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beels-burger-babe · 3 years

Text

A Pain You'll Soon Regret - Pt. 3

Poly!MC Summary: MC and the demon lords get in a fight resulting in MC leaving. They planned on going to Purgatory Hall until things cool off, but they never quite make it there. TW: Heavy Angst, Violence, I don’t know what to tag this, but there is a pretty nasty verbal fight, Gore/Injury

***I legitimately teared up while writing this. This...This is heavy folks. Please remember to take care of yourselves before, during, and after reading this fic. Be safe lovelies ❤ -B ***

Part 1: HERE, Part 2: HERE, Part 4: HERE

The day had passed by agonizingly slow. The brothers really had no choice but to follow Solomon's orders, so they waited. With every second they could feel the invisible hands grasping their hearts squeeze tighter and tighter.

None of them had left the living room where they had gathered. They were all too frightened that an update on your condition would come in and they wouldn't be there to receive it. At least that's what was silently agreed upon. In reality, they were each taking comfort in being with the only people that could possibly understand what the other was going through.

No one knew what to do or say. There really was nothing to do or say. They had promised to always protect you, and because of a foolish argument, they had failed that in the worst way possible. Finally, after nearly twelve hours of radio silence, Asmodeus's D.D.D. dinged.

Asmodeus had never taken his phone out so quickly before. "Simeon and I are awake. MC is still unconscious. We will let you in and try to get you to see MC. Luke is still adamant about not letting you all in, so be ready for him," Asmo read out loud. Satan huffed as he started towards the door. "I don't care who Luke thinks he is, he's not stopping us from seeing our partner. Let's go."

*** As they arrived at the Hall, all of them were shocked to see a trail of now dried blood leading to the doorway. No matter how long it had been there, the scent still made it glaringly obvious that it was yours. Asmodeus gagged and turned his head away from the sight. "If it's already this bad out here, what are we going to be walking into?" He managed to choke out.

Lucifer swallowed down the lump in his throat and marched ahead. "It doesn't matter. Right now, MC needs us. We failed to be there for them earlier, I refuse to do so again." The eldest lead the charge to the front door of Purgatory Hall. He raised his fist to knock when several voices started shouting from the other side. "You never should've called them here!" "Luke, that's not for you to decide. They're-" "I don't care who they are!!!"

The door suddenly was thrown open just enough to reveal Luke.

You would think that the small angel was the Avatar of Wrath and not Satan. He glared at them with all the fury of the Celestial army. His face was red and his teeth were bared in a snarl. Despite all this anger, however, his eyes were still tinged red with tears.

"Leave now! You're not welcome here!" he barked before going to slam the door; Beel quickly caught it with his hand. "We're not leaving until we see MC." A growl that they had never thought they would hear from sweet little Luke, vibrated from deep within his chest before he began throwing himself at the door, clearly doing everything he could to try and close it.

"NO!!! You don't deserve to see them! You monsters are the reason they're like this! GET OUT! LEAVE!!" Simeon suddenly appeared from within the Hall and pulled Luke against his chest. "Luke, stop it! You're going to hurt yourself!" The young angel screamed and struggled as Simeon softly shushed him. It wasn't long before the screams turned into sobs and Luke broke down in Simeon's arms. The brothers didn't know how to react. Was the state you were in truly so bad to merit such an emotional response from Luke? Dread began to grow more and more within them as guilt kept them frozen in place.

The older angel sighed and gently began to rub Luke's back, before looking at the brothers with an emotionless expression. "As you can see, Luke is greatly concerned with MC's well-being, as we all are," he tightened his hold on Luke before he continued. "You may see them-" "WHA- Simeon, no!!!" Simeon gently shushed him and ran a hand through Luke's hair. "I know. I know you don't want them to, Luke, but they love MC just like you do. At the very least, we should let them see the results of their negligence, don't you think?" The lords winced at the jab and the harsh edges on Simeon's words. It was clear that no one in that house truly wanted them there. Luke pouted. "Fine. But I want to be in the room when they do." Simeon nodded and released the young angel. "Of course. I'm sure MC will be grateful for how attentive you've been to them when they wake up." He ruffled Luke's hair before glancing at the brothers once again. "Follow me." Their footsteps echoed through the quiet halls like a death knell. Each one rang louder and louder in the ears of the worried demons. They hadn't even seen you yet, and even so, each and every one of them were already beginning to wonder how they could ever let this happen to you. Images of you might look like flashed inside their heads. Perhaps you would resemble a mummy from the number of bandages required to heal you. Perhaps you would resemble a corpse, half-dead as you struggled to keep your heartbeat steady. No matter what they imagined, however, nothing prepared them for the real thing. Simeon swung open the doors to the lounge without any word or warning. The brothers' stumbled to a stop and collectively choked at the sight. You were laid out on the table in the middle of the room. Gauze covered a large section of the left side of your cheek and a strip around the circumference of your head. What little skin was visible was sunken in, making you appear dead. If it hadn't been for the shallow rising and falling of your chest, the brothers most certainly would have believed you were. Solomon had been in the process of checking the bandages on your shoulder when they entered, giving each of them a good eye full of the deep bite marks that covered your shoulder, collarbone and neck. There was so much red, that they could barely make out what was an injury and what wasn't. With a nauseous thought, they realized that small chunks of skin had even been torn from the flesh. They must have had to remove your clothes at some point during your healing process, for the only thing that covered you was a thin blanket that was trapped over your torso. All, except Satan, recognized it as one of the blankets from the Celestial realm. Though Satan had put two and two together when he spotted the small tag hanging from a corner with Luke's name written on it in golden cursive. The fact that you were barely covered meant that they could clearly see your bandaged thighs and the small, bandaged, stump of where your leg had been cut off from the knee down. The silence was cut off by a strangled sob from Asmodeus.

Solomon's head snapped as he only now noticed everyone. Rather than moving comfort the demon whom he's had a pact with for centuries, Solomon only narrowed his eyes into a glare and silently went back to work.

Asmodeus moved towards you, shakily reaching out a hand to touch. But he was stopped as Luke quickly slapped the hand away. The angel starred icily at him. "They're still recovering, you idiot. Touch them with your filthy infernal hands and you could infect and kill them."

Asmodeus snarled through his tears, and opened his mouth to shout at Luke, but was stopped when a hand sat on his shoulder. He glanced over to see Satan shaking his head as tears ran down his cheeks.

"He's right," Satan whispered, not bothering to hide the pain in his tone. "They're in an extremely fragile state. We should all, at the very least, wash our hands first." the others looked at him surprised. There wasn't a trace of anger in his voice. Only grief and regret. Satan looked over at Solomon, "Then I'm sure we'd all like to sit with them?"

The others held their breath as they waited for the reply, but Solomon simply remained silent and refused to acknowledge them. "Please," Beelzebub begged through a sob. Belphie held on tightly to his twin's hand. It may have looked as though he had down it to comfort Beel, but in reality, that hand was the only thing keeping him on his feet. Beel took in a stuttered breath before continuing, "W-We messed up last night, and we can't t-take that back, but I-I need to be with them right now. Please. I-I can't leave them again." Again there was only silence, with the exception of Luke grumbling under his breath from where he sat beside you. Mammon huffed and moved towards the basin of water that had been set up on a side table. "Well I'm done waiting for permission," he thoroughly washed his hands and moved towards MC when Simeon moved in front of him. Mammon growled and had to keep himself from bursting into his demon form. "What's the big deal?! You said we could see 'em!" "I said see. Not touch," the angel provided pointedly. Leviathan frowned and came to Mammon's side. "Luke is literally holding their hand right now! He cleaned his hands! There's no reason why Luke should be able to touch them, when we, their significant others can't!" Luke's nostrils flared as he went to lunge at the demon, but was stopped by Solomon putting a hand on his shoulder. The young angel huffed and settled for snarling at them. "I was the one that saved them! I was the one that washed the blood off of their skin after Simeon and Solomon both nearly collapsed from exhaustion after working for four hours straight on keeping them alive. I was there for them! And you weren't!" "We messed up!" Leviathan screamed back, his demon form bursting into existence as he cried. "We messed up and we want to make things better! We want to be there for them now! You can't just keep us from them!" "Leviathan," Lucifer placed a hand on his younger brother's shoulder. "Breathe. Please, I know you're upset. We all are. But we shouldn't forget what caused all of this in the first place." Leviathan ripped himself away from Lucifer's grasp and turned away from everyone. The occasional sob could be heard from him as his shoulders trembled. Lucifer sighed and looked pleadingly at Simeon. "Simeon, please. I know you owe us nothing and that MC may not even want to see them when they awake. But look at them. They're-" he cut himself off as his voice cracked and took a deep breath, "We're a mess. Please, just let us have a moment with them. That's all I ask." For the first time, Simeon's expression softened. He gathered up Luke and nodded at Solomon. The wizard pursed his lips in annoyance and glanced at the brothers once more before leaving the room. Simeon gave Lucifer a hard look as he held on tightly to Luke. "You will notify us immediately should even the slightest thing change from their current condition." Luke gaped at his fellow angel. "Simeon! No! We can't just leave them with those demons! Are you insane?" Simeon gave Luke a small smile. "They won't hurt them. I truly believe they wish to reconcile things and apologize for their words and actions. No matter how upset you may feel, this isn't our relationship Luke. It is not our place to meddle. MC will be safe with them." Luke grumbled under his breath and glowered at the brothers. "If so much as a hair is out of place when I get back, not even Micheal will be able to stop me from the vengeance I will inflict upon you." Mammon opened his mouth make a comeback, but was cut off by Lucifer. "Understood. Thank you for looking after our beloved in our absence." Luke scoffed and shook his head, before leaving with Simeon following behind him. The brothers stood in the room alone. They were with you, and yet they had never felt so far from you. ***To be continued in part 4! Still don't quite know how this will end, but it's bound to hurt. Sorry not sorry. In between uploading parts of this series, I will be doing other fics as well, just since this seems to be quite longer than I

had originally thought 😅 Thank you all for supporting this series! I hope you enjoyed it. Remember to drink water and take care of yourselves! I love you all!***

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luminnara · 3 years

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Pro Hero Bakugou + cam girl!reader fluff 18+ ONLY

I wrote this for myself c: i’m a SWer and i gotta live through my self inserts sometimes lol

Warnings: nsfw language

part 2

requests are open!

Everyone always expected him to end up with another pro hero. After all, he was Dynamight, a determined, powerful man with an even more powerful quirk. He had his own agency, he kept his area of the city in check, and he had a near perfect record. It only made sen that he would want to date someone equally as impressive and passionate about hero work, someone who could keep up with him and match him on every level.

Nobody ever expected that he would end up with someone like you, least of all...well, you.

You held off on telling him what you did for a living for a while. You weren’t ashamed of your profession by any means, but you had developed too much of a crush on Katsuki to risk ruining everything if he didn’t share your viewpoint. What if he hated your job? What if he thought you were an embarrassment to his name? No, it felt better to just tell him that you did something mundane, letting him believe you were an accountant or something rather than a full time online sex worker.

You were absolutely certain that the great Dynamight wouldn’t want the news getting out that he was dating someone like you, so even though it felt like you were lying to the man you were falling in love with, it also felt...better. It felt safe.

So imagine your surprise and horror when he casually brought it up on his own.

“What, you thought I didn’t know from the start?” He rolled his eyes, kicking his feet up on your coffee table as he raised a beer to his lips. “You think I’m stupid or somethin’?”

“What? No!” You said quickly.

“Then why’d you lie?”

You looked down in embarrassment. “Because...I didn’t know how you would react.”

He raised an eyebrow but said nothing, waiting for you to continue.

“A lot of guys get jealous, or just...shitty about it.” You sighed. “I figured that you wouldn’t want my job ruining your reputation as a pro, too. So...I just never said anything.”

Katsuki was silent for a moment, taking another drink. He seemed like he was thinking about your words, and with each second that ticked by, you grew more nervous. Was he about to yell at you for hiding such a big part of your life? Was he going to break up with you right then and there?

“Don’t be a dumbass.” He finally said. “I don’t give a shit what you do, long as you like doin’ it.”

His voice was harsh, but it made your heart soar.

“Thank you,” you said, letting out a relieved sigh.

“For what?” He grunted.

When he saw the sappy look on your face, he groaned and motioned for you to come closer. When you came and stood near his legs, he rolled his eyes, reaching out with one strong arm and pulling you down to straddle his lap.

“I don’t fuckin’ care what your job is.” He said, a big hand settling on your ass. “Kinda pissed me off that you kept hidin’ it from me, but I figured you’d bring it up at some point. Then you just fuckin’ didn’t, so I did.”

“How the hell did you find out?” You asked, suspicious that he had gone through your shit or something.

In that moment, the great Katsuki Bakugou actually blushed.

“Uh...” he looked away, avoiding your eyes. “I...mighta caught a livestream once.”

Your eyes widened. “You what?”

He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Yeah, I tuned in once or twice.”

“What? When?”

“I didn’t go lookin’ for you specifically like a creep!” he said roughly.

When you just quirked an eyebrow, he sighed.

“It was right at the beginnin’. Remember that first date we went on? You were wearin’ that green dress...”

“Of course I do,” you smiled.

Bakugou readjusted his grip on you and you settled in against his chest. “You wore that fuckin’ dress, ‘n you got me so god damn worked up with that.”

“Did I?” You teased, already knowing the answer. You were well versed in the world of horny men, and you could very vividly remember all of his awkward shifting and not so stealthy readjustments.

“Fuck, you have no idea,” he groaned. “Had a hard on the whole night. Thought I was gonna explode by the time I got home.”

“Well, you’re pretty good at exploding,” you laughed, leaning your cheek against his chest as you looked up at him. “You could have invited me in, you know.”

“Nah, I was bein’ a gentleman. I mean, you’re fuckin’ gorgeous, princess...but I asked you to dinner because I liked you. And when I ask a girl to dinner, I fuckin’ do it right. After I got home, I had to go rub one out...’n that’s when I found you on that camsite.”

You blushed. “Yeah, I, uh...remember going home and deciding I should go live for a few hours, since you made sure to have me home by nine.”

He rolled his eyes at your joking tone. “Yeah, yeah. I saw you under the now online tab, ‘n I couldn’t stop watchin’...”

“That was a good night,” you grinned. “I went straight from having some of the fanciest food I’ve ever tasted to having one of my work nights ever. I mean, I remember hitting my tip goal in like, half an hour! Because my highest tipper was some new guy and—“

You paused, realization dawning on you.

“Wait just a goddamn second.” You leaned back, sitting up to look at Katsuki suspiciously.

The shit eating grin on his face confirmed your suspicions.

“What, babe?” He drawled. “You were gonna tell me all about your highest tipper. Don’t stop now.”

“My highest tipper,” you jabbed your finger into his chest, “was a new guy whose username I had never seen before, who had to have a lot of money to pay what he did.”

“Yeah, well. There’s all kindsa rich people on those sites. They love gettin’ off to pretty pieces of ass like you.”

“And he even ended up tipping enough tokens to cover my bills that month,” you rose up on your knees, straddling him again. “He had to have been a celebrity. Or a CEO. Or a pro hero.”

His grin only widened. “Musta been.”

“Katsuki, I cannot believe you!” You laughed, lightly slapping his chest. “All this time, you’ve been watching me from a burner account?”

“Well, I can’t exactly just put my hero name out there,” he chuckled.

“Because it would be all over the tabloids?” You guessed.

“What? No, because you woulda found out right away. Like I said, I wanted you to come to me first.”

“That’s...really sweet of you, actually,” you sighed. “Thanks, Katsuki. For not telling everybody.”

“Well...”

“...you told Kirishima, didn’t you?”

“I was excited about how hot my new girlfriend was!” He said defensively. “‘N it’s not like he was gonna do anythin’ bad, anyways.”

“Yeah, there’s not a mean bone in that man’s body,” you laughed, sliding back down onto your boyfriend’s chest. “I just can’t believe you. How are you so good at keeping secrets from me?”

“You tried to do the same thing to me,” he pointed out.

“Well, now we’re even. But...I don’t exactly think the world would like knowing that a top hero is dating a camgirl.”

“Like I care.” He rolled his eyes. “You know how popular you’re gonna be when rumors start flyin’?”

“Rumors?” You asked, looking up at him.

“Oh, yeah. Everybody’ll wanna find out if that’s really the pussy that the best pro hero is poundin’ every night.”

“Katsuki!”

“What? It’s true.”

You were quiet as you thought for a moment. “You know, if you sign a model release, your dick can be on cam...”

His face lit up. “You wanna suck this cock in fronta all your loyal fans, baby? Wanna show em what a fuckin’ size queen you really are?”

“Full of ourselves tonight, aren’t we?” You asked dryly.

“You’re gonna be fulla my cum soon enough,” he flirted, leaning down to nip at your jaw. “C’mon, Princess. I gotta get my practice in before I can be your stunt dick.”

#bakugou x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou imagines #bnha imagine #bakugou imagine #pro hero bakugou

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ciggylungz · 4 years

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Benefits

Rivals blurb: 2.8k word

Request: y/n & harry go to a bar and someone from harrys office flirts with her and he gets jealous

Work parties were never very exciting, so when Y/n and Harry had a combined company benefit party at one of the upscale lounges in London she was hardly excited. Her publicist had decided it would be good to do it together to get more hype and press on it by proving even though their companies split years prior there was ‘no bad blood’. She only agreed because some of the profits were going to different charities and that gave her the stamina to stick out a work event, and well free booze was a plus.

She had just enough time to make a pitstop home to change into a formal appropriate cocktail dress, pumps and fixed her hair before making her way towards the bar. Upon arrival she could already hear Harry’s distinct fake laugh, her eyes rolling automatically knowing he was cheesing up to some rich beneficiary to milk as much cash out of them as he could. She headed straight to the bar, ordering a vodka soda with lime deciding she’d need a little help getting through the night If she’d be trapped with that prick in such an enclosed space.

After two vodka sodas she was feeling a good buzz, good enough that her uptight nature seemed to unravel enough for her to entertain the gentlemen who decided to start talking to her, joining her at the bar. He wasn’t too bad looking, typical business man look with a crisp suit and hair styled with some sort of product that made it stiff. He was well groomed and she had recognized him as one of Harry’s employees. Mark was his name, and as long as he kept her drinks coming, she was more than willing to keep chatting with the man. Seemed like a good trade to her, booze for flirting- a win-win for both parties.

“How old are yeh doll?” the man was giving her the typical flirty eyes, she’d typically cringe at how thick this guy was laying it on already but she was too tipsy to care. “ ‘m 23, you?” the man had a sly smirk on his face at that, rubbing his chin slightly before taking a sip of his whiskey. “I’m 46, props to you fo’ havin’ such a big company at your age. I was just getting’ coffee for asshole bosses when I was your age. A business woman is sexy you know? You like older men hun?” his game was truly weak, almost embarrassingly so for someone of his age. She questioned if he could be a 40-year-old virgin, or he was just a terrible flirt. Yet she answered truthfully, not caring much since she’d likely never see this bloke again. “Depends, been with ‘em before but it’s not a preference or anything.”

His eyes flicked over the expanse of her body, his smirk not dropping at her answer as he licked over his lips. “Oldest you’ve been with?” his question made her roll her eyes starting to get a little tired of him now, knowing full well he just wanted to bang her which wasn’t going to happen. “I don’t kiss and tell Marcus.”

The pair weren’t aware of the irritated glare that was watching their every move, reading their lips from across the room as they talked. Harry was the peeping tom in question, staring the two adults down with a strange feeling in his gut and a tingle in his palms- like he wanted to punch his employee but- why? It’s not like he had any real reason to, but still a flare of…jealousy crawled up his spine and burrowed inside the ripples of his brain. He had been in this position before, when him and the girl were younger and he’d see her makeout with another guy or her boyfriend of the time or when he’d hear them fucking in a neighboring room while a young Harry grew overly irritated at the fact someone else was feeling what he’d felt before. He was being immature he knew that, but he didn’t care as he marched over to the pair acting casual despite his mood when he leaned against the dark wood of the polished bar.

Harry rubbed his pointer finger over the wood, collecting a small amount of dust on the digit before tapping his knuckles on the wood getting the attention of the bar tender and the pair he’d been practically stalking since he noticed them together. “Gin and tonic please, love and another one of whatever Y/n had. Put it on my tab, thank yeh” he was always a polite guy, his mother truly raised him well in that aspect and it was refreshing for Y/n to hear the man talking to someone kindly instead of the usual bickering they partake in.

Y/n turned to him on her swiveling barstool, giving him a tipsy soft smile and nod in acknowledgement not noticing the side eye he was giving the man on the other side of her. “Hello Harold” she greeted him using the name she knew got on his nerves, his name was simply Harry yet everyone assumed it was a shortened version of the rather old-fashioned name typically tied to it. Yet, he didn’t bother getting irritated or retorting with something annoying no- his focus was more on the man he had an itch to fire at the moment. He managed to keep his professional nature regardless, “Evening love, hello Marcus what are you lot talkin’ about?” Y/n was more confused on the pet name he’d used towards her than about the harsh gaze he was sending toward the man on her left.

Mark seemed to sense the animosity, knowing his bosses irritated look very well. He opted to respond to his employer with an awkward chuckle a shrug added to it, “Nothin’ much, business and such. Was admiring how she’s runnin’ a company so young just like you. Would be lying if I said I wasn’t a bit jealous.” His free hand went up to scratch the back of his neck, sipping his drink to have a way to cover his nervous lips whilst Harry stared him down. Y/n was honestly a bit amused at the situation at hand, wishing she had some popcorn to go with her fifth vodka soda to enjoy the little testosterone standoff happening. She’s seen Harry get like this a couple times, so she shamelessly added fuel to the fire.

“Yea, and askin’ me if I like older men then following that up with askin’ the oldest man I’ve slept with. It’s been a very professional conversation H, no need to worry.” She knew exactly what she was doing, and she got the reaction she wanted when Mark nervously fiddled with his tie and Harry’s jaw clenched, the action still noticeable in the dim lighting. Y/n was tempted to laugh at the surge of tension she had just created, opting instead to sip her drink as she waited for what was to come next.

Harry straightened himself up, turning to look at the man with a raised eyebrow. “Oh really? That hardly seems appropriate for a work event.” Harry was trying his best not to show the possessive feelings he was having, rather opting for a reprimanding boss act to fit the occasion. “erm…uh was just some casual banter Mister Styles. Might have had one too many, wasn’t using my best judgement…I apologize Y/n” he was rushing his words, obviously anxious to escape the confrontation which Y/n found even funnier. Harry gave the man a curt dismissal with a request to see him in his office on Monday, and in true Y/n fashion she decided to add a second dose of fuel to the fire- calling out to the fleeing man- “The oldest was 54 by the way!” this of course made Mark scurry away faster and Harry lower his gaze to the woman before him with a irritated yet quizzical look.

“54?” his tongue darted out to lick over his lips, a sting of gin hitting the tip of his tongue from the drop lingering on his bottom lip. Y/n shrugged, crunching a rouge ice cube between her back molars while she nodded. “Vegas, tequila, he had major sugar daddy vibes and 19-year-old me was into it.” Y/n was always rather shameless when it came to sex, she’s been sexually active for the majority of her life so the shyness of talking about it left her long ago. Harry snorted slightly, shaking his head with an amused grin at the girl. “Naughty! you’re somethin’ else Y/n. I’m gonna tell your dad.”

“I don’t think his heart could take it, he did an awful lot of blow back in the day so I’d appreciate it if yeh didn’t do that sir.” She rolled her eyes, taking a subtle jab at her less than respectable antics of her filthy rich father. “Seems like you were doing an awful lot of a different version of blow to me.” the man smirked at his own joke getting a light slap on his bicep in return. “Shut up, I haven’t forgotten when you got gonorrhea when you were 18. You’re just as bad as me.” Y/n poked his ribs making Harry groan at the memory, “I got that treated you asshole. I’ve learned to wrap it before I tap it since then and be selective with what I put my dick in now. For the record, all my std tests have come back clean since so fuck you.”

Y/n gave him an innocent smile back, resting her cheek on her fist. “Is that an offer?”

The response wasn’t one Harry was expecting. Not by a long shot, he hasn’t been inside her in a little over a year so her response to his jab took him by surprise. His eyes immediately met hers, finding a curious glance coming from her orbs. Setting down his glass the man turned towards her, facing her completely before responding.

“If you want it to be.”

Y/n smiled at him, standing up from her stool to get closer to the man pulling him down by his collar to talk in his ear. “Your place or mine?”

After a painful ten-minute taxi ride, they’d made it to Harrys home. They were well aware of looming neighbors and press so they kept it professional till they were inside the four walls of the mansion- rushing up to his bedroom like two teenagers scared of getting caught. Anxious rushing of feet up the stairs hands struggling to stay to themselves on the way to the king-sized bed waiting for them.

After what seemed like forever, the pair burst into Harry’s bedroom the door hitting the wall with a loud bang as the man lurched forward to smash his lips against hers. It was frantic, sloppy and rough- it was fucking hot.

“you drive me up the fuckin’ wall you know that?” His voice was gruff, heavy with lust and jealous rage. Shoving the woman onto his bed with little care, he knew she liked it rough. A fact confirmed to him after he’d seen the rather violent bdsm porn she had saved to her computer and the various sex toys-including restraints, collars and clamps in a box in her closet 2 years ago when she moved into her current home and forced him to help her put everything away.

Y/n let out a small gasp when her body flew onto the mattress, kicking her heels off after she had settled with a smirk painted on her pretty lips. “Do i?” her tone way teasing, hands moving to unzip her dress while the man moved to stand before her yanking the fabric down her body to leave her in only a silk bra and matching thong, his eyes shamelessly taking in the sight of her body- intimate parts only covered with think sections of emerald green silk fabric.

“Ya know I didn’t appreciate you tellin’ that bloke about other men fuckin’ you, was rather impolite y/n.” Harry gave her a stone cold glare whilst tugging his belt out of the loops of his dress pants, tossing it carelessly behind him as the woman dove forward to work the button and zipper of his trousers undone. “Why? You jealous? Are you jealous because I let other men and women fuck me? Are you mad that you never get to taste me, fuck me and cum with me like they do?”

Y/n’s comments were soon cut off by a ring clad hand wrapped itself around her neck with enough pressure to stall her speech. “You never know when to shut the fuck up huh? We both know full well, no one can fuck yeh the way I do. Now, are you gonna quit your blabbering so I can fuck yeh or do I have to shove this skimpy excuse for underwear down that gabby throat? Hmm? Because I like to hear your dirty moans but I’m not a fan of this snarky mouth baby. Are you going to behave or shall I go have a wank instead?”

The pitiful whine accompanied by a pout coming from the woman made Harry’s cock twitch, she was so desperate for it and he had her right where he wanted her. He soon felt her hands pawing at his crotch, tugging the material of his tight dress pants down his legs before returning to pull his cock from the flap in the front of his boxers. It had been entirely too long since he’d held her small soft hands on his prick, watching with baited breath as her right hand moved to rid herself of the sorry excuse for undergarments she had on.

“Want it in, H please”

He obviously couldn’t say no to that, not when she was giving him those eyes and leaning back to show the web of wetness dripping from her slit onto the sheets below her snapping when she swiped her finger through it to rub on his already leaking tip. She had his head swimming, chest heaving and balls pulsing with every move she made.

The man tossed her body further up the bed, getting between her legs giving her no warning as he sunk completely in. The pressure and harshness of the thrust took her breath away, an overwhelming fullness almost uncomfortable as he gave her no time to adjust before driving into her beautiful body. The sound of her wetness clicking when coming in contact with his hips and filthy groans of pleasure filled the space, the slapping of skin harsh in their ears with every nailing of his pelvis into hers.

“This what yeh needed? No one else fucks yeh so good you can’t breathe do they? Got your face goin’ almost purple, feel my cock in your chest don’t you baby?”

His words were filthy, yet held truth. He pulled halfway out to give her a chance to take a few breaths, the dark redness of her oxygen starved face starting to fade to a flustered pink before he continued his rough ramming. Her nails pierced the skin of his tattooed arms, screams of pleasure rawing her throat when she felt her orgasm about to reach it’s peak.

“Holy fuck!”

Her exclamation was loud, filthy and drenched in sultry bliss as the knot in her stomach unraveled. She tried desperately to climb away from his hammering hips, the stimulation making her entire body feel like it was screaming yet his hands kept her pinned to the bed fucking her relentlessly through her orgasm.

“Fuckin’ hell! Cummin’ hard huh? No one else can make you cum like this, say it. Tell me baby, admit it”

His teeth were clenched painfully tight as he spoke, Y/n struggling to get her words out with the surge of feeling rushing through her nerves managing to ramble out the words almost incoherently.

“That’s fuckin’ right doll, only I can do this to yeh.”

Even with his body on fire, he held his cocky persona pounding into her a few more times until he jerked his hips out just in time to spill his seed onto her heaving stomach. Watching the ribbons of thick white cum paint her flushed sweaty skin, her body trembling from her orgasm violently while being painted with her ‘enemies’ hot cum.

The bed shook when Harry dropped down beside her, breathless and worn out. a proud smirk painted on his sweaty red face when he turned to the woman who was looking at him already struggling to remember how to breathe. Placing a smacking kiss to her swollen lips, a strong arm tugging her into his sticky side.

For the first time in a long time, they felt content in each other’s grasp. Making them both silently wonder if these feelings weren’t just lust, but something else entirely.

#harry styles smut #harry styles angst #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles blurb #harry styles drabble #harry styles writing #harry styles fluff #harry styles series #rivals #CEO!harry #CEO!yn #harry styles concept #harry styles au #harry styles x reader #harry styles x yn

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metalheadkells · 3 years

Text

here is some fem!kells (w/ same old em) i wrote in like february. very much just a draft. a little n!!sf!!w so it’s going under a cut. also, content warning: derogatory language

“Fuck yeah, just like that - Em, I’m gonna - Fuck!”

Marshall buries his face in the soft tattooed skin of Kells’ shoulder as he spills into her, shuddering, the force of his orgasm hitting him like a freight train.

He collapses, his head swimming through some incorporeal plane made of light and raucous noise, registering nothing but the jackhammering of his own heart until his senses return to him and he realizes that Kells is jabbing at his arm with one long finger.

“You’re fuckin’ heavy,” she complains, “Get off me.”

He shifts to let her up, watching as she leans against the headboard and combs her jewelry-laden hands through her shaggy shoulder-length bob, her expression troubled. The way her full mouth is pursed makes Marshall want to kiss her for like the fiftieth time that night, even as he coolly asks, “Not what you expected?”

Her usually severe strokes of eyeliner have smudged over the course of their night together, and her ever-present silver necklaces are tangled in a knot around her throat. She doesn’t answer. Instead, she asks, “You got a light?”

“No fuckin’ way are you smoking in here,” Marshall says immediately, giving her a sour look.

She huffs. “God, you’re boring.”

“And you’re a whiny brat,” he says, even as a shard of ice pierces his heart, because what if she is seriously regretting this?

After the media storm the two of them had stirred up by taking constant shots at each other; veteran battle rapper Eminem choosing as unlikely an opponent as the 6’4”, thin as a rail and heavily tattooed, part-time runway model and full-time rapper-slash-singer Machine Gun Kelly; he can see how she might have made certain assumptions about him that he isn’t living up to.

Now, she slides off the bed and stands to stretch her arms with a wince, completely unselfconscious in her nudity. Long, slender limbs and pert breasts practically concealed by the vibrant scrawl of ink all over her torso and Marshall needs to stop gawping at her like some gross old virgin.

She catches him looking, of course, and says, “Take a picture, pops,” her pretty mouth twitching into a smile. “But don’t, actually. ‘cause you know how offended people get by women’s bodies. Seeing as you’re one of those people.”

Marshall flushes, an automatic protest rising to his lips. “That’s not - ”

Kells shushes him, clambers back onto the bed to kneel over him and cradle his head between her hands, saying, “No bullshit, okay?”

He swallows; trapped in the intent gaze of her piercing blue eyes, the flutter of her long, mascara-coated eyelashes; and echoes, “No bullshit.”

Because he can’t deny that he had viciously insulted her appearance numerous times over the course of their beef. She is pretty obviously someone who takes great pride in being unsettling - often wearing extravagantly gothic platform boots that, paired with her already imposing height, make her dwarf most men in her vicinity at a staggering seven feet tall. Her ears and eyebrows are typically crowded with piercings, and she carries herself like she is perfectly aware of how beautiful she is in spite of (or because of, Marshall secretly thinks) her eccentricities.

Marshall is starting to understand that the way she presents herself is a fuck-you to people like him, who are subconsciously threatened by her and the jagged little niche she’s carved out for herself in the music industry, and arm themselves against that perceived threat the only way they know how. He’d called her a frigid toothpick bitch and a walking abortion, among other colorful epithets, and had likened the idea of fucking her to slapping your dick against a bamboo stalk. Kells in turn had loudly proclaimed him to be a washed old cuck desperately clinging onto relevance, and had insisted to anyone who asked that he was obsessed with her. Which was closer to the truth than she could have possibly known at the time, but he’d publicly rejected the notion in no uncertain terms.

Looking back, he is wholeheartedly ashamed of the proverbial poison-tipped arrows he’d let loose at her, at how obviously he’d broadcasted to the world that she had gotten under his skin. The media, which had previously paid Kells and her unseemly antics minimal attention at best, largely took her side over Marshall’s at the height of their feud. The general consensus seemed to be that he shouldn’t be directing such vitriol at a woman, and especially not one young enough to be his daughter. This mindset had apparently angered Kells, who had ranted during one especially memorable interview about the fact that many music critics neglected to even compare their diss tracks on the grounds that she was an unsuitable opponent.

Nobody gives a fuck about what I’m saying, ‘cause all the headlines are like, Eminem’s Women Problem: Part 500. Like, how long are we gonna keep having that conversation? The guy’s stuck in his ways. We should be talking about how I’m holding my own against one of the greatest rappers of all time. Some of these dumbfucks can’t even remember my name; I’m just that freaky bitch that Em’s got a hate boner for. Bunch of fuckin’ hypocrites. That tirade had possibly been Marshall’s turning point, planting an innocuous seed of sympathy - hell, of empathy - deep inside his chest. He remembered what it was like to be put into a box, to be unthinkingly overlooked for something you couldn’t change. And on top of that, Kells really was holding her own. A lesser opponent would have silently bowed out after his first diss dropped, but she just kept fighting, all while maintaining the same aggressive zeal that had drawn him to her in the first place. Before long, that seed of empathy had yielded long, gnarled roots that snaked all throughout his body, and those very roots had ended up choking him when he and Kells crossed each other’s paths at one of too many insipid industry events Marshall had been strong-armed into attending lately. She’d shepherded his useless stuttering ass to some secluded corner where the blare of music and partygoers wouldn’t drown them out, she’d gotten in his face and demanded to know why he was still dragging this shit out, and he, in a moment of honesty that shocked even him, had answered, Because I like you.

He’s fuzzy on what happened in the immediate aftermath of that confession - all he knows is that his heart stopped as soon as the words left his mouth, and that there were maybe some other weighted words exchanged between them before Kells lurched down and kissed him. It was so unexpected that he had nearly fainted on the spot.

“It’s rude to zone out when you have a pretty girl in your lap,” Kells says now, jolting him back to the present.

He refocuses on her face, searching her eyes. “Do you have a masochistic streak, or something?”

She raises her eyebrows at him. “Excuse me?”

“The way I talked about you - ” Marshall starts, then trails off, feeling small and ugly.

“Is that supposed to be an apology?” Kells asks, somehow sounding amused.

“I just - Weren’t you worried I would hurt you?”

She shrugs. “Your edgy persona doesn’t scare me. This isn’t ‘99, and I’m not some gullible Stan. Not anymore.”

Swallowing hard, Marshall looks down at his hands, thinking this is where her common sense should start kicking in.

“Mostly, I’ve got terrible taste in men,” Kells continues, “But, you know, you’re not so far off the mark with the masochism thing.”

He looks up at her again, his brow furrowing. “For real?”

She smiles coyly in affirmation. “I’m usually only into it with other women, though. With men, I like to be the one in control. For obvious reasons.”

Marshall shivers involuntarily at the images that spring out of his subconsciousness without warning in the wake of that statement.

“Oh,” she says, her eyes sharpening with interest, “I’m giving you ideas, huh.”

“Nope,” he says, in a pathetically unconvincing tone of voice, “I’m just freezing my dick off in here.”

“Well, we can unpack all that later,” she says, laughing a little, and the sound lights up Marshall’s insides just as much as the promise of later does.

He smooths her hair out of her face and cranes upward to kiss her breathless, thinking about all the different ways he can start to show her how truly sorry he is.

#i NEED to do femslash emgk. like NEED.#emgk #mine #m: fic #rough draft hell #anyway this one was....kind of a thought experiment

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hatterstan-shameblog · 3 years

Note

For the headcanon thing

I think Hatter likes to watch bad movies. Like the really bad ones. The ones that make you roll your eyes/laugh/cry at every single thing about it, doesn't matter if it's plot or acting. But you know what he loves more than watching those awful movies alone?

Watching them with someone else.

"hey, Mori, wanna watch a movie?"

"...no."

"c'mon, you'll like this one."

"no, I won't."

"...no, you won't. But I will enjoy your presence. C'mon bro, do it for the sake of bonding time."

"*sigh* fine..."

(inspired by real life events)

💕 Sleepover 💕

Rating: PG13 for language and alcohol consumption

Relationship: Takeru (Hatter)/Aguni

Tags: banter, friendly insults, Just Guys Being Dudes, drinking, swearing, love confessions (sort of), They Talk A Big Game But The Love Is There

Bangbangbangbangbang!

“Mori!”

Bangbangbangbangbang!

“Moooooori, let me iiiiiiiiiin!”

Clunk!

Click!

Creeeeeeaaaaaak!

Aguni opens his apartment door, wincing at the slap of summer heat that greets him as he does.

“C’mon man,” an overheated and impatient Takeru implores, “it’s miserable out here!”

“You bring me samosas,” Aguni asks, crossing his arms across his chest, “Because I’m not letting you in without my samosas.”

Takeru’s face twists into a look of shocked indignation.

“Would you really leave me—your best friend on this beautiful green Earth—to swelter and die on your doorstep in this blazing summer heat…all because I forgot the samosas?”

Aguni considers.

“No. I’d ask you to swelter and die in the parking lot. Neighbors’ll kick up a fuss if you block the stairwell.”

“Well it’s a good thing I got two orders this time,” Takeru shakes the bag enticingly, “so we don’t even have to share.”

“Someone’s splashing out,” Aguni murmurs, taking the bag from Takeru’s outstretched hand and standing aside so the man can enter his home, “Don’t suppose there’s a reason for all this…”

“Maybe I just wanted to be nice,” Takeru says flippantly, toeing off his shoes, “a little ‘thank you’ for welcoming me into your home.”

Aguni carries the bag of food over to his coffee table and sets it down, being careful not to disturb the place settings he had so thoughtfully arranged. Two plates, two spoons, two glasses of water—all neatly placed in the center of his new, sage-green placemats.

Hopefully nobody spills curry on them.

“You brought one of your weird movies again, didn’t you?”

Takeru rolls his eyes. Shoving his arm into his messenger bag, he rummages around its contents for a moment before yanking a dark, thin rectangle and holding it up for Aguni to examine.

“The 1977 horror classic, House,” he explains with an edge of exasperation, “is a critically-acclaimed work of art that has been inspiring both film fanatics and the average man for nearly half a century.”

“Straight from the back of the box,” Aguni mumbles, opening the stapled-shut paper bag and peeking at the containers inside, “Anyways, I thought you didn’t like scary movies.”

Takeru scoffs.

“Not sure what gave you that idea,” Takeru says, shoving his feet into his slippers—yes, his slippers, black velvet with red-and-gold dragons embroidered on the front because ‘I’m here enough to warrant my own damn slippers’ and ‘these are fucking awesome,’ “We saw Hereditary in the theater!”

“And you were scared the whole time,” Aguni points out, gingerly lifting their food out of the bag and arranging the containers on their respective plates, “You had to sleep with the lights on for a week. Screwed up your cat’s sleep schedule and everything.”

Takeru swans his way over to Aguni’s refrigerator and opens it, more or less sticking his whole head inside to examine its (admittedly meager) offerings.

“It’s not my fault that Ziggy is such a smart, beautiful boy who knows what ‘lights out’ means. And besides,” Takeru says while examining the bottle of white wine Aguni had put in to chill, “I’ll be staying here tonight, so it won’t be an issue.”

“So the cat gets to sleep, but I don’t?”

“You, my dear, get a evening of my company, complete with scintillating conversation, cultural enrichment, and—as we have already established—your very own order of samosas,” Takeru calls out from the kitchen, rummaging for a suitable pair of wine glasses, “And besides, I plan on sleeping deeply and comfortably knowing that any and all monsters would no doubt eat you first, giving me ample opportunity to flee the scene…”

Aguni lifts the lid off his curry, admiring the rich yellow hue and inhaling its bold spices. There are even a few extra chilis lying on top, which is a lovely surprise.

Takeru arrives at the table, glasses in one hand and wine in the other. He gives the spread a discerning once-over and then a nod of apparent approval.

“Anyways,” Takeru says, twisting off the top of the wine bottle (not without giving Aguni a look of distaste as he does it), “I’m a bit disappointed in you, Mori-chan. I thought you’d fight me more on this one…”

“It’s a losing battle,” Aguni concedes, sitting himself down in his usual spot and turning on the television, “I have too many brain cells and not enough patience to go through the usual theatrics.”

Takeru hands him a generously-full wine glass—not as full as his own, of course, but still more than what the average person might pour.

“This’ll help the brain cell problem,” he says with an over-enthusiastic smile, “probably the patience, too. Wine makes you sentimental.”

“Hmph.”

“See? It’s already working.”

“Yeah, well,” Aguni grumbles, taking a small sip of his beverage, “better get the movie started before I change my mind.”

Takeru begins his usual indignant grumbling as he fumbles with the DVD player. Aguni could help him, but, frankly, it’s entertaining to watch his friend struggle with the simple electronic setup.

When Takeru manages to get the tray open, he gives a small cheer of victory. Aguni stifles a smirk.

Hopefully the movie is this much fun.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

“Mori. Hey, Mori-chan.”

Aguni rolls his eyes, and then himself onto his side to face Takeru.

“What,” he grumbles, squinting in the dark as he tries to make out the other mans’ shape, “piano thing still got you upset?”

“It ate her fingers, Mori,” Takeru whisper-shouts, “and then it got the rest of her too! That’s enough to upset anyone!”

“It wasn’t even that scary,” Aguni mentions, shimmying his shoulders in order to find a more comfortable spot on his futon, “besides, you don’t even play piano, so you don’t have to worry.”

Takeru is silent for a moment—a blessed, beautiful moment.

“I guess you’re right,” he says after his brief contemplation, “but that’s not the only thing on my mind.”

“I’m guessing ‘sleep’ isn’t one of ‘em?”

Takeru scoffs. There’s a shuffling and fluttering sound from his neighboring futon as he turns to face his disgruntled companion.

“In due time,” Takeru says, “what plagues me now is more of a philosophical question.”

Aguni sighs.

“Remember the part where that guy got turned into a pile of bananas?”

“Yeah,” Aguni responds, “that was weird.”

“What if that happened to me,” Takeru asks, sounding genuinely concerned, “would I turn into a pile of bananas, or would I be a different kind of fruit?”

Oh, you’re different alright, Aguni thinks to himself, but he knows better than to say that out loud. Takeru’s using his ‘this is going to keep me up all night unless you give me a good answer’ voice, so Aguni starts thinking about how best to answer.

“I think you’d be melons,” Takeru concludes, “yeah…definitely melons.”

“Because of my round head and lack of hair?”

“No,” Takeru snaps, “well, that wasn’t my original thinking.”

Aguni subtly checks his phone—half-past one o’clock in the morning, too late to send Takeru home on a train to ask his cat these burning questions instead of him.

“Why,” Aguni asks, “do you think I’d be melons?”

“Well, like you, melons are strong and tough on the outside. Make a nice thud sound when you smack ‘em.”

“So do I,” Aguni mentions, “if you get the right spot. But I also hit back, so that’s not very melon-y, is it?”

“Hm. I suppose not. But,” Takeru says, “where you really start to resemble the melon is on the inside.”

“Inside, huh?”

“Yeah,” Takeru considers for a moment, “underneath all that tough rind, melons are soft. Sweet, too. Nothing fancy, they’re not trying to prove anything, they’re just…good. Like you.”

Aguni hadn’t been expecting something so…sentimental. It’s a touching departure from their usual quips and playful jabs, and it makes something warm and kind of familiar bubble up in Aguni’s heart.

“And also,” Takeru tacks on, “they’re green. And green is your favorite color! So it’s perfect.”

“I think you’d be a strawberry,” Aguni says after a beat.

“A strawberry? You mean only one?”

“Only one,” Aguni confirms, “but one of those fancy designer ones, the kind they grow in those hydroponic farms and sell in department stores for thousands of yen.”

“I heard about a guy who got murdered at one of those places,” Takeru says, “some yakuza guy who was selling weed on the side, someone put a hit out on him and used the body for fertilizer.”

“That’s…disturbing,” Aguni replies, “but that’s beside the point. Don’t you want to know why I think you’d be a single strawberry?”

“Is it because they’re red?”

“Sort of,” Aguni says, “Got a lot of seeds, too. Get stuck in your teeth pretty easily, if you’re not careful.”

“I am rather tenacious.”

“You are.”

Aguni considers his next words carefully. His relationship with Takeru is…complicated, and uncertain, and if anyone ever asked him what they ‘are’ he wouldn’t know how to answer.

“Strawberries are sweet. They’re sour, too. You’d know the flavor anywhere. And you…”

He pauses. Takeru, for once, doesn’t try to fill the silence with his own voice.

“…Well, those designer strawberries are all one-of-a-kind, just like you. So that’s why there’s one one,” he says slowly, “and I like strawberries. Might even, uh…love ‘em.”

“Oh, Mori…”

Something flops onto Aguni’s blanket—once, twice, and ah, it’s Takeru’s hand, and he’s looking for something. Aguni slips his arm from under the covers and covers Takeru’s hand with his own. This is apparently what Takeru had been searching for, because he pulls Aguni’s hand closer to himself.

“You know,” Takeru says, “now that you mention it, I think I might love melon, too.”

Aguni feels lips against the back of his hand—a soft kiss, gentle, a reassurance as much as an act of affection—and he’s glad for the dark of night that hides the blush of his cheeks.

“I feel better now,” Takeru announces, giving Aguni’s hand a light squeeze, “In fact, I think I’m falling asleep as we speak…”

“Hmm,” Aguni hums in agreement.

He’s still holding Takeru’s hand, and Takeru, his—neither seem too keen on letting go, at least, not for now.

#alice in borderland #hatter #danma takeru #alice in borderland netflix #imawa no kuni no alice #imawa no kuni no arisu #writings and such #aguni morizono #hatter/aguni #I didn’t go with ‘bad’ movie per se but like…..if you’ve seen it you know #‘house’ is a FUN movie and I like it very much #I tried not to spoil too much in case you wanna watch it yourself!!!#we need more of them being cute together

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samcrobae · 4 years

Text

Nanny, Part 3

Gif Credit: @angels-reyes

Another long one babies, but stay with me! The good stuff is comin! 😈 if I missed you in my tags please message me and let ya girl know. ❤️

——————————————-

After you all came back from the beach Letty stopped you in the kitchen. “Hey Y/N, what are you doing today?”

You were currently making a snack for Natalie who was patiently playing on the floor literally at your side. “I guess just hang out here, I mean whatever everyone else wants to do is fine with me.”

“Lame, hey wanna go shopping? There’s a mall not that from here I already googled it.” She picked up her phone and shows you the screen.

“Okay sure, let me just let Angel know I’m taking Natalie. One sec.” you walk over to the living room where Angel was sat and place an arm on his shoulder and he instinctively brings his hand up to rest on yours. “Hey Letty and I were going to head to the mall, do some shopping so I’m taking Natalie with.”

He lays his head back on the couch and looks up at you, “Nah leave her with me. You’re not on the clock querida, have fun.”

You and Letty grab your things and head out. EZ was in the living room with Angel coloring with Natalie and she was force feeding him some of her snacks. Just then EZ’s phone went off and it was a text from Letty.

“Ok go! Our plan starts now.”

“So what’s going on with you and Y/N?”

Angel looked confused, “what do you mean? I don’t know man you’re the one who told me to bring her here.”

EZ rolled his eyes, “yeah but I mean, are you gonna ask her out? Apparently she’s been talking about it with Letty non stop. She’s been all like when is angel finally gonna ask me out? Angels so cute blah blah and we all know you have a thing for her. We saw you in the water today.”

Angel cocked an eyebrow in his brothers direction. “Yo can you stop eating my kids food? You guys didn’t see shit today in the water. We were all in the water messing around..... she said that? She really wants me to ask her out? Like on a date or some shit?”

EZ nodded his head “yeah I mean not some shit but a date. You know she’s lowkey she won’t say anything about it especially not to you. I say go for it. She’s a good girl Angel.”

“Man shut up..” angel leaned back against the couch and thought for a while before finally speaking up again “hey you think you could keep an eye on Natalie tonight?”

“Yeah of course” just then EZ pulled his phone out and sent a text to Letty.

“Alright he’s in. I’m pretty sure he’s going to ask her out tonight. Also we have to baby sit Natalie. It’s all you now. Don’t mess it up.”

Smiling at her phone Letty looked up at the outfit you had on. “Daaaaaamn girl! Yes! You need to get that. Like now. Wait til Angel sees you in this, he’s going to lose his shit!”

You snapped your head back so fast “wait Angel? Why would Angel care?”

“Oh come on, the man is basically swooning over you. It’s kinda nauseating. We all see how he looks at you and all he talks about with Coco is how he so badly wishes you’d give him a chance, how he wants to ask you out but you’d never want to go out with a guy like him.”

You furrowed your brows and smoothed your outfit over your curves while looking in the mirror. “He really said that? That’s not true. Angel’s amazing. He’s so kind, gentle, smart, he’s such a good dad and he’s so funny.” Your mind trailed off to all of the other things you wanted to say .. how he was so sexy, how he gave you butterflies just at the mention of your name, how delicious his lips looked, how intoxicating his scent was. How all you wanted to do was grip his biceps while you grind your hips into him..

“Helllooooo.... are you even listening to me?” Letty snaps her fingers in your face.

“Sorry what?”

“You need the outfit. Get it!”

————————————————-

“Damn what you guys do buy the whole mall?” Coco notices the many bags in your hands as you head inside.

“A little retail therapy never hurt no one coco” you said as you winked at him. Heading into your room to put your things down, you heard a knock at the door and was surprised to see Angel on the other end.

“Oh hey, what’s up? Everything okay?” You studied Angels face and suddenly your heart began to ache at the thought of Angel thinking he wasn’t enough.

“Yeah, you wanna get something to eat? I never really thanked you for coming over in the middle of the night the other day.”

“Oh, Angel you don’t have to-”

“Nah come on, I already asked EZ to watch Natalie for a bit, I saw this Italian place on the way here. Be ready by 7.” He walked away quickly leaving you no room to protest.

7 came quick. You did a once over in the mirror and tussled your hair before feeling satisfied and walked out into the living room. Coco and Angel were in conversation when Coco looked in your direction, eyes wide, slapping Angel on the chest. Angel glanced up and did a double take before swallowing hard. “Fuck meeeee” he whispered. The outfit you bought earlier today was turning heads in every direction.

“Ready?” You ask Angel who looks absolutely flustered.

“Yeah yeah, let’s go.” As you turn to walk away Cocos eyes travel to your ass. Angel notices and delivers a quick jab to his stomach “stop asshole.”

———————————————

Dinner was amazing, the place was a little upscale so you were glad you were dressed appropriately. You couldn’t help but notice the prices next to everything and kicked yourself for letting him take You here and not somewhere more laid back.

“So..... ice cream?” Angel asked as you both got up to leave the restaurant. You smiled that warm smile, the one that made him feel like putty in your hands “ugh yes! Ice cream!”

You found an ice cream spot along the beach front and decided to go with a banana split to share.

Angel looked at you for a few seconds before finally breaking the silence, “So, what about you?”

You look over at him “me? What about me?”

“You want kids one day?”

“Oh, yeah. I want a bunch of em,” you chuckle before continuing on, “like 3, maybe 4. I grew up with a small family. Parents were shit and I have a sister but uhhhh.. we were never really close. So I want my kids to have the best parents and have each other when I’m gone. Make those memories you know? What about you? Do you want to have anymore some day?”

Angel took a bite of the banana split before passing you the bowl. “I don’t know. I never really thought about it. My life is fucked up and crazy as it is.. and it’s just me and Natalie. If I ever find someone crazy and fucked up as me, then maybe.”

You looked down at the sand and asked the question you had been wanting to ask for 4 long months, “so, your ex, Natalie’s mom, what happened?”

“Shit I don’t know. We were engaged, then pregnant, then we had Natalie and it all just fell apart. I started working a lot and she spent a lot of time with pop and the baby, and one day she just left and never came back. Left me. Left our kid. I haven’t heard from her since. Man and I didn’t know what I was doing it was all fucked up. I still can’t even take care of my kid without someone’s help. Sad huh?”

You put the now empty bowl of ice cream on the sand and placed your hand over Angels. “Nope. Not at all. For what it’s with Angel, I think you’re an incredible dad who loves his baby. And I think you were dealt a shitty hand and you’re doing the best you can. And that’s all Natalie will care about.”

Angel took your hand in his, “thank you for everything you do Y/N. Natalie loves you. And I’m glad she has you around. I’m so relieved that you told Letty you been wanting me to ask you out. Shit it’s like a weight was lifted!”

You let out a laugh before realizing what he said “wait, she said that I’ve been wanting you to ask me out? I never told her that... as a matter of fact she said you wanted to ask me out.."

“What? I didn’t say that yeah me and EZ were talking when you went to the mall and —-"

“Those assholes... they set us up.” You let out another laugh and Angel laughs with you. “I don’t know what’s funnier, the fact that we let them set us up or the fact that I’ve never heard you swear until tonight."

You threw your head back in laughter “oh I swear all the time!”

“Well, I guess we should be getting back. I don’t know how much longer I trust Natalie in a house full of those pushovers. She’ll be running it when we get there.” He stood up and lent you his hand to help you up. You began walking back but he still had a hold on your hand.

“Are you coming?” You ask as you turn to face him.

“Yeah, it’s just... you look... incredible mi dulce.. I mean not just today, all the time , but right now? God damn. I just needed you to know how amazing you look. And I’m trying to be respectful and shit but it’s getting hard the more I look at you.”

He walks closer to you and you can feel your heart beat pick up and your cheeks flush. His hands find their way to your hips and you look up at him, there’s a gleam in his eyes that you’ve never seen before, hungry, dark, filled with lust.

His face is so close to yours you can feel his breath on your lips, and you instinctively lick your own. “And all I wanna do right now is kiss you because I been wanting to do that for a while now and it’s driving me fuckin crazy.

“Angel..” your voice barely a whisper and he gently kisses you. You felt like your body was going to explode at just his kiss. Like in the movies where time stops and it’s just the two of you. How cliche were you?

Your hands resting on his forearms as he pulls you flush against him and traces your lips with his tongue. You let him in and the kiss becomes more desperate, but still gentle, and you don’t know how long you were standing there before he broke it to look at you again, resting his forehead against yours.

“Let’s get back.”

You felt dizzy and flustered and turned on and your butterflies in your stomach were on overdrive. You’ve never seen this side of Angel before and it was the best thing you have experienced. He held your hand the whole drive home and when you got back he stopped you at the front door.

“Oh my god they’re back!! EZ they’re here!” Letty whispered. They watched the two of you from the front windows like little kids on Christmas morning.

“I need more.” He pulled you in by his waist again and you let out a small laugh before meeting his lips again. He moved his kisses down your cheek, your jaw, chin, and neck and then guided you to the wall at the front porch. You were backed against the wall and his lips found yours again.

EZ covered Lettys eyes and she scoffed before slapping his hand down. “Holy shit! They’re into each other i fuckin knew it!” She said.

“Shit move they’re coming back in.” EZ dropped down on the couch pretended to be interested in whatever show was on tv.

“So, you guys have fun?” He asked as you and Angel made your way inside.

You greeted him with a smirk, “yeah it was nothin special.” And winked in Angels direction. “I’m going to bed, goodnight guys.” And you headed into your room.

You closed the door and leaned against it when you were in your room. You let out a long sigh and closed your eyes with a smile on your face. What the fuck was happening? Did that really just happen? You really kissed Angel? You were on cloud 9. You removed your makeup and changed into your pajamas and got into bed. Laying there, looking up at the ceiling, it was right then you realized that YOU were in trouble.

Tag List: @starrynite7114 @woahitslucyylu @briannab1234 @gemini0410 @ifoundmyhappythought @cind-in-real-life @scuzmunkie @iambabyharry @sadeyesgf @carlaangel86 @everyhowlmarksthedead @notsobuckybarnes @wrcn9fvlcver @elcococruz @jenny885 @general-tiny-mouse @loud-midget @danie1432 @strawberrywritings

#mayans mc #mayans imagine #angel reyes #ez reyes #mayansfx #angel x reader #clayton cardenas #ezekiel reyes #mayans #jdpardo

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mysterioh · 4 years

Text

The Ignorant Beauty and The Beast of New York - Ch. 11

PAIRING: MOB!STEVE ROGERS X READER

Synopsis: Y/N is an exhausted bio major. Steve is danger with a capital DANGER. She thinks he’s a sarcastic prick with an impressive knowledge in art history. He thinks she’s cute even if she’s only running on one brain cell. All he wants is a single date, but she’s adamant upon denying.

Masterlist

A/N: just a short filler chap.

Like Peanut Butter and Jelly

"So you're a mobster now?" Quentin interrogated like a cop. A very judgemental and somewhat betrayed cop.

You look up from your book. "No, where did you get something stupid like that from?"

"You just said you're friends with that jerk!" He spat for the whole library to hear.

"Would you stop shouting we're in a library," you hissed.

"He's a fucking criminal," Quentin jeered.

"Listen he isn't so bad," you explained. You weren't defending him. You were just being honest. "He's kinda nice. He beat the crap out of this guy for me."

"Now you're making him kill for you?" He asked incredulously, "God, what's wrong with you?"

You rolled your eyes in aggravation. "I'm not doing anything like that!" You snapped. "He just so happened to be at work and helped me."

"Uh-huh, yeah," the brunette scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest and slumping in his chair. "Ever thought he might've put that guy there to do that to you?"

"What are you talking about?" you squinted at him, leaning towards him and against the table, slightly peeved by his attitude.

"What if it was all planned?" Quentin suggested. "What if he did it so he could make you like him?"

You shook your head in denial. "He wouldn't do something like that. He's not that kinda guy." Okay, why am I sticking up for this guy?

"Oh and you know a lot about him for some reason," he taunted whilst shaking his hands back and forth.

You grumbled audibly, slamming your book shut. "If you're gonna be an asshole Quentin, I'll just leave."

His hands drop and so do his shoulders. The curve of his lips runs crooked and you can tell he feels sorry. It wasn't so hard to read him. He knew you inside and out, and you knew him outside and in.

"Sorry, I'm not trying to be," he sighed regretfully. "I'm just worried about you. This guy's bad news, Y/N," he warned.

"He's in the damn mob. Hell, he is the mob. He runs the entire New York crime syndicate for crying out loud!" He shakes his arms animatedly. "Extortion, racketeering, drugs, all the worst things you could possibly imagine probably has something to do with him," he drops his arms and you could see he's doesn't like any of this. "I just don't want you to get stuck in that kinda life."

You blush a tiny bit and sit back in your seat. You twirled a piece of hair around your finger, trying to avoid his eyes by looking at your book. "But he's never really talked to me about the mob stuff. Sometimes I think he doesn't even remember he's in the mob."

"That could be for now. You don't know the future. What if he does a total 180 when he's got you in real deep?" He asked.

"It's not like that." You replied. "We're just friends."

"Just friends?"

"Just friends," you stated firmly. "Besides weren't you the one who told me to make friends? To get out of my comfort zone?"

"Yeah, but I didn't tell you to get all smoochy-smoochy with a criminal," he counters.

"It was nothing like that!" you defended yourself. "You're such a jerk!" You crossed your arms and looked away with a pout.

He chuckled, finding your reaction really cute. "You sure there's nothing I can do to change your mind?" He asked one last time.

"No, there isn't," you shake your head, defiantly.

"You crushing on this guy or something?" He dropped.

A burning hue of red darkens your cheeks and your face tells more than words could ever say.

"Oh my god, you are!" He groaned loudly, almost teasingly, slightly obnoxious. He slapped his forehead with his hand and wove his fingers into his hair. He shook his head in disappointment. "Where did I go wrong?"

"S-shut up!" You stammered.

"She's in love with a mobster," he repeated to himself as if he didn't believe it the first time.

"Shut your face before I do it for you." You leaned over the table, pushing it slightly towards him in an attempt to intimidate him.

He points at you while laughing. "Look at you!" He roared, loud enough to earn them a few glares from everyone else. "You're blushing like crazy!"

"N-no I'm not!" You refuted, cheeks burning brighter than ever. Why did you even tell him in the first place? Oh right, he's your best friend. Your very stupid friend who laughed at the dumbest things. You kicked him from underneath the table. He winces in pain but doesn't dare stop laughing.

"Ow, you tryna kill me, mob woman?" He asked between fits of laughter.

"I hate you."

"Mrs. Y/N Rogers," he hums while thinking, "has a nice ring to it."

A vein in your forehead snaps and the next thing Quentin knows, he's kissing a really heavy textbook, and wondering what his post-mortem was going to look like.

Quentin Beck. Male. 22. A whole idiot.

Cause of death: Bludgeoned to death with a Campbell Biology textbook. (She thick as fuck).

"So I take it things went well?" Bucky asked with a smirk, sitting across Steve in his office.

"Better than well." Steve beamed. "Amazing. Fantastic. Superb. Had the best damn time of life," he exclaimed.

Sam rolled his eyes. "All she did was kiss you on the cheek," he deadpanned.

"It's a step in the right direction," he stated positively. No bad vibes in his neighborhood. "This is monumental. We're really going somewhere. I could see it in her eyes. They were sparkling. I mean they always do but like more than usual."

"Y'think she even wants anything to do with the mob?" Sam asked.

"I don't know, but I sure as hell won't stop now," he countered.

The days following his lovely talk with you by the bus stop only consisted of daydreams and giggles, scene by scene replays of his favorite parts. The way your eyes shined under a starless sky. The feel of your lips on his skin. The feel of your lips on his skin.

Though it was short and quick, you kissed him. That had to mean something right? Something really good? There's a lot he still needs to know about you. But from what he did know, he knew you wouldn't just kiss any guy. You're a tough shell to crack and it might take time for him to chisel through the stony layers surrounding your heart, but he was getting somewhere.

Steve wasn't complaining. He was excited and determined. If this is what it felt like with just a meager kiss, then how would it feel to hold your hand? To share those cozy moments you said you liked so much? To be the only one you'd share your warmest smiles and most passionate kisses with?

The thought of that alone had Steve riled up like a shaken soda can. Fizzling inside and ready to burst the minute someone popped him open. God, if only you knew what you did to him.

"She's a bit of a firecracker. I think she'd make a nice addition to the family." Sam smirked, knowing full well he was striking a chord in the man's heart.

Steve lets out a breathy chuckle. Shaking his head lightly, he thinks about it just for a second. "Yeah, she's great."

"Now to more serious matters," Bucky interjected, reminding them why they were in the first place. He pushes a file in front of him. Steve opens it to find a picture of a man along with some papers. "Guy by the name of Rumlow wants to talk to you."

Steve raised a brow while looking through. "Who's he?"

"They call him Bullseye. He never misses a shot. He's also a bigtime narcotics man," Sam replied, "Gotta big field all the way in Morocco."

"Says he wants to expand the business," Bucky continued. "He's working with the Lucchese family, Helped him buy a warehouse and fronts to get set up."

"We've already got guys like him," Steve dropped the folder back onto the desk.

"Yeah, but this guy's different." Bucky pointed out. "This stuff that he's got is top of the market. And if we don't get in on this action it's gonna be a major loss." He stated. "Maybe not now or tomorrow but in the next ten years. I mean who knows?"

Steve frowns slightly while scratching the side of his neck. "I don't know. I don't trust him," he said doubtfully."Sam?"

Sam shrugs. "It's all on you big man."

Steve huffs. "Fine, I wanna meeting with this guy," he gets up and pulls his jacket off his chair. "Sometime tomorrow. And before that, I want every piece of information you can get on him on my desk in the morning. Send Clint and Scott."

Steve put his coat on and slipped his phone in his pocket.

Bucky raised a brow. "Where ya going?"

"Out," he replied curtly, heading for the door. He opens the door and they already know where he's going. Steve pops his head back in. "Oh and tell 'em to take the kid with 'em. I don't pay him to sit around all day," he reminded them. "Teach the kid some ropes and make sure he doesn't get shot in the head for saying something stupid, alright?"

"He's a pain in the ass," Bucky deadpanned.

"Never said he wasn't," Steve retorted. "But I don't need his auntie on my bad side. So do me a favor and deal with it," he stated firmly.

"Easy for you to say," Sam jabbed. "You're not the one who's stuck listening to him yapping about Star Wars or some crap. Kid's a nerd," he grumbles.

Steve chuckles while leaving. "Leave him alone. He's a good kid," he contended. "Anyways, I'm off."

"Why are you here?" You deadpanned.

"You don't seem very happy to see me," Steve said, sitting on one of the barstools lining the granite counter with a mischievous grin splayed on his face.

"That's because I'm not," you said flatly, wiping down the counter.

"Ouch, that hurt me right here," he winced while clutching his heart.

"That was my intention," you remarked, unable to stop the smile creeping onto your face.

Steve notices it. He obviously did. Nothing ever went past those pretty blue eyes. He leans over the counter with his arms crossed on top.

"Doesn't seem like it," he teases.

You click your tongue and push his face out of yours. He chuckles and you couldn't help but let go of a chuckle or two.

"You're an idiot, Rogers," you remarked.

Steve props the side of his face with his hand, watching the way you move around the place, frolicking from one spot to another. He watched you like you had the stars in your hands and hung them up in the sky. Even in a dull all-black uniform and hair twisted in a loose bun with a few strands running rampant, there's a glow to you that has him warm on the inside. Your face was bare, only marked with an acne scar here and there and dark circles underneath your eyes due to a lack of sleep and yet, he thinks you're the prettiest thing in the world.

"What?" You asked puzzled and slightly embarrassed.

"Nothing," he smiled, a tint of pink spreading on his cheeks.

"Don't you have anything to do?" You asked. "Or is the mob all talk and no work?"

"I finished early," Steve replied with a chuckle. "So I thought I'd meet my favorite waitress."

"Oh, I'm so honored," you replied sarcastically earning a roll of the eyes from him. You leaned over the counter in front of him with a smirk. "And what have I done to earn a visit from the high and mighty kingpin?"

"Stole my heart," he murmurs.

"What?" You asked standing straight. I didn't hear that. Let's pretend I didn't hear that.

"N-nothing," he quickly replied.

You shake it off as a trick of the mind. "Well if you're here we might as well do something," you dug your hand into your pocket.

"Good idea!" He exclaimed.

"Here," you slammed a stack of cards with a rubber band twisted a few times around.

He furrowed his brows. "What the heck is this?"

"My flashcards. You're gonna help me study," you stated calmly.

Steve groans. "I thought we'd do something more heartfelt to get to know each other more."

"There's the door if you wanna leave," you deadpanned.

"Fine," Steve huffs. "Gimme that." He snatches the cards from you.

Slipping off the rubber band, he flips through the cards and picks a random one.

"Alright," he reads the flashcard. First, he squints then opens them wide in confusion. "I don't understand what this says. It's not even in English."

"Lemme see that," you took it from him.

"It says deoxyribonucleic acid."

"What the fuck is that?" He questioned, his nose scrunched in disgust.

"Its DNA, stupid head," you retorted, slightly annoyed.

"Then why didn't you just write that?"

"Cause I wanna practice spelling it, moron, and cut the sass before I end up kicking your ass to next Tuesday."

Steve smiled, feeling a streak of mischief. "Damn, sweetheart, you sound so pretty when you talk like that. Keep going." He cooed.

Your cheeks burn read. "D-don't say things like that! You're such a weirdo!" You stammered with an angry pout.

"Oh, my heart!" He exclaimed while clutching his chest. "You're making me see stars!”

"Shut up, you idiot!"

"Why don't you make me with those pretty lips of yours?" Unable to say anything you yank on his ear hard and he yelps. "Ouch, that hurts!"

"Fucking good!" You shouted still pulling on him.

Wanda watched from the small window of the kitchen with a smile. "They make a good match, don’t they?" She asked May. May chuckles while watching you pour out your rage on the poor mob man.

"Like peanut butter and jelly."

A/N: School starts next week for me so updates will get slow.

TAG LIST: @ashwarren32 @rootcrop @siriusement @savedbystark @little-dark-empress @great-goddess-of-sin @boxofteenageideas @imsonick @scuzmunkie @achishisha @calwitch @chuckennuggets1213 @captainchrisstan @thirstybunz @voltage-my2dlove

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #mob!steve #steve rogers #mobster!steve rogers #mobster steve rogers x reader #mob!steve rogers x reader #mob!steve rogers x you #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers x y/n

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cosmicbash · 3 years

Text

I'm hesitant to post this, because??? Honestly?? I'm not 100% sure I haven't already posted it. I was perusing my Google docs trying to relabel stuff as posted and such to better organize and found this, which @lemon-coke and me both can't figure out if I ever posted. So.

Better to repost it and give you all something to reread then not post it all I assume.

Sorry!

It starts out as a misunderstanding, of course, because how else would their relationship begin?

A series of short tentative chats that somehow blossom into a full on dinner together, Colson sweating and more anxious than he's ever been in his life. It just doesn't seem real, that not only could he be mending this feud with his idol but also sitting across from him at some fancy restaurant table learning Eminem eats his steaks well done like some child. And laughing about it.

He's actually laughing. With his idol, his rival, his highschool crush. Long legs kicking out under the table at his own bad jokes, Em half smirking back at him. Their feet brushing one too many times for the color to leave his cheeks even after he's done giggling.

By the time Colson is talking Em into splitting some crazy good looking chocolate cake he actually feels better than he has in years. Since before the beef. So of course something has to go wrong. It really would have to be a dream for things not to sour.

He wants to pretend the first few flirty comments are in his head. That Em reaching across the table to roughly rub some chocolate off his cheek is a Detroit thing. But by the time they're finished eating and waiting for the check Colson's creeping suspicion has turned into full on alarm bells blaring. There's just no way to excuse the nervous looks or Em's almost hesitant invitation up to his hotel room.

It feels like a slap to the face. Everything suddenly makes sense. Why they're eating in the other rapper's hotel, why Em is even speaking to him. None of this is to repair their relationship or end the beef. It's all just some poorly hidden buttering up before Em asks him to get down on his knees.

Colson should blow up. He should just lash out and throw his fist into Em's face. Storm out and flag down the valet. He's not some escort that the rapper can rent for the night and feed a fancy dinner to.

But there's that guilty feeling that has settled into the pit of his stomach. The one that's been there since he first lashed out and ruined everything with his diss track, the comments about Hailey, his childish bitching in interviews. It's only doubled since they first sat down to eat. Every muffled chuckle and weakly hidden smile from the older man digging that pit deeper and deeper. Showing him what he carelessly threw away in some desperate grab for attention.

It's got a small voice in the back of Colson's head warning him how if he says no and storms out he's just doing the same thing all over again, cutting Em out of his life. This time possibly forever.

So Colson bites his tongue and nods. His fingers anxiously climbing up into his hair to help hide the guilty look he knows must be on his face when he stutters out a "y-yeah, yeah, sure."

The genuine smile Em flashes back at him at his agreement just feels like a knife being jammed next to the shovel.

How can the man look so fucking blissful about something that feels like borderline blackmail?

But Em does. He looks stunned, downright flustered even at first at his response. Then happy. A happy that isn't hidden by some fake cough or behind a delicate yet strong looking hand for once. It gives Colson something precious to hold onto in the sea of uncomfortable and nasty emotions twisting up his stomach while the older rapper pays.

The knot just twists itself up tighter once they're in the elevator, his silence thankfully brushed off as nervousness by Em. The almost shy glance of steely blue eyes his way making him feel so small while buttons are pressed. Usually Colson would blame this kind of nausea on the ride itself, but for once his phobia of the small metal deathtraps is actually being overpowered. A new fear worming its way through his guts as each floor number blinks to life.

He doesn't want to freak out. To run away, but hes too goddamn sober for this. Avoiding smoking and turning down the offer of wine at dinner just to try and impress his idol was threatening to be his downfall. If he'd known Em was going to show such little respect and consideration to his being like this he would have lit a fat one up right there at the table. Hell, maybe that would have changed the older man's mind about propositioning him in the first place. Surely a druggie asshole was less appealing to make drop to their knees instead of his current carefully put together primped and meek self.

"Only a few more floors. Don't go green on me just yet Kelly."

Colson didn't know whether to take the playful nudge as comforting or creepy. Maybe, a little flattering? If Em had actually looked into him enough to learn about his problem with elevators and the man just wasn't guessing off the apparent discolor of his face that is.

"Y-yeah."

Imagining Eminem of all people actually following his interviews or caring about his personal life that much felt like a pipe dream though.

Outside of the next 20 minutes or however long it took for the bastard to get his rocks off he highly doubted Em would put much thought into his existence at all. Which would be fair. After all the shit he's said and done he really doesn't deserve the time of day from his idol.

A ding and the elevator doors were opening. Colson's legs feeling numb beneath him when he finally lets go of the railing in the elevator to stumble forward. Thankful that Em's focus was on digging his room's keycard out of his wallet and not his clumsy steps. Each one bringing them closer and closer to their destination, making the whole situation so vividly real he couldn't help but panic again. The other man's forced small talk about how he "Doesn't usually book the penthouse suite-" falling on deaf ears.

It’s ironic, how often he had dreamed for this exact scenario. For Eminem to be leading him up to some fancy high end hotel room, promising to shower him fully in his attention and gaze. Only now, with his dream coming true right before his eyes he can’t help but feel bittersweet about the heated gaze holding him frozen just outside the door. Em’s final offer for him to back down before they both step through the threshold clear as day in the look.

The twist in his gut tells Colson to take it, to just spin around on his heel and run away with his tail tucked between his legs. Accept he’s too much of a coward and too full of himself to actually mend their beef.

But the desperate need he feels for forgiveness and absolvement pushes Colson forward instead. Sheer will alone giving him the confidence to twirl his idols hoodie strings around his fingers to drag Em inside with him. The loud beat of his heart completely smothering the other man’s flustered outburst.

Just like in church the blonde finds himself on his knees not too long after entering. Mouth open and hands clasped together, ready to ask for forgiveness. Except this god he’s praying to is running it’s fingers through his hair, and there’s a stiff cock separating his palms. A chorus of curses and “Holy fuck, K-Kelly just wait a second, shit, your tongue is-“ tickling his ears instead of hymns.

He’s never sucked a cock before, and it’s embarrassing how quickly he finds himself choking. But Colson doesn’t give up, even when his jaw starts to ache and the grip on his hair grows a bit too tight. His discomfort doesn’t matter here. He just needs to make Em happy, earn the forgiveness he doesn’t deserve.

“Can I- fuck, can I fuck your face?” Both of the older rapper’s palms are holding his bangs away from his face, tilting his head back just enough to force their eyes to meet. The shame in his chest doubles but so does the surprising tightness in his jeans when he sees the uncharacteristic flush to Em’s cheeks.

He isn’t experienced, the smart thing to do would be pull off and admit that. He’s seen first hand how disastrous things can go but his head bobs in a yes anyway. Eyes already starting to water from how the action jabs the other rappers cock right against his gag reflex.

A low groan is all the warning he gets before Em’s fingers are knotting in his hair, forcing his head down to meet the thrust of strong hips. Stuffing that hard dick down his throat so fast it burns and his hands can’t help but flail, helplessly grabbing onto the meat of the older rapper’s thighs through his sweats. Unable to even steal another gasp of air before it happens again. Em’s hips pistoning forward to fuck his mouth like some cheap replaceable toy.

Even after he gags and gurgles spit the rapper doesn’t stop.

The harsh pants of praise and encouragement burning his ears just as hotly as the tears in his eyes. “Ah, so good. So fucking good baby, the best, ah-“

Colson doesn’t know what’s worse, how quickly his heart skips at the surprise tern of endearment or how pathetically his cock jerks in his underwear. Not that he has much time to think on it with how Em abruptly forces his face right down to the bone, soft and scratchy pubes tickling his nose. Startling him before the other man’s blowing his load, Colson’s eyes widening and nails cutting deeply into Em’s legs while he chokes. There’s too much, even with his throat reflexively swallowing it still fills up his mouth and bursts out the sides. Dripping down his chin and out onto his shirt when Em finally pulls him off.

It’s salty, and thick. Nothing like the eggnog Rook’s joked to him it tastes like. There’s nothing sweet about this thick cream, even if the lightheaded feeling he’s got from milking it out still makes him feel drunk.

“Shit. I wanna take a picture.“ Em’s palm is tilting his head back again, dragging his glassy eyes up away from the twitching spit slick cock in front of him. Thumb forcing his tongue down flat to flash what he can only imagine has to be a white mess before the hand in his hair is fumbling out a phone. “Can I?”

He almost wants to laugh at how the brunette doesn’t even wait for his answer before there is the unmistakable flash of a phone light temporarily blinding him. A curse and then another two, these ones at least allowing him the chance to shut his eyes tightly.

The shame within him is boiling, burning through his veins like lava and making his heart drop down into his stomach.

“So pretty-“ Em’s fingers are releasing his tongue and jaw to rake through his bangs yet again. Exposing his face even though Colson wants nothing more than to hide. A stifled sob tearing at his aching throat while he swallows what he can inside his mouth without completely gagging.

He can’t cry. That would ruin the mood wouldn't it? And if it doesn't, Colson doesn't know how he would handle having Em laugh at his tears. The almost soft demeanor and shy quality to his tone is all thats keeping the blonde from running away as it is.

The shuffle of shoes and curl of strong fingers pulling him up startles Colson's eyes back open. Lashes fluttering to blink away the brief flash of wetness that's blurred his vision before he realizes he's being kissed. That Em's palms are cupping his jaw yet again, helping him to his feet.

It's scratchy, and softer than he expects. Not that he was expecting Eminem to be kissing him in the first place, but the man doesn't relent. Just keeps kissing him, even after he's grown to his full height and the angle of their heads has switched. Em's tongue snaking its way inside his mouth while they stumble back further into the room. Until Colson's head is feeling fuzzy and his knees weak, the cushioned crash of his body hitting a mattress barely felt.

It feels wrong when Em's hands smooth up over his chest and down inside his jeans. The uncontrollable kick of his hips up into a tight hand around his cock almost blasphemous. There's no reason for Em to even be bothering with touching him there, he doesn't deserve it. But the rapper is sucking and nibbling along his neck, up into his ear to whisper a dozen filthy praises and compliments. None of them possibly true.

"So pretty-" "Perfect-" "Wanted to touch you for so long-"

"Stop-" Colson's hands feel shaky as they drag his idols face back up to meet his in a messy kiss. Breath tight while he tries to speak between pecks. "Just- fuck, just hurry-"

When he winds up on his stomach some point into the night, Em's too big cock pressing hard against his entrance he can't help but cry out. The pitiful fist he shoves between his own teeth doing nothing to stifle the sound.

It hurts, more than the thin fingers he'd taken only moments prior. But not as much as the soothing shushes and affectionate run of hands through his hair.

#and yeah #i kinda stole the formatting metalheadkells uses for their tumblr posts #i seriously forgot i had more options than just bold or italics #🥴🥴🥴#forgive meee #emgk #i hope if you have read it you at least all enjoyed it #and if not #the same #😭😭#prompts

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hazbincalifornia · 3 years

Text

Coffee Replacement

Chapter 7: Blitzo gets an idea to deal with not being able to drink as much coffee as usual.

Likes, replies, and reblogs are all appreciated, both here and on ao3!

Warnings: Mpreg

Ao3 link

Blitzo was not feeling great today.

He’d looked it up and, unfortunately, Moxxie seemed to be at least somewhat right about the coffee thing- he was allowed one cup and that was it, even though most of the stuff in shops around here didn’t actually give him a buzz until he had at least two or pumped one full of extra caffeine. He’d taken just one home with him last night after a long day of not much happening. It had been a bitch of a time trying to stay up as late as usual, and he’d been yawning all morning so far with a headache, which wasn’t exactly a great sign before a mission.

“There’s plenty of other shit that’ll work, right?” His arms were crossed as he muttered to himself, and he drummed his fingers on his bicep, glancing out the window to the street. The street where the vending machines were.

Moxxie was focused on his little spreadsheets, and Millie and Loona wouldn’t bitch at him over it. He could just have a little. It’d been a while since he’d tried anything that hard outside of the club, but he couldn’t risk being off his game on a mission again, especially not after last time. He whistled as he crossed the office, noting that the wallpaper had an unpleasant dark curl on the edges where it had gotten singed.

“Where are you going?” Moxxie raised an eyebrow as Millie counted out something on her fingers and looked over at his screen.

“Getting some fresh air before we leave, dad,” Blitzo retorted, walking through the door before wrapping his tail around the knob and pulling it shut. He pinched between his eyes as the headache flared again before brushing it off with a wave of his other hand. “Sheesh, it’s not that big a deal,” he muttered to himself, releasing his tail from the knob and making his way out to the street. For some reason, the smoky smell was getting to him today, and his brows furrowed in irritation as a yawn pried his jaw open. His breath tasted like ass.

He bumped some curvy bitch with probably-plastic tits the size of bowling balls out of the way with his hip as he crossed the street, and she jabbed him back with a surprisingly strong elbow, nearly knocking him off-balance.

“Watch where you’re going, bozo!”

“Don’t get in my way, then!” He snapped back, and she flipped him the bird as she kept walking. It was easy enough to hit the button proudly proclaiming that it contained ‘Coke!’ Luckily it was already in the powdery form, so he wouldn’t need to deal with making it easier to use without a crack pipe. Blitzo considered just snorting up on the street, but the curvy imp was still growling at him, so he dropped the baggie down the front of his jacket and flipped her off in return as he headed back into the building.

Moxxie didn’t say anything this time, focused on his numbers again. Good. Blitzo snapped his office door shut, carefully unwrapping the bag after fishing it out from his chest and spilling a bit out on the desk, lining it out with his gift card for the Pizza House and leaning over the desk to actually use the stuff.

“Alright, I’ll need you to talk to his highness about helping with the repairs to the offic-” Moxxie cut himself off mid-word, one hand still on the doorknob. “What are you doing?”

Blitzo blinked up at him. “Uh. Coke?”

“Oh, no you don’t!” Moxxie scurried forward, scooping his hand to pull the already-sorted powder towards himself as Blitzo protested.

“Come on, I need something and I can’t have enough coffee anymore! It’s practically useless when there’s only one, that shit is weak!”

“Well, you should have thought of that before getting pregnant!” Moxxie shot back. “No other drugs! Well, weed maybe, but-”

“I don’t need weed, though! I need something for energy!” Blitzo’s eyes darted to the opened bag, but Moxxie’s followed and he quickly snatched it.

“You’re just going to have to deal with it until you adjust to not needing as much caffeine anymore.”

“What’s going on in here?” Millie poked her head in, and when she spotted the bag in Moxxie’s hand, she gasped.

“Is that-”

“Cocaine,” Moxxie said with a sigh. Millie marched across the room.

“Blitzo, you need to be careful!”

“Oh, great, you’re on my case now too?” He leaned back, kicking at the desk with his boot. “Moxxie said caffeine! That was it!”

“Other drugs are even worse, Blitzo- d’ya know how many demons from back home got born addicted to like five different things and ended up dying because their mommas just overdosed them to get ‘em to shut up? Way too many!” She ran a hand through her hair, ruffling it. “I don’t mean to be mean, but this’s serious, sugar. Just cause we handle stuff better than sinner do doesn’t mean it won’t hurt the baby. We’ll find something else that’ll help.”

“Right now I need something other than a wake-up slap in the face, you get me?”

“I can arrange the slap thing if you can’t come up with any other ideas,” Loona called out from the waiting room.

“Very helpful, sweetie!” Blitzo called back sarcastically, staring up at the ceiling. One hand drifted to his middle, and he scratched it idly. Stolas’s call was coming tomorrow, same as always. He had no idea what he was going to tell him other than the fact that he needed a new gun. Maybe he could talk him into an upgrade if he let him touch his stomach or something. “Anyway, what were you coming in about, Moxx?”

Moxxie’s mouth opened and closed a few times like a fish out of water before he took a deep breath. “We’re still dealing with the bill for the…. fire damage.”

“That you caused.”

“That… yes, that my misfired arrow started.” He cleared his throat. “His highness offered to help with that, so you can probably bring it up during his call tomorrow. It’ll definitely help with balancing the budget since things have been a bit slow lately.”

“Got it.” Blitzo rubbed his forehead. “If I can’t have coke, can one of you at least get one of those little ham and turkey sandwiches they make out of the bagels at the little deli a couple buildings down and the chocolate croissants? It sounds great right now.”

“I’ll do that.” Millie patted the tip of his boot. “Good choice.”

He rummaged around in her pocket and tossed her a ten-dollar bill. “Yeah, yeah, if you two are gonna insist on being killjoys I might as well at least get something out of you.” He paused. “Thanks.”

“It’s no trouble.” She smiled, stuffing the money in her pocket and turning to leave.

Moxxie dumped the contents of the bag out into the trash on his way out, and Blitzo hissed at his back before closing his eyes. Maybe if he was lucky he could get a little extra sleep before they headed out.

#one time #shadow writes stuff #daddy blitzo #helluva mpreg #helluva boss #hb

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serararku · 3 years

Text

The Black Adder Boys

It was sunset when K’thalen arrived at the outskirts of Gavin’s Gully. The bandit patrols on the lookout for both easy pickings and Immortal Flames’ agents sniffing around their turf never even noticed his presence, thanks to the cover provided by the ugliest and angriest dust storm this year. He wouldn’t mind putting these criminals into the ground, of course, but he preferred to keep his low profile for the time being.

He walked straight down the main street like he owned the place, keeping one hand on his hat to shield his face from the wind and sand, and the other firmly on his studded forge iron belt. The tattered ends of his long leather trench coat flicked up with each gust of wind, flashing the particular firepower he brought along with him. It didn’t take long for the sparse denizens of Gavin’s Gully to catch wind of his approach now that he was within the shanty town. Decent folk knew trouble was brewing and none of them wanted anything to do with it, wisely deciding to shut their blinds and retreat away from their windows; everyone else watched him with curious suspicion, already auctioning off whatever loot they would pry from this deadman’s corpse. He approached the biggest building left standing in the town, and turned to glance over his shoulder. The building across the street was completely abandoned- he would have to keep that in mind.

Creeaaak!

K’thalen swung the tavern’s doors wide open when he stepped inside, letting a dusty gust of wind rush in between his feet before the door closed behind him. His eyes darted across the room like an apex predator to make a quick count of everyone present: three men at the pool table, another four sitting at a nearby table playing cards, one man standing behind the counter, three leaning on the railing on the second floor, and two more keeping to the window on the other end of the room. It looked like a Keeper of the Moon Miqo’te family of three were being held captive: the father held at gunpoint behind the bar, a son crumbled on the floor after a recent beating, and a daughter at the card table- their plaything until they got bored of her sniffling. Everyone stopped what they were doing once they heard the howling wind and the creaking door, with wide eyes and skeptical glares burning holes in his face once he began to make his way to the bar. He kept his movements slow and deliberate in case any of them were trigger happy, with one hand gently pulling his hat off while he ran his fingers through his raven-feathered hair.

“Can we help you?” The man holding the pistol against the gut of the barkeep asked. K’thalen first dusted off the road from his sleeves and sat down on the only stool that wasn’t broken, then set his hat on the counter.

“Treehollow. As tall as you can pour it.”

Laughter ripped through the tavern like someone spilled firecrackers across the floor. Even the father nervously laughed along with his captor, until his side was jabbed with the pistol. “What’re ya laughin’ at?! Ya heard him didn’t ya!? Get ‘em a damn drink!” The man winced and swiped a tall mug from the back shelf, before fumbling with the tap. K’thalen slowly looked over his shoulder at the boy on the floor; he was still alive at least, but no older than twelve. Once these brigands had drunk this tavern dry, he and his father would likely not be long for this world.

“Are ya lost, boy?” The man huffed, hoisting himself onto the counter beside K’thalen. “Do ya not know who we are?”

“Don’t know your face.” He answered, studying the barkeep’s face. His eyes were glazed over and empty, yet still exhausted from the fear of death; the poor man was hopeless in his situation, knowing these thugs would have their way with his children until they no longer amused them. “But I know your colors. You’re the Black Adder Boys.”

“That’s right.” He gave his buddies an amused sneer before returning his attention to the stranger. “‘Course… the real question is, who’re you?”

K’thalen lifted a finger as he raised the mug to his lips. He made him wait for a full seven seconds as he downed his drink in a half-dozen gulps. When he finally set the empty mug down, he smacked his lips a few times before answering, “A visitor lookin’ for a friend.” His ears pointed behind him when he heard the pool sticks slap against the table, and the skidding of chairs sliding backward; he furtively slipped his free hand down into his lap and braced himself.

The man leaned down to eye level and whispered, "Ain't no friends o'yours 'round here, mister. So why don't you uhhh… disappear before we beat ya to death?"

With a slow nod and pursed lips K'thalen reached for his hat and slipped it back onto his head. "Aye, I'm gone. But I'm takin' the barkeep and his kids with me."

"You'll be lucky t’leave with your life." The friendly facade has melted away now that he was no longer amused. He placed a firm hand on his shoulder before saying, "You don't make demands o'us, ya hear me, cat bastard? Leave all o’your money on the count-”

K’thalen whipped his elbow into the man’s face with a wet crunch! He then swung his arm around and smashed that tankard against his head so hard the wooden mug split in two- he shot up to his feet and pulled his revolver from its holster and spun around to face whoever stood behind him. His ears flattened against his head when he saw how many barrels were pointed at him. If it weren’t for a Hyur standing by the door with his arms crossed, he would be dead already.

“That’s enough of that, lad.” He chuckled, his eyes snapping to the barely conscious man with the broken nose. “Put ya gun down, nice and easy. Ain’t nobody need to die in our own turf.”

He was reluctant to drop his custom six-shooter, but he obliged all the same, keeping his other hand hidden. “You the one in charge ‘round here?”

“I am. You can call me Alfric.” Once the revolver smacked against the floor, he raised his hand to signal his buddies to lower their own weapons. “... you sound familiar. Do I know you stranger?”

The last thing he needed was someone recognizing who he was before he was ready. “Just passin’ by, lookin’ for a friend.” K’thalen’s ears perked up to the sound of subtle footsteps on the upper level over his head. “He goes by the name of Turold Two-Shank. Your boss.”

“Was my boss.” Alfric slipped his thumbs into the loops of his pants. “Poor bastard bit off more than he could chew, and now he dines with the dead. We answer to Jack now.” He paused to study the stranger one last time. “I’m only gonna tell you this once. Empty your pockets and leave that shiny piece on the floor there, and you’ll only walk outta here with your life and some bruises. Can’t have strangers makin’ fools of my men, especially my boss. You underst-?”

“Fuck that!” The man with the smashed nose gurgled out. “Someone shoot this sumbitch!” K’thalen saw him reaching for something in his peripheral vision, and that was all the excuse he needed.

Tha! Like lightning his hidden hand shot from his coat and fired! Blam! Blam! Blam! Three shots, one for the loudmouth, and two more at the man in charge. -thump! He leapt backward up and over the counter, rolling his fingers across the steel hammer to unload the rest! Blam blam blam! The barkeep covered his ears and dropped down behind the counter with K’thalen, as a hail of bullets ripped through the bottles on the back shelf and busted the wooden barrels overhead. “He got Alfric!” He heard someone shout under the chorus of gunfire. “Kill that cat bastard!”

K’thalen laid low against the counter as he fished out a fistful of bullets from his pocket, his heart beating against his chest like a drum. The barkeep was screaming as malt liquor showered them from above, but at least he was flat on his stomach and unharmed; slowly but surely the barrage from the Black Adder Boys died down once they were out of ammo. “Did we get em?!” Someone shouted, with the familiar sound of several people reloading- it was now or never! “Oh shi-!”

He rolled out of cover for round two. Six muzzle flashes made six falling corpses. He dropped the smoking gun and jumped for his prized revolver, popping the hat off a man above him with a single shot; he then spun around on his heel and struck the man using the daughter as a shield in the groin, allowing her to drive her elbow into his nose and break free of his grasp.

“Grab the boy and get back behind the counter!” He ordered, spinning his empty revolver before sliding it back into his lucky holster. “Them boys outside heard that commotion!”

“W-what are we gonna do?!” The father pleaded, throwing his arms around his children. “There’s dozens of them! You ain’t got the firepower for them all, mister!”

“Don’t I?” K’thalen pulled off his coat and let it drop to the floor. He reached for his prized possession on his back and pulled it over his shoulder; the magitek rifle unfolded and clicked into place, with ceruleum canisters glowing on its underside. He leapt behind the counter with them and pointed the strange weapon toward the door, and metal bars drove into the wooden countertop as a small half-visor dropped over his right eye. “Cover your ears!”

SHOOM! SHOOM! SHOOM! SHOOM!

As soon as he saw silhouettes and shadows rushing toward the door and windows, K’thalen made them disappear. Superheated ceruleum-propelled slugs punched fist-sized holes through the front entrance of the tavern, and the building across the street, and the building behind that one, and the one behind that one too. Glowing red shells littered the table and floor to his left, as he fired over and over again; it wasn’t until the barrel was shimmering and white-hot did he finally stop, but not because he wanted to; he was out of rounds at last.

The rifle slowly collapsed back into itself, but he wisely kept it anchored to the counter instead of putting it on his back to give himself second and third degree burns. The father slowly lifted his head to see the aftermath, and the daughter soon followed. The front door was gone, as was most of the wall; they could see across the street that the other building was completely toppled over and in ruins. “Menphina’s madness… what was that?!”

“Magitek.” K’thalen slowly rose to his full height, slipping more bullets into his favorite revolver as his rifle began to automatically cool down. “Stay behind the counter. I gotta have a chat with a friend of ours right quick.” Slowly he made his way around the counter, stepping over corpses and broken bottles to reach the man he neutered- he was still clutching his bloodied crotch, whilst he struggled to breathe. When he noticed his approach, a scornful grimace spread across his pained face.

“W-what do ya fuckin’ want?!”

“Looks painful, lad. Real painful.” K’thalen pulled out his revolver and crouched beside the man. “Tell me where Jack is holdin’ up, and I’ll put you outta your misery. Bleedin’ out from what’s left of your balls is a bad way to die.”

“H-he’s gonna skin ya alive…!” The man spat, in between his groans and wincing. “He’s g-gonna… turn you int-to a coat… y-ya filthy… cat bastard!”

“Suit yourself.” K’thalen slipped his gun back where it belonged and bounced up to his full height. He glanced over at the family watching him; seeing a man- even a worthless bandit- squirm around and slowly die in his own blood was not something he wanted to put them through. With a sudden change of heart, K’thalen pulled out his revolver and turned back around to finish the job.

“W-wait…! W-!”

Blam!

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actress4him · 4 years

Text

Day 6 of @khoc-week : Life’s Perks

Another writing snippet for today! No spoilers to speak of this time, just a fun little moment between the Destiny gang at the very beginning of Book 2 - Inferno’s Edge...before all the angst really gets going.

As of now I don’t have anything planned for tomorrow’s prompt, so this is probably my last post. Thanks for the fun week, and thank you in particular, Mod Lucky, for all your sweet comments on my posts!

“I bet we've gone way over our normal training time by now.”

I gave a short laugh. “Think maybe Sora will actually be out of bed when we get there this time?”

“I wouldn't count on it. I have a feeling our arrival is the only reason he gets up when he does.”

Shaking my head, I clicked my tongue in disapproval. “Heroes. What are you gonna do with 'em?”

To our surprise, once Riku had rowed us back to the mainland, we found Sora and Kairi both on the beach waiting for us. “There you two are!” Sora exclaimed as we clambered ashore. “You took forever this morning!”

“Obviously even longer than we thought, since you're not only awake, but dressed and out of the house,” I returned. Sora stuck his tongue out at me, and Kairi giggled. I gestured toward the latter. “She woke you up, didn't she?”

“Yep.” She clasped her hands behind her back with a smile. “I woke up and got ready at the normal time, and when I didn't get a text from you I decided to head over to Sora's anyway. After he finished breakfast, and you guys still weren't back, we came down here to wait for you.” She jabbed her thumb in Sora's direction. “He wanted to go over to the play island to find you, but I wouldn't let him. Just in case...you know...you guys needed some alone time.”

I raised one eyebrow at her. “I'm not sure what you're implying, but yeah, we got caught up talking about a bunch of different stuff.”

“Talking, hm?” Kairi smirked mischievously.

Sora had turned and walked past me a couple of steps, and stooped down to pluck a seashell out of the sand. Straightening, he examined it closely. “Thought you guys were supposed to be training, not talking.”

“Oh, trust me, we did that, too,” Riku answered, giving me a knowing look.

Without warning, I threw my arms over Sora's shoulders and collapsed my full weight onto his back. “He tried to kill me, Sora!” I moaned.

“Ugh!” Stumbling forward, Sora dropped the shell in his hand and just barely kept his balance. “What, and now you're passing on the favor to me?”

“I'm so tired...”

Sora must have given Riku a questioning look, because the older boy shrugged. “All I did was teach her Strike Raid.”

“Over and over and over and over...”

“Okay, yeah, I got it.” Sora waved his hands in front of his face to shut me up, and I grinned. Why it was so much fun to annoy him, I wasn't sure. He was kind of like a little brother, I supposed – even though we were technically the same age. One of these days, if we didn't all die of old age first, I was certain that he would end up being my brother-in-law, so the relationship seemed to fit. Future brother-in-law...now there's a title I should use at some point to tease him...or Kairi...or both.

For now, though, I went with a phrase that I knew would immediately perk him up. “I need ice cream.”

“Ooh, that sounds good!” he predictably replied.

Riku wasn't as impressed. “Ice cream? Didn't you two just finish breakfast?”

“Ah, who cares! Come on, let's race to the cart!”

I still had not stopped hanging off of Sora's shoulders, and now took the opportunity to leap up and wrap my legs around his waist. “I'm too tired. Carry me.”

“Wha-?”

“Giddy up.” I kicked at his legs.

“I'm not a horse!”

Laughing, Kairi ran over and jumped onto Riku's back. “I want a ride, too! I haven't had a piggy-back ride in ages!”

Riku groaned, though he was obviously fighting back a smile as he wrapped his arms around Kairi's knees. “She's too tired from training...what's your excuse?”

Kairi set her lips into a pout. “You still owe me for leaving me here alone for a year?”

Though I couldn't blame her for that stance at all, after the discussion I had just had with Riku my heart skipped a beat on his behalf. His face went completely serious for the briefest of moments as something flashed in his eyes, but an instant later he was nodding and jostling his friend up higher on his back.

“Fair enough. Let's go get you kids some ice cream.” He took off at a jog, with Kairi squealing with surprised laughter.

“Hey!” Sora protested, taking a few unsteady steps before breaking into an awkward run himself. I wrapped my arms further around him to keep from being shaken off. “Hey wait!”

“I thought you wanted to race!” Riku threw back over his shoulder.

“Yeah, but...! That was before...!” Sora huffed and grumbled under his breath before shouting again. “This is not a fair race!”

“How is it not fair?” Riku laughed, still way ahead of us. “They're the same exact size!”

“Yeah, but we're not!” Sora shot back.

I slapped him gently on the head. “Aw, stop your complaining before you insult me, and just go catch him! You know you're just as fast as he is.”

A little flattery went a long way with this boy. In an instant, he was grabbing hold of my legs and shifting me into position, and his steps began to quicken. “Yeah, I am. Okay, let's go!”

I let out an unintentional squeak as he broke into a full-on run, all of the bouncing making me start to regret my choices. Soon, though, we started to catch up to Riku and Kairi, and her uncontrollable giggles were infectious. I started laughing, too, and only stopped when we all collapsed into a breathless pile in front of the ice cream cart.

“Let's...not do that...again,” Riku panted.

I nodded. “Yeah. Agreed.”

“It was your idea! And you didn't even do any work!” Sora protested, punching me in the arm.

“Yes, but it was a bad one. I think I might have either brain or spinal damage.”

Kairi shrugged, still smiling. “I had fun.”

Riku and I simultaneously shoved her backwards into the sand.

#khocweek2020 #kingdom hearts #kingdom hearts fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #writing #writing snippet #original character #kingdom hearts oc #kingdom hearts original character

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chyrstis · 4 years

Text

I won’t ask for much (but just this once, I’d like you) 9/10

Fell off of the updating schedule big-time with this one, but better late than never! There’s only one left to go here after this, and if I can motivate myself properly, I’d love to have another ficlet ready by that update to add to this AU too. Until then, let’s get back to the happier side of things.

Pairing: Sharky Boshaw x John Seed Rating: E (but only for Ch. 10, the rest are a solid T) Word Count: 3.3K

Link to AO3!

Ch. 1 / Ch. 2 / Ch. 3 / Ch. 4 / Ch. 5 / Ch. 6 / Ch. 7 / Ch. 8 / Ch. 9 / Ch. 10

—

Sharky steals a boat. It just happens to be John’s boat, and when it’s damaged along with his boathouse, John proceeds to lay out a means of having Sharky pay him back. [No Cult AU]

———–

Every shovel Sharky owned he threw in the trunk. Packed them all, and didn’t care if they all bumped into each other as he took every corner faster than he should’ve.

That shouldn’t have worked. Hell, that shouldn’t have registered or been anything close to a winning proposition, but he said yes. John picked up, he heard him say yes, and that was all it took for him to throw everything aside for it. To grab Hurk, tell him what's what and go, and he was willing to dive in headfirst just to get an answer. All just to have the chance to put a pin in any of this.

And to see him, but he’d known that for a while now.

The white that covered everything as he pulled up was beautiful. Almost too pretty to mess with, but the wheels of his car drew jagged lines through it, and after getting out he had to hold back on the urge to drop down and see how good of a snow angel he could pull off.

Grabbing one of the shovels, Sharky trudged over to the front door, and stood there. Stared at the doorbell like it was going to jump out at him until he jabbed at it. Then hit it one more time just to make sure it worked.

After that came the waiting. That was what sucked, and after a few seconds of it, he started fumbling for a cigarette. Searching both pockets, however, gave him nothing. Not a loose one, not pocket lint, but he did find some stray matches.

Taking one out, he twisted it between his fingers as he kept on patting himself down, and dropped it when the door opened and he caught John looking out at him.

John, cautious, but hopeful, and that was all he needed for that old feeling to kick in again. The one he’d tried to put out and failed, and he forced himself to do anything to get the ball rolling. Anything, just to keep from staring at John dreamily as he stood there on his doorstep.

Pulling himself up, Sharky grabbed for the shovel and held it out in front of him. Almost like one would a spear, and he cleared his throat.

“Yo, so snow. You got a lot of it here.”

Giving the area behind Sharky a passing glance, John nodded slightly. “It appears to be so.”

“And I know you want that shit out, and fast. Now I’ve got a few ways of doing that. Got the traditional way, the express way, and the uh, Boshaw Barbeque way. Not gonna just limit you to one, I figured you’d want the full set of things to pick from.”

The look of interest in John’s eyes grew. “I remember you mentioning a few over the phone. Any recommendations?”

“Well, namesake’s kinda a no-brainer. ‘Cause usually that means I can go a round or two outside with my flamethrower. Torch the shit out of it and clear it out without thinking too much.” Stopping to rub at his neck as he thought it over, he made a face. “Think that might be the express way too.”

“So, two out of the three ways involve…fire?”

“Uh, yeah. Kinda my go-to for most things, but I figured you might wanna limit that.”

John’s reply came fast, “Agreed.”

“But the others are still open. If you change your mind, I’ve got her loaded up back there. Takes nothing to just whip it out on a second’s notice, and get the job done. But ol’ faithful it is. Just shoveling that shit, and shoveling it well. And I could probably dig up a few testimonials for that too, if you wanna go through them first.”

John raised a hand to rub at his lips, considering him as he stood there. “No, I don’t think that’ll be necessary. As entertaining as I’m sure that would be, your word will do just fine.”

“So,” setting the shovel down, Sharky cleared his throat, “ready to work with Boshaw and er…well, it’s just one Boshaw, but I like the idea of having a name for it. Makes it sound all official, ‘cause it’s coming together. Just slowly.”

“You do have name recognition on your side right now. Or would that be more notoriety?”

“Hey, being known for something’s not all bad. Being known for the kind of thing that you’ll be using? Guarantees you’ll make it work. And here? Still offering up a service, and fire or not it’s getting done. So, fuck it. Tell me where to start, and I’ll get right on that.”

Barely hiding a smile behind his hand, John gestured indoors, “Let me get my coat.”

---

This was going well. The kind of well that had him hoping there wasn’t something awful waiting just behind the scenes to strike, because his hopes were at an all-time high, and Sharky wasn’t ready to let them crash back down to earth.

John took another shovel, with the reasoning behind it being that one man couldn’t possibly put a dent into any of this alone. Not quickly. It was his fault for having a fucking mansion for starters, but the minute he started chipping in, Sharky couldn’t quite keep the grin off of his face.

“More snow’s coming in tonight,” John said, not breathing hard yet, but each one left his mouth in a white puff. “Not heavy, but enough to make it a problem.”

“See, we could get all of this taken care of in a night, but I know my method’s off the table. Just offering that again, in case you’re looking for something quick and easy.”

“And I appreciate the offer, but I fail to see how that would make it easier.”

“Just point, work the trigger a little to see how you like it, then gently sweep the stream back and forth.”

Making the motion with his hands, he rocked back and forth, putting his hips into it too, and only stopped when he noticed the wry way John was looking at him.

“Hey, don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it. That shit works wonders when you’ve got twenty feet of snow and only one buckaroo around to move it all.”

John set his hands on top of the shovel. “Namely yourself.”

“Yeah, though Hurk’s had my back ever since we were little. He’s been there for me for anything and everything, and if I asked right now he’d be at my house in ten with a sled and a spare shovel. Course we’d skid down any slopes first, ‘cause an opportunity like that you just don’t pass up, but after he’d throw in with me to cart that shit out. No complaining, or fussing, or nothing. I couldn’t have asked for anyone better. Just sucks he’s out of town often as he is. Seen some real strange shit too, going off of what he’s brought up.”

“Well, maybe you won’t have to handle it alone next time.”

Sharky paused mid-shovel. “Say what?”

��You could…ask.”

“Ask you?”

John tilted his head to the side, glancing down briefly before making eye contact again. “I understand I’m not going to bring a lot of firepower to it, but it’s another set of hands.”

“Oh. Uh, yeah," he said, shaking off the surprise that had set in. "Having two heads and four sets of hands to use? It sure would be. Maybe clear all that snow up before that tingly sensation kicks in, you know that kind where you lose the feeling in your fingers? What a thing that’d be." And the idea of it was more than enough to put a broad smile on his face. "Thanks, man.”

John waved him off, but let his attention linger on him even after going back to shoveling. That might’ve made Sharky put his back into it a little more, when he wasn’t trying to look over at him himself.

Pink started to tint John’s face, mainly his cheeks, which reminded him of one of those old Christmas figurines he had a bad habit of knocking over at his grandma’s. Rosy-cheeked, probably ghost-touched, going off of some of their weirder bumps in the night that happened during the holidays, but still smiling and happy. John wasn’t smiling directly, but every time their eyes met, he caught something there. Not even one of those ‘blink and you’ll miss it’ type moments, but there. It made that warm feeling run through his chest again, and Sharky felt his mouth moving before he could stop it.

“You know, uh…you can come by again. Anytime. Just to shoot the shit, hang, dodge Broseph or Jake if they’re getting at you. Or hell, bring ‘em. We can all rock the firepit, I’ll set up some music, and we can just chill.”

Sharky cleared his throat, focused right on the pile of snow that kept on growing, and kept on talking.

“Or we could hop in Hurk’s truck, go do some ice fishing, but by giving it the ol’ Shurky one-two fer. You know, ‘cause Hurkie and I came up with it, and if we wanna trademark that it’d take a while, but you’re a lawyer. We could all sit down, you slap on a suit and crack open that briefcase of yours, and set us up while you’re throwing around all of that shit they say on Law and Order, and…oh, fuck.”

He stopped and crunched enough numbers to sweat.

“That whole talking bit’s got a price tag too, huh? Shit, think you could uh, swing a bit of a first time customer satisfaction guaranteed deal for-“

He turned as John reached his side, and yelped as he yanked him forward by the front of his coat. Kissed him in full, his lips cold, but his breath warm. So warm, and so much closer than he had been not even a minute before.

The shovel hit the snow, falling right out of his hands. Trying not to trip over it, Sharky moved forward, grabbing for him as John slid a hand up behind his head. Kissed him back. Just like he’d wanted to weeks back. Days back. Today, soon after seeing him at his front door. Like he could right now, even as words kept on trying to bubble up and spill out.

But he was here. John was on him, kissing him, moaning into his mouth, and he couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe it even as it was happening.

Breaking away, Sharky pulled back. Blinked and held his eyes shut for a few seconds just to see if he could ground himself. But John was still there when he opened them. Still there, still holding onto him, and nearly pinched himself just to be sure.

Sharky laughed. “Fuck, man. You just…you like throwing me off balance, don’t you?”

“Me? That’s you. Has been you from the very first day I met you,” John said, stroking his cheek. “Officially, at least. This fool that thought it’d be a fine idea to borrow a boat - while intoxicated at that - and trusted he would be able to return it.”

“Hey, I only failed step four. Nearly had profit too, but…uh, yeah.” Leaning into John’s touch, Sharky let his eyes fall shut. “Better that I didn’t. Hindsight being twenty-forty and all that.”

“Twenty-twenty.”

“Whatever. But-“ But why? The thought crept in, and his smile grew brittle. “You change your mind, or…?”

John’s eyebrows drew together. “About what?”

“You didn’t… I didn’t think you-“

A shaky breath slipped out, and Sharky couldn’t help it. Took two steps back to get some distance between them.

“I’d run through this before. Thought this shit over, and you weren’t interested. And that’s cool, not everyone is. Shit, I didn’t even think I was until it fucking laid me out. ‘Cause when I said I liked you, I liked you. Like, enough to put up with damn near anything just to get a few more minutes with you.”

John let out a breath, and pressed a hand to his eyes. Murmured something softly to himself that Sharky couldn’t quite catch, only for John to repeat it soon after. “It wasn’t you.”

“Wasn’t what?”

“‘You’ that made a mistake. I did. And letting you think that for as long as I did wasn’t fair. Not to you.”

When he lowered his hand, Sharky didn’t need to guess the expression crossing John for once. Regret came through clear as day.

“I don’t have friends. For a long time it wasn’t wise to, and the ones that I did make quickly showed me it was only for what they could get out of me. What they could take. Others took it further than that, and…I did the same in turn. Took people that I could’ve grown close to, and trusted, and used them instead. Ruined what could’ve been something wonderful. Something to cherish, and hold on to.”

John pursed his lips together, and gave him a rueful look.

“I knew what this was building towards. Ignored it. Then let myself want it. Where was the harm? But there’s always a catch to wanting. Wanting something, or someone. Was I doing it again? Being selfish? Taking that, twisting it just enough to make it into something that would harm more than help?”

Searching his eyes, John started reaching for him before drawing his hand back to his chest.

“But did you even want me? As a friend or anything else? I thought I saw the first there, and gave little thought before trying to see what was beyond that.”

“Like, I kissed you,” Sharky said, frowning slightly. “That’s…that wasn’t crossing any wires there.”

“But I put you in that position. When we stopped-”

“John, I was full on set to keep on going, man. Like, I wanted it. Thought you’d stopped, realized what the fuck was going on and decided to slam on the brakes once you’d got some sense back. And sure, I needed to cool it and think it over, but that was just…” Sharky paused, and drew in a deep breath, “just to come to realize how much I liked being around you. Okay, getting hit with the whole ‘shit, guess I’m bi too’ bit didn’t hurt, but I wanted to be there. Wanted to finish all of this, and maybe see where it’d go after that. And you, uh…”

“I came home. I told you we were done, and forced you off of my property.”

“Yeah,” Sharky replied, looking away. “Yeah, it pretty much went like that.”

“It was…I thought I was making a wise choice. To put that distance back where it should’ve been the entire time, because I was making the same mistakes all over again. And I didn’t trust myself with that. Or you.”

“And I wanna respect that. You’ve gotta do right by you, and you didn’t wanna fuck me up, but…maybe it’s not always gonna lead straight to a bad end, you know?” John kept his eyes on Sharky as he took a few steps closer, on edge, but not backing away from him, and Sharky continued, “I mean, I’ve heard you like having me around. Is that right?”

That, John didn’t hesitate to answer. “I do.”

It brought a smile out, and Sharky didn’t hide it. “Already told you how I feel. Unless…you want me to go over that a little again. Break it down some more.”

John raised his chin. “I might.”

“Okay, let’s see,” Sharky said, rubbing his hands together. “I like you. Like hanging with you, and shooting the shit. Like working on your plane. Car’s also good, and I like looking at you, though uh, that’s not the sentimental kind of thing we’re going for right now.”

John chuckled, “No, not quite.”

“But it was nice being here. Being wanted. Knowing you wanted me here at all, even if it was only to fix shit up at first. And to get sprayed the hell out of, but that was a bad moment. Got the drop on me, and I wasn’t super slick when it came to getting out of it. But I handled it, and later on, I had some other cool moments.”

“True. We can’t forget that.”

“And I uh, mentioned the talking, right?”

“You did, but as nice as that was, maybe I liked looking at you too.”

Sharky blushed, laughing at it only to grow quiet when John stepped closer. Almost enough to cross back into his space, and felt his breath catch.

“Just like right now.”

“Well, uh, shit,” Sharky sputtered, as John ran a hand up the front of his coat, right along the zipper. He toyed with that enough for Sharky to drop his eyes only to park them right on John’s lips, “Um. That right?”

“Yes, I believe so. But if you need any convincing, I could go into more detail.” The look John wore now he’d have to be blasted beyond all comprehension to deny. “Break it down some more.”

“You talking a lot? Or like-”

John tugged him close enough to share a few directly with him, breath all too hot against his ear as he did so. Outlining everything in the kind of painstaking detail he’d come to expect. But this wasn’t history, flying, or anything having to deal with the nuts, bolts, or screws of the boathouse.

This was all about him. The subject of choice, and the thing that kept John pressed right up against him. What he’d noticed. What he’d liked. Painting just the kind of picture Sharky would’ve been all too glad to slot into, especially if it kept John at his ear like this. Whispering the kind of things he’d never thought he’d ever hear him say.

“…Fuck me running, man. You ain’t messing around any.”

“It pays to be thorough.” John’s lips grazed him, brushing his earlobe as he stayed close, and every breath coming out of him made him want to curl in closer. “To never overlook a single detail, no matter how small, or insignificant it might seem.“

Swallowing thickly, Sharky rasped, “Speaking of details, I might’ve missed one last thing here. Really meant to bring it up.”

“What?”

“The whole kissing part.” Leaning back to look at him, their noses brushed together as he didn’t quite escape John’s orbit. Stayed well within range as he hovered closer and closer by the second. “Liked that a whole hell of a lot too.”

Kissing him this time wasn’t a problem. No, it was all too easy as he wrapped his arms around John, and held him as close as possible.

John’s fingers ran through his hair, knocking his winter cap off onto the snow, and he shivered. More from the cold than the gesture, but John seemed set on giving it a run for its money anyway. He didn’t pull, just tugged him closer as he deepened the kiss, dragging a moan right up and out of Sharky’s throat in record time. He also seemed set on finding a way to slip his hands under Sharky’s coat, and he barely held off from giving John added access. ‘Cause stripping was totally cool. Stripping outside in this weather was a dumbass stunt, and he held off.

Soon though, John broke the kiss to whisper something into his ear. Distracted by the feeling of his lips on his neck, Sharky leaned into him, and felt him laugh as he repeated what he’d initially said.

“Much as I like this,” John said, his breath warm against him, “standing out here with you, I think it’d be a lot more pleasant inside. Where it’s warmer for one, and maybe we can also find a few other means of keeping it that way. Do you agree?”

Sharky swallowed hard at the suggestion, nervous, but eager. “Yeah, let’s…let’s do it.”

Grabbing John’s hand, he squeezed it tight. And when he felt himself being guided towards the house, he stayed close behind.

#far cry 5 #sharky boshaw #john seed #john seed/sharky boshaw #now to agonize over series names #which I might've been low-key doing over the last couple of weeks #b/c the ideas for this really aren't slowing down or stopping #FC5 fanfiction #fanfiction #fic: I won't ask for much #fic series: we could make a home out of this

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the-awkward-outlaw · 5 years

Text

Second Chances - Ch. 15

Confession of One’s Sins

Warnings - blood, murder, swearing, death

Word count - ~10,800

Masterlist

AO3

You hear a rushing sound in your ears, your heart begins to pound as your stomach tightens painfully.

“Dead?” you say in a voice so steady you surprise yourself. “What do you mean?”

Dutch explains how the situation with the O’Driscolls was indeed a trap, as everyone had suspected, but not set the way they had thought. Dutch tells you that Arthur, acting as their lookout on a cliff, was captured and dragged away. He and Micah followed the men’s trail. They found where the O’Driscolls had camped with nothing of Arthur except scraps of his clothes, his satchel and a large pool of blood.

“I’m… I’m so sorry,” Dutch says again, gently squeezing your shoulder. You slap it off, anger and pain coursing through you.

“No,” you say, tears welling in your eyes. “No, he’s not dead. Not Arthur. He can’t die.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he says in a choked voice. “Micah and I searched, but we couldn’t find his body. I…”

“Stop saying you’re sorry!” you suddenly scream. “You couldn’t find a body because there isn’t one! God damn it, Dutch Van der Linde!”

The tears begin to fall and the rushing sound grows louder. You simply cannot believe that Arthur, your Arthur Morgan, is dead. He’s been shot at more times than you can count, gotten into more scrapes than anyone else you know yet he always comes out untouched. You expect to see him stomping in now on Artemis at any second, calling Bill on lookout duty a dumbass.

“Y/N, believe me!” Dutch yells, unsuccessfully pulling you from that rushing sound, which is only growing louder. He gently grabs your shoulders. “We did everything we could to find him! But those men, we never found ‘em.”

Micah walks over, wearing an unconvincing face of sadness. “Listen to Dutch, Y/N. Do you really think we would leave him if there was even a chance he was still alive?”

The rushing sound suddenly stops. Without thinking or hesitating, you turn and thrust your fist into Micah’s face, feeling it connecting with his jaw. He takes several steps back, grunting.

“You son of a bitch!” you shriek. “This was your idea! Your idea!”

You’re about to leap on him, to attack him further, when two people grab your arms and start pulling you back. You don’t stop screaming profanities at Micah, wishing him nothing but pain. Dutch steps quickly between the two of you, holding out an arm to Micah to prevent him coming at you.

“Y/N!” he yells, his brow furrowed. “That’s enough! Javier, Charles, take her away!”

The two men obey silently and drag you over to your tent. Arthur’s tent. You still scream, though you don’t know what you’re saying or who you’re screaming at. When they get you to the tent, Javier releases your arm and takes a hesitant step back.

“It’ll be okay, miss. You’ll be okay.”

The tears spill heavily from your eyes. Charles pulls you into a tight hug, which you accept, crying into his shoulder. He pats your back.

“Arthur was a good man, Y/N,” he whispers into your ear. “I’m sure he was thinking of you until the end.”

You feel your gut tighten more, your fists clench his shirt. Physical pain rips through your chest as the sobs come. Charles holds you close, letting you soak his shirt.

When you’ve cried yourself dry, he lets you go. Grimshaw walks over, her face sullen.

“Come on, dear. Come get something to drink,” she says kindly as Charles leaves your tent.

You shake your head. “No, he’s… he’s out there. He needs help.”

Grimshaw places a hand on your shoulder, her lower lip trembling slightly. “I know it’s hard to accept, dear. None of us want to believe it. But if he could be here, he’d want you to take care of yourself.”

“If he were here, I wouldn’t be like this!” you snap. You don’t mean to be rude to Susan, you know she’s only trying to help. Why can’t anyone else understand that there’s simply no way Arthur could be dead? He’s too tough to die. You decide you need to find out for yourself.

“I… I need to get out of here, Susan,” you say with a slight creak in your voice. “I can’t be here!”

Susan puts an arm around your shoulders and guides you to sit down on the cot. “I don’t want ya going anywhere, dear. Let me take care of you, try to get some rest.”

You realize you won’t be able to go anywhere while the others are watching you, so you simply nod. “I… I think I’m gonna lie down,” you say. Susan nods and stands up only to sit down in the chair. The same chair Arthur used to sit in when you were brought back from Roanoke Ridge.

You lie down and turn so your back faces her. A large ball has formed in your throat which you can’t get rid of, and your chest feels tight. You pretend to fall asleep, trying to calm down the shaking in your limbs.

The sun finally sets, the camp’s unusually quiet. You hear voices coming from the fire, though you don’t know nor care who’s talking. Dutch hasn’t come to see you, not that you want him to. You prefer he stays away, feeling like he’s betrayed Arthur. You wonder for the hundredth time what happened with the O’Driscolls.

Grimshaw has stayed seated in the chair, gently humming and reading a book. You’re glad to not be alone, although you’d prefer to be out there, following the trail Dutch and the others took to meet the O’Driscolls.

The moon rises, bathing the lake in silver. You hear Grimshaw stand up and feel her pull the blanket over you. You don’t move, despite being incredibly stiff from not having stirred the last couple of hours. You hear her quietly walk out of the tent, the camp is completely silent.

When you’re sure Grimshaw’s far enough away, you sit up and throw off the blanket. You hastily grab a few provisions, stuffing them into your satchel. You get up and tip toe over to Rannoch.

“Where do you think you’re going?” a voice says to you, only a few feet behind you. You recognize it belonging to Hosea. You turn and look at him.

“I have to know for myself,” you say, a tear falling from your eye.

Hosea simply nods, his face thoughtful. He puts a warm hand on your shoulder.

“Go. Find him and bring him back to us,” he says before walking away.

You pat Rannoch’s neck before climbing onto his back and trot through the trees. Lenny gives you a mournful farewell.

Once out of Clemens Point, you stop on the trail and think of where they would have gone. You know that the O’Driscolls never leave New Hanover or West Elizabeth, so the only way you’ve left to go is west and north. You sigh. There is a lot of west and north.

You kick Rannoch into a gallop, heading up towards Dewberry Creek. You cross the railroad and come to a stop, wondering where to go next. You pull out your map and inspect it, wishing Micah or Pearson had mentioned where the O’Driscolls had told them to meet. Then you think of Kieran, who would probably know better than anyone about their movements. You don’t want to return to camp though. Not yet. Not until you know. You figure, after inspecting the map, they likely met somewhere in the Heartlands or possibly somewhere near the Dakota River. Possibly even the bridge near Flatneck Station.

You begin with the Heartlands, despite its size. By the time dawn comes, you’ve reached the abandoned oil rig, finding nothing but a large skull of a long-dead predator in the bottom of the well and the burnt corpse of a long-dead man on the boardwalk.

You’re exhausted by this point, having not slept for so long and having been so distraught. Despite your desire to continue searching, you pitch camp not far from the oil rig. A rabbit foolishly wanders close just as your forming a fire pit and begins nibbling on a yarrow stem. You take it down swiftly with a bullet from your gold double-action revolver. You stare at the gun, remembering how Arthur had given it to you after you had robbed the wagon with him. You try swallowing the ball in your throat once more with no success.

You quickly skin and cook the rabbit, though you’ve little appetite for it. You pack up the remainder of the cooked meat and wander into your tent, crawling into your bedroll to sleep. Somehow you do, despite all that has happened.

Night has fallen once more and you travel in the darkness, heading further west, looking up into the full moon. You stare at a ridge not far ahead of you, a single glittering tree standing on it. Glittering?

You canter Rannoch up to it and see that a countless number of people have tied empty whisky bottles to its branches; they sway gently in the breeze. You spot on the ground broken bottles that have fallen and something catches your eye. An unopened can of beans lying not far from the trail.

Dismounting Rannoch, you approach it and pick it up. You wonder why someone would leave an unopened can of beans on the trail. Upon further inspection of the ground, you find traces of a possible struggle. Freshly kicked up dirt among the hoof prints, an imprint of where a body had lain. You’ve no idea who or what was laid there, but you wonder if it was Arthur. It looks to be about his size.

You follow the trail of hoof prints, heading further west towards Flatneck Station and the long railroad bridge beyond it. You follow it in the dim light. You come across the remains of a camp, the coals of the fire cold and black. You find traces of where people had slept and a few yards off, a large pool of blood. You recall Micah and Dutch explaining how they had followed the O’Driscolls only to find a camp with blood, clothes and his satchel in it. You don’t find any of the other things Micah described. You examine the blood closer. Sure, it’s a big pool, but not enough to prove the person it belonged to is dead. You follow the horse tracks out of the camp until they disappear on the railroad tracks. You stare out on the huge bridge expanding over the Dakota river, bathed in moonlight.

You jab your heels into Rannoch’s side. He snorts loudly and canters down the bridge. As you near the middle of it, a large owl, sitting on the rail, takes up into the air with a proud screech. You watch it soar up into the air, heading west along with you, almost like a silent and ghostly guide.

You reach the other side of the bridge where the owl abandons you, fluttering towards the thick trees north with a final hoot. You stop Rannoch, inspecting the ground for signs of tracks. You find nothing, but below on the trail beneath the bridge, you spot a single rider, rifle pointing up into the air. He’s heading west, a dead deer strapped to his horse. You take out your binoculars and pear at him, spotting his green shirt. An O’Driscoll?

You lead Rannoch into the cover of the trees, watching him silently. When he’s far enough ahead of you to not become suspicious, you follow him. You don’t have to follow him for long until he happens upon a tiny cabin with an even tinier shed a few yards from it. For such a small place, there’s multiple men standing about it. Their horses are tied to a post near a fire. You spot Artemis among them and your breath catches in your throat. You whisper her name, wishing she could hear you.

You stop beneath a large tree and dismount Rannoch, pulling out your semi-automatic shotgun and Springfield rifle. You stand behind the trunk and pull out your binoculars again, counting the men. You see four of them, standing around and holding rifles. A man appears from behind the house wearing a hat over his shoulder-length dark hair. You spot the white shirt and dark tie on him before he mounts a horse and runs off.

You hunker down once he’s out of sight and run towards the cabin, using bushes and trees to take cover in. You pull out your hunting knife once you’re a few yards from one of the men. He turns his back to you, coughing slightly. You run up quietly behind him and shove the knife into his throat. He gurgles and you gently guide him down to the ground. You drag his body into the bush you’d been hiding in.

You spot two more men, standing close to the horses and the fire. You silently approach them, stopping behind a large crate.

“How long we gotta stay here watchin’ this bastard?” one of the men asks in a heavy Irish accent.

“I dunno. Until that arsehole shows up, I guess,” his companion says.

You take out one of your throwing knives, hoping you can do the task silently. Both men’s backs are turned to you, staring into the night as though expecting someone. You throw it, aiming for the man closest to you. It strikes into his upper back and he falls. His companion turns and spots you.

“Hey! We got someone!” he hollers, pointing his rifle at you. You swing the Springfield off your shoulder and shoot him, but it’s too late. His yell has attracted the last guard, who comes barreling towards you. You pull out your lasso quickly and throw it, catching him.

“Hey!” he yells as you pull him off his feet. You run over, the adrenaline pumping loudly in your ears as you tie him up. You turn him on his back to face you.

“You have a prisoner? Huh?” you spit, holding a fist above his face.

“What’s it matter to you, girlie?” he snarls.

“It matters, your life depends on it,” you say.

“Yeah we got a prisoner. He ain’t nowhere near here!”

You punch him as hard as you can, he spits blood into your face.

“Son of a bitch,” you mutter before wrapping your hands around his throat and squeezing. He gurgles, his feet kick beneath you, still bound by ropes. After a few seconds, he lies still.

Not bothering to untie him, you run over to the cabin where you find cellar doors, locked shut. You pull out your revolver and shoot it. You struggle slightly to pull open the heavy doors. You stand at the top of the stairs, suddenly scared of what you might find.

A small grunt comes from the semi-darkness and you charge down the stairs. You find Arthur, hanging upside down from the ceiling, stripped down to his union suit.

“Arthur!” your voice comes out strained.

“Y/N,” he mumbles as you rush over. You struggle with the rope around his feet, trying to untie it. His weight prevents it, so you pull out your knife again.

“Sorry about this,” you say. He doesn’t respond as you cut the binds holding him up. He falls heavily, grunting again. You drop your knife and kneel next to him, spotting the large wound in his shoulder. Tears fall from your eyes as you take the hood off his head and hold his head to your chest.

“Ah, Y/N,” he says in a course voice. “Thank God.”

“I knew you were alive!” you sob into his hair. “I just knew it.”

The hand of his good arm comes up, clutching you with surprising strength. You release him from your chest. “What did that?” you gesture to his shoulder with a heavy sniff.

“Shotgun,” he grunts, wincing. “Fool… weren’t a very good shot. Lucky to still have my shoulder.”

“Come on,” you say, standing up. You pull him up with some difficulty, causing him to moan. “We need to get that buckshot out.”

You guide him to a seat next to a desk with a single candle on it. He leans back in the chair, his eyes looking up into your face. You feel your heart break at his pained expression.

“It’s deep, Arthur,” you say, inspecting the wound. You unbutton his union suit, exposing his shoulder. He winces again.

“Sorry,” you say. You find a metal file on the table. You pick it up and examine it before looking at Arthur’s shoulder.

“This is gonna hurt like hell,” you say, looking at him uncertainly.

“Just do it, darlin’,” he grunts.

You hesitate, holding the file and pointing it towards him. You suck in your breath and you push it into his shoulder, apologizing over and over again as he groans and winces. You see tears in his eyes as he tilts his head back. You try to dig as little as possible, ignoring the wet sounds coming from his shoulder. After a moment, you feel the file connect with something that seems like metal. With delicacy, you pull it out, watching the bullet fall.

Arthur sighs heavily. You pull out a bottle of whisky from your satchel. “Drink this, it’ll help,” you say. He takes it gratefully with his good arm and takes a deep swig.

You take the file again, wiping the blood off on your shirt. You then hover the file over the candle until the tip steams, just barely glowing red.

“I’m sorry, Arthur,” you say, pulling the file out of the fire. “This is gonna hurt.”

“It’s fine. I hardly feel it.”

You take in a breath once more and then shove the file in, cauterizing the wound. He yells out in pain, the smell of burning flesh filling your nostrils. You swallow the bile rising in your throat and take the file away, inspecting it. The hole is now closed, charred flesh peaking through. You quickly button up his union suit so you no longer have to look at it.

“Come on, we need to get you home,” you say, taking his good arm and putting it behind your neck, lifting him. He grunts as you hobble with him up the stairs and into the moonlight.

“Wait,” he says. “Wait, my… my guns.”

With his arm, he points to the shed.

“Can you stand?” you ask. He nods, so you let him go and dash over to the shed where you find a chest. Opening it, you find his gun belt, weapons and his satchel. You grab them and go back to him, whistling for Rannoch. You throw them over him before turning to Arthur.

“Can you ride?” you ask. He nods, taking a step towards you. He whistles for Artemis.

The giant warhorse trots over to him, neighing deeply. With difficulty, you help him mount his horse. You climb up and sit in front of him.

“Hold onto me, Arthur.”

His arms wind around you and his head settles onto your shoulder. You take Artemis’s reins and click at Rannoch, commanding him to follow. You push your heels into Artemis’s side and pat her neck.

“Take us home, girl,” you say, swallowing a fresh wave of sobs.

The horizon is turning pink and blue as you trot slowly through the trees towards Clemens Point. You’ve done the best you can to not cry all the way home, though you can feel yourself barely holding on. Arthur’s kept a surprisingly strong grip around your waist, but you can tell from his panting he’s in bad shape.

The light of the campfires glint through the trees and you sigh in relief, patting Arthur’s hand on your hip. “We’re home, honey! We’re home,” you say in an exhausted tone. He simply grunts in response.

You pull Artemis to a stop by the hitching post. Hosea, sitting under his canopy on his cot, looks up at the sound of her hooves.

“Y/N, Arthur!” he calls out. His voice attracts several of the others, including Dutch. You climb off the horse and Javier helps you guide Arthur gently off her. He groans heavily. Once he’s down, Lenny goes to his other side, draping Arthur’s arm across his shoulder.

“Arthur!” Dutch says desperately. “Arthur, my boy!”

“I told you, Dutch!” you say angrily. “I told you he’s alive!”

The anger that’s been boiling inside you reaches its peak. You march over to him, stopping him from approaching Arthur as Javier and Lenny lead him off to his tent.

“Dutch, tell me,” you demand, your clenched fists shaking. You might be nearly a head shorter than he, but he almost seems to cower at your glare. “Did you even bother looking for him? Sure, you found the camp with his blood, but did you bother to look beyond that?”

He begins stammering, explaining how he and Micah had searched the area, looking for clues.

“I spent not even five minutes at that camp and I found him in half an hour!” you scream. He takes a step back. “You just saw the blood and came to the conclusion that Arthur, the man you claim to be your son, was killed!”

Hosea steps up behind you, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“Y/N, now is not the time for this!”

You’re about to ignore him and continue screaming at Dutch when Grimshaw marches over to you.

“Y/N! I need your help!”

“I ain’t doin’ them damn chores right now, Susan!” you yell.

She puts her hands on her hips and glares at you. “The only chore I was gonna give ya is to stop hollerin’ and help me with Arthur!”

She and Hosea grab your arms and guide you over to your shared tent. You hear Dutch give a relieved sigh as you leave. You approach the tent and find Arthur lying on his back in his cot. You soften at the sight of him, looking so fragile and helpless.

“Stay with him, girl,” Grimshaw says softly. “He needs you now.”

You nod your head as Hosea pulls over the chair, instructing you to sit. Grimshaw inspects the wound in his shoulder and grabs a rag, soaking it in whisky before gently dabbing it onto him. Arthur shakes her off, groaning. After a moment, she takes the blanket and slides it over his shivering form.

“Y/N, stay with him. Let me know if there’s anything you need,” she says to you before heading off.

Hosea looks sadly down at him and sighs. He turns his face to you.

“Y/N, you look exhausted,” he says gently. “Get some rest.”

You nod, unable to speak due to the large ball in your throat making a reappearance. Hosea pats your shoulder and leaves, closing the tent flaps behind him.

You stare at Arthur for a few moments, some tears escaping. His forehead is shiny with sweat; you can see him trembling with his eyes closed. He suddenly jumps, leaning up on his good arm.

“Y/N!” he grunts loudly.

“I’m here,” you say, getting up to sit down on the bed, taking his hand. “I’m here.”

He visibly relaxes, laying down again. “Thought…” he swallows. “Thought I heard ya screamin’.”

“I was. At Dutch.”

He huffs slightly. “Good. Thought ya was hurt.”

“No,” you rub your thumb across his hand and wipe your cheeks dry. He closes his eyes again. WIthin seconds, he’s asleep. You watch the steady rise and fall of his chest. You go and sit down in the chair, tucking his hand back under the blanket. You lean back, completely exhausted. You wish you could curl up with Arthur, but you don’t want to disturb him now that he’s sleeping so soundly. You sigh and rest your head on your hand and somehow end up falling asleep.

Over the next few days, Arthur becomes feverish. You and Grimshaw do everything you can to keep him comfortable. Luckily, most of the time he spends sleeping, waking only long enough to eat. You don’t know what you would do without Grimshaw’s help. The only chore she assigns you is to care for Arthur, though she occasionally brings you some sewing so you at least have something to do.

It’s been three days since you’ve returned and Hosea approaches you in your shared tent.

“How’s he doing?” he asks quietly.

You explain that his wound will be fine as long as it doesn’t get infected. You also mention his fever.

“Well,” he sighs, smiling at you. “Sounds like he’s got the best care there is. He’ll be fine. By the way, I found something at the store while I was in town.”

He reaches into his satchel and pulls out a thick book. He looks at the dark blue cover. “Arthur mentioned your grandmother read you a book when you were young, but you couldn’t remember the title. Said you named your horse after the main character.”

“Yeah,” you say, crossing your arms and smiling. You wish you could remember the title, but you had been too young the last time she had read it.

“Does this look familiar?” he asks, handing you the book.

You read the title. “Fire Bringer,” you say, rubbing the gold-stenciled picture of a stag on the cover. You open the book and read the first few lines. Immediately, you know it’s the one.

“Thank you, Hosea,” you say, sniffing. You’ve been on the brink of tears since you brought Arthur back. Seeing the book you loved so much as a child brings you to the edge again. He nods understandingly. He pats your shoulder before leaving.

You want nothing more than to dive into this book, to relive the gorgeous descriptions, meet the proud characters. It almost feels like being reunited with an old friend. You resist by remembering how Arthur had brought you Black Beauty when you’d been injured. He hadn’t read any of it unless you were awake. You’re determined to do the same thing for him now.

You set the book down on the table next to his bed, barely glancing at the photos of his mother and Mary. You’ve wondered frequently why he still keeps the photo of Mary near, but you’ve never asked. You adjust the blanket, retucking in the ends of it, before heading out of the tent. You make your way over to the main campfire, scooping yourself a plate of stew.

“Hola, Y/N,” Javier greets you, grabbing himself a plate.

“Hello, Javier.”

“Hope you’re not too mad at me,” he says with a smile.

“Why would I be mad at you?”

“For dragging you away from Dutch. Looked like you were settled on the idea of hitting him.”

You realize he’s joking, which you appreciate. “Nah, of course not. Nothing good would have come from that. Dutch, he’s not a bad guy. He’s just....”

You don’t really know how you feel about Dutch at this moment. Before Arthur had been kidnapped, you never questioned the man’s loyalty to his own gang members. Now, after seeing him come so quickly to the conclusion of Arthur’s death, you’re beginning to question. Not that you’d ever admit this to anyone. You know loyalty is important to Dutch and if you were to begin openly questioning it, it would only bring bad things your way.

“Dutch must have been in a bad place, seeing all that blood,” Javier says, pulling you from your thoughts. “People react different ways when people they love vanish like that.”

You just nod, not really knowing what to say. You leave the fire, heading over to the lake with your stew. You pass the table where you’ve played poker in the past. Bill sits there alone now, nursing a bottle.

“Hey, Y/N,” he says, gesturing to you. “Come take a load off. Have a drink with me.”

Considering how long you’ve been with the gang, you know relatively little about Bill, except that he was dishonorably discharged from the army (though he denies it), his real name is Marion and he gets mouthy when drunk. You can tell from his eyes that he’s already over the edge.

“No thanks, Bill,” you say. “Maybe another time.”

“I said sit down and have a goddamn drink with me!” he says, his words slightly slurred.

“And I said no thank you!”

You stomp off, going to sit down on the log by the lake as you hear Bill curse behind you. You eye the uneaten stew in your plate, although you’re not remotely interested in it. You haven’t eaten much since you’ve returned. With resignation, you sigh and eat as much of the stew as you can manage, knowing you need to take care of yourself.

After you finish eating, you sit still in the moonlight, watching the water wave back and forth before you. You don’t think of anything in particular as you listen to the sounds of the fires behind you, the faint murmur of voices. A coyote somewhere far off howls. A breeze picks up, playing in your hair. You decide to go back to your tent to make sure Arthur isn’t cold.

You draw back one of the tent flaps enough to slide inside, where you find Dutch and Hosea. No doubt Dutch saw you leave the tent and took his opportunity to come and see Arthur, who’s awake. He looks considerably better, the color’s beginning to return to his face and he’s no longer trembling. They fall silent upon your return.

“Y/N,” Dutch says respectfully when he sees you. He’s been careful to steer clear of you since your return, probably scared of whatever verbal lashing you’ve got prepared for him. “Will you kindly fetch Arthur something to eat?”

You nod before looking over at Arthur, your eyes meeting briefly. You’re sure Dutch wants to speak privately with Arthur. You dish up another plate and bring it back to the tent. The voices inside fall silent once you enter. You set the plate on the table and approach Arthur, helping him to sit up.

“Thanks, darlin’,” he says, wincing a bit. You’re glad to hear him speak, as he’s hardly done so since his return.

“Y/N,” Dutch says, handing Arthur his dinner. “Would you mind giving us a few minutes?”

You look up at him and debate on arguing, wanting to state that after he so readily gave up he doesn’t deserve to be alone with Arthur. You look over at Hosea, who shakes his head so slightly only you would catch it. You silently stand up and make your way out, but you stop at the door of the tent, letting the flap slide closed.

“Not the forgiving type, is she?” Dutch says.

“She has her reasons,” you barely hear Arthur say.

“Don’t know how many times I apologized to her for… everything.” You can tell by the grunt in his voice he’s sitting down.

“We all wanted to look for him, Dutch,” Hosea says. “Even I had my doubts on your assurity.”

A brief moment of silence passes before Dutch speaks again. “I never actually found that camp where those animals shot you, Arthur. Micah found it. The way he told it made it sound like there was a lot more to it. But Y/N said when she found the camp there wasn’t enough to say that you had been killed.”

He pauses a moment. “If I had seen the camp myself, I would’ve known. I would’ve known you were out there, alive at least.”

“I keep tellin’ ya, Dutch,” Arthur says quietly. “I keep tellin’ ya how I feel about Micah.”

“I know, but he’s profoundly sorry about it all,” Dutch says.

You doubt that. Micah’s hardly been around since you returned and he’s done nothing to show he’s sorry. The one time you have seen him, he was nursing a large bruise on his jaw from where you had hit him and he had been looking at Arthur in anger. The look had confused you but you’ve hardly given it a second thought.

The next few moments, Dutch tells how the O’Driscolls had refused on a parley when they had met, how Colm had been more interested in trying to insult Dutch and rage him into a fight. He said that after a while, Colm had simply told him to enjoy his gang while they were still by his side and then he had left.

“If I had known then what he had meant,” Dutch says heavily, “I would have been more worried.”

“Colm set that trap for me, Dutch,” Arthur says, his voice a bit stronger. “He told me everything. He figured if he could get me, you’d come to the rescue, guns blazin’ and he’d snag you and turn you into the folks at Blackwater. Figured it’d buy him a way out.”

“That bastard. I swear to you, Arthur,” Dutch growls, “he will pay for this.”

“Thought we weren’t in the revenge business, Dutch. I ain’t dead, you ain’t captured. That’s all that matters”

“I don’t care. Sure, I stole his score by takin’ those train plans. But this… this I cannot forgive.”

“Now ain’t the time to be worrying about Colm O’Driscoll,” Hosea says. “Thought we was tryin’ to rob from these two families, the Grays and the Braithwaites. Think the O’Driscolls can wait for now.”

Another few moments pass in silence.

“You found yourself quite a woman, Arthur,” Dutch says finally. You can hear the smile in his voice. “When… when she came in with you, I honestly thought she was going to shoot me.”

You hear Arthur chuckle.

“She gave Micah quite a good mark,” Hosea adds with a laugh.

“She hit Micah?” Arthur asks.

“Oh, yes. When we came back thinkin’...,” Dutch pauses again, “Micah tried to reason with her and she just walloped him.”

The three laugh a bit, pulling a reluctant smile from you.

“To be honest, I’ve been a little… hesitant to be around her,” Dutch says. “Pretty sure if she had the chance, she’d hit me too.”

“Awe, I wouldn’t worry about that too much, Dutch,” Arthur says. “She ain’t dumb.”

“Well, I wouldn’t blame her if she did,” Dutch chuckles. You hear the sound of something being patted and then the sounds of Dutch and Hosea standing.

“Now you get some rest, son,” Dutch says. “With that girl of yours looking after you, you’ll be up in no time.”

You hear their feet shuffling towards the entrance of the tent, so you scurry away towards Rannoch make it look like you weren’t spying. You watch from the corner of your eye as Dutch and Hosea walk through the tent flaps and off to the main campfire. You give Rannoch an affectionate pat on the neck before approaching your tent once more.

Sliding in through the flap, you see Arthur finishing the last bite of his stew. He smiles when he sees it’s you.

“Hi,” you say almost shyly, although you’re not sure why.

“Hey there,” he responds with a smile.

You approach him and offer to take his plate.

“Just set it on the table,” he instructs.

You give him a curious look but comply. When you’ve set it down, you feel his arm loop around your waist. He suddenly pulls you down so you’re sitting on his lap.

“Oof! Arthur!” you say, readjusting yourself. “Careful, I don’t wanna hurt you.”

He smiles at you, his hands sliding over your back. “Awe, I’m fine, darlin’. All thanks to you.”

You blush and look down.

“You don’t have to thank me, Arthur. After all, you came looking for me when I was lost.”

He takes a finger to your chin, lifting your face to meet his. Without another word, he leans towards you and places his lips against yours. You sigh into the kiss and slide your hands up his chest, carefully avoiding his bad shoulder.

He pulls away just briefly. “Mm, never thought I’d get to feel that again.”

You smile and kiss him again, deeper than the last. His hands slide across your back and then downwards, squeezing your backside.

“Arthur!” you giggle against his lips. He joins in, his deep voice travelling through your chest.

“Can’t blame me, can ya?” he says. You look in his eyes and see the same hunger you’re feeling.

You sigh and pull away again. “Arthur, I’d… I’d love to, but I ain’t sure your body can handle that strain right now.”

“Awe, I’m fine, darlin,” he purrs in your ear. “Just a gunshot.”

You grin and huff at him. “Just a gunshot? You’re lucky to still have your shoulder! You said so yourself!”

He chuckles again, tilting his head back.

“A’right, fine! Ya got me!”

You lean in and cuddle into his chest, resting your head beneath his chin. “I’m sorry, Arthur. I’ll make it up to you once you’ve healed a bit more.”

His hands come up again, one settling against your back and the other rubs your arm. You stay that way for a few moments; you happily listen to the steady beating of his heart. The sound is far more comforting than it was before that whole mess with the O’Driscolls.

After a while, you lean back from him again. “What is it?” he asks.

You smile at him. “Hosea brought us something to pass the time while you recuperate.”

You lean over and grab the book from the table. You turn in his lap so your back is propped against his chest. His arms loop around your waist, he clasps his hands together on your stomach. You feel him rest his chin on your shoulder.

“What’s that you got there?” he asks.

“A book,” you say sarcastically. You practically hear his eyes roll.

“I know that, darlin’.”

You giggle and tilt the cover so he can read the title.

“Fire Bringer? Never heard of it.”

“I’m not surprised, you being such a big reader.”

Another eye roll. You pat his hand before running a finger over the stenciled stag again.

“Hosea found it in Rhodes. Said the main character is named Rannoch,” you explain.

Arthur sits quietly for a moment before he speaks. “Rannoch. Didn’t you say you named your horse that because of a book?”

You nod your head, the ball arising in your throat again, grateful that he remembers. “Yeah. The one my grandmother used to read to me before she… before she passed.”

You feel Arthur’s lips brush against your shoulder, his arms tightening around you. You turn and see his eyes studying the golden stag. A strange expression has come to his face.

“What is it?” you ask.

“Nothing. It’s just…” he pauses. “You know how when you’re real sick you get them fever dreams?”

You nod.

“Well, when you brought me back, I had a… a strange dream.”

“Like a nightmare?”

“No. It weren’t scary. More comforting, I guess.”

His eyes glaze a bit as he recalls the dream.

“I saw a meadow. All golden in the afternoon sun. And in it was a real big buck like that one,” he points to the stag on the cover. “Real proud it was. Just walking through the grass. That’s it, and I just kept seeing it, over and over again.”

You sit silent for a moment, imagining what he described.

“Wonder what it means?” he says.

“I don’t know, Arthur. Y’know, I remember when I was a kid and I’d see big bucks in the forest, I always felt like they had a story to tell, and all we had to do was listen.”

Another moment of silence passes. Arthur’s chin settles on your shoulder again.

“Is this that story?” he asks gently, brushing a hand over the cover.

“Maybe. It’s been a long time since I… since my grandmother read it to me. I don’t remember a lot of it.”

“Let’s read it then,” he says, kissing your skin once more.

You smile and look at him as he lifts his head. “You wanna do the honors?” you ask, offering him the book.

“No, darlin’. It’s your book, it’s your story. You read it.”

“Okay,” you say, placing a soft kiss on his lips once more. You settle your back more comfortably against his chest before flipping open the cover.

Four weeks have gone by since you brought Arthur back to camp. It’s been slow-going with the camp as no progress has been made with either the Grays or the Braithwaites nor has there been any word regarding the O’Driscolls. You can tell Dutch is getting anxious, claiming no one is doing their part in bringing money to the camp. You find this claim to be ludicrous because several of the others, mostly John, Charles and Javier, have been picking up the slack for Arthur. You overhear Javier telling Mary-Beth as he plays the guitar how much he hadn’t realized how much Arthur did for the camp before.

You’ve been working a lot, too, in order to help. While you stay around camp as much as possible to care for Arthur, you have to leave every couple of days, mostly to hunt so Pearson’s cooking doesn’t get too lean. You also go on a couple of robberies with Sean, Lenny and even Charles.

Arthur has vastly improved from his first few days. His fever disappeared during the first week and his strength quickly returned. He’s no longer restricted to your shared cot and can even do work in the camp, except Grimshaw’s firm on him not lifting anything too heavy, or chopping wood which you find to be a bit of a letdown. Every once in a while, you’ll see him wince or clutch at his shoulder, but other than that he doesn’t complain. Sometimes when you settle down for the night with him, he’ll express how much he wishes he could get out there again, go hunting, fishing or even just go for a ride on Artemis. You promise him that you’ll take him for a trip once he’s well enough to do so.

The down times you take with Arthur are by far your favorite. At least for a couple of hours a day, you and Arthur retreat to your shared tent. Sometimes you make love, although it’s not as passionate as it had been in Strawberry. You can tell Arthur’s nervous about getting caught in camp. Other times, you sit in each other’s embrace and he insists you read from the book that Hosea brought you. Considering that you only learned to read a few months ago, you’re able to read the book with ease, although a few words will still cause you to falter and Arthur will help.

You sit on your cot now between Arthur’s legs, the book propped open on your lap as you read from it. You’re very near the end of it, which causes some sadness within you. You’ve loved reliving the book, remembering scenes and characters you’d forgotten about. Arthur has told you he’s been enjoying it, too, and you can tell by his eyes he’s being honest.

You reach the end of the chapter, and you yawn, stretching your arms up. Arthur chuckles, catching the cover of the book so it doesn’t close in the absence of your grip.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he says, placing your bookmark. “Think it’s time for bed.”

“No,” you quietly say, sliding your hand across the back cover. “We can finish it tonight! We’re getting to the good parts!”

He laughs again, taking the book from your hands and setting it on the table. “I know we could, but we got a lot of work to do tomorrow.”

“I think you mean the usual amount.”

He shuffles in the cot so he can lay down. You hesitate and then join him, curling against his chest.

“Actually,” he says, rubbing your back, “Dutch wants me to meet Bill, Sean and Micah in town tomorrow. Somethin’ to do with the Grays.”

You look up at him. “You think you’re well enough?” You pull at his union suit to reveal what’s left of his wound. At this point, it’s healed into a large, dark spot and a divot in his flesh. You’re grateful, the charred flesh had been an eyesore. You know he’ll have a scar there for the rest of his life. Recently he’s become quite self conscious about it, mostly around you since you’re really the only one who sees it. He drags your hand away now to hide it once more but he doesn’t let go of your hand.

“I’ll be fine, darlin’,” he says. “Should be an easy job. Probably just robbin’ more of that Braithwaite moonshine anyways.”

“Well, okay,” you say. You kiss him briefly. “Just promise me you’ll come back right after? I don’t want you gallivanting off someplace the way you sometimes do.”

He smiles. “I promise, princess.”

You wake up to the sounds of Molly screaming at Dutch in their tent only a few feet from yours. It’s nothing new really. Since the gang arrived in Clemens Point, they’ve been arguing more and more. At first, you had no clue as to why, but since their tent is so close, you’ve been able to pick up what their problems are.

“You haven’t touched me in weeks!” Molly says in her thick accent.

“And what exactly is it you want from me?” he snaps.

“To be treated with some respect! A little affection, at least!”

“You think this is the way to a man’s affection? Nagging him all the time? I am trying to read here!”

“You’re a bastard, Dutch Van der Linde!”

You clear your throat, feeling more awkward by the second. You hate eavesdropping on them this way, but it’s not like they’re being quiet about it.

You feel a bit sorry for Molly. Sure, when you first met her, she spent most of her time in Dutch’s tent, brushing her hair or inspecting her face in her pocket mirror. You had barely seen her do any work, except on occasion she would clean dishes for Pearson. It was clear she had come from a privileged background, so doing mediocre work like this was probably not something she was used to. You know very little about how she ended up here with Dutch, but it’s perfectly clear she loves him. You have a nasty idea that Dutch does not feel the same way. You had witnessed him a week ago flirting with Mary-Beth while she was reading.

A few days after that, you heard Molly shouting at Dutch, saying that she’d noticed the way he had been looking at an unnamed her. Dutch had told Molly she was being ridiculous, brushing off her accusations. Later that day, you’d overheard her and Abigail talking. She had told Abigail that she loved him and was sure he loved her, but Abigail tried to make her see reason. You can understand why Abigail has given up on the notion of love, her and John have done nothing but either ignore each other or argue. Molly, however, has not experienced that kind of letdown.

You sometimes wish you could speak with Molly. However, whenever the rare chance to do so comes by, it never happens. She often looks at you like you’re beneath her, and the few times you’ve greeted her, she’s acted like she hasn’t even the faintest interest to talk with you.

“They at it again?” Arthur groans beneath you, ripping you from your thoughts. He rubs his hand over his eyes.

“Yeah,” you say, leaning into his chest again.

He sighs, his arm draping over you once more.

“You remember how happy they used to be?” you ask quietly.

“Who?” Arthur says, his eyes closed again.

“Them. Molly and Dutch?”

You silently recall seeing them in Horseshoe Overlook dancing the night Sean returned. You remember the wide grin Molly wore, the way Dutch chuckled and his eyes sparkled. Now whenever you see them together, they always seem to trade a look of contempt.

Arthur sighs again. “Dutch’s in a hard place with her, darlin’.” He pauses. “After Annabelle died, he’s made his way through a few women. Molly’s just the most recent.”

You’re a bit taken aback by the nonchalant tone Arthur’s taken. He talks as though Dutch viewed these women the same way he used his books. You know Evelyn Miller is his favorite author, he quotes the man often enough. You’ve also seen the other few books on his shelf. They would assuredly be collecting a thick layer of dust if camp hadn’t moved so often.

“How do you mean?” you ask.

Arthur stays silent for a moment. “Annabelle was real special to Dutch. Love of his life, I reckon. You think he looked happy in Horseshoe Overlook with Molly, well, that weren’t nothin’ compared to how he was with Annebelle. When she died, it… changed him. Like I said, Molly ain’t the first woman he’s been with since Annebelle.”

“What happened to the others?”

“Most of them just drifted away. Few of them ever stayed in camp the way Molly does. Then again, none of them came so far neither.”

He explains how Molly arrived by boat from Scotland years ago. She had come from a wealthy family, but her parents had died in a fire. After that, Molly and most of her siblings left their hometown. Arthur said he thought most of them had stayed in Scotland; only Molly had come to America to start a new life. That was how she met Dutch. They had bumped into each other on the street and he offered to buy her a few drinks. When she told him she had nowhere to go and almost no money, he had invited her to come to camp and begin anew with him.

“That was about five years ago. They been in love ever since,” Arthur finishes.

“You’re a no-good, degenerate liar!” you hear Molly snarl at Dutch from their tent. “You hear me? You’re exactly what you say you aren’t!”

“Whatever you say, miss,” Dutch responds in a tired voice.

Arthur sighs again. “Well, guess I should say they been in love until now.”

You lie against Arthur in silence for a few moments. The arguing has finally stopped. You figure Molly has marched off somewhere else. You silently listen to Arthur’s steady breathing, his heart pumping in your ears.

“Are you decent?” Dutch’s voice comes from outside your tent.

“One second, Dutch,” Arthur says. He quickly pats your shoulder before sliding out from under you and standing. He puts his pants on over his union suit and slides his suspender straps over his shoulders. You admire his muscled back a moment before he walks out of the tent.

While the men talk outside, you get up and start getting dressed yourself. By the time you’re lacing your boots up, Arthur walks back in.

“What’s going on?” you ask.

“Oh, nothin’,” he says, reaching for his blue striped shirt. “Dutch just wants us to go into town to meet the Grays.”

“Want me to come with you?”

He starts buttoning up his shirt. “I would, darlin’, except ya gotta remember the Grays deputized only me and Bill. Ain’t quite sure why Micah and Sean are comin’ along, especially since Sean helped me torch their fields. Anyways, my point is the Grays will probably be suspicious if a woman shows up.” “What’s wrong with me being a woman?” you ask, putting your hands on your hips.

“Absolutely nothin’,” he smiles and puts on his hat. “But these Grays are ol’ fashioned. I mean, they so stuck in the past they’re trying to get that young Beau Gray to marry his cousin. Poor kid.”

You briefly recall the story Arthur told you some weeks ago about Beau Gray. How he’s in love with the Braithwaite’s daughter Penelope. You smile at the memory of Arthur describing them as an “inbred retelling of Romeo and Juliet”.

Arthur finishes putting his boots on and then offers you his hand, which you take. You both walk out and head over to the main campfire to pour yourselves some coffee.

Just as you begin sipping your drink, Sean walks over with a big grin on his face.

“Ah, there they are! The lovebirds of the century!”

“What you want, boah?” Arthur says, taking a drink.

“What? Not even a good mornin’, Sean MacGuire?” he says, his arms outstretched. You smile. Arthur just takes another drink.

“Ah, well fine, ya sour ol’ man! Seriously, Y/N,” he leans closer to you. “Don’t know why ya picked him of all us gents!”

“Yeah, well maybe you don’t know him the way I do,” you say, grinning wider.

“And let’s keep it that way!” Sean says, smirking at Arthur. You laugh with him as Arthur just rolls his eyes.

“Can we just go so I can get you to shut up for once in your damn life?” Arthur says. He quickly finishes the rest of his coffee and puts his cup back in his satchel.

“A’right, fine,” Sean says, strutting away with Arthur. He turns back to yell at you. “Don’t worry, Y/N! When we get back, I know Arthur will give you his version o’ things, then I’ll tell you how they really went down!”

You laugh aloud as Arthur grabs his shoulder. “Will you just shut up and get on your horse?”

You shake your head as they march off on their horses with Bill and Micah. Pearson approaches you.

“Morning, Ms. Y/L/N,” he says.

“Good morning, Mr. Pearson.”

“Can I ask you a favor?”

You nod your head.

“Could you just head out and hunt a little? Even a deer and a couple of rabbits would be extremely useful.”

You agree and quickly finish your coffee.

“I tell ya,” he says, lifting up the big cast iron pot from the fire to begin today’s stew. “I’ll be happy when you and Arthur are back to hunting full time. Maybe you ought to think about not getting hurt so often?”

You chuckle. “Yeah, well the life we live doesn’t really allow us that luxury, now does it?”

You hear him chuckle as he walks away. You put your cup back into your satchel and then make your way over to Rannoch. You pat him, thinking about your book, and feed him a treat. Kieran greets you warmly as you begin to saddle him, to which you greet him in return.

You climb onto Rannoch’s back and head on out through the trees. When you reach the main trail, you debate on whether you should head into town. You know Arthur and the others were meeting the Grays there, maybe you could just say hi quickly before going into the store to pick up a few things.

You begin making your way there when you hear the distant thunder of gunshots. They’re coming from Rhodes. You spur Rannoch into a gallop, terrified. Your hindered by the onslaught of riders and wagons coming in your direction, away from town.

“Don’t go that way, miss!” a man on a coach yells at you, whipping his horses. “It’s dangerous!”

You ignore him and go on. Just as you’re about to make the last turn before the town comes into view, a rider appears and your horses collide. Rannoch collapses with a loud snort, the other horse does the same.

“Watch where you’re going!” you yell at the other rider, who gets up and clutches his arm.

“Why you goin’ that way?” he retorts. “Can’t ya hear the gunfire?”

You throw him a dirty look and get back on Rannoch, who has stood up and paws the dirt nervously.

“You’re okay, boy,” you say. You pat his neck and then spur him on. The gunfire has stopped and you make the final turn. Ahead lies the town of Rhodes. You stop Rannoch as you see all the corpses littering the road.

“What the hell?” you whisper. You push Rannoch into a trot. At the end of the main road, you see Micah and Bill mounted on their horses, a limp figure draped over Brown Jack’s rump. You spot Arthur backing away from the horse.

“Micah, best you and I don’t speak for a moment,” you hear Arthur snarl.

“You don’t scare me, tough guy,” Micah responds. He turns in your direction and gallops down the road. He glares at you as he passes but says nothing. Arthur hasn’t seen you and his back is turned towards you as Bill canters down the road, away from you. You see the limp figure jiggling on his horse, and you recognize the green hat and gray coat.

“Arthur!” you call out. He’s standing next to Artemis, his hand on her neck.

“Y/N?” he responds. You trot down the road and come to a stop next to his horse. You dismount and approach him slowly, looking around at all the bodies. Over near the saloon, you see Sean’s horse standing untethered.

“Arthur, what happened?”

You look up at him and see his eyes welling with tears.

“It was a setup,” he says heavily. “Another goddamn setup. Those Grays didn’t want us here to do a job. They wanted to kill us all.”

“What happened?” you say again.

Arthur just shakes his head and looks around.

“Not here, Y/N. Not like this.”

He mounts Artemis and you hop onto Rannoch. You follow Arthur out of Rhodes and up into Scarlett Meadows. He doesn’t say a word to you nor do you push him to speak. He leads you up to a rise in the land, to a place you’ve seen on the map by your tent called Face Rock. He stops Artemis and hops off quickly, taking a few steps away. You stop Rannoch and follow him. He still does not speak, instead he sits down in the grass. You sit too and loop your arms around his, leaning your head on his shoulder.

After a few moments, Arthur speaks. He tells you how the Grays had asked them to meet them at the saloon, claiming they needed some help with matters of security.

“Whole thing felt off,” he says, looking off into the distance. “Town was quiet. Too quiet. Only Micah and Bill seemed to know any real details about the job. Well, you know Bill, damn fool he is. And Micah was bein’ real cagey about all of it. I kept askin’ what they needed security for, but he wouldn’t say. Just kept sayin’ they was gonna pay real good and that Dutch had said to keep goin’ with them Grays until we found this ol’ Confederate gold.”

He goes on to describe that Bill was under the impression that all was fine, how he’d been around the Grays enough to think the job they were asking for was legit. Arthur described that just when things started to feel very odd, Sean got shot in the head. You gasp and cover your mouth.

“Had to shoot our way out after that,” he adds, his mouth in a hard line. “They must have recognized Sean from when we’d snuck in to burn their fields. Probably why they targeted him first. They almost got Bill, but he got lucky.”

He falls silent again and he continues to stare off into the distant trees. You wrap your arms tighter around him, still trying to process the fact that Sean is dead. How could it be that the young Irishman who you’d been joking with this morning, who had endured weeks of torture at the hands of bounty hunters and hadn’t said a word, was now suddenly dead? A tear slips down your face as you realize how quiet the campfires at night are going to be now. How you’ll never hear him talk about his old da or hear his jokes.

An eagle whirls lazily through the sky, screeching in the joys of the hunt.

“He was like an annoyin’ little brother to me,” Arthur says. You look up at him but he doesn’t meet your gaze. “What fun we had ridin’ together.”

“Arthur,” you say, more tears rolling down your cheeks. “I’m so sorry.”

“What a goddamn mess we’re makin’ of things,” he says, still not looking at you.

You don’t quite know what to say, so you settle your head against his shoulder again. After a moment, you wonder if maybe he wants to be alone to grieve. You ask him and he finally looks at you.

“No, please don’t go nowhere.”

You nod and he pulls you into a tight hug. You feel his forehead dip against your shoulder. You grip him tighter around the waist, laying your head down on his shoulder. You don’t know how long you stay like that, but by the time he pulls away, it’s well past noon.

“You gonna be okay?” you ask, cupping his cheek with your hand. He nods and places a hand over yours, kissing your palm.

“We gotta try to make this right,” he says. “I’m tired of losin’ folk.”

“I know, Arthur. Just promise me I won’t lose you in the process.”

He kisses your forehead. “Ain’t nothin’ pullin’ me away from you, darlin’.”

He stands up and offers you his hand, which you take. “Guess we oughta head back to camp. Tell Dutch everything.”

“Shit, Pearson asked me to do some hunting,” you say.

Arthur sighs, you can tell he doesn’t have it in him to do that right now.

“Well, I guess we can tell Pearson I didn’t have any luck.”

“No, no. Camp needs to eat. Let’s just do this quick.”

Arthur quickly mounts up on Artemis and pulls out his bow. You mount Rannoch and follow him down in the direction of Clemens Point. Luckily this part of Lemoyne is rich in game and soon you’ve both brought down a deer to take back.

You sling the doe across Rannoch’s back.

“Alright, this should keep us set for the next few days,” you say. Arthur nods, the dead buck swaying from Artemis’s haunches. You remember briefly the dreams he’d told you about. Shaking your head, you mount Rannoch and the two of you head off.

After a few moments of travel, you and he trot through the trees leading to Clemens Point. Once you hit the clearing, you can tell something is wrong. Most of the gang has gathered around Dutch’s tent, looking tense. You wonder if this is in response to Sean’s death.

You and Arthur quickly deposit your kills to Pearson’s wagon and march over to the crowd.

“Arthur!” Dutch calls, pushing his way through to him. “Have you seen that boy, Jack?”

“No,” he says. Dutch asks you and you shake your head. “Ain’t seen him in a while, Dutch.”

“Where’s my goddamn son?” Abigail charges over on the brink of tears. “Where is he? They took him, didn’t they?”

You’ve no idea who she’s talking about.

“Who took him?” Arthur asks.

“We think that Braithwaite woman took him,” Hosea says, walking over. “Kieran said he saw a couple of them fellers that sounded like Braithwaite boys.”

“Where’s my son, Dutch Van der Linde?!” Abigail says, placing her hands on her temples.

“Now, Ms. Roberts,” Dutch says, standing to his full height. “We will find him and we will bring him back to you and we will kill anyone fool that had the temerity to touch a hair on that boy’s head!”

John walks over, looking distraught.

“Just get me back my son!” Abigail pleads.

“We’re going to go get him back right now!” Dutch says, marching away, followed by Hosea, Arthur and John. Bill, Charles and some of the other men join in. You’re about to follow them, wanting to help, when Susan grabs you.

“Not now, girl,” she says. “They’re headed into a guaranteed gunfight. The last thing Arthur needs is to be worrying about you at a time like this.”

“But what if…” you begin to say. You couldn’t live through him getting shot again.

“He’ll be fine, dear. He’s the best shot out of all of them. Those boys will wish they’d never even so much as looked at Jack when they show up on their doorstep.”

“Come on!” Dutch yells from the back of the Count. “Let’s ride!”

#Red Dead Redemption #red dead fanfic #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x oc #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #Van Der Linde Gang #R* Games #rockstar games #I'm awkward #second chances

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winterknight1087 · 4 years

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Flower from the Fae (ch 28)

Chapter Title: Magic 101

Summary: Virgil likes plants, but when he goes to investigate a plant his friend, Remy, tells him about, he doesn’t exactly check out the plant. Little does he know that the handsome man he meets there is a fairy who is about to challenge the world Virgil knows.

Word Count: 2783

Chapter Warnings: Sympathetic Deceit, Sympathetic Remus, cursing,

Chapter Pairings: Demus, Sleep/Picani

AO3 Link My Writing

A/N: this is chapter 28, so read the first chapter here!

Virgil woke up, freezing. He blearily looked around and realized an arm was wrapped around him. Mentally listing off every curse word he knew, Virgil squirmed and was greeted with the sight of Dee buried under five blankets, with Remus spooning him. Bastard is stealing my warmth even in sleep!

Virgil accepted his fate of being Dee’s cuddle partner but was not about to happily accept the lack of blanket. He carefully tried to pull the top layer off the sleeping man. A sleepy hiss came from him. Virgil felt a bolt of terror shoot through him, though Dee didn’t notice. In fact, Virgil found himself absorbed into the mound of blankets, where Dee squirmed in closer to the new warmth.

“Oh, great, the blanket monster absorbed Vee. Guess you don’t have to make chocolate chip pancakes, Remy.” Emile’s voice said.

“He wouldn’t have been if he left my blankets alone,” Dee muttered.

“Maybe you shouldn’t steal blankets we give your captives,” Remy answered. “But you sound to be awake so release the poor baby and come get breakfast.”

“Not my fault that I’m eternally cold!”

Virgil felt Remus’s arm gently separate him and Dee before pulling the muttering man into a tighter hug. “VeeVee has been freed!”

He took the chance and escaped. He was hit with the smell of breakfast and practically ran for the kitchen. Emile and Remy were grinning as the youngest of their group scrounged together a plate, acting as if they didn’t know he was in there. Emile did slap Virgil’s hand away from the pile of pancakes before pointing at the stove where pancake mix with chocolate chips in it was cooking.

“We didn’t expect Dee to snatch my blanket from you so fast. Figured we still had about ten minutes before the blanket war started.” He commented.

“REMUS!”

The three of them glanced into the living room. Dee was attempting to flee his husband’s grip. Remus was cackling evilly as he snuggled in closer. Before they could ask, they saw Remus stick his tongue into Dee’s ear and the man let out another shriek, desperately trying to get away again. Virgil made a face but turned his attention to pop a chocolate chip into his mouth.

Ten minutes later, they were all gathered at the table. Dee was scowling, muttering that Remus was a bastard, which the others decided to ignore. Virgil and Remus got into a mini thumb war, fighting over the last of the good pancakes. Unfortunately, Virgil lost, as that was when Gala decided to climb up his entire body to get to her favorite perch, ignoring that her claws did not sink solely into cloth. Almost with a pointed look at Dee, she licked the outside Virgil’s ear before rubbing her head against him.

“See! If Gala is allowed to do it, why can’t it!”

“GALA IS A CAT, YOU BASTARD! SHE ALSO DIDN’T STICK HER TONGUE INTO HIS EAR!”

“Oh, I need to get going!” Emile jumped up, after seeing the time. “I’ve got a couple of appointments to get to!”

Remy pulled him into a hug. “Go knock ‘em out, Emmy.”

“You are not allowed to run away from us again, you hear,” Emile stated, pointing at Virgil.

He held his hands up in surrender. “I won’t!”

“Oh, don’t forget to call those Stitch stealers out!” Remy called, as Emile started towards the garage.

“Now, on to you,” Dee stated, looking at Virgil. “I think the best thing to start with is getting you used to seeing magic.”

“What about seeing Aunt…”

“NO!”

“Seriously, I sometimes really wonder what it is with you and this Aunt Patty,” Remy stated to the snickering man.

Remus shrugged. “Chaos.”

Remy pursed their lips and squinted at the chaotic being, not trusting that answer but also scared to question it anymore. “Anyways… I think Dee has a good point. Considering how far you already are in working your own magic, it’s mildly ridiculous that you don’t notice magic around you. I mean seriously, it took you months to realize your cuties are fairies. That’s kind of pathetic.”

Virgil scowled but let Remy get away with the jab, as looking back, he also thought that same thing. “Whatever, so what do you two have planned then?”

“Planned? Nothing. We’re winging this just as much as you are. Every time, at least for me, I’ve tried to pick a real starting point, you randomly reveal that it’s already done. I mean seriously? Running away from magic only to pick up a book on magic?”

“Alright, can we please lay off on this? I get it. I am an idiot. I am oblivious. I am a complete and utter moron.”

“Hey, no talking bad about yourself,” Remy stated. “Only we’re allowed to call you a dumbass and that’s because we keep you from doing the really stupid shit you’ve tried to do.”

“Mrrrph”

“Oh, thanks, Gala. Glad to see you agree with them.”

“Anyways, how about we get you used to seeing me shift without the screaming and terror, yeah?” Dee asked.

Virgil scowled at him. “That’s not fair. I didn’t know and I was panicking and suddenly one of my best friends just randomly turned into a snake?”

Remy took plates from the table to start washing. “Still, sounds like a plan. You get the idiot for the day and I’ll show him sand magic tonight. Pretty sure I can pull books on magic for him to look at while I’m out.”

“And I still need to get him now kitchen stuff. Maybe see if we can find a bunch of the basic spell stuff.”

“And what do you have planned, rat-man?”

“Writing! Need to write at least three chapters today!”

“Of the murder-mystery or the grimdark?” Dee asked, curiously.

“Both!”

Dee groaned while Remy laughed. “Perks of being married to a creepy author, Dee.”

“Keeps him out of trouble, at least,” Dee commented. “Guess you’re coming with us, Vee.”

Half an hour later, Dee and Virgil sat in his study, discussing snakes. It felt so normal to Virgil, but eventually, Dee broke that normalness by showing him what his snake form looked like. With a breath, Dee seemed to shimmer and vanish. A giant snake took his place and plopped onto the ground. The snake let out a hiss before slithering over to one of the tons of heaters Dee had and curled up around it.

“Well, I… uh… guess I now understand your love of heaters.” Virgil offered, awkwardly. “Why am I having to watch you become a… uh… giant…snake again?”

The shift back took a little longer before Dee appeared, sitting next to the heater. “Because it’ll help you: one, become more comfortable with magic; two, teaches you one of the basic kinds of magic; and three, witches are capable of learning tricks from other types of magic.”

“Uh… is this a bad time to remind you that I…uh… don’t particularly… like snakes that are… bigger than my arm?”

“Yes. But on the other hand, you can be sure that I won’t attack you. Too skinny and boney.”

“That’s rude.”

Dee grinned at him. “How many times have I told you that you have nothing to fear from a snake I try to introduce you lot too? Snakes are not scary.”

Virgil shut his eyes, wondering if he was really doing this. “OK, guess it’s exposure therapy time for Anxie.”

“Meow.”

“See, even Gala says you have nothing to worry about.”

Virgil looked at him in surprise. “Wait, do you actually understand what she’s saying?”

Dee thought about it. “Not exactly, but I have a general idea. It’s sort of like knowing a different language which you aren’t exactly good at but you understand enough? I’m much better with snakes. You should be able to understand her better as you build your magic. I’m fairly sure she is supposed to be your familiar.”

That reminds me… “That’s what you meant by familiar.”

“What?”

“Whatever, let’s just continue, I guess.”

Dee nodded before looking at Gala. “You are not allowed to claw me, understood?”

“Mrrph”

They spent most of the day discussing shapeshifting and how it worked. Remus burst in once to steal a picture of Dee’s snake fangs, but otherwise spent the day frantically writing, with lots of questionable noises coming from the other side of the hall, many of which made Virgil wonder if he was actually committing murder in there.

Eventually, Dee dragged Remus and Virgil out and they went to dinner, still discussing snakes and subtly discussing shapeshifting when no one was around to hear. After that, Dee took them to the store to pile lots of different colored candles, incense, special plates and cups, and a bunch of things that just kind of seemed excessive to Virgil into a cart.

“Are we really buying all of the witch supplies from a grocery store?”

“They don’t need to be fancy, just enough to get you started. Some things you’ll be better off getting from your pests.” Dee looked over the cart before glancing at Remus. “You think we’re missing anything?”

“Swords!”

“We are not getting Anx a sword. Knowing him, he’d just challenge his pest to a duel.”

Remus pouted but didn’t add anything, so Dee led them to the checkout. “Virgil, if I turn around and see you reaching for your wallet, I will let Remus bite you. I need to replace your pots and pans and the rest can be for the complete scare I gave you.”

“But…”

“No buts.”

Remus snickered “butt.”

“We are literally set for several lifetimes, Vee. Relax and just accept it.”

Virgil tried to fight him, but Dee kept refusing. Remus rolled his eyes before he dragged the anxious one away from the checkout line. Remus didn’t need Dee strangling one of their best friends over something so trivial for them. Dee eventually appeared with a cart full of bags. They grabbed the bags and walked back to Virgil’s house, listening to Virgil telling Dee that he didn’t have to buy everything and asking if he could do something in return.

Dee let out a hiss as they finally arrived at the anxious one’s home. He would finally be able to hear his own thoughts without Virgil’s insistence interrupting. No one commented on the mess that Virgil left as they set things down in the living room for him to sort through later. Gala poked her head out of Remus’s shirt, crying to be released. Dee and Virgil looked at him in mild horror, but he started humming as he set the crying kitten on the couch.

“Alright, you have like two hours before Remy’s shift starts. You should start putting things away or take a nap.” Dee commented. “Other than that, you’re good.”

Virgil sighed. “I need to put stuff away and clean up a bit. Thank you…”

“Nope, I’m done. Come on, Remus.”

“Bye-bye, VeeVee!”

Virgil sighed but got to work. He set the witch stuff on the living room table, deciding to deal with that last. He had a bad taste in his mouth as he recycled all of the paper he ripped up. He pulled the stuff that Roman had got him out of the trash, deciding that it could probably find use with the pile of witch stuff.

“Bitch, you better not have run away again!”

“Shit, I’ve been caught.” He commented, organizing his kitchen.

Remy appeared, with two drinks. They offered Virgil one of them. He accepted and took a sip to find that it was hot chocolate. He rolled his eyes, but still appreciated the warm drink. They left the house and got into Remy’s car. The ride was filled with Remy telling Virgil a story about a woman at the coffee shop who had looked like she was going to yell at the poor barista only to announce that she was constipated and hoped the coffee would help.

“Hey Nate, anything interesting?” Remy called as they entered the deserted library.

“As if.” the bored security guard answered. “Now that you are here, I’m going to go find something interesting. Have fun with the books.”

Remy dumped their bag on a table as the door shut behind Nate. “Shocking, they were here. Usually, they are long gone by the time I get here. Anyways, we’ll go play with magic in like an hour or two. Tell me how your day was, Vee.”

Virgil shrugged. “Got over my anxiety about giant snakes. That’s about it.”

They honestly tried not to, but the snort that came out gave them an unamused look from Virgil. “Sorry, Anxie. It’s just that you willingly went to the Realm of the Fae after discovering that they were fairies, with very little precaution and yet, a giant snake, which you have been forced to endure for years because of Dee, still causes you anxiety? We need to straighten your priorities.”

“I thought that they would eventually call their bluff and then once we were there, I was just on danger mode…” Virgil answered. “And my priorities have always been gay.”

This definitely made Remy laugh before they cut off as a thought hit them. “Oh, shit. I forgot to text your cuties that you’re safe.”

They pulled their phone out and started typing the message as Virgil stared on in shock. “Wait, you have…”

“Logan’s number, of course, I do. He was the sensible one of that adventure and traded numbers with me before you lot went flower picking.” Remy answered as they sent the message off. “I really ought to remember that there are three more who worry about you now. Oh well, best I can do is offer an apology and explain I put you first.”

Virgil did not look amused. “You know you don’t have to keep up this older-sibling pretense, right?”

“Bitch, how many times have I got to tell you that we are soul-siblings and you are not getting away from me.”

Virgil finally chuckled before asking. “So, now what?

Remy nodded, before motioning the anxious one towards a cluster of bookcases. “Let’s go pick out some books for you before I forget and leave you doing nothing.”

“Great, I got a bunch of witch stuff from the general grocery store and am now picking out magic books from the library. Why do I feel like this is some sort of joke?”

“I promise it isn’t, Vee. There are plenty of people interested in magic and so the basic information on witchcraft is everywhere. What did you think was going to happen? We’d take you to some super-secret supernatural market? Sorry to say, but you can get everything online now. Even for the most complicated magic. Anyways, here you go. I don’t think you need more than two books for tonight.”

After that, time passed slowly. Remy finally nodded and motioned Virgil to a bean bag chair they’d brought over from the children’s section. Virgil felt a new spike of fear but did as he was told. Remy first showed him the sand that was used before sitting back, looking him over. Virgil seemed fascinated with the sand as he played with it. Once he’d started to lose interest, Remy decided to continue.

“Alright, now I want you to clear your mind. Start thinking ‘don’t think’ repeatedly. Do this until you kind of feel numb.”

Remy watched as Virgil followed their instructions. It took Virgil a while before his body relaxed and he looked to be asleep. Remy told him to open his eyes, but to keep his mind and body in this relaxed state. Virgil didn’t respond for a moment but slowly obeyed the order.

If Virgil hadn’t been halfway to falling asleep, he might have jumped back with a surprised shout. Remy was almost too bright to look at. Surrounding them were tendrils of sand going through walls and the ceiling. Around Remy, they had a weak little spinning mass of sand swirling around them. Virgil’s brain finally caught up and almost like a switch was flipped, the sand and brightness were suddenly gone with Remy sitting there, watching over him, carefully.

“If you dare compare me to Sandy in Rise of the Guardians, I may just kill you,” Remy stated, grinning. “That is a right reserved only for Emile and I refuse any more people calling me that.”

Virgil quickly cleared that very thought from his head. “Uh… so what now?”

“We work on getting you capable of seeing magic without being half asleep. Then when I inevitably take a nap, you go read books on magic.” Remy answered. “Welcome to Magic 101.”

Next Chapter

Taglist: @that-one-nb-kid, @hufflepuffxfox

#Flower from the Fae #sympathetic deceit #sympathetic remus #deceit #remus #tw cursing #murder mention #Sage writes

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