#I'm too poor to blaze | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

serawritesthings · 4 months

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hi! Sorry for any mistakes, english is not my first language. I don't know if you're accepting requests, if you not, just ignore. But I'm wondering how you would write something related to a jealous Arthur Morgan, high honor of course (with smut or without smut sincerely you know what looks best). the way you write is addictive and passionate, i believe anything you write from this would be great.

OUR DEAR, GREEN LITTLE FRIEND

Pairing | Arthur Morgan x Fem! Reader Summary | Oh, jealousy. When the thought of you straying too close to the comfort of Charles, the green monster claws its way into Arthur's head. Tags | sexual content 18+ minors dni, tiny bit of angst, description of violence and wounds, fluffy at times, smut Word Count | 10k A/N | Hi everyone! I just HAD to write this request, hope you like it! Also, thank you dearly anon♡

While many found the biting cold of the climate north of West Grizzlies to be bitter–sharp air seeping into your very bones–you saw it oddly liberating despite the current predicament. The circumstance was dire, indeed, and you pondered many times if this would finally be the end for all of you, thinking of the incredible luck you had managed to have so far. Fate, or an astonishingly fascinating knowledge on how to escape the grappling arms of the law with a suspicious amount of people trashing through the roads in utter, sheer panic.

Glancing around you as you huddled closer to the fire, hands rubbing furiously against the wool of your gloves to gain even the slightest warmth to your biting fingers, you were met with the flushed cheeks of your comrades. The skin that now glistened from the melting snowflakes was caressed by the warm, orange glow from the flames lighting up the small hut you had taken residence in.

The road leading to here had been long, and the time spent in the wagon that did nothing to shield you from the penetrating wind that howled into the night, your thoughts had been entirely focused on the man who now lay dead a few meters away, tucked in some fabric to shield the paling flesh of a corpse. While the thought might not make you uncomfortable, it did its thing on the others who looked weary at the covered man.

You had done your best to tend to him amidst the severe trembling of your fingers and numbness spreading through you the longer you rode in the worrying storm, finding his blood still staining the cotton of your gloves–a reminder that you had done what you could to help the poor fellow. Despite not knowing him well enough to shed a tear, death was still a death, and a slight melancholy set its claw in all of you as you tried to regain some warmth.

“Stupid man.” Glancing beside you, you took notice of the dark-haired woman muttering angrily as she held a sleeping Jack close to her body.

“What’s wrong?” You inquired quietly, curious of her obvious disdain.

“John Marston is what’s wrong.” Blazing heatedly into the fire, you could almost see the depths of hell through her furious eyes. “He didn’t come back with the rest.” Shifting her eyes to yours for a quick moment that, although short, showed the worry hidden beneath her anger.

Nodding slowly as you leaned against her slightly in comfort, you realized you hadn’t taken notice of the man’s absence until now. Returning with empty hands and another mouth to feed had instead been the case, no Marston as far as the eyes could see as he probably whirred around in the blizzard somewhere.

“Do you think he…” As you spoke, you trailed off, growing unsure of your words while realizing your comments might be prodded into a sensitive subject.

“No.” Firmly, she sniveled harshly, shaking her head in protest. “No, he wouldn’t leave again.” Although her words were sure, you still felt a lingering doubt cloud your mind, remembering being told of his earlier departure from the gang that caused more scars in their relationships than good–not that it wasn’t faulty from the very start.

As you were about to let your prying win against your common sense, you were interrupted by the door being audibly slammed open, the noisy winds from outside growing louder as snowflakes whirled inside. Walking inside was the prominent figure of Charles, nodding respectfully to its residents as the door shut behind him, once more letting the warmth settle.

“Folks.” He mumbled quietly, treading through everyone huddling by the fire as he glanced curiously at the new woman before settling beside you. You glanced up at him, taking in his snow-covered self before lingering on his hand that rested motionless on his legs, bandages visible under his gloves.

“It’s not too bad; the cold seems to numb the pain.” A slight smile graced your lips at his observance, finding it unique to the man to be so tentative to everyone around him. Letting out a small laugh, you reach to remove your gloves before taking his hand in yours so you could lay it in your lap, unwrapping the bandages to examine the burns covering his skin.

You had given it a quick look-over before you had to tend to Davey, doing the best you could to ease his pain you were sure would be unavoidable. Although the sight was quite gruesome, it didn’t look as bad as you had expected.

“You’re stronger than me, that’s for sure. I would be a crying mess if I burned my hand like that.” Your voice was gentle as you started to rewrap the fabric around his hand, finding it increasingly irritating you didn’t have the tools you usually did that would indeed do a fine job at lessening his pain.

You had managed to gain a slight smile from the otherwise aloof man, probably finding your words humorous. “Let’s hope it’ll never come to that.”

Sharing a look, you heard the door open once again, the irritated voice of Uncle damning whoever was letting in the cold for the second time. Both you and Charles laughed slightly, and as you looked up, you were faced with a pair of squinting, blue eyes, the icy cold from the outside seemingly enhancing their sharpness although making a welcomed warmth spread through you as they gazed over you in a quick motion–departing to look at the hand that rested in your lap.

“A sad loss, folks,” Hosea stated as he stepped onto the wooden planks, speaking out loudly in the otherwise calm hut, groaning as he helped Arthur lift Davey’s lifeless body, limp like a ragdoll.

Glancing subtly, you observed him as Arthur’s bulky form lifted easily, unlike Hosea, admiring how he made it seem so effortless. The others called him the camps workhorse, and you didn’t fail to see why, keeping your eyes firm on the man as he carried him towards the door.

He shrouded you in uncertainty; he did, and you weren’t sure how to behave in his bold presence. You often felt like a goody two shoes, and even though you weren’t the perfect picture of a law-abiding citizen, you could honestly say you were a wimp compared to Arthur.

You should be embarrassed, you really should, but there was something in his eyes– something that made your heart race. Utterly shameless, yet desperate to lock gazes again despite contradicting yourself and avoiding them every chance you could. Before you could get caught this time, you directed your eyes, focusing on tightening the bandages so they wouldn’t come loose.

“Try to be careful, will you, Charles?” You spoke quietly while patting his hand, motioning that he was all set to go, but his hand stayed, giving you a grateful look.

“Thank you.” His soothing voice was hushed as the loud bang of the door slammed shut not long after, ridding you of the tumult after their departure.

–

Oh, it burned. It burned so deep in his loins that it felt like he would erupt into flames any second. Despite the cold surrounding him, he was sure it could be possible the more he was left with his thoughts. The hushed whispers, the soft touches, and the ever-so-gentle look in your eyes made him want to empty the little food in his stomach.

“Sneaky little rat,” Arthur grumbled to himself as he shoveled his way through the deep layers of snow. Here he was, out in the cold, tortured by the howling winds of the snowstorm, while Charles remained inside the warmth of the hut, seated next to you, all because of a slight burn.

He knew what he was up to–what any man would do if it meant getting your attention–and he wasn’t humored. Taking advantage of your good nature was downright uncalled for, bordering on immoral, which Arthur would probably realize wasn’t Charles’s character if his mind didn’t seek to find faults with the man the more his blood boiled.

He scoffed to himself, stabbing the ground maliciously, imagining your warm hands around his instead, the nimble fingers of yours tending to him as you moved in closer, your sweet smell reaching his nose as you gazed up at him, face blushed from the cold with lips begging him to warm them up with his. The thought did nothing more than cover his whole body in shivers, only to be reminded that it wasn’t him that received that attention from you.

“What are you huffing about over there, Arthur?!” Hosea’s strained voice attempted to shout over the loud winds, standing up to rest momentarily.

“Why don’t we just bury him when the storm has settled?!” Annoyance was apparent in his voice, the green jealous monster still wreaking havoc in his mind.

“I told you, the snow will be too heavy tomorrow, so we need to finish it while we still can!” He groaned, starting to shovel once more. “And I’ll be damned, we are going to give Davey a proper burial. He deserves that much!”

As Hosea blabbered on about justice and other forms of respect Arthur had no intent on listening to, he zoned out, feeling sorry for himself as he imagined you might be keeping close to Charles right this moment, warming yourself to his body in a desperate search of bodily heat. Rubbing the melted snow off his face, Arthur damned the heavens above for making him the unluckiest bastard in the West.

Despite Arthur seeming dead set on you being lovey-dovey with a man you barely knew, Charles had left you after making some small talk, mentioning that he would try and get some well-deserved rest after the tumultuous past few days. Many others did as well, attempting to ease their minds from the constant threat against their back amidst the terrible cold.

Although, as days passed and John being back rid you of Abigail’s constant muttering, the cold only seemed to take its toll on you, unlike the others who quickly got used to the environment. Furthermore, the days only seem to get longer up in the mountains, and you wondered obsessively when you would get the chance to leave–damning everyone who thought seeking out Colm O’Driscoll in your compromised state a good idea instead of moving forwards.

Despite your dismay, you put yourself to use like the others, preparing to help Pearson in the grim act of cutting through the poor deer that had been brought back. While the sight gladdened you, knowing you would finally get a meal in your stomach, the brooding aura of a chestnut-haired, blue-coated man seemed to rain over you endlessly.

What could you have done to gain his stinging glare? It was almost cutting through you entirely from the burning that resided deep in his eyes, watching you ferociously, making your hair stand on edge. When he had returned with Charles, it had been nothing short of unpleasant ever since, although thankfully–despite his glare–his harsh words were directed towards Pearson instead of you, which you were glad for.

“How’s the cold treating you?” Glancing away from the two men bickering, you laughed slightly at Charles’s innuendo, dressed worse for wear as you pulled the thick, woolen scarf tighter around your neck, hugging yourself to keep warm.

“Could be worse, I guess,” you said, clouds like smoke surrounding you as you talked.

“I suppose. Still, I don’t want you freezing your fingers off.”

“Mhh,” you nodded thoughtfully, speaking up after silence. “Who would look after your hand if that happened?”

He chuckled heartily at your unsuspected joke, and you glanced up at him bashfully, a light smile covering your face at his apparent amusement. While your embarrassment of being so easily swayed by the cold, it felt nice having someone take notice of your obvious discomfort, even though you would say you were pretty good at keeping it to yourself. You couldn’t be surprised, though, well aware you and Charles were both tentative to your surroundings, always knowing but rarely telling.

“Here.” Taking off the large gloves covering his hand, no doubt doing an excellent job keeping him warm, he grabbed your trembling hands in his, rubbing them between his pleasant temperature hand and bandage-covered skin before gliding the fabric over yours.

“No, Charl-” you protested, trying to stop him from continuing.

“They’ll do you more good than me, I promise. They’re just in the way.” Stubbornly, he planted your hands back into your lap, petting them like you had done to him some nights ago before raising with a huff.

“Thanks for the help, Arthur.” Charles nodded at the now grumpy man observing him as he rested against the wood of the wooden wall with arms crossed, seemingly ignoring Mr. Pearson’s lecture about the navy he felt so strongly about, only providing a quick tilt of his hat before heated eyes were set on you.

Your gaze faltered, the blush on your face from the cold only intensifying the spread of warmth you felt from gaining his profound stare–something you rarely took notice of. It wasn’t that he didn’t look at you; he probably looked too much at times, but he was never so ardent with it, scrutinizing you under their heavy weight–making you feel ten times smaller under his towering height.

“Well, why don’t you skin the deer, Arthur? I’ll help you cut them up in a while, miss.” Mr. Pearson’s words were hasty, and you didn’t miss the bottle glistening under the sunlight as he tried hiding it behind his coat, scurrying away. He would, in fact, not be back; you were sure of that much.

It wasn’t often you found yourself alone with Arthur, and you never strayed too close, finding his presence somewhat daunting. Not that you’ve had many chances to speak amidst all the chaos surrounding you, and being relatively new to the gang meant the trust lacked significantly from both sides. But, the intrigue was always present in every glance and movement.

You felt his gaze fixed on you a moment longer as you stared heedlessly at your hands, rubbing them together anxiously, having no clue what to do with yourself. While you weren’t one to speak the ears of others, you never had any problem socializing with those around you–but Arthur, he was something else entirely. Finally, though, he moved, approaching the hanging carcass.

“How are ya?” His sudden words surprised you, hanging awkwardly in the air.

“Oh, um. Good?” You cringed at yourself, finding the words stuck in your throat as his voice rumbling was loud and confident.

“Cold?”

“A bit,” you said softly, staring at his back as he heaved the skin away from the animal, movements rigid and harsh. “Charles gave me his gloves, so it’s a little less chilly now.” You stumbled over your words, admiring his strength unabashedly as he hauled the skinned deer over his shoulder, slamming it down the table with a loud bang. He gave you no answer, instead bringing out the knife in his belt to do the job you were assigned to.

“Oh, let me!” Standing abruptly from your seat, you stepped towards him hurriedly in shame, feeling like you were just lazying around while Arthur was doing all the hard work.

Grabbing his thick coat to let you take his position, you found him staying right where he was, looking down at you when your hand rested on his bicep. It was unusual for him to be so close, and a blush warmed your cheeks as his towering frame became more apparent when standing a short distance from one another.

“S’alright.” He spoke lowly. “I’ve got it.”

Your breath got caught in your throat as he gazed wholly at you, letting you know he had no problem with helping you. It warmed you, finding his action kind–just like the small acts of kindness he reserved for the other girls. You would sometimes glare after them, intensely jealous that Arthur seemed to have a soft spot for them, yet acting like you didn’t exist.

“Anything else I can do to help since you just did my job for me?” A shy smile found you, peering up at him as he sniveled, glancing at you while you sat on the bench again.

“Well, you’ve already done your charity work for the day, so you’re fine.”

“Charity work?” You wondered, staring at him curiously as he cut through the meat. “What do you mean?”

He only sighed heavily, like you should be able to understand his cryptic words.

“He won’t die from a small burn; it ain’t enough reason to coddle the man like a child,” he grumbled.

It took you a while to get the gears turning, but when you did, you felt yourself grow shy from his statement. “Charles? His hand isn’t looking too good…”

“Yeah? Well, you shouldn’t be so forward. You’ll give the poor man false hope.” He scoffed, stabbing the poor carcass harshly.

Staring at his back in disbelief at the sudden hatred, you had trouble understanding where it came from and why he suddenly grew so invested in whom you diverted your attention. You and Arthur rarely spoke, only changing quick words occasionally ever since you found yourself staying with the gang, and for that reason, you had failed to understand the reason for his hatred.

It seems all you ever did was look after everyone else, paying attention to their various troubles and tribulations regarding bodily harm. It wasn’t strange to you, and by no means did you give anyone false hope, merely trying to find your place with these people, an attempt to prove your usefulness.

“False hope?” You questioned, baffled. “I’m trying to help; I fail to understand how that is a problem.”

“It ain’t a problem!” He grumbled, voice roaring hotly in his chest as he resheathed his knife and began to make his way out, repositioning his hat without glancing at you. You followed him, stopping short by the table as you didn’t want to stray too close to the fuming man.

“Well, it is since you are so angry about it?!” If this was how he carried out every conversation, you were glad the exchange of words wasn’t typical between you, more so the simple fact that your company had never seemed to bring him any enjoyment. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Wha-” He stops short, suddenly turning around and stalking towards you in significant strides. Gasping at suddenly having him so close, you backed away; his sharp eyes penetrated you as the warm blue of his orbs turned ice cold, glaring daggers into your own.

“What’s wrong with me?” He spoke dangerously low as his brows raised, grabbing your upper arms as he hoisted you up the table without an ounce of struggle. “I’m not the one taking every small, insignificant chance to take advantage of your good nature.”

“Charles’s not like that. He’s very kind.” You spoke in his defense, leaning back from his prolonged stare that seemed to cut through you deeper the more he stared. You had always pitied the people who got on Arthur’s lousy side, finding his presence at those times unnerving.

Now, it seemed you were at the receiving end of it, and while it chilled you to the bones, you weren’t sure if your beating heart were because of fear or the thought of him being the closest to you he’d ever have.

You had never quite got to admire his eyes, always hidden under his furrowed brows and squinting eyes. Now that it wasn’t because of the blazing sun down west, it was from the blaring whiteness of the snow surrounding you as you found his eyes glaring at the current climate more often than not–displeased.

His eyes being dead set on you didn’t help as you could hear his breathing grow heavier, the warmth of his breath hitting your cold cheeks as his broad frame blocked the chilly winds from reaching you.

“Kind, huh?” Although momentarily distracted, you recovered as you heard him speak in a low voice, still finding his assumptions wildly out of reach while insulting you and Charles. Times were hard, and if you couldn’t look after one another, it would surely lead to your doom–Arthur, if anyone, should know that.

“Yes, kind.”

Rubbing his eyes with one hand, he backed away from you, shrugging his shoulders while walking away–like your conversation hadn’t happened in the first place.

“Sure.”

–

It wasn’t like Arthur didn’t know how to restrain himself, for he applauded himself for avoiding his apparent anger when Charles had, yet again, stolen away your attention–not that Arthur had any plans on striking up a conversation with you anyway.

It became clear to him that when you two were left alone, you almost turned into a living statue, barely responding to him. It was unlike you, for the time he had spent observing you, you had no problem talking to anyone else–and although it was usually calm, it never deterred you from gaining the likes of the others and liking them in return.

Why did you cringe away from him and not Charles, he pondered, glaring at the picture that plagued his mind. The reason he knew, deep down, but his stubbornness didn’t let him justify your actions. In all honesty, Charles was a more reliable man than himself, intentions often apparent with a slight sense of, well, goodness perhaps—something Arthur didn’t possess in the slightest.

Goodness, in all honesty, wasn’t something he was too familiar with, and he didn’t doubt one second that you found his character to be callous, seeing as the dirty work no one wanted to do fell upon him; work everyone else found to be too cruel to do themselves. He could almost feel your disapproving gaze when he picked up his slack from Mr. Strauss’s poor victims that he always tried to prolong, and while it wasn’t his most favorable way of lending a hand, sometimes he did it out of spite.

If that’s what you thought about him, then he couldn’t do much to sway your opinion, finding it much easier to continue with his ways than realize that your sudden carefulness off him wounded him more profoundly than he let on.

And, he was indeed a harsh man in your eyes, and although his company wasn’t entirely unwished for, he was still grim–ignoring your presence like you weren’t there most of the time. It made you wildly unsure of him, but the allure he had kept bringing you back, always wondering when you would see a glimpse of him again. You chastised yourself for it, more so now that you got a taste of his famously sullen mood that pestered everyone around him, but your eyes were still drawn to him when he was nearby.

Maybe it wasn’t what everyone else would describe him as, but you thought of him as mysterious. Gods, you have stayed with this group for quite some time now. Not once had he spoken to you more than the standard greeting, and you didn’t know much about him besides the sharp-shooting, brutal force of a man who had no problem letting his thoughts be voiced, even though the listeners might be less inclined to its harsh deliverance.

He had been cruel, sure, but you couldn’t help but remember how close you had been before when he spewed words that clung so viciously from his tongue. Faintly, you remembered the deep scent of gunpowder and smoke, something you were certain probably penetrated his skin by now, but also the slightly musky scent hidden underneath. Your head raced in curiosity, wondering how his hands would grab you if it wasn’t in anger. Was he even capable of that, you pondered.

It’s ridiculous you knew those thoughts were born from misconceptions and assumptions. You had heard how he behaved amongst the camp women, forever gentle and careful, and you had sharpened your ear when you’d been told timidly about his earlier flings. He could be more heartfelt than your head let you acknowledge, and the thought made your head spin even more with your endless imagination.

Despite the inner turmoil that filled you from your earlier argument, you had avoided him for some days now, and it seemed to grow easier the colder you got, huddling close to the fire with every chance. It was the only thing keeping your thoughts occupied, wondering when you would get to leave this desolated mining town that grew more covered in snow the longer you chose to stay.

“Do you need help, Hosea?” Just after you spoke, heavy blankets were handed to you, the fabric made from a thick wool that looked heavenly. “Yes, thank you. I take one step outside; I fear that it will be the end of me.” You only stared warmly at Hosea, who patted you on the back. “Don’t you worry, miss. We found more blankets we thought had been lost in that dreadful storm, so we all will sleep warmer tonight.”

“Oh, of course, I’ll help-” Despite the whistling winds that had picked up as the sun shone its last tendrils, you didn’t oppose the idea, but you were interrupted by a mischievous look handed to you by the older man.

“Make sure Arthur grabs one, too; you know how he gets.” Before you could question his meaning, he slunk away, pulling the warm fabric tighter around his shoulders without a glance at you, chuckling merrily. You chose not to ponder too hard on his strange ways, instead making your way to the door, shivering badly as you stepped outside.

Smiles were all you were greeted with as you handed them off, and it was no surprise as it was a welcome sight to everyone to gain some extra warmth to wrap around themselves. Although feeling content by being of help, you couldn’t help but wonder where Arthur could be, a single blanket now left in your hands.

Grumbling to yourself, you stepped out from the hut Dutch and Molly resided in, glancing at a smaller building some paces away, finding the orange glow of a candle lighting up the smaller barn where the horses were kept. A small smile found you, finding it very fitting for him to be where there were fewer people.

Although slightly fearing what could come to be an awkward encounter, you found yourself being too forgiving many times, and you damned yourself for it. What he said hurt you deeply, making you ponder if you had given Charles other signals than intended. It could be a possibility, yet you had never had too many romantic dealings with men to presume that that was the case, but his eyes held something tender the last few times you spoke as you recalled it.

“Arthur…” As you stepped inside after pulsing through the thick snow, you searched for the blue coat you had grown familiar with in this weather. “Are you here?” You asked quietly, wondering if he could hear you.

You cautiously stepped further into the barn, placing your feet steadily on the ground before you so you didn’t slip and embarrass yourself. It was friendly out here, you could admit, the snow muting every sound and almost making every slight sound caress your ears.

As you stepped further inside, it turned out he was here, and he took no notice of you as you rounded the corner to gaze at his seated form, seemingly writing something in his journal. It was an unusual sight. Sometimes, you observed him as he wrote in his journal back at camp, yet you didn’t make a habit of it, too shy to question him at the time.

How he didn’t freeze to death in this climate was beyond you, his fingers bare as he scribbled, fingertips red from the cold and dirty from the chalk. You made a motion to speak up once again but found yourself tongue-tied as you took him in, and as you did, the thought struck you that he wasn’t writing but drawing.

How unlike him, you thought, watching his brows furrowed from time to time, fingers moving expertly while the soft glow of the candle beside him almost softened his features. Your presumptions might be harsh, but you had never found him to be a man well-versed in the creative aspect of life, and while the brutal ways of his life spoke for him, you found it to make him slightly more approachable.

“I didn’t know you draw.” You stated fondly, his eyes fitting into yours the moment the first word left your mouth, growing visibly stressed as the journal was planted into his coat pocket. A rough cough left him as he did, eyes faltering when he saw your observant gaze linger on him unabashedly.

“I don’t.” A small laugh left you at his abrupt words, not teasingly but perhaps warmly, choosing not to bug him since he grew uncomfortable before your questioning eyes.

You were given an expectant look that reminded you of your actual business here as you stepped inside the building, closing the barn door behind you to shut out the wind that somehow managed to find its way through the cracks in the walls.

“Here, we found some more blankets. Hosea asked me to bring you one.” You met his eyes briefly as you stretched out your arms for him to take the blanket, eyes faltering to it at his piercing gaze.

“Hosea, huh?” A scoff left him, resuming his arms to cross over his chest, shaking his head slightly. “You keep it.”

“No, I-”

“Nah, you chattering your teeth keeps us up at night. Take it.”

His words should have taken you back since his voice was stinging, but a light laugh left you, knowing he was right. Wrapping yourself in the soft, warm blanket, you surprised Arthur by sitting beside him, heavily clad shoulders touching each other as you did.

“I don’t understand.” You stated, staring at the large shadows that flickered on the wooden wall before you. “How can you not be cold? I feel like if I spend one more day out here, I’ll freeze to death.”

You turned your head towards him, caught off guard when you felt his gaze already set intensely on you. Your eyes faltered to his chest, growing shy as you always did when you had his attention on you. It wasn’t unwanted, but you didn’t know what to do with yourself in moments like that, unused to the fire that always burned so deep in his eyes.

“Used to it, I guess.” His voice rumbled hotly in his chest, fingers flexing against his will as he took the chance to observe you. He had never had the opportunity to see your face this close. Your wet lashes clung together as you blinked, undoubtedly from the heavy snowfall outside, framing your eyes that Arthur always noticed were so very easy to read, yet at many moments also locked away.

“I don’t believe you.” How could anyone possibly get used to this? It was raw, pure torture.

You didn’t get an answer, and as you returned your gaze towards the wall, Arthur’s eyes found your features again. He had indeed been cold before you came, but it was his only chance to find a moment of peace; the thought of spending another night in that god-forsaken hut with his dear friend and his lover giggling the night away grew incredibly distasteful.

Here, he could finally hear his thoughts, the solitude of the snow muting every sound heavenly; the only noise was the familiar scribbling in his journal as he wrote about the past few days. Though his head was calmer than before, he still dreamt of your fingers encasing his like they had done Charles, the small, elegant touches rising his arms slowly, making him shiver wildly as the scene flashed before his eyes.

He knew he shouldn’t think of you like that, and he certainly had no right to be angry at Charles since he felt so unabashedly filthy things about you, but he couldn’t help it. Your every scent, every motion set his blood afire; small deeds of good you always found yourself doing so harshly contrasted his actions he couldn’t help the fact that you intrigued his whole being.

So good, so… soft and warm. As he stared at you, all he wanted was to reach out and pull you closer to him so he could feel your shivering body close to him, knowing many ways to warm you up. Sighing, he removed his hat, running his fingers through his hair as the thoughts took a turn he always hated himself for.

“Hey, I uh…” Arthur trailed off, finding the words he wanted to speak stuck in his throat. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way, like I did back then.” He stared before him, yet he felt your eyes heavy on his.

He did feel bad, and it had been the reason for his brooding temper since then, not coming to terms with his wrongdoings until now. He had probably scared you, he concluded, and could only assume he was right as you had done your utmost to avoid him as of late.

“Don’t be,” you said with a light smile, not expecting his apology, even though he didn’t say sorry directly. “It’s a lot right now, I understand. But I still don’t understand why you’re so angry at Charles.” You were briefly met with a light sigh, eyes flickering to yours before diverting the flickering candle.

“Nah, forget it. Just me being stupid is all.”

“I don’t think you’re stupid. Maybe you’re mean sometimes and grumpy,” you said, giving him a teasing glance. “But not stupid.”

A scoff left him at your words, yet you could see the corners of his mouth chirp up lightly. “You’d be surprised.”

As your snickering died down, you rested your head on the wall behind you, not wanting to leave the quiet comfort you found yourself in nor the conversation that panned on longer than you had anticipated, much to your surprise.

“Why are you out here if you are so cold, girl?” He questioned you, catching a glimpse of your almost blue lips. “Go on inside; you’ll freeze to death if you stay here.” It would be best for you to return because he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if his thoughts progressed like they did before in your presence. As he placed the hat on his head again, he glanced down quickly, doing a double take as he found you staring at him.

Was the cold finally getting to your head, or was it simply being in the presence of the man you were so unsure of but wildly intrigued by? You couldn’t tell, but the warmth spreading in your stomach as he glanced down at you spread ferociously through your stomach, almost warming you to your fingertips.

Suddenly, Arthur moved his arm slightly, and the motion made you jump, leaning away from him as you unconsciously drew closer to him. You couldn’t tell, but it almost felt like your body sometimes contradicted your mind, defying your sense of morality.

“Are you afraid of me?” He questioned, gazing at you unexplainably. Both of your breaths were audible in the quiet night, blowing like smoke out your mouths as the world around you blurred. It wasn’t like Arthur couldn’t contain himself around women, but you were something else entirely. Only in his wildest dreams did you stare at him like that, like you were expecting–waiting– for him to do something.

Yet, you looked guarded, like a cornered lam, waiting for the right moment to sprint away. You pulled away, only to lean in further, the cogs in your head turning something so awful in your mind, observing his every move yet not registering your own that reached out to him.

And gods, did he want to do the same; his internal battle proved to be more difficult as your hand gripped his coat tightly, only wanting to warm your blue lips with his own and show you how he could warm you up better than Charles’s damned gloves ever could.

“Sometimes.” You let on, voice shaking from both anticipation and uncertainty.

Leaning down towards you hesitantly, he felt hot all over when he realized you didn’t shy away from him like expected, mouth only parting further as he drew closer. As you did, you felt your breath hitch when a hand was placed on your upper back, Arthur’s weight only making you glide further down the wall until your head was resting in the crook of his elbow.

“Arthur…” He was so close now you could almost feel his heartbeat through the vast amount of clothing, breath hitting your cold, blushing cheeks as he leaned closer, the calling of his name only drawing him in. He was sure you had bewitched him, for not a single thought in his mind was about anything but the woman in front of him, entirely and utterly overtaken by what was solely you.

And through those few moments between frustration and desperation, all senses of logic disappeared as the skin of your lips conjoined, drawn together like magnets that snapped together like they never wanted to be apart again. Eyes grew shut, the only sound now the deep humming in Arthur’s chest as your hands found his cheeks, caressing the chilly skin under your palm with your thumbs.

It was ragged and scarred, a deep contrast to your own that had never tasted the metal of a gun and the blood of a foe, and the thought made a gasp rise in your throat as his weight fell heavier onto yours, pressing you into the hay-filled, snowy ground.

“Tell me to stop.” He grunted against your now wet lips, only taking a second before joining them again. He was covering your entire body as he lay above you, resting his weight on his elbows as your head rested on his arm.

“No…” You mumbled, words almost not audible against his desperate mouth, feeling just as affected by the desire as he did. You felt his face scrunch up almost painfully before he took the hand that rested on your back to glide under your coat, resting it on the side of your waist as he stroked gently, feeling the curves that hid underneath the damned fabric.

It was torture. It was an unexplainable torture that you would freeze to death if he removed the clothes that covered you, and he would surely go insane if he couldn’t feel the skin he imagined would be so very soft under his rough fingers. Just a taste, he thought sinfully to himself, slowly lifting the fabric of your shirt from under your skirt’s waistband, worming a freezing hand inside to feel the warmth that hid underneath.

You gasped at the sudden sensation but were quickly silenced as his tongue massaged your own, and the slight moan that left you only made a groan rumble loudly in his chest. The feeling of his cold hand rose your skin, stroking every bit it came across as if memorizing it to his brain, mapping out every single inch.

It was too much for you, the sheer desperation and want, not knowing what to do with yourself or how to dampen the intense feelings that nailed your firm to the ground. Every bit of you grew into static, and every touch from Arthur sent shockwaves through your body as his fingers caressed you.

“Come here.” Opening your eyes, you found his, although lidded with desire, gentle eyes gazing into yours, pulling his hand reluctantly from your waist to help you sit up. “I won’t let you lay on the ground.”

You only stared at him as he seated you on his lap, chest flush against his as his hands stroked along your arms as if to warm you up, tightening the blanket around your shoulders. You felt your heartbeat pick up at his actions, your stomach fluttering fiercely as he ensured you stayed warm.

You could tell he grew wildly unsure as you remained silent, clearing his throat as if he had been in a daze before speaking.

“If you’ll have me, that is.” You didn’t give him a chance to say more, hands finding sanction in his hair as the motion knocked off his hat, exposing the sandy locks he always kept hidden underneath it.

“Stupid question.” You mumbled softly against his mouth, pressing yourself closer to him as your fingers started fiddling with the buttons on his coat. You could already feel the heat emitting, and your fingers grew hasty as you tried to move faster, the motion of your lips faltering against his eager ones.

You would have been ashamed if it weren’t for Arthur being just as stressed about getting the buttons of your coat loose, hands wounding their way around your waist and pressing you closer to him the moment they became undone. Likewise, you wormed your arms under his shoulder, gasping as you felt the heat buried underneath the fabric, hugging him close as you placed your face into the crook of his neck.

Breathing in your scent, Arthur revealed in the way you nuzzled against him, feeling a warmth spread in his groin when the thick coat didn’t keep the pressure of your middle away from him any longer. It was heaven, he concluded, trailing his hands down to your backside as he caressed the curves, pushing you flush against his.

Oh, how he reveled in it. He was selfish; there was no denying it any longer, but he craved you so profoundly it would eat him up bit by bit if he couldn’t have you. It wasn’t about Charles any longer; it was about the fact that you had never spared him a glance, almost bordering on fearing him, deciding that everyone else company had been much safer than his own.

He knew it and had seen it in your eyes countless times. Arthur wasn’t unfamiliar with the look of utter horror plastered on people’s faces, for he faced it every day, and he wanted nothing more than to show you that you had no reason to feel that way with him, for he would never put a single finger that was unwished for on you.

And he couldn’t possibly hold it against you, for he wasn’t a good man, quite the opposite actually, and every lingering touch made him hate himself even more, wishing you would find it in you to push away from him–let him know that if he ever touched you again, you would kill him.

But, he would find that you didn’t, instead only pressing yourself even harder against him in the cold of the night, breath shaking something so terribly as he moved your lower region against his in a gentle movement. It only fueled his want for you, hands struggling their way up your skirt, caressing your stocking-clad legs as he did, reaching your undergarments with a content sigh.

His touch lighted a path up your legs, the cold nothing but a memory now even though the brisk air found its way underneath your skirt, following his hands that caressed your inner thighs in soft motions.

It was suspenseful, waiting for the skin to touch the skin, for his strong hands to wound around you as he had already wormed himself around your heart. And as he did, the coil in your stomach grew so incredibly tight you felt like it was too much like his touch alone wounded your every fiber, but instead of hurt, it was an undeniable pleasure that hit you tenfold.

The hand that had crawled its way inside your undergarments stroked alongside your tender parts, never touching you where you wanted him the most–the place that longed for his touch. He had to be teasing you; there was no other explanation as he smiled softly at your expression, gasping for air as you gripped the sides of his arms, trying to push against his fingers.

“Ah, sweetheart.” He only cooed at you, gripping your wrists with one hand as his other finally glided over the wetness of your heat, gazing directly into your eyes with his sharp gaze, admiring your pleasure-filled face that begged him to give you more, to provide you with his all. And, as he spread your folds with his fingers, the filthiest whimper of pleasure left you, laying its noise into the quiet night with no worry about anyone hearing, only fools deciding to stray outside in this bleak, frigid night.

Falling into his arms yet again, you let him enter a finger into your warm cavern, gasping desperately for air as the unfamiliar stretch widened you, dragging wonderfully against your clenching walls. It was vile, the way Arthur reveled in how tight you felt against his finger, and as he pondered on how you would feel when he pushed it you. The thought made a striking, white pleasure shoot through him, making him grunt out against your neck.

“That good?” He spoke out, adding another finger into you while placing wet, hot kisses against your blazing neck, wanting nothing more than to hear your heavenly sound of approval.

You attempted to nod, but the motion was interrupted by the increasingly more extensive stretch from both of his fingers; gasping like a madwoman as you moved against his hands, wishing to pull his fingers even deeper into you, dissatisfied when you realized it didn’t do the job.

He could only groan when he realized your intention, slipping his coated finger from your warm heat, bringing them to his mouth quickly while his other hand found the zipper of his jeans, fumbling in a stressed fashion to get rid of the constraint.

A dissatisfied moan left you as he did, wishing for nothing more than to feel the delicious stretch yet again carry alongside your walls. But, as he fumbled with his zipper, you quickly got your senses together. You helped him undo his suspenders, then slipped underneath the fabric to trail your hand alongside the apparent bulge that stretched underneath, finding his groans to fuel your actions.

For a short while, your eyes met amidst the hurry your bodies experienced, and the moment slowed down to a halt as your lips found each other once more, moving against one another like starved men. You couldn’t be closer to him, and he couldn’t possibly be closer to you, and while you earlier had pondered that this was a good idea, you couldn’t imagine anything else at this moment.

And, as your hand wrapped around him momentarily, Arthur could feel his brain’s short circuit, like he had never been able to hold a single thought in his mind his entire life. You had to have bewitched him, for he complied to your every touch, body moving against your every move like your hand was glued to his body.

“God,” he mumbled against your lips that massaged his own, thrusting against your hand as you stroked him tenderly, gasping against him quietly. It wasn’t hurried but warm and slow, basking in each other’s presence like you had never before discovered the feeling of another’s touch against your own.

“That good?” You replied teasingly, mimicking his earlier words as you smiled a toothy smile, feeling him chuckle lowly at your apparent teasing, giving you a playful slap on your behind as his breathing picked up.

Suddenly, you felt a hand encase your own. As he removed it from his throbbing member, he only grabbed you closer, wounding his arms around your back as he pulled you into a hug, the feeling of him underneath you wonderful as you glided along it–moaning wantonly as the friction shot sharp streaks of pleasure up your body.

“Come on, sweetheart. I’ll warm you up.” As he spoke, he could feel himself shudder as your wet lips encased his tip, groaning audibly as he thought you rubbing against him. You were illegal, he concluded, for nothing could ever be allowed to feel this good–it wasn’t possible.

“Please,” you gasped against his lips, moving your hips slightly as you felt his hands circle your waist. “Please, Arthur.”

He hushed you quietly, finally feeling you wrap your lips around him as he slowly entered your warm cavern, the walls fitting him snugly as a grunt left him unexpectedly, lost in the pleasure you brought him.

While it felt too good to imagine, you could only keep your mouth open at the sensation, wondering how something could ever fill you up quite as good as this. Without a single thought, you sat down entirely, feeling him stretch you wonderfully as you wrapped around all of him, wounding your hands around his neck.

You didn’t need to move much, for he thrust up into you when you had gotten used to his size, feeling yourself being hitched up to his body as the motion made your whole body rise to then fall back down on him, once more filled to the brim. His grunting in your ears filled your senses, and while the slight consciousness entered your mind, wondering what you were doing, you pushed it far back, relishing in how your body responded to his.

Despite the cold that was surely creeping into your bones the more you stayed out here, the sound of skin against skin filling the empty spaces around you made you feel more connected to each other than you had ever felt with anyone else.

You started to move with him, bringing down your hips to meet his while he thrusts into you, growing more desperate by the minute. You found the hands hugging your waist, circling their arms around it, pushing you even further against him as you rested your hands on his cheeks, having no choice but to stare into his lidded eyes as he grunted roughly underneath you.

God, how he wanted to push you down onto the ground and drive into you, damning the snow that covered the ground. Instead, he glided down further from the wall, feeling your weight press against him more as your head found sanction in his neck, feeling his thrusts grow more in power as he pistoned into you harder from the new position.

“Arthur.” You breathed out, feeling the stretch of him grow as the position made him reach even deeper inside you, one arm reaching down to grab your bottom so he could hold you firmer against him.

“I know, honey.” He murmured, head growing dizzy as you clenched around him so wonderfully, mewling sweetly into his ears as you let him take control.

Did it make him an evil man for reveling in what he knew Charles would never gain from you? Maybe it did, but those thoughts were placed far back in his mind as your lips found his, small moans now muted as you grew desperate for his affection, growing insatiable to once more feel the fondness that laid in his every touch.

He had been so angry that someone else had gained the courage to do what he couldn’t, realizing he had been too late. Yet now, as you remain unknowing above him, it only made his lips plant themself firmer against yours, determined to make you understand that nobody could make you feel this way except him.

Grabbing the blanket off your shoulders, he threw it down towards the ground as you gasped, stroking your waist tenderly before slowing his movements.

Your breath heaved something so terrible, your voice shaking as you spoke. “Don’t stop, Arthur. Please.” He felt his stomach coil at your words, throbbing inside you as he moved to a seated position.

“I ain’t stopping, sweetheart,” he let on, leaning you backwards lightly. “Lay back for me, okay?” You did as he said without a protest, the cold now gone as your legs spread from him.

He almost groaned from the sight, taking a moment to observe you as you stared at him through lidded eyes, blushed cheeks so wonderfully red against the whiteness of the snow you almost looked like an angel–your hair spread like a halo around your head where you laid on the blanket.

Crawling over you quickly, he grunted as he felt your hand encasing itself around him, stroking slowly as you guided it to your clenching hole. For a moment, he felt a relief spread through him at the feeling of your walls surrounding him before the sheer and utter desperation set in, beginning to move into you at a faster pace than before.

Your breath hitched at the sudden movement, yet you gripped his arms to keep him there, not baring the thought of him stopping again. Being over you gave him more control, and his primal instincts set in as the coil in his stomach shot burning flashes throughout his body, wanting nothing more than to feel your warm walls around him forever. Maybe it was the desire talking, but he swore that the thought of you being like this with any other man than him would make him heave.

Encasing his arms around you as your hands found his hair, he felt your legs wrap around his waist, now so close he was grounding into you relentlessly. Rough yet tender, he moved into you with care, but you could feel that he was holding back as he panted above you.

“Don’t stop!” You begged him once more amidst his thrusts, pulling on his strands as his lips found the softness of your neck. Why you were begging, you couldn’t say, oblivious to the words leaving your mouth in utter bliss.

“Hm?” He mumbled, smiling lightly from hearing your ruined voice beg him. He felt like a sick man gaining pleasure from it, but his mind was too hazy to take notice, longing to hear those words leave your sweet mouth once more. “What was that?”

“Don’t stop,” you voiced breathlessly as his hand found your breast, rolling the nub softly between his rough fingers. Despite your begging, for his own sickly twisted pleasure his hips ceased their movements, moving torturously slow as he raised his elbows to stare at your tear-filled eyes.

They shot open as he slowed his pace, displeased he didn’t listen as you already felt shameful for sounding so desperate. You couldn’t help it, for it felt too good, and now that he had stopped, you wished he never had. Was he teasing you? The thought made you blush from embarrassment and annoyance, pleading with your eyes.

“No…” You mumbled, trying to move against him, yet his hands held you firm against the ground.

“Say it.” Arthur’s voice was coarse as he spoke, grabbing your hand to place tender kisses on it as your displeased sounds reached his ears. He only got a confused look, smirking slightly at the longing and apparent dissatisfaction plastered on your face. A biting shadowed lust replaced his usually sharp eyes as he watched you, carnal written deeply in his eyes.

“My name, sweetheart. Let me hear you say it.” Suddenly, he pistoned his hips against you, driving up your wet walls as a mewl left you from the sudden force. You felt his intense eyes on you as your eyes shut momentarily, and through your blurred vision, they didn’t stay open for long.

“Arthur,” you moaned, eye-rolling into the back of your head as your back arched, a wave of pleasure shooting through you at his demands. He held the same controlled yet sensual pace, knowing he’d slip out of you if he went any harder. Still, his accuracy was wicked–hitting the right spot with every move.

“That’s it,” he praised you, placing another kiss on your palm as his thrusts increased, grunting roughly as your walls squeezed him tightly. You break into sobs as you reach out to grasp his arms, tilting his head up just enough to let you know he’s watching you, his hazy gaze roving over the devastation on your face.

The snow around you mutes the sound of skin hitting skin as he sets a brutal pace. “I didn’t tell you to stop, sweetheart.” The deep rumble in his chest as he spoke the words laced with possessiveness made your heartbeat pick up faster than it already was, the light ringing in your ears increasing as your body was hoisted up with each of his thrusts.

You call his name like a prayer amidst the pleasure, and satisfaction at hearing his name come so sinfully from your mouth made his eyes roll back, knuckles turning white from gripping the ground so harshly. Oh, you had no idea that every noise you let out from his advances made his heart soar with pride, feeling the softness of your skin under the palm of his hands.

Arthur feels the abrupt stop of movements from your hand, gripping tightly on his arms as you spasm around his cock, clenching tightly as the pads of his fingers come down to rub at your swollen nub as your orgasmed, a loud whine leaving you at the contact. It’s too much for you, the sensation too unfamiliar yet devastatingly addictive–not knowing if you wanted to drive your hips away from his brutal assault or enjoy him even more profoundly.

Even if you had decided on the prior, he didn’t let you, pushing you firm against the ground as he twitched inside you at the noises you let out, groaning lowly as he came inside your warm walls, planting himself deep inside you.

“Christ-” He grunts out, teeth clenched as you feel his cock throb inside you, cum gathering at the base of him as his hips slow to deep thrusts, grinding into you in sheer pleasure as the knot in his stomach unleashed, feeling you placing small kissed on his neck.

The slight motion made him smile amidst his pleasure-filled mind, caressing the curves of your waist as he nestled his head into your neck, still panting heavily. As you both calmed down, it didn’t take long for your hand to find his, fingers wounding themselves around the others in the blissful aftermath.

As you opened your eyes after catching your breath, you found a pair of blue ones already gazing at you. You didn’t speak for a while, both of you trying to digest the situation as tiny snowflakes could be seen falling from the sky through the cracks in the walls. It reminded you of how cold you should have been, but with Arthurs’s broad chest covering you, it felt like you were clinging to a furnace.

“Shit, you must be freezing.” He suddenly let out, shaking his head slightly as if in a daze before rising to pull you with him. As he pulled your skirt down your legs, rubbing them between his hands to warm you up, you could only stare at him in quiet wonder.

“What?” He grumbled out, sniveling lightly as he glanced at you. Had you not wanted this, he wondered, doubt starting to fill his mind. You were too quiet for his liking, only staring at him as he tried to prolong touching your soft skin, fearful of the hurtful words that were sure to come.

“Are you jealous of Charles?”

If crickets had been this far north, they would surely be the only thing audible as Arthur stopped. Bear of a man, hardy and stubborn to many, yet a faint blush could be seen rising to his cheeks as his face lowered–wishing so dearly he could find his hat that had seemingly disappeared so he could hide.

If he had been looking at you, he would have seen the toothy smile covering your face, a tender laugh leaving you as your assumptions became reality. You had to give him credit, though, for he had you completely and utterly fooled.

“No.” He stated firmly, rising on his legs to pull up his pants. He found himself unable to, though, your hand grabbing his suspenders to pull him back down. The same heat that had lessened in his stomach came back as he felt your nimble touch caress him through his pants, gaining a mischievous look from you as you widened your legs.

“Don’t worry, Arthur. I’ll give Charles his gloves back if you stay here and keep me warm.”

Oh dear, that would do it. Whatever thoughts that filled his mind flew out the window, wholly consumed by you as your hands caressed his back, staring expectantly up at him.

“Only me, right?”

“Only you, stupid.”

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

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bubblebbg · 5 months

Note

can i ask for a jealous mizu from blue eye samurai feeling a little overprotective and jealous when taigen spars with reader bc they are a swordmaster as well? Mizu doesn’t like it how taigen always gets you to laugh or how he injures you when sparring

why yes, anon. you may. Only warning is violence, but like, not really? Not proofread. Also, Mizu's pronouns change per perspective. I may as well shamelessly plug my other Mizu fic right here ;))

❝𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝❞

Mizu has no one to blame but herself when she's forced to bite back her envy and watch you with Taigen. If you two spar one more time, she might throw up in her mouth. It's about time she takes matters into her own hands.

The clinking of metal on metal, the air sliced through with a swish; all sounds Mizu has become accustomed to. Nonetheless, her eyebrow twitches in irritation, eyes following the movements in front of her. She thinks to herself that she never wanted to be this accustomed to those sounds, especially not when accompanied with Taigen's stupid remarks.

She watches you double back after having knocked him down yet again in the midst of your spars. She hates the way the both of you giggle.

"Please," Mizu rolls her eyes, "It can't be that funny the eighth time."

Taigen collects his sword and stands, sheathing it before dusting himself off. "Like you could do any better. Sure, you're good, but you're no master." He looks to you as he says this, smiling as if the praise was at all inconspicuous. She scoffs a bit when you smile back, crossing her arms and looking to the side.

The irony of her jealousy is that it's of her own making. You've asked Mizu to train with you before, and every time it's been a no. Because she cares about you, she at least does you the decency of making up excuses. "I'm tired, maybe tomorrow" or "I'm busy" - poor excuses, she knows, but she's trying here - and you've learned to stop asking. The truth is, she doesn't trust herself to not give away what she tries to keep hidden. Her heart already beats hard enough around you. The consequence? Watching you spar with a man who's clearly inferior to you, all while he makes pathetic advances and jokes. She's not sure if she hates him or herself more right now.

"But that's right," Taigen remarks, a snarky look on his face, "You're too scared, aren't you?"

The look in your eyes is cautionary as you nudge him. "Stop it," you mutter. And Mizu knows she shouldn't be so childish as to take the bait, but this isn't about you; it's a direct challenge from Taigen on her (sort of) manlihood.

"I am not scared."

"Then prove it. Duel. Right now."

"That's enough, Taigen," you reply, always the mediator, "If Mizu doesn't want to spar, then he -"

"I'll do it," she stands, approaching you both and stopping in front of Taigen with a searing look, "And you'll see that you're not even half the swordsman I am."

𓆩… . … . … . … . … . … . … . … . … . … . … . … . …𓆪

Inhale. Exhale. You stand face to face, a few meters apart, each a hand on their sword. The cold bites, snow falling between the two of you. When you look into her eyes, you see blazing fire, a spirit like tempered steel. When she looks into yours, there's something more unnerving; calm, like the surface of water undisturbed. Her heart pounds.

Inhale, she wills herself. Exhale. She draws and lunges, and you're quick to block it. Another swing, and another, and another, all quick and strong. Sharp eyes, she thinks. Each attack of hers is stopped as soon as it begins. Your eyes, watching as if not only to prevent, but to predict.

Inhale. She steps back, assessing. You're like a fortress - impenetrable defense. Your lips curl in the slightest smile and there goes her damn heart's pounding again.

Exhale. She drops to a crouch and swipes snow at you in an attempt to blind you, to throw off your analysis. She lunges through the spray with a decisive blow, a duel-ending strike.

Nothing. Her blade hits nothing.

Instead there's a blade at her throat, with you behind her. "How the hell did you -"

She reddens at the feeling of your warm chuckle at her ear. "You're breathing gives you away," you whisper, "Every time, without fail." You sheath your blade and Mizu whips around to look at you. She can't help but share the smile you give her. "Dirty bastard," she replies, and your laughter fills the air, the only sound she'll never tire of.

"Hah! I knew it, you're no match either, Mizu!"

Mizu's about to reply when you beat her to it.

"Whatever Taigen, he lasted longer than you ever will."

And it's Mizu's turn to laugh.

#mizu #blue eye samurai mizu #blue eye samurai #akemi #taigen #taigen x reader #akemi x reader #blue eye samurai x reader #blue eye samurai netflix #mizu x reader #mizu blue eye samurai

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null-of-limbo · 1 year

Text

SHUCKLE

#please someone blaze this it'd be so funny #I'm too poor

0 notes

elmhat · 5 months

Text

DSMP TUMBLR SIMULATOR

🟩 escapedwarcriminal Follow

On vacation! Check out the fancy hotel :)

🦆 stabbyduck69 Follow

gufys please mass report this he's trxying to fucking dox me and also kill me pls guys

7 notes

❌ god Follow

I just finished writing my latest book! To thank everyone who stuck with me through this process, I'm giving away one copy to a random follower! All you have to do is reblog 😊

#bookblr #writeblr

2,963,086,652,755 notes

🐝 what-if-bees-had-nukes Follow

Anyone know where the boomerville residents went?

🐝 what-if-bees-had-nukes Follow

No one replied so I guess I own their house now

3 notes

🥇 dreamsno1traitor Follow

#I'm actually so sick of these mfs #no joke if I have to spend another day around these people I might kms #one more comment about how "evil" he is and I'm gonna snap #I can't believe I used to be friends with them? #they're so bloodthirsty for no reason #sorry just needed to vent #can't say any more than this or I'll blow my cover #neg

2 notes

🧁 the-girl-who-burned-your-tree Follow

New strawberry cake recipe! (Safe for pigs)

Try out this delicious dessert that all the family can enjoy!

Keep reading

#baking #recipes #I just wanted to make something that my friend can eat too #he has some rather unique dietary requirements

130 notes

🐷 bloodforthebloodgod Follow

"average person destroys 1 government a year" factoid actually just statistical error. average person destroys 0 governments per year. technoblade is an outlier and should not have been counted

💿 fuckdream123 Follow

this is so fuckign disrespectful to doomsday survivors take this down you egotesticle fkng prick

45,687 notes

🟩 escapedwarcriminal Follow

@warden-of-the-vault How's idiotville idiot

🟩 escapedwarcriminal Follow

Wait you can't reply cause you're in IDIOTVILLE

5 notes

🪶 philzaminecraft Follow

My good friend has entrusted me with looking after his lovely dogs, haha! 😂 Do any of you fine young people have advice for me as to how to take care of this many hungry hounds? 🤔 I look forward to hearing from you.

From Philza Minecraft.

P.S. Please also instruct me as to how to increase the number of messages I receive in response to my questions. This internet website is a tad confusing. I had enough bother attaching the photograph. 😂

89 notes

🐷 bloodforthebloodgod Follow

woke up to the dash full of drama again. sigh

🦆 stabbyduck69 Follow

fucking Die

🐷 bloodforthebloodgod Follow

oh so you're the one sending all the anon hate

🦆 stabbyduck69 Follow

i don't send anon hate i'll hate to your fucking face bitch

🦆 stabbyduck69 Follow

please go out with me

11 notes

🔱 warden-of-the-vault Follow

🔥 murdered-yo-fave-pet Follow

But fr guys, as much as we're memeing around in the tags dream is actually out there and he's dangerous. If you see him call me or sam immediately. DON'T fight him. You'll /gen die.

6,210 notes

🐈 antthecatmaid Follow

won't be around for a while, going on vacation!

🐈 antthecatmaid Follow

fuck I'm back fuck fuck fuck

27 notes

💿 fuckdream123 Follow

i'm too sad to commit terrorism like what's the fucking point anymore

6 notes

🧨 zombiepresident1 Follow

World's First NFT Burgers

(Ignore the poor photo quality, my good camera got confiscated by authorities)

"An explosion of the senses, and I don't just mean that time the place exploded!" ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

"So much better than Quackity's horrible grimy SHIT FUCKING RESTAURANT" ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

#reviews are all from verified sources #don't look into it #someone blaze this I have no money

204 notes

✨ quirky-cake-duper-teleporter Follow

Genuinely fuck dream.

✨ quirky-cake-duper-teleporter Follow

Ignore this I wasn't in my right mind

16 notes

🐷 bloodforthebloodgod Follow

The Teletubby and the Pig

Fandom: Original Work Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Characters: Technoblade, Dream (me and my friend) Additional Tags: Pandora's Vault Prison, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort

Summary: idk man I'm bad at summaries, just something I wrote with my friend to pass the time (he was too embarrassed to post it)

284k words so far

-> Read here!

#I actually wrote this a while ago but I wasn't allowed to post it for legal reasons #don't worry though I'm planning to murder the legal reasons soon #writeblr #original fiction

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💍 im-from-the-future Follow

WARNING - PLEASE READ

My murderer showed up at my house today. Police refused to arrest him. I feel sick to my stomach, I don't know where he is or what he's doing, if he comes back I have no way to protect myself. Please stay vigilant and don't trust anyone you don't know.

🥕 catsncarrots Follow

i'm so sorry to hear that karl :( hey what's the new pfp?

💍 im-from-the-future Follow

No idea

43 notes

🥚 baddestboi-withahalo Follow

we all accepted the prison way too quickly. there's like no safety measures? are we forgetting someone DIED THERE? and i've literally seen the main cell myself and it's a mess. pretty sure there was some real blood on the walls too. idk just doesn't feel right

🔱 warden-of-the-vault Follow

I'm tired of people reblogging posts like this without checking their sources. There are some obvious red flags here. For starters, op claims they've witnessed the main cell personally, but if you actually check the prison's rules, visits have been banned for several months now [x]. The prison is armed with state of the art security measures, including lava, barriers, and numerous manual searches, to name just a few [x]. Speaking as an authority on the prison myself [x], I can safely confirm that these security measures, as well as the prisoner, are in perfect condition. Don't be so quick to buy into conspiracy theories.

🥚 baddestboi-withahalo Follow

I LITERALLY WORK THERE????

🔱 warden-of-the-vault Follow

Not anymore you don't.

972 notes

#long post #I wasted so much time on this and every second was worth it #dreblr #dream smp #dsmp #dashboard simulator #lore thoughts #dsmp dashboard simulators

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ohbo-ohno · 5 months

Note

I REALLY wanna see Johnny get mad! Like white hot angry at reader. Don’t know what/how it happened but Johnny’s gonna make all of reader’s poor holes suffer🥺

Maybe Simon gets surprised and turned on by his pup’s newfound aggressiveness

3.6k pwp soap drabble 4 u (cw for referenced burning building, angry sex, some light mutual degradation/objectification, and voyeurism since ghost watches)

You fume silently, face hot with rage while you and Soap walk side by side behind Ghost down the base hallways. There's a tension at the base of your neck that you just know is going to become a migraine if you don't get some medicine soon, and your bones ache from going too long without sleep.

Soap's somehow even stiffer beside you, the distance between you two small but intentional. Usually he's impossible to pry off of you, always brushing against you and looking for more physical contact, but since you landed he's kept at least half a foot between you two at all times.

Fine by you. You don't want him touching you right now anyway.

The silence is thick as Ghost leads you two to his room, his shoulders loose and relaxed.

He's got no reason to be tense, you suppose. He's not the one who had a massive disagreement on the field, who had to drag his squadmate back from a blazing fire and deal with his bitching instead of his thanks.

Just the memory of it makes you scowl.

Ghost leads the two of you into his room in rare silence, though it's only rare because usually you and Johnny would already be teasing or flirting at this point. But you don't bother now, not with your anger so fresh in your mind.

Ghost is the only one to get settled once Johnny closes the door behind you. You two stand on opposite sides of the doorframe, both too tense to do much but stew in your own righteous anger, and Ghost starts to get dressed down into something more comfortable.

He lets the two of you stay quiet until he's fully changed into a tank top and sweats, no boxers then sits on the bed with an overly loud sigh.

"You two even gonna look at each other?"

Your lip curls as you glance at Johnny from the corner of your eyes. "I have nothing to say to him."

"'S not what I asked."

Your cheek twitches and you bite your tongue, rolling a sharp canine over it. "Honestly, Simon, I don't even want to see him right now."

Johnny scoffs, loud in the otherwise quiet room, and nearly stomps to your side, leaning in front of you to try and force eye contact. "Oh, really? Ye can't even look at me, huh? Had no problem lookin' earlier, when you were draggin' me away from my goddamn mission."

You want to growl, you want to rake your nails down his face and scream about what a fool he is, what a jackass, and you want to make him remember.

Some of your ire must shine through in your expression, and Johnny mirrors it, eyes sparking as he straightens and stands diagonally from you, chest nearly brushing your shoulder.

"Dragging you away from your death, more like," you sneer.

"Wasn't your place," he bites back, moving forward enough that you can feel the heat of him even through all your layers. "You aren't my fuckin' CO and I'm not yours - wasn't any of your business how I chose to execute my orders."

"It is when you chose to do it in the most lethal way possible! Fuck, MacTavish, had you taken half a second and listened to me-"

"Oh, that's all it woulda taken? Just had to shut my pretty lips and listen to you, jump before you even say how high? Newsflash, lass, you don't get to make those decisions."

"And you do?"

"In this case? Yeah, you're fuckin' right I do. Price said drag the man out, alive, and that's what I was doing."

"You ran into a burning building!"

"Under orders from our CO!"

"You know damn well that's not what he meant, Sergeant, cut the shit. The orders were to bring him back alive, not kill yourself in the process!"

"That's the job, Sergeant. You do whatever it takes to fulfill your orders."

You're both panting as he snarls the words, nose to nose and eye to eye, teeth bared in rage that feels almost primal. His close brush with death, the way you'd had to tackle him to keep him from running after the damn target, leaves you raw and unsteady. Had you been any weaker, any less filled by adrenaline and panic and something deeply possessive, you know Soap would've thrown you off and gotten himself killed. You were hardly able to hold him down until the screaming stopped as it was.

You take as deep a breath as you can with your heart racing, and reach up to wrap the collar of Johnny's shirt tight in your fist, dragging him so close that your noses brush, hot breaths shared.

"You don't get to fucking leave me." You shoot a glance over Johnny's shoulder, to where Ghost sits comfortably against the headboard of your shared bed. "Leave us. I won't let you."

It's the last sentence that has him bristling, that ruins your chance of a settled argument.

The only person who lets Soap do anything is Ghost. The two of you listen to your Lieutenant with no questions, no doubt, no hesitations, but the same doesn't go for your fellow Sergeant. Since the 141 had formed, you and Soap have been fighting for dominance over one another, both of you determined to establish your control of the other like Ghost has for both of you.

The insinuation that you would let Soap do anything isn't something he'll let slide.

Hours later, fucked raw and sated, you can admit to yourself that the wording was slightly intentional. But now, with the fresh wound of Soap's close call with death still stinging in your subconscious, you only mean it as a way to push his anger to the level yours has been at for hours now.

"Let me?" He rumbles, muscles relaxing as he steps forward enough to press his chest to yours, head ducked low so all you can see is Johnny. "You don't let me do shit, lass. Couldn't stop me if you tried."

You can't help the way your lips quirk up into a humorless smile, your fist tightening in the fabric of his shirt. "Had a pretty easy time of it earlier, MacTavish. Had you pinned and writhing under me, like a bitch-"

Before you can finish your taunt, you find yourself pinned to the door, a mouth covering yours.

Johnny's teeth are sharp against your lips as he nips at you, leaving behind a sting and a throb. You dig your nails into his shoulders, raking them down his arms and rumbling in dissatisfaction when his clothes keep him from feeling anything.

You bite back as you push at the hem of his shirt, desperate to get your hands on him and make him hurt. You trace your fingers over his abs as you get his bottom lip between your teeth, pulling him down to your height and smirking at his glare.

You don't kiss so much as fight with lips instead of fists, there's no affection or softness between the two of you right now. You're nothing but your anger, but your desperation, and deep down your fear. You cling to Johnny with something verging on desperation, bite and scratch to make him feel even a bit of the pain you had at such a close call with death.

He leans almost his entire weight into yours to keep you pinned against the door, but you only have to shove at his shoulders a few times for him to get the hint and move backwards.

His lips never leave yours as you walk him back to the bed, his hands coming up to grip your thighs as he falls back and keeps you on top of him. You taste the slightest tang of iron as you shift your knees up next to his hips, squeezing his sides between your thighs and his tongue between your teeth.

"You gonna ride me?" He pants when you pull away for a breath of air, your hips working over the tent in his pants. "Think you're in charge, bonnie?"

You bare your teeth at him, grinding your core against the tent in his pants. “I’m not the one on my back, MacTavish.”

His smile is all teeth as he bucks his hips into yours, knocking you off balance so you’re forced to brace your hands on either side of his head. “I don’t need to be on top to keep you on a leash.”

It’s all too easy to hook your fingers in his throat mic - his collar. His pupils blow wide when you tug harshly enough to pull his head off the mattress, his hips following as he moans and grinds you down onto him with a bruising grip on your thighs.

“Down,” you smirk, leaning your weight back and forcing his hips to the bed, grinding your hips. “‘S my turn, Johnny. Gonna use you ‘til you’re wrung dry.”

His tongue darts out to wet his lips, then rests on his bottom lip instead of settling behind his teeth. You can’t resist the urge to lean down and lick over his lips, covering them in your own spit and groaning when he pulls you back into a proper kiss.

Despite your hand around his throat and your weight on top of his, you’re both equally in control as you strip the other. You can’t be bothered to wrestle his wrists to the bed, far preferring to let him paw your shirt and pants off while you tear the seams in his indecently tight shirt.

You only have the patience to get his pants to his knees, unwilling to help him kick them off for full mobility. Instead you grind yourself against his hard length, the soaked gusset of your underwear dragging wonderfully over both his cock and your clit.

You shift your hand on his neck so your palm is resting on his Adam’s apple, giving him just enough pressure to stay flattened to the bed.

He nearly growls when you push, the head of his cock getting caught in your panties and brushing the crease of your thigh. “Fuck, bonnie, get it on with.”

You blink down at him, cocking an unimpressed brow and shifting your hips so he slips between your folds, tucking your underwear to the side with your free hand. “You’re not in charge right now, MacTavish. I’m on top.”

“Only cause I’m lettin’ ya,” he pants, hips twitching as he tries to find your hole, tries to find a hole to sink into.

You lean down just far enough to bite the air in front of his nose, all feral rage and sexual frustration as you let yourself sit on his cock, holding him still beneath you. “You don’t let me do shit, I do whatever the fuck I want to. And right now, I want to ride you ‘til you stop fucking talking.”

You press your lips to his before he can bite back the response you see waiting on his tongue, letting your hips move in the way that feels best for you as you lick over his teeth.

Johnny’s always loved making out. When Ghost keeps him locked up, or he’s just not allowed to fuck you, he’ll happily spend hours with your lips glued together, dry humping each other and swapping spit. You can’t even count the number of times he’s come in his pants while thrusting against your hip or your side, driven over the edge by just a kiss.

You take advantage of that now, keeping one hand on his throat and the other circling the base of his throbbing cock so you can line yourself up above him. He’s far too distracted with your lips and tongue to remember he could tug you down on him at any moment, could flip the two of you with hardly any effort at all.

Despite the complete lack of prep, your body takes Johnny easily, the familiar stretch making you moan as you sink down onto him with one smooth movement. You blink open wet eyes just in time to see Johnny’s eyes nearly roll to the back of his head when your ass rests against him, his cock buried inside of you.

You don’t let yourself rest for long, though most days you love to just feel the weight of either of your boys inside of you. But that current of anger is still pulsing beneath your skin, and all the hot, sweat slick contact between you and Johnny only makes you feel more desperate.

Your pace is merciless, for both him and yourself. Your knees and thighs scream as you slam yourself to the base of Johnny’s cock, making sure you pull off nearly to the tip on every thrust. Without a hand around his throat, you’d have lost your balance on the first thrust.

Johnny’s pulse thunders against your fingers, so fast and so harsh that you swear you can ever see your fingertips twitching against his throat. His breaths are quick and erratic, and you can’t help but subconsciously match his breathing with your faces as close together as they are.

“So fucking good,” you moan, rolling your hips as you lift yourself off of him, dragging the head of his cock along your walls. Your voice cracks when he bucks his hips up, and you’re relieved that he’s already too blissed out to notice, lost in the tight vice of your cunt.

“Yeah?” Johnny pants, tongue nearly lolling out of his mouth when you pull away fully. “Stuff you just right, yeah, lass?”

You bite your tongue against an agreement, some deep part of you that’s not quite drunk on pleasure yet unwilling to give Johnny that kindness. Instead you shift your weight, so that your hand is more cupping Johnny’s jaw and putting pressure on his head instead of his neck, letting you really push him down and get the proper leverage to fuck yourself on his cock.

“Perfect fucking-” you shudder against the words, moan when he rubs just over your g-spot and repeating the same motion with your hips again and again. “Perfect fucking toy, so nice to ride.”

The sound Johnny makes is purely animalistic, torn between anger and desperation, something rough and low in his throat. You can feel the rumble of it through your hand and can’t help but moan in return, finally nearing your peak even as your legs continue to burn.

Neither of you speaks as you ride him, your head hanging low so you’re eye-level with his nipples and focused entirely on your own pleasure. The way your muscles scream at you only fills you with more need, more desperation, and the pain pushes you closer and closer to the edge. Your clit grinds just right over the rough patch of Soap’s pubic hair, soaking it in your juices and covering him in slick.

You reach your peak with gasping breaths, nearly going cross-eyed as you use Johnny entirely for your own pleasure, using him as nothing more than something to hold yourself up on and a toy to ride. Your muscles go completely lax as your pleasure overwhelms you, leaving you slumped against his muscular chest as you ride out the orgasm with small rolls of your hips.

Johnny’s still rock hard inside of you as you come down, his grip on your thighs tight enough to bruise. Your hand has slipped from underneath his collar to the mattress next to his face, and you don’t have the energy to push yourself up and away, to deny him like you’d intended.

Your lungs feel too small as you try to take deep gasping breaths, only managing a few before your lungs start hitching. Johnny’s chest rises and falls quickly beneath your head, his heart pounding beneath your ear.

You don’t have time to brace yourself before you’re flipped onto your stomach, face down on the mattress.

One moment you’re floating in post-orgasmic bliss, letting your body clench down on Johnny and milk him, the next moment you’re on your knees with your back forced into a deep arch, that same cock pounding into you like a machine.

Your groan is bone deep when you finally lift your head enough to breathe, eyes rolled heavenward as your body tries its best to adjust to the harsh treatment.

“Show you a fucking toy,” Johnny snarls from over your shoulder, his voice sounding distant beneath the blood rushing through your ears. “Think ye can just treat me like fucking nothing, get yerself off then take a fucking nap? Nah, yer gonna take what ye fucking deserve.”

The thickening of Johnny’s accent has you gushing around him, your sensitive channel clenching down so hard that you’re surprised he can pull out at all.

Johnny’s hand wraps in your hair when you try to let your head fall forward again, yanking you back with enough strength to leave you yowling at the strain on your neck.

“Don’t fucking hide,” he hisses, landing a sharp slap on the meat of your ass. “Think ye can just shove yer head in the sand? Let me fuckin’ hear you, lass, sing f’r me.”

“Fu-uck you,” you manage to groan, syllables interrupted on every thrust, your voice cracking. “You’re not- fuck, Johnny, don’t have to listen to you.”

You can practically hear the way he gnashes his teeth over your shoulder, can perfectly envision the angry snarl on his face at your lack of submission.

“Ye will. Gonna teach ye a fuckin’ lesson about yer place.”

You try your best to rear up, whipping your head over your shoulder to glare as best you can despite the grip on your hair. “My place? Who the hell do you think- oh fuck, fuck, Johnny, you can’t- goddamnit-”

“Can’t even get a goddamn word out.” Even from your terrible angle you can see that his smile is mean. “Think ye can be in charge when ye can’t even finish a sentence? Fuckin’ fool.”

You nearly shriek when he shoves your head down to the mattress, clawing fruitlessly at anything in front of you. You only freeze when you feel flesh give way underneath your nails, the hard muscles of a thick thigh under your palm.

You can just barely angle your head enough to glance up and see Simon looking down at you, but you can’t manage to see anything past his general shape with the way Soap is trying to shove you inside the mattress.

Ghost’s hand comes to rest on your head, and when you lean into him he pushes Johnny’s fingers off.

“Watch it, pup,” he rumbles, and Johnny’s hips stutter behind you. “You’re already in trouble. Do you really wanna make it worse?”

Your self-righteous smirk is hidden in the sheets, but you can’t fully muffle your laugh when Johnny’s whines over your shoulder. The sound quickly morphs into a snarl, and he buries his teeth into your shoulder as his hips start to work again, the sound of his balls slapping against your soaked cunt obscene.

Johnny wraps his arms beneath your torso, hooking his hands on your shoulders so he can tug you into every thrust, moving his face up to nose at your throat. You feel covered by him, consumed by him, as he chases his own pleasure.

You don’t quite manage to get off before he empties himself inside you, but there’s a deep satisfaction in your bones that still lets you melt into him.

Johnny’s all heat and power at your back as he goes weak against you, and a small shove to his shoulder from Ghost has both of you resting on your sides, spooning with his cock still buried inside of you.

Your breaths sync with his quickly, matching the inhales and exhales you can feel against your neck and the rise and fall of his chest against your back.

Your eyes flutter shut, relaxing into the bed and Johnny’s arms. You know that you’ll have to Talk later, about what he’d done and how you’d responded. But you know it’ll be an easier conversation after Ghost’s punishment, when all of your consciousness has eased a bit.

“There ya go,” you hear Ghost say, followed by a soft stroke over your head. “Exhausted yourselves, huh? Silly pups.”

You hum and Johnny rumbles behind you, burying his face more fully in your throat. You feel Ghost’s other hand pet over his mohawk, his thumb brushing your cheekbone.

“I guess you can nap.” Ghost sighs, like he’s doing you both a great favor. “You’ll both need all your energy for your punishment, anyway. Breakin’ damn near every rule in the book just cause you got a little worked up. What am I gonna do with the two of you?”

You don’t have the energy to respond, and the best Johnny manages is a small and plaintive whine. Ghost chuckles from above you, and you feel him lay in front of you, his arms wrapping around Johnny’s back and tugging you both to him.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Just relax now, you’re alright.”

It’s easy to drift off, even if the heat is near suffocating and the stretch of Johnny’s cock verges on the edge of too much. You’re loose-limbed and sated, and Johnny’s safe beside you. There’s little else you could ever want, ever need, and you can’t be much more than grateful as you fall asleep between your men.

#ghoap x reader #nobody saw me complaining about this last night :)#bo writes #soap mactavish x reader #< since it's mostly him #btw i off and on contemplated making this reader male so if their vibes change throughout the fic thats why lmao #2 big military men fighting for dominance over one another while a Bigger & More Muscular partner watches knowing they're under his thumb..#yeah that's the stuff

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regrettable-username · 2 years

Text

caught her mid yawn

#i'm too poor to blaze this photo of my cat so this is a treat just for yall <3 #her name is ada (americans with disabilities act)

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heartcereql · 5 months

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shades of cool

୨୧ young!coriolanus snow x f!reader ୨୧ IN WICH Coriolanus is the person you've grown to hate and compete against. But when you and him have to work together to achieve what you want, the tables start to turn. (6.2k+ words) ୨୧ cw: cursing, a LOT of tension (yall r going to hate me for the cockblocking but next chapter will make it up i promise), probably ooc snow (acting like he's a sweetheart and not a psycho lollll), like one mention of blood?

a/n: snow lands on top (of me pls)

𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝐼 - 𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝐼𝐼

There were only two things that you completely and utterly despised: breaking your favorite nail and the voice of Coriolanus Snow.

"Y/n!"

You made no sign whatsoever to acknowledge the man following your across the crowd of burgundy uniforms. You just clutched your books tighter and quickened your pace.

"Hey, Y/n- wait up!" he called again.

Sighing, you stopped in your tracks and turned around to see a platinum blond running in your direction. The usual shit-eating grin plastered on his face. You put on your best effort to suppress the eye roll that was begging to be released.

"Yes?" you asked, unamused.

"I was just wondering- you seemed kind of distracted in class today." His words were sugary, almost enough to trick anyone into thinking he was truly concerned. But not you though. You had learn to identify the glint in his eyes from a mile away. "Well, just in cas you missed this-"

Before you knew it, you had an A+ graded exam shoved in your face. Making a face of disgust, you scrambled away to look at his face, expression filled with pride.

"That's great, Coriolanus, real great. Would be even greater if I had asked", you scowled, turning away while Coriolanus scoffed behind you, quickly catching up with you again as you resumed your way out.

"Oh, c'mon, Y/n! You're not the only one who's allowed to brag", he said, nudging your side.

"Clearly not. You do it all the time", you deadpanned.

"Don't be mad 'cause you weren't able to beat me. Again."

The smell of roses was too stuck in your nostrils for your liking. Sweet and inviting, but remembering who it came from made the flowers lose all their charm.

"Also, exercise three's answer was option D," he pointed out, that annoying smirk on his face again.

"What?"

"It was option D, not A."

"How did you even- Nevermind. Option A is the literal definition, care to explain how it is option D?" you argued, rolling your eyes.

"I- A's not the definition!" Coriolanus tried to rebute.

"It is. Try paying attention for once."

"It's not!" He stopped fully, leaning against a wall and opening his bag.

"What are you doing?" you raised a brow at his franctic search. Sometimes you forgot how infuriating he was.

"I'm looking for the textbook," he replied, face almost buried in his bag.

"Unbelievable," you scoffed, turning around. "You really are unfixable, Snow."

Walking away from the mess of papers he had made around him, you could hear him protest.

"Hey, don't go! I'm finding the page!"

You shook your head. The exasperation in his voice was like music to your ears.

You knew who you wanted to be from a very young age. You knew exactly what you wanted and what you had to do to achieve it. You wanted everything.

Top of your class since you were five. Student of the month every month. Class president. Winning every single award that could be won by a child under twelve years old.

You wanted to take everything from a life that had given you nothing. Like a phoenix, your mother used to say, risen from the ashes to burn in the most blazing fire. With little to no resources, your family had incredibly made it work so that they could afford a small apartment in the Capitol (if you dared call the cubicle that your family shared a house). But your family had made it. And so had you, child prodigy, wanting to rescue your poor parents and sister. Specially when your mom's frequent coughing developed into something far more serious.

You were unstoppable. Nothing in your way. Praise. Applause. Recognition. It was all in the back of your hand.

Until Coriolanus Snow appeared.

He and you were basically the same. Same drive for power, same desire to rescue your family, same overachiever character, same flawless grades. One would think you would get along, being so impossibly similar.

And perhaps you could have. You could've befriended him and helped each other. If he had not equalled you with such aptitude. Before you knew it, Y/n Y/l/n was never mentioned without Coriolanus Snow. You were no longer the only student to pass with distinction. You weren't the only clear winner, or the only candidate for class president, or weren't so easily distincted class president, for Coriolanus was your vicepresident (something that had never been a thing, that appeared as suddenly as him).

But he was fighting you for your spot. Naturally, you didn't even consider him as a potential friend. He was an obstacle in your way, as you were in his. Soon, you two were always engaged in bantering, cruel comments, trying to bring the other down by showing off your accomplishments and grades and awards and titles.

It was more than safe to say that you and Corolanius held special hatred for each other.

And then came the Plintz Prize. Both of you wanted it with equal burning ache, and gave your very best since the first day. Obviously, you weren't the only students who were interested in winning the prize, but you were the ones ready to sacrifice everything, the ones to always make the most of an opportunity, even if it was minimal.

You were so deeply convinced that you were nothing like the other.

But neither of you was willing to let anything come in your way.

"A new financial aid is going to be gifted."

The words echoed in the room as students hushedly commented, whispered to one another.

"Students will submit a proposal, individually or in pairs. A suggestion with your own design of the Hunger Games. You'll go into detail about every little thing, so that in the end, Dr Gaul will select the project she fancies more to be the winner and receive the financial aid."

You and Coriolanus shared a look from opposite sides of the room.

The prize is mine.

As per usual, you were determined to go for everything. You needed to nail this. That very same afternoon you were sat in front of your desk, scribbling down what was supposed to be the first draft to your proposal project. You'd noted some ideas, but they didn't seem to make sense altogether.

Groaning for the umpteenth time, you got up from the spot you'd been occuppying for the last two hours. Your home was no inspiration, which was why you gathered all your scattered pages and notes and made your way to the Academy's library.

There was a spot you liked there. Your spot, though only you referred to it as that, of course. A comfy chair with a green cushion on the end of a large oak table, between the shelves of Geometry books and medicine articles. Golden rays of sunlight filtered through the large window on spring afternoons, and even in the bleak winter it felt nice to look through it.

Making your way over to your spot, you could almost feel the comfort of the chair, how your thoughts would clear and start to make sense. Eyes half closed anticipating the delight. But you opened them only to find a familiar (and annoying) blond sitting in your corner.

"Move" you said as you finished your way over to him.

"What? No. I'm working. Thinking", Coriolanus answered, unbothered, without looking up from his notes and papers, some scrambled, some with big ink stains.

"I don't care. It's my spot. Move.”

He raised his head to look up at you and stopped writing.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realise this chair had your name engraved on it,” he pettily remarked.

“Whatever,” you exhaled, plopping down on the seat next to him. “You are such a pain in the ass, you know.”

“Back at you,” he replied, eyes focused on his papers again.

You huffed and reached inside your bag to grab your notes.

Your messily written ideas were mocking you, at this point. If you thought they didn’t make much sense at home, they definitely weren’t making any now. You had so much in mind. And they were great ideas, really. But you couldn’t find a way to connect them, for them to make sense altogether. And you were missing something. Something so essential, something that you couldn’t quite place.

How will the games be watched if they’re held in the middle of a desert? Where will the cameras be?

You scrunched your paper, groaning again and dropping your head to the table.

"Something wrong?"

You lifter your head to find Coriolanus looking at you, carding a hand through his hair.

"None of your business."

"Jesus, chill out Y/n. I was just asking if you were okay.." he spoke, not in his usual bratty tone; he sounded just worried.

Your eyes widened a bit with a mix between embarrassment and shyness.

"I'm just... stressed. I'm stuck on the whole proposal thing, it just won't make any sense. I feel like it's missing something, but I just can't know what," you told him, rubbing your temples.

Coriolanus let out a breathy chuckle, to which you looked at him disbelief.

"I knew you were cruel, but laughing at my miserable state is just-"

"I'm not laughing. I'm relieved," he explained. You looked for any signs of mockery, but his eyes were truthful and soft.

"Relieved?" you frowned.

"Yeah. I-I thought I was the only one having a kind of block," he looked down to his notes and that was when you noticed the messy paragraphs the crossed ideas, the lines and arrows that tried to connect everything.

You gave Coriolanus a tight-lipped smile. He was right. It was somewhat relieving to know that your only real threat was having a hard time like you were.

"Hey, I've got an idea."

His voice pulled you out of your thoughts. Oh hell no. No idea Coriolanus could want to share with you would turn out great.

"Shoot"

"I think we should partner up for the project," he bluntly said.

"Pardon?" you asked raising your brows. You really thought that you hadn't heard him correctly.

"Yeah, I mean, think about it. We both have a lot of ideas but feel something missing. We-we could help each other out!" Coriolanus clarified, somewhat flustered. "We'd win the prize and split it. Highbottom said the proposal could be submitted by pairs. If we do this together, we'll be unstoppable."

You blinked twice, digesting his words like you couldn't believe they were real.

"I think that's the worst idea I've ever heard."

Coriolanus scoffed. "Right, because you're so well known for your good ideas."

True. Though being a straight A's, perfect student, you had a certain fire inside you that had given you a reckless and flaming reputation.

"I'm in."

You were back in the library the next day, only this time you were sitting in your spot, and Coriolanus was besides you. You had been sitting in silence for the past fifteen minutes, reading the other's anotations and doodles.

When you finished, you leaned back into you seat, stretching your neck and pushing loose strands of hair behind your ears.

"So?" Coriolanus inquired when he noticed you were done. "What do you think?"

"I'm... surprised," you told him, chin resting on your hand as you looked at him. "It's almost identical to mine."

He chuckled. "Yeah, that's what I was noticing. I guess great minds think alike, right?"

"Could be, or you just copied me," you said. Coriolanus sneered and you saw the complains forming behind his lips, so you were quick to clarify. "I was joking, Snow. It seems we're not so different."

"Or you just copied me" he mocked, using your words from earlier.

"You wish," you smile, scoffing in a playful manner.

"Hey, what was it that you were unhappy with about your ideas? Because I think they're pretty great," Coriolanus asked, handing your notes back to you.

"They don't make sense to me. I couldn't come up with a way to connect it all," you shrugged. "Maybe we shouldn't use all of this, I don't know."

The entire day was spent between countless bickering and snacks, you and Coriolanus discussing the project and how insufferable the other was, shielded by the brimful shelves and the hushed conversations between students.

Over the next few days, your begrudging meetings with Coriolanus continued, each session marked by a mixture of tension and reluctant cooperation. The library became your unofficial battleground, the hallowed halls witnessing the clash of two strong-willed minds.

As you both settled into your usual spot once again, there was a palpable air of wariness. However, you couldn't help but notice a subtle change in Coriolanus. He seemed more open to discussion, his usually stoic facade occasionally cracking to reveal a hint of vulnerability. The topics ranged from the project at hand to personal interests, and amidst the disagreements, you discovered shared preferences and surprisingly similar perspectives.

By the first week, a sort of unspoken truce had settled between you. The bickering had mellowed into a more civilized exchange of ideas. Coriolanus, despite his initial resistance, began to respect your opinions and even admitted to finding some merit in your perspectives. You, in turn, acknowledged the sharp intellect beneath his icy exterior. Shared laughter became more frequent, often catching both of you off guard.

Throughout these encounters, the library transformed from a battlefield to a space of reluctant collaboration. Despite the lingering differences, a strange sense of partnership emerged. The once insufferable project discussions turned into an exploration of each other's intellect, and with each passing day, the library witnessed the evolution of an unexpected connection between two seemingly incompatible souls.

Your bag hit the leg of the table as you slipped in your chair, the blond taking the seat next to you. A soft thud was heard, along with something rolling. You were going to duck down to reach it, but Coriolanus was already grabbing it.

"Hey, are these yours?" Coriolanus asked, holding a bottle of pills.

Your eyes widened. Your mom's medicines. You reached inside your bag to check if the bottle you had picked up from the chemist's before school was still there. It wasn't.

"Yeah. Well- my mom's."

He handed the bottle to you, whcih you were quick to put back in your bag.

"Is she okay? Not like it's any of my business, but those pills are like one of the strongest shits ever," he frowned.

Taking a deep breath, you explained, "She's not. She hasn't been for quite a while. And the doctors don't say much, but it isn't looking good."

"I- um, I'm sorry," he stammered, looking down. "If you or her ever need anything, you know you can talk to me, right?"

You nodded, leg bouncing up and down.

"Here," he said, scribbling down something on a ripped piece of paper. "My address. If you ever need it."

"Thank you," you looked into his eyes, words barely a whisper. "I really appreciate it."

His knee bumped yours, like soothing it down, keeping it steady. "Anytime," he smiled.

You gave him an awkward smile, looking away.

The green folder, clutched tightly in your arms, contained the first draft of yours and Coriolanus' design for the Hunger Games. You both were going to introduce it to Dean Highbottom, since you needed to inform him of who formed your team and some other information. Then, he would grant the two of you an interview with Dr. Gaul.

Once, Coriolanus had referred to the folder as 'your baby'. You had given him a blank stare for a second before the two of you broke down in laughter.

Mindlessly turning around a corner, you bumped into someone's shoulder. A pair of arms caught your own, steadying you, keeping you from falling.

"Whoa, sorry-"

The folder. You quickly stepped back, freeing the folder from being crushed any further. Compulsively checking if the folder was okay, you failed to identify the pair of arms that had held you seconds before.

It was okay. Your baby was okay.

"So sorry, I- Coriolanus?" you asked as you finally lifted your gaze. "I thought you were coming by later?"

"Couldn't wait. I was actually looking for you. I just saw Dean Highbottom enter his office. Campus is pretty deserted, so I'd say we could be the first ones."

A soft smile graced his face.

"Shall we then?" you posed the courtsy question playfully.

"We shall"

The two of you made your way to the Dean's office, gushing about the project like two schoolgirls. Grades and rivalry were not brought up once. Perhaps just because you wanted the day to be perfect.

After knocking on Dean Highbottom's door and hearing a 'come in', Coriolanus opened the door and both of you came in.

"Look who it is! Snow and Y/l/n. Aren't you a sight for sore eyes", the Dean greeted you.

Coriolanus and you shared a glance before giving the Dean a polite smile.

"Are you here about the project?"

"We are," you answered, gesturing to the green folder in your hands.

"As in the two of you are submitting the proposal together?" the bearded man asked, raising his eyebrows. When Coriolanus nodded, he let out a chuckle. "I thought I wouldn't live to see the day."

You offered an awkward smile as you and the blond sat in the seats before the Dean's desk. You silently handed him your folder. After opening it and browsing through the various concepts and sketches, Dean Highbottom closed the folder, tapping his figertips against it.

Nervousness gnawed your insides, your leg bouncing up and down in anxiety. You hadn't even noticed this, too caught up into thinking the absolute worst of the situation; until you felt a knee- his knee- press into yours. Suddenly very aware of what was happening outside your mind, you blinked once, as to come back into reality, and then again, swifting your eyes to Coriolanus besides you.

For a moment, just a moment, you saw only a pair of eyes that guaranteed comfort peering into yours, crowned by the softests of golden curls. And then you saw the snarky comments, the whole usurping-your-place scheme, the perfect grades and the annoyingly pitched voice. The smile froze on your lips. Fuck.

"So," the Dean's voice broke the silence. "Are you two dating yet? Because it would really benefit you"

Both your head and his snapped into the Dean's direction.

"Pardon?!"

"What?"

Two pairs of eyes now looked wide and with a mix of disbelief and annoyance at the Dean.

"I take it you're not." No shit.

You were still too astounded to speak. What did he mean yet? He was your proffesor. He should, must, know that everything between the two of you is rivalry. Right?

"What, um, what did you mean it would benefit us?" Coriolanus asked, his voice as thin as thread.

"Well I eyed your proposal. And it's good. More than good. It has a lot of potential. But Volumnia Gaul loves one thing more than her creations. Gossip. Drama. If she hears the two of you are dating, she'll make you the Capitol's power couple. She'll give you a story. You will become her favourites. If you want to win at all costs, I'm just giving you a shortcut." He stared at the pair in front of him."But, overall, you've done a great work. I'll leave you to ponder it and I'll alert you when Dr Gaul is ready to see you."

You nodded, as Coriolanus and you mumbled 'thank you's and 'goodbye's and 'have a nice day's before leaving the office.

Campus wasn't very crowded yet; only a couple of students could be seen lurking around. The morning still preserved its coldness, dew remained on the grass.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you started walking, the blond boy quick to catch up.

You hated how you got caught up in this mess. All because you and him needed help. And because he and you were the only answer to the other's problem.

"Y/n?" Coriolanus spoke softly. "How do you feel... about what the Dean said?"

Sighing, you replied, "I just don't know. I mean, this was all crazy before but now? I'm confused, I guess."

"Don't you think it can help us even more?" he frowned.

"But we don't need any more help. We joined forces, no one can beat us, there's no need for us to-"

"I know we can do it without Gaul's help. But it’s one thing to win this aid, and another thing to become Gaul’s favourites. Do you realise how many doors she could open for us?” Coriolanus had stopped both of you now, his body blocking your way, hands in your shoulders, eyes fixed on yours.

“C’mon, Y/n, it’s just pretending,” he pleaded. “Plus, we’re in this to help each other out, right?”

A warm smile spread over his lips, one that only encouraged you and painted a smile of your own on your mouth.

“Fine. We’ll do this lunatic shit. Since you’re not able to reach my level without my help,” you teased, moving past him and resuming your way.

“Sure, Y/n. Whatever makes you sleep at night!” you heard Snow shout behind you.

You just gave him the finger, biting back a smile as you walked away.

The news spread like wildfire through the campus. The dean's offhand comment had ignited a storm of speculation and gossip. As you navigated through the university halls, it was impossible to ignore the curious glances and hushed conversations that followed you.

The library, once your sanctuary of academic warfare, now became the epicenter of buzzing rumors. Students stole glances at you and Coriolanus, whispering behind cupped hands as you pretended not to notice. The atmosphere had shifted, and your every move seemed to be scrutinized under an invisible magnifying glass.

Your next meeting at the library felt different. The air was thick with unspoken words, and the weight of the rumors hung in the room. As you both delved into your project, the tension was palpable. Every accidental touch or shared smile now carried an added layer of significance.

By the third week, the rumors had taken a life of their own. The once reluctant collaboration now felt like an uncomfortable alliance, forged not just for academic success but to navigate the newfound attention. Your life, once a sheltering and private, now felt like a fishbowl.

The doors that led to Gaul's lab appeared impossibly big. You let out a shaky breath, one you didn't know you were holding. Bouncing your leg usually was how you showed your nerves, but, since you were standing, you settled with just a trembling pinky finger.

Cold fingers were wrapping around your hand before you knew it.

"What are you doing?" you turned to Coriolanus.

"Gaul's no fool. We have to put on our best efforts to make her believe we are together. You have to help, too. And your hands were shaking," he shrugged.

Taking a deep breath, you swallowed his words and leaned further into his arm, clinging to him like a good girlfriend would.

As if on cue, the door swung open, revealing brown and blue eyes shooting a daring look. The woman’s face was instantly lit up with a smirk.

“Coriolanus Snow and Y/n Y/l/n. The sweethearts Dean Highbottom has told me so much about,” Volumnia Gaul greeted the both of you. “Please, come inside.”

She stepped aside to let you in. The ceiling seemed to be miles away from the floor. White, ivory columns welcomed you, glass cabinets displaying all sorts of weird creatures and experiments.

"They're beautiful, aren't they?" Gaul commented behind you.

There was just something so... unsettling about her, something you couldn't quite place but that was ticking you off

It's for the better.

That had been your mantra for the past few days. The end justifies the means. You kept telling yourself that you didn't want this, that you were only doing this for convinience. But lately you hadn't really been feeling that way. Not when you were sitting right next to him, laughing mere seconds ago, his eyes staring into yours, not trying to intimidate you but more in an attentive way.

He thought you looked so delicate and alluring. You did often, as of late. There were a few stray strands of hair that hid your dashing smile from Coriolanus. A smile he had so recently grown so fond of.

He just couldn't resist the urge to tuck them behind your ear; his fingers a soft caress against your skin. And so he did.

His touch was feather-like, as if you were a porcelain doll that was about to break. At the sudden contact, you shifted your gaze from the papers on the table to look at him. And, god, you almost wish you hadn’t. Because he looked otherworldly just sitting there besides you, hand behind your ear, lips parted slightly, dangerously close to you.

“Your hair was getting in your eye,” he mumbled.

The proximity was going to kill you. He was invading all of your senses. And you hated it. You hated it because this wasn’t even real. It was just supposed to help you with Gaul, nothing more. You hated it because it didn’t feel that way. You hated it because this was not the Coriolanus you knew; not the Coriolanus you chose to know.

“Thanks,” you breathed.

You were scared. As pure and simple as that. This was uncharted territory for you; you had never seen this part of him. It frightened you because you were losing control over your emotions.

"Coryo..."

He was convinced you were goingo to give into his desires. You were convinced for a moment, too. But then it occurred to you that this wasn't supposed to be real. That whatever you had between you both was just a scheme. That he was just joking.

"What did you score on the last biology exam?"

You mentally cursed yourself as soon as the words left your mouth. You felt yourself involuntarily slipping away from his touch.

“100%,” he responded, frowning. “Why?”

“Guess all these time around me wasn’t enough. I got 102%,” you smiled, trying to sound (hoping to sound) less awkward than you sounded in your head.

“How’s that even possible? I thought there were no extra exercises.”

You swallowed the lump forming in your throat before continuing. “I detailed every answer more than it was needed, so.”

“Oh. Well, congrats.” His lips were pressed into a thin line that he tried to transform into a smile, but ended up just contorting his face.

You looked at the papers before you, laying in a mess on the table, surrounded by pencils, sticky notes and highlighters. Then your eyes peered at the window besides your spot. The sun was setting behind the Capitol’s skyline, painting golden and rosy hues over the library. It was getting late.

“I- I think I should go. I’d better go home before it darkens.”

Coriolanus nodded. "Cool. I'm gonna get going too."

You bit your lip as you stood up, gathering your work. Not another word was uttered until you noticed the librarian peering over at you from behind some shelves, and students at the end of the aisle were turning their heads to you.

Perks of being Gaul’s favourite couple, you supposed.

You leaned to Coriolanus’ level again, pulling him into a side hug as you whispered in his ear.

“They’re looking.”

And then, you pressed a kiss to his forehead and walked out.

Too overwhelmed thinking about that moment with Coriolanus, you missed the way his eyes stayed on you until you left the library, and the way his fingers lingered on the part of his forehead that had been in touch with your lips.

The thought of him plagued your mind as you made your way home. Not even the biting cold of the evening could take the warmth spreading over your cheeks. What was going on with you? He was the guy you hated, you used to hate, the one that was trying to take over your spot.

But your attempts to convince yourself were vain. Because you no longer felt raging hate when you thought of Coriolanus. You couldn't excatly pin what it was, but it was definitely not hatred.

Reaching inside you bag for the key of your family apartment, you sighed, as if that was going to clear and sort out your messy feelings. Yet you didn't even need to open the door, for it was opened swiftly in front of you.

"Y/n!" your father pulled you in. The frown between his brows, the worry reflected in his eyes, the way he held you. Something was not right.

"Dad, what's wrong? I-"

"It's your mom, she- she started to cough so much blood. She's unconscious now, I- I was just about to take her to the hospital."

"Oh my God." Tears stung in your eyes. You knew she was bad, worse than she'd ever been, but this was far from what the doctors had informed you about. "Shit, where's Deena?"

"Your sister's staying over at a friend's. Is there anyone who can take you for the night? Someone who knew about your mother, if it makes you more comfortable?" he asked, rubbing your arm.

Coriolanus. You hated that he was the first person to come to mind, but the truth was thas this project had swept you up from practically every other aspect of your life. You hadn't seen your best friends much, since they were also focused on their projects. Most of your time had been spent with Coriolanus. And you didn't know how to feel about that. Disgusted, you supposed. But that didn't quite match the tugging in your chest whenever you met him at the library, or the calmness that took over you when his knee pressed into your anxiously bouncing one.

"Yeah. Yeah, I think so," you nodded, blinking the tears away, though they slid down your cheeks anyway.

"Good. I don't think it'd be good for you to be alone right now."

You hurriedly packed your essentIals and some extra clothes, making your way to the door. You held it open for your dad as he carried your mother.

"I'll see you soon. Be safe, Y/n," he whispered.

"You too, Dad."

You tried your hardest not to break down as you saw your father making his way to the doctor's with your mom in his arms.

But once he was out of sight, you rushed out of the filthy apartment building. As you ran through the Capitol's streets, you remembered the now wrinkled paper that he had written his address on.

"Here. My address. If you ever need it."

It sat scrunched in your coat's pocket. You kept running as your trembling hands unfolded it, and quickened your pace once you'd read the address.

You arrived at his door short of breath, cheeks reddened from the effort, tears dried from the wind. Your knuckles softly knocked at his door.

Mess. You felt like a mess. Everything you had known to this day seemed to have completely flipped around, changing everything all of a sudden. Your mind was a tangled, impossible knot of thoughts and feelings and emotions that were constantly contradicting each other.

A blonde girl opened the front door. To your blurry eyes, she looked like an angel.

"Can I help you?" she kindly prompted, a concerned frown appearing in between her brows.

"Yeah- I'm looking for Coriolanus?" you said, voice on the point of breaking.

"Come in, he'll be right here," the woman spoke, stepping aside so you could come in and closing the door right after. She sat you down on an armchair, her touch gentle and tender. "Coryo! Someone's here for you."

As soon as the words left her mouth, you heard footsteps tumbling down the hallway and into the entrance. The instant his eyes met yours, he put everything else aside. His sole focus was you. The red around your eyes, eyelashes glinting from the recent caress of tears, shaky hands, bottom lip between your teeth, and your leg bouncing up and down almost uncontrollably.

He wanted to hold you forever. Take you in his arms like you were a fragile flower, yet the most fierce of them all. Rivalry long forgotten and buried, mean comments and hurtful offenses forgiven without a second thought. He saw Y/n. Not perfect grades, not snarky remarks, not an opponent. Just Y/n. Sweet, sweet, Y/n.

And you didn't see Coriolanus Snow. The blond standing in front of you now was not the one you'd been fighting for the better part of your teenage years, even before. He was not the one competing against you. Who was him then, if not the Coriolanus Snow you had known all your life?

Coryo.

"Y/n, hey, hey, what's wrong?" he asked, voice surprisingly soft, even for his cousin. He crouched down, placing a cold, calming hand on your fidgety leg.

You could feel the tears welling up again, because he was there for you.

“I… I’m going to head out,” the woman said. “I’ll be back in a while.”

Coriolanus muttered a goodbye and then she was gone. And as soon as she was, you broke down.

Burying your head in your hands, tears burnt past your eyes, flowing now freely. All that could be heard were your heavy, shaky breaths. His hand on your back, tracing small circles, made you pull your head up.

Fuck, why were you even here?

"Y/n?"

"It's my mom." You tried to dry your cheeks, only for tears to fall down again. "She-she lost consciousness. The doctors didn't even say she was that bad. And I.. I just arrived there and there was nothing I could do-" your voice broke before you could finish the sentence.

He instantly pulled you into a hug, your head hidden in the crook of his neck, arms around it. One of his hands was wrapped around your torso, safely drawing you to him, while the other was tangled in your hair.

"I am so, so, sorry," he whispered, breath tickling your ear. You only clinged to him tighter; the only thing on your mind other than your mother right then was how warm and guarded you felt in his arms.

When you finally retracted to look at him, you found your body almost leaning into him again, yearning for his embrace. You inhaled sharply.

"I'm by your side no matter what, okay?" he assured you, eyes piercing yours, hands sliding up your figure to cup your face. "I'm here for you."

You did your best to gather yourself and nod at his words. But then you felt him pulling away in the slightest. No. You wanted him close. You wanted him.

You rose a hand to his neck, fingers dancing along his skin, messing with the blond curls they could reach.

"Hey, Y/n," Coriolanus called out. "She's going to make it. She'll be okay. And so will you."

A knot formed in your throat, the prequel to infinite tears, because who was him and what was he doing to your heart?

Whatever prejudice or thought you had against him was blurrying in your mind. The person he was supposed to represent in your head was further and further from the one barely inches away from you now. And then it hit you. Right then, right there. It didn't scare you. You wanted to know this person. You wanted to give the both of you a second consideration under different lightning.

And so, you closed the gap between Coriolanus and you, as he had tried and wanted so bad to do mere hours before. His lips were warm, contrary to every other part of his body you had ever been in contact with.

For a fraction of second, he hesitated, frozen in his spot, convincing himself that this was happening, that this was real, that you were real. But once he kissed back, he just couldn't let you go.

His hands were suddenly everywhere, exploring your body and drawing you to him as he kissed you, all the desire and passion (and even the resentment, too) poured into the kiss. Coriolanus wanted to make you feel okay. Not just now. But 'now' would have to do as of that moment. And if this was how you wanted the pain to go away, so be it. Fingers digging in your hips made you leave out a mixture of a gasp and a moan, which Coriolanus used to slip his tongue inside your mouth. Everthing he did got you addicted, craving more.

You had both been sitting on the floor, but now you were climbing into his lap, pulling away for the smallest of seconds, but either way Coriolanus was quick to reunite your lips again. Your mouths danced together. Your sking tingled pleasantly under his touch; a constant fire travelling beneath his fingers. But when his hand raised to your cheek, checking for the trace of any new tears. It was simply enough to melt you on the spot.

Tugging at his hair, you angled his face to leave a trace of open-mouthed kisses along his jaw. His groan reverberated through your skin.

The pain was buried somewhere in your mind, but your heart didn’t ache in that moment; he was all your senses were taking in. And you felt safe.

#heartcereql #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x you #coriolanus x reader #tom blyth x reader #tom blyth x you

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cherrychilli · 6 months

Text

18+

Eddie Munson, AFAB reader, "shy" reader, flashing, public setting

A/N: My first Eddie blurb, yay! I'm very rusty but I'm trying to get back into writing with some short blurbs so I'm starting off a little light before I dive back into full on filth and debauchery.

Thinking about...

Eddie and his girlfriend who's often too shy to initiate all the naughty things she wants to do with him.

That is until the sexual tension building inside you reaches an all time high one night when he's on stage performing - your own personal kryptonite.

It's almost too much for you to handle, staring longingly at his skilled fingers as they move deftly over the frets of his guitar, a light sheen of sweat making his neck gleam enticingly under the stage lights, shirt riding up so that his stomach and happy trail peek through.

You loved watching Eddie perform, seeing him shine and thrive in his element and look good doing it. Ripples of want had been coursing through you all night, turning into waves as the gig continued, morphing into a storm of desire swirling wildly inside you until you're finally able to cast your inhibitions aside and work up the nerve to do something you've been fantasizing about since watching him perform the very first time, since before he'd even asked you to be his girlfriend.

You flash him.

Hooking your thumbs underneath the hem of your top, pulling both it and the thin lace bra you'd been wearing underneath up over your breasts smoothly. For all the care and effort you'd put into picking out the pretty lingerie for when you'd be alone together with Eddie in his van after the show, you decided this would be a better way to surprise him in the end.

You're at the back of the bar, all eyes on Eddie and the band, everyone else too caught up in the music to notice the girl with her tits out, thankfully. But your boyfriend's eyes had kept returning to you all night while he was up there on stage so when he looks to you again after nailing his solo, searching for your pretty face and your sweet, shy smile in the crowd he gawps when instead he's met with the sight of your exposed breasts and the big proud grin plastered on your face. He's seen them before, sure; been rendered thoughtless at the sight your pebbled nipples and your soft breasts but this? in a room full of people too preoccupied to know any better? risk and thrill intertwining and all for him? it nearly does poor Eddie in.

It's long time fantasy of his come true, made even better because it was you who'd done it and now that it's actually happened, Eddie's so caught up in it that his fingers fumble over the guitar strings, jumbled notes and chords blaring out of the amp but the botched melody fails to catch his notice for he's still too busy staring at your tits.

Some of the audience members begin murmuring and tilting their heads in confusion at how the front man's lost his composure in the span of a couple of seconds and you decide you've had your fun, pulling your clothes back down in time for Eddie to snap out of his dazed stupor and finish the song the way it was meant to be played, all while his cheeks blazed bright red.

There's still a couple of songs left to be played in the set after that but instead, he announces that the band will be taking a quick break over the mic, hopping off stage and making his way over to you.

"Baby, I can't believe you did that", he exclaimed excitedly under his breath once he'd shuffled through the crown in record time, his hands set on your waist, smile impossibly wide, and eyes bright with a telltale glimmer.

"I've always wanted to do that", you confessed with hot cheeks, adrenaline still strong in your veins. "Ever since I first watched you on stage".

Eddie gives you a look, a mix of impress and adoration playing on his features.

"Who knew my sweet, shy girl had it in her?", he pulls you closer, close enough for you to feel that part of him press against your hip.

"Eddie..." , you flustered, quickly glancing around the crowded bar to make sure no one was watching the two of you.

It's obvious he's dying to slip his hands underneath your clothes and touch you and your body burns hot with the same need. He leans in, lips to your ear as he whispers, "How about we head to the van a little early? Y' can gimme a private show this time"

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things smut #eddie munson x reader

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surielstea · 5 days

Text

Too Sweet

Based on this request

Pairing: Eris x Fem!Reader

Summary: Reader faces the mating bond with an unrelenting Eris

4.1k words

The mating bond. It was an unmistakable notion, and I have it.

Ever since I was a girl I dreamed of my mate sweeping me off my feet and riding off into the sunset. I've been all over Prythian, from summer to winter, but, nothing.

Except now I have the mating bond, a golden string so thin I thought it might snap at any second. I have it, but not with anyone from Summer or Winter, nowhere exotic or far away, but here. My golden string connected to the newly crowned High Lord, the very embodiment of Autumn.

I've known Eris for years, ever since my family came into nobility I was hurled into golden ballrooms and etiquette classes I had no desire to be in.

All the other girls stared at me like I was too poor, too odd. And all of the boys, well no one wants to be friends with a boy from the Autumn Court.

But when I met Lucien Vanserra everything changed. My father was delighted to hear I was becoming close with the High Lord's son, often encouraging me to further get to know the family, and so I did, I even met the esteemed High Lord but he wasn't much to prattle on about.

But the Heir? Oh gods, to say I had a crush was an understatement. I loved Lucien and all but, his brother sure was the highlight of visiting the Forest House.

Any girl would've fallen for the cooler, older brother— but it was never just a crush, it was always something more, something I was never able to explain and now I know why. Soul bound, cauldron fated, mates.

Eris knew, he's known for a while now, and I could feel it.

The male was sitting on the sofa next to Lucien while I sat on the floor petting one of the Shadow Hounds. He and Lucien were just talking about anything, laughing with each other like the boys they never got to be. But Beron's dead and the new High Lord could do whatever he wanted. Including being happy.

Eris was playing with a two-month-old puppy, the dog prancing across Eris's lap and I don't know why but that was it, that's what made the bond snap.

I could physically see the golden string bridging between us, I reached for it and as soon as my fingertips came to contact with it he jolted upward, head whipping towards me with concern laced in his gaze. The puppy looks up at him expectantly, cocking his head in confusion as to why he stopped playing with him.

"You alright?" Lucien said, hand coming to his brother's shoulder. Eris shutters at the contact but his eyes don't leave mine. He arched his brow a fraction, silently asking what the hell it was that I just did to him. I touch the string again and a shiver goes down my spine. "I'm fine," Eris settled back into the couch. "It's cold in here, is all," Eris mutters but that's a lie, it was burning hot in the sitting room. The two men in front of me were like furnaces, not to mention the blazing fire in the hearth.

"I'm going to bed," I get up, Lucien's eyes follow me but Eris doesn't look. "You're packed to leave in the morning?" He asks and I nod. We've been visiting Autumn for more than a week now, originally coming down to celebrate Eris's coronation but that turned into a vacation quickly, but now I feel I've overstayed my welcome. "Mhm," I nod.

"You should get some sleep too, we've got a long trip home," I say and he nods. "Don't worry so much about me," He waves me off and I roll my eyes, feigning casualty when my stomach is twisting itself into knots impossible to untangle. "Night Lu," I press a kiss to the top of his head and he smiles up at me. "Night, Eris," I glance at him and he simply nods, not saying anything, barely looking at me.

I stifle a sigh and turn on my heel, walking down the hall towards my bedroom.

Haco, Eris's leading shadow hound followed me to my bedroom, trotting after me, and once I turn to close the door he sits in the doorway, looking up at me with pleading eyes. I huff and open the door wider. I swear the hound smiles as he welcomes himself into my bedroom.

I flop down onto my large bed with a curse. This mattress was too large for one person, something that was meant to be shared between lovers. "C'mere," I pat the comforter, calling Haco up. He jumps onto the bed, his tail swishing in happiness as I scratch behind his ears. He walks in a circle before settling down at my side, curling into a ball with his head facing the door, like he's guarding me from any intruders.

"Who's a good boy?" I hum and his ears lift at the tone of my voice, turning his head to look at me. "Tell that owner of yours he needs to figure himself out," I say, using the dog as my therapist. The hound looks at me with sad eyes then chuffs and rests his chin down onto my open palm. I sadly smile at the dog, kissing him on the head before laying beside him.

Sleep doesn't come easy that night, in fact, it doesn't come at all. I listened to the muffled voices from down the hall until the familiar sound of Lucien's footsteps passed my door and his door shut, turning in for the night.

Eris's room was on the other side of the large house, the High Lord's room. I look at the dog next to me, a light snore coming from his snout. I smile and press a kiss to his nose. He opens his eyes sleepily, looking at me expectantly as I slide off of my mattress. "I'll be back, stay," I tell him, and Haco whines with a wag of his tail. "Stay," I stress and if he was a human he'd be rolling his eyes. He lays his head down, signaling his defeat. I smile in victory then slip out of my room, light on my feet as I pad down the hall and into the kitchen.

I thank the gods that the two Vanserra brothers finally left the room, I've been parched for a glass of water since I had first gotten into bed.

I pour myself a glass and drink deeply from it, allowing the cold water to slip down my dry throat. Once I finish the glass I go to put it in the sink but as I do a basket of pears catches my attention. Eris and I had gone to the orchards on horses and picked them this morning while Lucien slept in. I freeze mid-step, reminded of how mates accept the bond, how it'd be so easy to offer Eris food and have that happily ever after I've wanted since I was a girl. I sigh and put the glass in the sink, ignoring the pears and walking past them, towards my room.

But my movements are slow like I don't quite want to leave the freshly harvested fruit behind.

I weigh the pros and cons in the middle of the hallway. The worst that would happen is he didn't accept it and I'm crushed forever, but the 'what if?' Thoughts killed me. Because what if he does want it, and just ignores it because he knows I hate this court? What if he does want it and is just afraid I don't?

I sigh, this was shredding me into pieces and I've only been enduring the bond for a few hours. Gods know how long he's known. I spin on my heel and march back towards the basket of pears. If he doesn't accept it then that's fine, I don't want to force him into anything. But I needed to know. I was sick of this miscommunication, I needed closure and this is the best way to get it.

I washed the ripest pear I could find, it smelled the sweetest and yielded when I put pressure on its neck. I debated cutting the pear into slices but decided that'd take too long and I was already trying to talk myself out of my plans.

I stalk down the opposite hall, away from my room. Mapping my way through the sprawling complex of the forest house until I stand in front of a large wooden door, my brows creasing as I realize he might already be asleep.

I think to turn away and do this in the morning instead but before I can even take a step back, Haco scratches at the door with his paw. I didn't even realize the hound was there. Anxiety bubbles up in the pit of my stomach as dread consumes me and I feel my throat get dry all over again. I don't get the chance to flee before the door swings open, revealing a shirtless Eris with a crystal glass filled with an unmistakable amber liquid. I freeze in place. His eyes pin to mine as if he's shocked to see me.

The hound that's caused all of this pads away, down the hall back towards my bedroom like his work is done.

"I thought you were going to sleep?" He tilts his head. "I am— I was," I correct, looking down at the pear in my hand and then back up to him. Suddenly I felt helpless. Like a bunny in the presence of a fox. Utterly vulnerable and far too heedless. "I wanted to give this to you," I held the fruit out, he stared at it for a moment with those piercing golden eyes, but he didn't take it. "A pear?" He tilts his head dumbly as if he's never seen the food before. I swallow thickly. "Eris, please," I say. I didn't want to play these games, I wanted him to accept the bond, want him to accept me.

"I know you know, so just..." My voice trails off as I thrust the pear out towards him and he shakes his head no, taking a step back and my heart sinks into the pit of my stomach. "Eris, please," I repeat, brows creased as I stare at him with pure devotion. "You don't want this, don't want me," He denies. "I've wanted this since I was nineteen," I reason with him and his eyes widen a fraction in disbelief. "You wouldn't be happy with me, I want you to be happy," He argues and now it was my turn to shake my head, my hand dropping as I took a step into his office.

"I'm cruel and bitter, you don't want to live with that," He stresses and I take another step forward, my chest nearly pressed to his as I reach up and cup his jaw. "I've seen every part of you, I want every part," I reassure but he backs away. "Fawn, you don't understand I can't tie you down, you hate this Court and yet I'm the High Lord," He explains. "If we're mated you'd have to live here, I won't strip you of your freedom, I can't do it," He refuses and my frown deepens.

"I hated it here when Beron was in power, but now there's nothing I have to worry about," I argue and his expression matches mine, clearly distraught about the situation. "I'm standing here offering you food, I wouldn't be doing this if it wasn't exactly what I wanted, so eat," I hold the fruit up to his mouth but he catches my wrist, eyes staying on me. "You're too sweet," He sighs but my expression doesn't waver, eyes urging him to eat.

His stare doesn't leave mine as he leans forward and bites into the sugary fruit, the juice of the pear drips from the corner of his mouth and down his jaw, and maybe it was the low lighting, or The Frenzy already setting in, but suddenly I couldn't control my arousal as it spiked.

"You sure this is what you want?" He whispers and I wrap my arms around his neck, chest pressing to his as I crash my lips onto his it was slow and soothing and everything I've ever dreamed of. "There's no going back now," I uttered breathlessly onto his lips. "But yes, this is exactly what I want," I confess and a small smile curves over his lips before placing them right back onto mine. The gentle, chaste kiss quickly morphed into something hungrier and lust-filled. His large, veiny hands roamed down the small of my back, past the curve of my ass and to my thighs. I jump up and he catches me with ease, my legs wrapping around him as I get impossibly closer.

His mouth on mine made every part of me electric. He walks forward until my back is pinned against the wall. He leaves my lips and begins kissing down the column of my throat, his kisses sloppy and feverish and everything I ever wanted. He finds that sensitive spot at my neck and sucks hard.

My head tilts back at the sensation, I whine and he nips at the skin, his tongue quickly gliding over the area, massaging the irritated area and soothing it. "Eris," I sigh out and he sucks harder. "You have no idea how long I've waited to hear you moan my name," He grunts out and his voice, gods the feeling between my legs was growing unbearable.

"I need you, now," I beg. "Please, Eris," I whine and a foxlike smile spreads over his features, his sharp teeth against my neck. "M'sorry baby but I need to take this slow or I'll hurt you," He hums against my burning hot skin. But the arousal, it was too much, too thick between us, I needed him. I rolled my hips onto his abdomen in a needy attempt for friction.

"I don't care, please, Eris," I whimper and his smile only widens. "I want every part of you, remember?" I sigh. "So show me when you’re feral, Eris," I say, pecking up his jaw. The room suddenly becomes ten times hotter as a fire bursts into flames in the furnace.

He didn't reply but instead pushed off the door and carried me towards the large bed.

The mattress was soft against my back as he laid me down with a delicate touch. My legs immediately spread to either side of him, the ache at my core growing to become an inextinguishable fire.

"Gods, you were made for me," He hums, leaning over me. I arch toward him because I was, in fact, made for him. Cauldron fated since the beginning, souls intertwined by birth. "And you, for me," I smile without hesitance as I pull him down by the back of his neck to my lips, sealing my mouth over his.

I hook a leg around his thigh and use all my weight to flip us over, my chest pressed into him as he lands on his back, head on the pillow as an amused smile grows across his features. I grin dreamily and begin to kiss down his jaw, leaving a trail to his neck while his touch roams every inch of me, hands snaking beneath my nightgown and hiking the thin silk up higher.

I grind down onto his hard cock and he grunts in reply, gritting his teeth at the pleasurable feeling. He gets frustrated with the strings of my delicate dress and simply tears it in two, large, strong hands stripping me from the material and leaving me completely bare before him, aside from my remaining undergarments. He curses and grips my breast, causing me to moan and grind down harder onto his member. He massaged my breast with calloused fingertips as I worked at the ties of his pants, needing him now.

He was quick to help me out, stripping me from my bra and then, like the dress, ripping off my panties.

A moment later we're both entirely bare.

My lips pressed to his yet again because he tasted like he smelled, cinnamon and a certain spice that could only be replicated with a mix of smoke and clove. His tongue ran over mine, tasting every exposed inch of me like I was as sweet as honey. I lift onto my knees and align myself with his throbbing cock, he grunts, pulling away from my mouth. "Baby, you can't," He pants in a soft tone. "It'll be too much you need to be prepped," He explains and I all but whine out my reply, "I can, please Eris I'll be so good for you."

"You gonna finish what you started?" His brow arched up the slightest in question and I nod with glossed over eyes. He then grips my hips and pushes me down, his cock splitting me in two as he manages to stuff half of him inside of me. I scream out from the painful pleasure, nails scratching down his chest at the intense feeling of his wide, thick cock spreading me out, my sensitive walls forming around him as I slowly sink myself further down, letting gravity do most of the work until I eventually reach the base of him.

Tears well in my eyes at how gods dammed big he was, I swore I could feel him between my ribs. I stifle a deep breath and slowly begin to grind down, my legs jolting occasionally at the stimulation. His hands roamed from my breasts to my thighs, rough skin brushing over every part of me for pleasure alone and I was drunk on it.

I began moving faster, lifting and driving my hips over his while he stared up at me with pure lust. "S'too big," I rasp out, and a conniving smirk cuts across his features. "My poor girl, can only think about my cock hm?" He tilts his head and all I can do is nod, agreeing just in case he'd make me stop if I didn't. My panting becomes more and more irregular, breathless moans escaping me every time the head of his cock kisses that intense, sensitive spot of my cervix. By the Mother, he's so fucking huge.

A knot bundles at the edge of my stomach, twining itself tighter and tighter as I rut myself over him.

His hand drifts to my ass, gripping it tightly in one of his hands while the other does the same to my hip. "Fuck, you're doing so well riding me baby," He praises and my cheeks heat, from both the heat of the room and the vulnerability of all of this. Baring my very soul to him, giving him my body, him, my mate.

"Faster baby," He orders, and I do as he says to the best of my abilities, he slaps my ass, hard, and I release an unearthly and lewd sound at the feeling, making me go double the speed. "That's it, so good for me," He commends and a dazed smile washes over my features, the knot growing stronger and harder to ignore.

"M’close, Eris," I warn and he nods. "It's okay, me too baby," He reassured and right on queue he twitches inside of me, the slight curve of his cock pressing into my most sensitive place deliciously. His hand navigates all the way up to my neck, wrapping around the back of it then pulling me down to his lips, softly pressing my mouth into his as I continue to spear myself atop him, breasts bouncing at the action as he continued to grip one of them.

"Cum on my cock," He orders, pulling away as he bit down on my lower lip and I whimper, tears now streaming onto my cheeks. My brows crease as my entire body shivers and I feel an electric surge race through me, finally reaching that orgasmic high, subconsciously clenching around him at the sensation and involuntarily making him find his own release. He grunted out as I screamed his name, nails marking lines down his chest as I milk his cock, his warm seed pumping inside of me as the fire in the hearth roared with intensity.

The room is filled with heavy panting and soft groaning as we both come down from our shared high, my legs shaking and my head dipping into his shoulder.

"Fuck, you did so good baby," He sighs out, going to move me off of him but I shake my head and cling to his chest, his member still nestled deep inside of me, holding his cum in. "Not yet," I whispered tiredly. "Wanna stay like this," I hum and his arms wrap tightly around my waist, my chest pressed to his as the fire slowly dwindles. "You're so perfect," He presses a hard kiss to the crown of my head and I furrow deeper into his shoulder.

"My sweet girl," He hums and the new name has my chest blooming in warmth.

I shift my hips, his cock brushing against my sensitive walls and making me shiver. Only then did his member begin to harden again, and I knew then that with his Fae endurance and my arousal, that it was going to be a long night.

———

"Eris I know she's in there open up!" Lucien calls through the door as I stir from my sleep, slowly waking up from my short-lived sleep. "You woke her up, asshole!" Eris shouts back, holding me close to his chest as if Lucien was about to burst in through the High Lord's door at any moment.

"Then tell her we have to leave," Lucien demands through the door as I peek my eyes open. "You couldn't pry her from my dead body," Eris retorts and I can practically see Lucien rolling his eyes on the other side of that door. "Eris maybe I should go—" I don't even get to finish my sentence before he pulls me into him, my face smushed into his shoulder.

"Oh my sweet girl, you're foolish to think you're leaving my side for the rest of the week," He hums and I pull away from his shoulder and look up at him. "I was going to say maybe I should go tell him I'm not coming with," I say, planning on staying at his side for more than just a week. "Oh, okay," He murmurs, arms loosening from my waist and I giggle, getting out of the bed and pulling Eris' shirt from the desk chair and sliding it over my frame so I was decently covered before facing Lucien.

Before I can open the door, my mate appears behind me, his arms wrapping around my waist possessively. I hold back a scoff and swing the door open, meeting a very disgruntled Lucien with my packed bag in his arms.

"I'm not coming," I say blankly and he matches my stare. "I know," He hands me my bag and I thank him with a wide smile. Eris' arms tighten at the action, his head dipping down into my shoulder as he begins to trail kisses up my neck.

"This, it's weird," He gestures to us and I giggle, hand coming up to the nape of Eris's neck. "Alright, have fun lovebirds," Lucien knocks on the wood of the doorframe as a farewell, then he leans in to place a kiss on the crown of my head like he does every time we bid each other a farewell but he freezes as a low growl sounds from the bottom of the High Lord's throat.

"Right, see you soon, hopefully," He says then walks down the hall, Eris quickly shuts the door once he's gone then pushes me up against it, my cheek pressed to the cold wood as his hardened member presses against my ass. "You look so cute in my clothes," He purrs, kissing up my jaw to my ear, nipping at my lobe, and making me curse in pleasure. I knew then it was going to be a long, yet enjoyable week.

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m1ssunderstanding · 2 months

Text

Understanding Lennon McCartney Rewatch Part 2.1

Cynthia and John are worse and crazier for admitting what they admitted in the bio. But Jane and Paul are not exempt.

Will forever love this pic of Paul and Julian. He does not look like the fun uncle. He looks tired and dependable. Just stepped out of the womb as a father, didn't he? The sperm that fertilized his egg probably passed some fatherly advice and hair tussles to the other sperm as it passed them.

They should've bought the fucking island.

They never look more like a couple than when the women they're actually dating are right next to them.

The India footage actually looks so beautiful. Obviously it's a beautiful place, but they all genuinely look so free and at peace there. It really could've been so good for them. Getting enlightened, getting soberish, growing closer as a band, taking a much-needed rest. It should've been good.

The music choices in this documentary! The drastic shift from, “all you need is love” and “the dream I had was true” and “I don't need much to set me free.” to Paul leaving to “yes I'm lonely. Wanna die.” “I'm going insane.” “Look at me. Who am I supposed to be?” 8d8 psychic damage. And the thing is it's real. John really did flip a switch, just like that.

Smashing my head into a wall. It's the same as Yoko's quote about how ‘nobody hurt John more than Paul.’ Really Pete? Worse than after his mum died? Really Yoko? More than that drunk cop? Paul, what the fuck did you do to him in India, seriously, because at this point in the doc I can't accept the theory that it was just some lack of communication, I just can't.

It's also telling to me that when John's losing it, everyone's solution is some time alone with Paul. Nobody panic. Paul can fix him. Little do they know Paul's the one that broke him. Or maybe they do know and that's only another reason they know Paul's the only man for the job?

Old-fashioned ad voice: You liked Protective Jesus Scandal Paul? You'll love Protective LSD Scandal John! Really. Before the question is even out, he's making fun of it. I think he cuts off the interviewer at least three times with jokes before he can get the sentence out, and by the time he is, Paul's giggling too hard to feel bad about his little PR fuck-up.

Then he lets Paul talk a bit before jumping back in, this time with his Hard Man suit on. It's just so good. A testament to their unconditional love, really. Because, clearly, Paul's just hurt John pretty bad. And yet, here John is. Using every trick he's got to defend his friend.

But actually, though John is supposedly the one everyone's worried about, Paul's doing a pretty shit job of being the “stable” one. This entire press tour he's either fucking blazed and laughing at everything or disassociated and not contributing.

(((except during that political discussion – again! Paul secretly has actual thoughts on actual things?!)))

But for the most part, John's absolutely holding down the fort. I wonder if this is another case of everyone – all their friends and business associates, just like we as a fandom still do now – assuming John is the problem child, and Paul's the strong one, but actually they're both both.

Back to the political interview. They're just so in sync. Finishing each other's sentences when you're talking about the weather or your shared work is one thing. Finishing each other's sentences on complex topics like why poor whites often vote bigots in or the cause of rampant misinformation is quite another.

“Letting his dad cut his hair at sixteen, seventeen.” You all know that John hates Jim quote.

John: so there's war, and vegetables. There's relativity and absolute. Paul (absolutely smitten): that's great Johnny. Int: that's rather hard for people to interpret. John: well if they can't interpret it now, maybe they will later..... 1. John really was extremely intelligent. 2. That last statement sums up Beatles historiography.

Paul really just Won't be alone with John, will he? Well, two can play at that game, Paul, and John's going to win, let me tell you.

But he's going to do one last panic grab for attention first.

I really do think if John had done something like that *before* Paul would've given him that attention. Told him he's being insane and taken him home to splash some cold water on him or something and then given him whatever softness Paul was capable of. But not anymore.

I wonder if Paul could go back to 1966 if he just wouldn't have taken John to that Indica show where he met Yoko. If he would've just said “okay John, sure, let's just stay home and trip on the couch tonight.” I don't know.

Anyway, Yoko gets an A+ for persistence. Imagine being Paul, George, or Ringo, though, and John is suddenly madly in love with this woman whose been begging you all (and then him specifically) for a platform for over a year? It would be weird to say the least.

John: don't you hate me? I'm crazy, you know. Paul: no I don't hate you. John: aren't you pissed at me now, Paul? Even a little bit? Paul: I'm very proud of you. It's the unstoppable force (“Don't ‘nore me, Mimi!”) vs the immovable object (“I learned to put a shell around me”.) Someone get them some professional help before they nuke the whole world.

“There is, however, a desire to get power in order to use it for good.” One of those quotes that just really lets you see a person, you know? Benevolent dictator Paul.

Yoko, why are you talking about how bad your boy doesn't want to fuck you right in front of all his closest friends and on record for posterity? If you have to be talking about your sex life, shouldn't you be lying about how insanely horny he is for you? Oh, right, she will think of that, just not yet.

And then she waxes poetic about how turned on John is when he's working on music with Paul. Cool. Smart. Thanks for that, though, genuinely.

And Then (gosh, Yoko is such an asset to Beatles history when she's not actively spreading misinformation. Everyone give her a hand) she goes on about how Paul goes out of his way to make her feel respected and even valued. Compare that to John and Linda, anyone? And I want to be clear, I'm not saying this means John cares too much and Paul doesn't care at all, which might be the surface read. I just think John's reaction was to scream in everyone's face that he was in pain and Paul's was to insist ad nauseam that he was fine. You know?

#paul mccartney #the beatles #john lennon #mclennon #ringo starr #george harrison #yoko ono #linda eastman #ulm #understanding lennon mccartney

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tarjapearce · 2 months

Text

Crimson Crown (Pt. 9)

Cover by @pinkiemme ✨

King! Miguel O'Hara x Princess! Reader

Warnings: Violence, implicit manslaughter, mild angst, Dark! Miguel, scheming, character introduction, emotional distress.

Summary: Miguel's time runs short to get you back. A new ally is brought in the game.

"Peter."

Jessica mumbled, concerned at her fellow commander's bewildered expression.

"He... He killed her?"

"Yes. Now we're instructed to wipe the D'Angelo family."

Jessica's words sat like a brick in his stomach. Peter wasn't one to reminisce in the past, but knew that when Miguel, no, The Red King, showed up, only bloodshed satisfied the voracious appetite. Sometimes not even that.

The ever reminder of his friend's past, a nature that always caught up to him.

"He mentioned that he'd do it himself. I thought he was lying."

"Is Miguel we're talking about, Pete." Jessica secured her greaves and armor, ready for the upcoming bloodshed. "I just hope he gets to calm down before he hurts the Princess even further. What happened anyways? I saw Dana."

"She arranged a meeting. Guess she spilled it all to the princess."

Jessica sighed, rubbing her temples, "Although Dana's gone, the damage is done. Keep an eye on her and let me know as soon as Baron Darko shows up."

"Right..."

"And if possible... Keep the princess away from him. We don't know his reaction if she rejects him again."

Peter just nodded, letting a dreadful sigh.

----

With every step he gave, the more his preys recoiled. There was no room for them to escape as The Red King had blocked every escape route, and the ones that somehow managed to scurry from his blazing fury, ended up in the hands of his soldiers.

Screams and terror filled the D'Angelo Villa when the reaper showed up, in the shape of the King himself, mercilessly swinging his swords at whatever thing that moved.

The Red King took matters on his own, he wouldn't deny himself the right to end up the lives of those that reminded him of the woman that threw everything out the window, out of spite and jealousy.

With every swing of his twin swords, the anger that boiled inside, sung in delight. With every droplet of blood that soaked his body, his eyes seemed to twinkle in utter joy.

His task was clear. To wipe the D'Angelo's. It didn't matter if the house the bloodshed was happening was one of the first gifts he gave to Dana. It would burn too.

Jessica wielded her sword, sticking to only deliver the final blow if they survived the king's ruthless anger. But poor of Baroness Carla, Dana's mother.

Her pleas were ignored as Miguel dragged her by her hair to the chimney.

"Your majesty!" She pleaded and struggled "I beg of you, stop this madness!"

She hiccuped as Miguel let her hair go

"You seem to have forgotten your place, Carla."

"I haven't! This is..." She panted and kneeled before him, begging, "Please. Spare me. You won't hear from me again!"

"You're right. I won't. Cause I'll make sure of it."

"W-What?"

Carla's eyes could only widen at his next words.

"You'll burn. With this place."

Her head shook, just like the bird's nest she had for a hair.

"No!"

The rest of his soldiers had been dousing the villa with flammable oil, the same kind that were used in the machineries back in the main cities of Arachne.

Glass shattered, and soon smoke begun filling the upper floors, fire consuming everything in it's wake. Temperature rising and fogging up the second part of the stairs.

"Miguel, I beg of you!"

He only quirked a brow, while his eyes remained in a deadpan.

"Cállate de una puta vez. Me tienes harto." (Shut the fuck up already. I'm sick of you)

Miguel took a lamp and doused the oil around Carla that backed away as soon as the liquid reached the hems of her skirt, without much thought he clashed his swords together, causing some sparks to bounce off and bringing to life a roaring fire.

Carla screamed, trying to put the flames away. The last thing she could see was a tall and imposing shadow, glowering with red eyes her way.

But if she was to die, he'd hear her. Even if it that meant to rush her death thanks to the rising smoke up her lungs.

"You'll pay with everything you love the most! You hear me!?" She shouted with the little strength she had. "You'll pay!"

The Red King's eyes crinkled in amusement, but instead of talking, he just turned on his heels, leaving the fire to devour everything in its wake.

The door was slammed, his red eyes roared in tandem with the fire around him. Like a true demon spat right out of the deepest corner of Hell.

"Keep the fire under control. Once done, search the area."

"What about Baron Darko?"

"Let him witness his failure, and deliver him Dana's ashes once he has done so."

His soulless stare contemplated for a bit more the fire that roared alive in mighty and loud cracks as it consumed the succumbing structure. Erasing all traces of a once noble home he took under his wing.

In truth, he never really cared about Dana's family. He had initially just wanted her, but her generous soul and body had gotten her family the very same Villa that now scorched at his feet. Carla's screams echoed weakly until they were no more.

There was nothing that bound him to the past, as it burned into nothing but ash and soot.

Yet, he felt empty. And he hated it.

Despite him getting rid of the now unnecessary evil, it felt like a tremendous pyrrhic victory. It didn't satisfied him.

"Your majesty." Jessica spoke, kneeling beside him, "All the family members were slaughtered. Dana's ashes soon will be ready."

"Do you think she'd fear me?"

Jessica looked at him as she rose, surprised by his sudden question and took a sigh. She needed to be careful with her words, he hated getting sugarcoated after all.

She could only muster a "Probably."

"I need to see the princess."

"And you think seeing her after a fresh kill is a good idea, because?"

His eyes glowered at her, Jessica looked away.

"As you wish."

---

Call it good or bad luck, but you weren't in your room. His nose flared angrily and his lips scowled upon not finding you inside.

He needed to see you, to show you what he had done to try and compensate the damage he had caused you indirectly. He needed you to witness what happened when someone tried to hurt you.

Cause the ones that had dared to tear you both apart were no more. The sleazy and annoying bitch he had for a mistress was being turned into plant's fertilizer as he roamed your room. But even so, the putrid aura that reminisced from Dana's soul would surely make the plants to die. Just like her.

He wouldn't dare to soil something so precious like your playground and knowledge. He had done enough.

His eyes went for the not so hidden diary on your desk. If the many times he had read it had taught him something, was that you always keep it hidden.

Could you possibly know about him reading and invading your privacy? No. He's always been careful and made sure to put it back where it was. But the way your diary was so carelessly placed on the desk only made him assume you left it there for resuming your writing later.

His hand hesitated before grabbing the worn out leather cover with all the gentleness he could muster, to then flip the pages, as if continuing his weekly reading.

The king has agreed! Against all odds and my own nerves, I've gotten him to take a break and invited him over lunch.

I cannot wait to see how everything unfolds!

He remembered that day as it was a couple of hours ago. You had caught him off guard, with all his defenses on his ankles. How could he say no to you when you were so excited to share with him?

Now he'd be lucky if he got glimpses of you if anything .

Miguel grunted as he read the next entry.

The king. He's such a wonderful man. He's been an amazing company. We shared some more of Arachne and even ourselves. I believe that we're getting closer.

Would he be a good kisser? Probably. His lips are always inviting and delectable. Oh dear... I'm thinking inappropriately again. My heart sings with joy whenever he thinks of me as his future bride.

He chuckled, feeding his ego for a moment only to frown at the next pages. It wasn't just the way the sheets were written, but the actual state of them. Wrinkled, crumpled even with blotches of ink smeared all over.

His finger traced over them, feeling the remnants of your liquid pain, long dry on the surface. And by the many stains in them, he assumed you had spent hours crying.

His scorching fury enervated, slowly, upon reading a simple line.

I thought him different.

He gulped and clenched his jaw. Ready to keep his eyes glued on the words you you didn't speak, but wrote.

I was naive in to believing this could be different. But I think I've forgotten my place in all this.

I really tried to understand, but at the end of the day everything that matters are selfish desires. I should have seen this coming

And he should too. It was all matter of time for the bomb to explode at his face. And now that it did, he was left with so much to do that for once he was at lost on how to get it all back. How to get you back.

I had a bad feeling when receiving that letter, after my picnic with him.

His frown deepened.

God, he wanted to be able to turn back time and have Dana killed in other painful ways for being so damn bold and stupid.

I met her. I met his mistress. And god, I wish I didn't.

She is cunning enough to lure me alone, dangerous and made sure to remind me of my place in all this political game with her words. And she's gorgeous.

I felt my heart break in million shards as she revealed her title to me. The king's main mistress.

He should've definitely made Dana's death slower.

Is this why he refused to see me at first? Is this why he was so reluctant to share his time with me? I don't know what to believe anymore.

I feel... dirty.

A painful pang ran through his chest, dulling the anger, replacing it with a glum wave of guilt.

I let his hands to touch me, when he has touched her. Even though I scrubbed hard enough to make my skin burn, I still feel his caresses on me. How do I get rid of them? I feel fooled and filthy.

"Princesa..." he mumbled, guilt dripping in every syllable.

He flipped the page.

She is set into producing him a heir, or so she stated. That they've been trying even before I came. No wonder why Prince Gabriel mistook me for a mistress that night.

But, why would I stay between the both? They both lie and hurt and I know when to admit defeat.

Miguel had to clutch at his chest as his heart gave a painful beat. A frustrated sigh escaped him.

"Jessica?"

"Yes, your majesty?"

"Bring my medicine."

Jessica left, and he kept on reading.

I spilled the truth to my mother back when I visited her. Bless her, it was good to see her despite our condition. She told me, instructed me even to return home if he ever causes me great pain again.

His breath hitched as his heartbeats increased erratically.

I wanted to give him the benefit of doubt first, and I believed him

His jaw clenched even tighter as there was a smudge of ink at the end of the word. Another dry tear muddling the last two letters.

May my people and God forgive me, but I won't marry him. I refuse to lay with him, and much less in a bed where he had so many others before. Lady Dana specially. He's like the rest of those I knew.

I might be selfish to think this way, but... I thought I could have him for myself. That I could have my own family and some peace at last, but now I realize that it's all been in my imagination. I've played my role as pawn in this game and although my purpose wasn't fulfilled completely, I can only hope that the next man I'm bound to isn't a liar.

No, he wouldn't allow it. No other man would have you. He couldn't.

My mother has always reminded me that there is always more men out there that would die for me without a second thought. Would they lie too, though? I don't know. I hope not. I couldn't take another blow like this.

Jessica returned just in time before he entered into a crisis. He gulped down the vial's content in a go. The sour and foul tasting liquid slid down his throat, burning his esophagus with its much needed nastiness.

The Commander watched him, concerned as he tucked the diary back on the desk and rummaged through the several scribbled papers in your desk. He found Dana's letter, trying his absolute best to resist the urge to tear to shreds the piece of paper. It was her handwriting.

And something else he wasn't prepared for. A letter to your mother, Queen Dhalia, announcing your return to Theleria.

You were leaving.

"Your majesty?" He ignored Jessica.

Too dumbstruck and stunned to actually say something. That sapped completely all reminiscing anger out of his body, only to be replaced by something he was rarely acquainted with. Despair and fear.

You were leaving.

The thought at first wouldn't have fazed him in the slightest, he'd just go back to his own duties and forget about you in a span of days. But now that he got to share something so important with you such as his vision for his people and open up more about himself, letting you go would have to be the most stupidest of things he could ever do.

"Get me this woman..." He snapped his fingers repeatedly to himself trying to remember the name, "Lucille."

Jessica had to blink a couple of times before speaking "Beg your pardon?"

"Lucille. The princess most trusted maiden." He repeated as he reread the paper, "Send a letter to Theleria asking for her, get a group of four to guard her. I need that woman in Arachne as soon as possible."

"Right?... Is there anything else?"

"Get a room ready for her too. As soon as she's here I wanna know. Keep it a secret though. Let me know when you intercept the princess' letter to the Queen."

Jessica's eyes softened and nodded with a small smile as she left, his scribes would come up with the letter and in matter of hours, the messenger was already galloping through.

It took your tears and ink smeared in the paper to bring him back.

----

As much as you wanted to cry and hide from the world, you knew that giving in the righteous feeling of sadness wouldn't be the right thing to do.

Every time you woke up, prayed to not see him, to keep him away from you. And so far the universe or whoever above listened.

You still wanted to leave some knowledge behind before returning home. You spent your days teaching, but not in the lab.

You chose to go to the hospital instead, and see the treatments for yourself. Some effective, and others not so much.

It kept you busy and grounded as it also gave you a small taste of royal duties

And it was good. It kept you away from the ever constant thoughts that awaited for you to give into them, to plague and hunt your mind.

So far it had helped, You barely spent your days in the castle anyways, Peter always tailed behind, keeping you safe, but even then, you spoke with him when needed. It made it easier to detach from everything that rendered Arachne.

The letter was sent soon enough, and hopefully within a couple of days you'd get a reply.

Not only you missed your home but Lucille. The only one you trusted now. Soon you'll be home, away from the kingdom that brought you nothing but a few moments of joy yet so much pain.

Now you understood why the kingdom was feared. It's power to inflict such pain and suffering not only through blades and weapons wasn't to be underestimated. And you learned it the bad way.

You could almost taste freedom. Just a couple of days more and you'll be back home. There was so many things you wanted to share, so much to tell and write with your own students.

If you weren't at the hospital, you were in your room. Like the beginning of everything. Slowly rotting away, until your mother would scoop you up and save you. She refused to have her story repeated on you.

Queen Dhalia knew when to press and when to step aside. And she promised you to find a way to keep the kingdom safe. You'd be fine.

With a deep breath, you sat on the desk you had been pouring your memories into and grabbed a paper and your pen.

Ready to break your engagement with Miguel through a letter.

----

Lucille could only stare at Miguel for what it felt like forever. His order had left her speechless.

Tell me everything you know about her.

Simple as that.

Lucille was five years older than you, she had been your confidant, your friend through thick and thin, and also the one that helped Queen Dhalia to raise you and train you in the medical arts.

And now, the most powerful man of the continent sat before her, asking about you in order to come up with a plan to get you back.

"Why don't you just apologize, my lord?"

"She refuses me. I tried to explain, but... she refused to be addressed even."

"Rightfully so." Lucille mouthed.

His eyes narrowed at her words, but he could do nothing but accept them. You avoided him like the plague. In fact, he hadn't seen you in a week now.

"Having me retrieved from my homeland in order to be spilling her secrets, for you to gain her favor again seems not only excessive, but frightening if I'm honest."

"And I apologize. But the princess is to remain here."

With me.

Lucille sighed and watched him.

"She only wanted you to be honest ever since the beginning, my lord. I truly will never understand why you men make it so complicated when it's the simplest things a woman ask of you."

"I hurt her."

"Very much, yes. It'll be useless of me to tell you all you wanna know, if you don't apologise."

"Santa Muerte, mujer... what part of she refuses me, haven't you understood yet?"

"The part you skip for your own convenience? The truth?"

Miguel snapped his head at Lucille so fast his neck almost sprained, glaring both in surprise and anger. How dared she put him in his place.

"You're talking to a king, lady Lucille. Be mindful of your words."

Lucille nodded, bowing her head in a quick yet dismissive motion. Thelerian women were truly something else.

"I'm aware that my words upset you, my lord and I apologize for it. But In truth, there isn't much I can do."

"What do you mean? You were there with her when Queen Dhalia offered me her hand."

Lucille sighed, defeated.

"Neither of you were subtle in the slightest."

"And bringing me here when she's probably packing up for leaving is also subtle because?"

Miguel pursed his lips, getting a hint of where you had gotten the attitude from. You carried a bit of those you loved, close.

"Touché."

Lucille smirked and spoke again.

"You already know the only way hou can fix this is asking her forgiveness."

Miguel kept shaking his head. Neither of them seemed to cave in, but Lucille sighed.

"But if you believe that getting me to talk to her will fix this situation, then I see what I can do, I don't promise anything though."

His shoulders slumped as he sat before Lucille across the desk "Having her agree to a hearing is more than enough for me. I will apologize."

"Good. Know that doing this feels like I'm betraying her trust already. But you seem true to your intentions and that's enough for me to try and talk some sense into her. You'll let her go in case she rejects you again, right?"

His brow quirked, curious and a tad annoyed. "You seem convinced I'll get my hopes crushed."

"It's not out of spite for hurting my Princess I assure you, your majesty. When something gets into her head nothing can get her out of it. Not even I."

Miguel watched her. Probably in her early thirties, plump body shape, sharp face that only matched her hazel feline look and dark blonde curls.

Lucille regarded him with the Thelerian look. A gaze Miguel had learned to understand as a 'Truth or deceit, I'll know about it anyways.'

Unwavering, slow blinks, deep and soul searching that not only weighed words but judged silently without even actually intending to. It unnerved him. Even more when you did it. He had witnessed such stare when he invited you at the council's meeting.

"Have you disposed off your mistress already, my lord?"

Miguel nodded, and this brought nothing but surprise to your friend.

"Seems times have changed. That gives me an idea."

Miguel gestured for her to continue.

"Have you heard about our Thelerian holiday, the Festival of Embers?"

"Vaguely."

"We use such day to remember our fallen, it's also the day to remember Prince Emmett's funeral. It's a holiday dedicated to honor and remember, but also heal."

His brow quirked again.

"You see, as most Thelerian visit the cemeteries, some leave a small offers in their loved ones grave's. Mostly potions and medicines for those that can't reach the main cities for aid."

"Your point is?" His tone irked

"You can use the holiday to rekindle with the princess. She'll appreciate it so."

Miguel seemed to ponder her words. And still he was at lost on what to do. He smacked his lips before speaking again

"How does she celebrate it?"

Lucille smiled "The Princess usually goes to a meaningful place to her, lights up a little fire and burns a letter. In it is written whatever thing she wants to forget. Quite simple, but it brings her comfort."

"It shall be done."

"Then you better get your letter written soon. The festival is in two days. I must ask though, your highness."

"Hm?" Miguel straightened up as he rummaged through his desk, in search of paper.

"Why did you keep that woman all this time?"

He rolled his eyes as he resumed his search, speaking a bir curt. "I bid you a good evening, Lady Lucille."

She chuckled, pleased at his reluctance. After all you were the only one he owed explanations to.

"Likewise, your highness."

----

The loud and maddening shrieks from Baron Darko could be felt through the skies.

He cursed, panted a bit more, recovering his breath only to have it escaping again with his maudlin and desperate cries.

His family was gone. Like his home as there was nothing but ash, soot and debris before him.

Fire had consumed everything, part of the structure collapsed within, leaving a massive hole in the second floor. Black and jagged columns were imprinted on the white stony walls.

Darko's boots crunched over the tiny fragments of wood and stone as he frantically searched for anyone that remained in a piece, not really caring if his fingers blistered or splintered. But not even that was granted to him.

He found none, not even the fabric pieces of dresses, nothing.

Jessica stepped closer as the man folded over to cry and mourn, she held the small urn with Dana's ashes and placed it next to him.

"No... No! Get it away from me!"

He scrambled on the floor away from her, slithering through the dirt and debris.

"This was Dana's doing."

"Shut up!"

Baron Darko spat, everything he held dear was now gone. All because you had came between Dana and Miguel. You were the culprit of what laid before his bleary eyes.

All his descendants were gone. Wiped away in the blink of an eye. How could the king do it?

Jessica put the ashes next to him and turned on her back, leaving him on his own. With the exception of a guard.

Tears and snot rolled down and his weathered face, pain oozed out of every pore of his skin. Smothering his anxiety with something so raw and persistent. Rage.

His blood boiled as he slammed his fist nonstop on the floor, to then slam Dana's urn into the ruins of his home. An ashy cloud surrounded him for a moment.

"They'll pay... Dana."

His daughter. His pride and everything that rendered The D'Angelos. His triumph card to get him closer to the throne.

Or so he had believed for so long his delusions had affected Dana and the rest of his family.

He always believed Dana would make a great Queen. But now, plans had drastically changed.

Miguel was making an example out of him and what happens when people didn't pay attention to his warnings.

But this time, he'd prove not only the King himself but you, what he was capable of. If he was the last remaining, it only meant for him to be the chosen one to see the O'Hara and Blanchard bloodline fall.

A pair of light brown eyes watched him.

"Leave me alone!"

Darko roared but the young guard only advanced to him, Even though Arachne's uniform covered him, his heart and mind was elsewhere. There was a purple and green collar he wore around his slender neck. The braids hung loose behind his head as his soul piercing eyes bore into the distraught elder man.

"Wanna join us?"

Darko did nothing but spit at his feet. The boy looked unamused but stood next to him, repeating the question, impatient.

"You wanna join us, old man?"

Darko looked up as the braided boy pulled out a small scroll, still sealed in wax.

"W-What's that?" Darko immediately sobered up, cleaning his face with whatever means. The boy just scrunched mildly his face in disgust as he placed the scroll on his wet hand.

"Kingpin's invitation." His tone unamused, impassive with a tiny nit of apprehension in it.

Darko's breath hitched upon realizing the boy's position. A double agent.

"Are you in or not? I've got things to do"

Darko nodded.

"Then read that. We'll know if you break the rules."

"We?... Wait! How do I know I could trust you?" Although the idea of having double agents seemed preposterous, he knew the scheme wasn't impossible. Much less with a man like Kingpin at the front.

"The king ordered to wipe your family. I was in charge of Lady Dana's cremation. The king killed her by snapping her neck."

"Do you know why?"

"Lady Dana spoke to the princess. I don't know the details but it was enough to have the king angry."

"That Thelerian whore..." Darko hissed, "Count me in."

The boy nodded and turned on his back, and advanced towards his horse.

"Hey! wait! What's your name?"

"G."

Darko furrowed his brows in confusion, "G?"

"Morales. Needless to say that you'll know what will happen to you if this comes out to light."

Darko just nodded, letting the young boy leave. He wasn't older than sixteen. But ages were little when a dethroning was ahead.

----

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