the opposite side of the dining table, and you try hard to stop your mind from wandering off to visions of you both sat like this, out in public, in a restaurant.

A real date.

Only, this isn’t even a fake date.

You guys don’t do that.

“It’s- It was my mom’s recipe.”

Frozen in place, you wonder if the shock spills over your face.

He’s never mentioned his mother.

Or much about his family, really.

There’s the occasional comment about projects he takes on at his dad’s ranch, and tid-bits of information you hear across a dinner table that's set by your mother and seated by your father.

But you’re no fool blind enough to not realise the obvious.

A worn-out polaroid in his wallet, his mother smiles brightly in permanent ink each time he opens it. It contrasts her impermanence in the real world, dead and gone long before you became so much as a ripple in the lake of Javier’s existence.

Across the table, he’s relaxed. At ease.

Open.

His eyes, his mind, his heart.

And so you try venturing inwards, test his waters with a dip of your toe.

“Was she a good cook?”

Lukewarm, they appear, when he favours you with a tiny smile, his eyes staring somewhere off in the distance.

“No,” and he laughs at his own admission.

Not just a scoffed out chuckle, or a gesture meant to feign joy.

A full, hearty laugh, that shakes his shoulders and splits his cheeks.

It’s disturbingly beautiful.

You wonder if there’s a life where it could be like this, always.

Javier laughing at his own jokes, you smiling at his visceral joy, plates of homemade food filling the space between you.

“No, she, uh,” he restarts, relaxing a little bit. He wipes under one of his eyes with the back of his palm, a rogue tear breaching his waterline. “She was awful. She burnt every slice of toast she made, and even served an unbaked cake at one of my birthday parties. This dish is actually one of the few she knew how to nail.”

You can picture it, a young Javi, party hat on his head and a cheesy grin topped by rosy cheeks, eating away at gooey batter mix sprinkled in icing.

It’s hard to imagine him complaining, or getting angry at her.

In spite of his reputation, and the career he’s undertaken, Javier Peña is a gentle soul, who nurtures and protects anyone he can.

A modern-day hero, a knight who’s exchanged his shinny armour for form fitting jeans and unbuttened shirts.

“Tell me more about her,” the words are out before you can reel them back in.

Because you like this feeling, and you like this Javi, reminiscing on his late-mother.

“She not only was awful at cooking, but she had the worst coordination too.” It’s like he’s been waiting to tell you this, with how easy he slips into doing so. “She was forever falling and tripping over herself. And her driving, god! Pops used to dig out his rosary each time she’d be out on the field, driving the tractor.”

There’s something intimate about him recalling details so many would see as flaws, whilst he sports the most earnest, heart-wrenching smile.

Like nothing about her was wrong, all of her perfect and angelic.

“She was brave, too. I’d like to think I’m just like her in that respect. She didn’t let anything stop her from doing things she set her heart on, and she never let her inabilities hinder her,” he’s getting a little emotional now, you can hear it in his voice, see it in the lump he swallows back. You stretch a hand across the table and watch as he leans on you for support, fingers interlocking with your own. “There was this one time when I was a kid, I was swimming in a river and got stuck in a current. She dived right in to save me... She didn’t even know how to swim!”

You don’t know what to say.

You opt for saying nothing, silence speaking more than a thousand words.

Give his hand a reassuring squeeze, feel him squeeze back harder.

Your stomach rumbles, but it doesn’t ruin the moment in the way you feared it would.

“Listen to me being a sap and starving my poor lady to death,” still, he tugs your hand closer and plants a kiss on your knuckles. You’re still trying to process the possessive adjective he’d used to address you. My. His. “Eat up.”

Both of you settle back in your seats.

You pick up your spoon, scoop up a piece of chicken out the steaming bowl and-

“Asi no, corazón (not like that, sweetheart),” he spews out, panicking to pry the cutlery out your hand. He ignores the questioning looks you give him. “You drink the soup first, eat the filling after. Like this.”

Leaning over the table, he scoops your bowl up in his careful hands and guides it up to your lips.

When your lips part and rest against the bowl’s edge, he tilts it and you feel it’s warmth invade your mouth.

And then your chest, branching out over your heart, your lungs, your stomach.

Horned-up bias you so often show towards Javier aside, it’s one of the best things you’ve ever tasted.

Like a hug on a gloomy, wet day, all wrapped up inside a ceramic bowl.

You hum, hands taking over his own to allow him back into his own seat, focusing his attention on drinking his own soup.

“Javi, this is...” You trail off, eyeing the small ring of liquid pooling at the bottom of the bowl. One more mouthful and you’ll get your taste of the stew’s fillings. “Amazing. Your mum would be proud.”

Instead of modesty, instead of 'thank yous', instead of bashfulness, Javier smiles, takes another sip from his bowl.

“She would have liked you.”

You stare across at him and find no jest in his eyes.

They’re as open as before.

“Really?”

“Mhmm. She always liked pretty girls smart enough to put me in my place.”

“Kiddo?”

You’re ripped out your own head by your father’s voice and his hand, waved repeatedly in front of your face.

“Hmm?”

“You okay there? I was talkin’ to you but you seemed lost in thought.” There’s a little excitement in you father’s voice as he presses his cold hand to your sweated forehead, the prospect of you still being ill, still needing taking care of, filling him with the relief of keeping you in your parents' home a little longer.

“I’m- Yeah, just tired, s’all.”

“Ok, let me know when you’ve finished your food,” he presses a kiss atop the crown of your head, and you hold back the pointless comment of not risking getting himself or your mother sick. “Need to get the tupperware clean ‘fore I give it back to Javi.”

Your stomach twists and longs for the meal before you, while your heart shatters into pieces you doubt will ever be repaired.

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