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stylesispunk · 3 months

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"The not so invisible string" part 5

Not outbreak! Joel Miller x F! Reader

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summary: you and Joel were made right for each other at the wrong time. Now, thirteen years later your paths crossed when both of your daughters get in trouble at school. Would be the right time for you now?

word count: 4k

warnings: angst, cheating, serious talk. "Doe" is her nickname. No proof reading haha

a/n: Hello! Here's chapter 5! I hope you like it, sorry for the all the wait, I've been dealing with some things. This one is more like a filler chapter and I'll be back with another one on Tuesday! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated. Happy reading 💌 Remember my dms and asks are always open for you

dividers by @/saradika.

It has already been a week since you found out about Dwight’s family, and since then, you have not spoken to him. He had sent messages and had been calling you, begging you to let him explain himself. But you ignore them; instead, you initiated the divorce process with a lawyer, and you were waiting for this chapter of your life to finally be over. Even when you couldn’t bear the feeling of something you touched becoming ashes again, how a shame it was for you to be an insignificant target to fool.

The truth was that Dwight was a source of light entering through your window at some point. The very first night you met him, he was a gentleman, and he treated you well until he stopped. However, the unfaithful path he had chosen for the both of you was something you could not forgive. Your marriage was ending like all the other love stories you were part of.

And that was one of the worst parts of being an adult: having to pick up the broken pieces of you by yourself, save them in your pocket, and continue with your life because it doesn’t matter how exhausted you are or not; you have to continue because you are a woman and no little child is allowed to cry anymore.

During all this week, you had been staying at Joel’s house. He reassured me that it was okay for him to sleep on the couch and insisted that you take the bed. Joel had been acting as a supportive friend throughout this difficult situation, offering a listening ear whenever you needed to vent and a shoulder to cry on, but still, the string pulling you together was burning in your finger, and for him, it seemed okay to pretend that the kiss you almost gave him didn’t happen.

As you lay in bed one night, staring up at the ceiling, thoughts of Dwight and the life you had envisioned together flooded your mind. You couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness and betrayal, but deep down, you knew that you deserved better than someone who couldn't stay faithful.

After all, you thought you deserved it. You had been physically faithful to him, but you always knew your heart belonged to Joel since the moment you met him, and loving a man while staying married to another was another type of treason.

All wells end badly if they are built on lies.

"A penny for your thoughts?"

You almost dropped your cup of coffee when you heard Joel's voice saying your name.

"What?" You inquired, perplexed.

"I told you I'm leaving and taking the girls to school; are you coming?"

"No, I have to see Dwight in an hour," you said. Joel's face sank slightly at the mention of Dwight's name, as if poison had flowed from your lips. "You know, divorce things," you said somberly.

Joel nodded in agreement, although his expression revealed a tinge of anguish. "I understand," he replied softly. "Just remember, you don't have to go through this alone. I'm here for you, no matter what.

Touched by his constant support, you smiled gratefully. "Thank you, Joel. I sincerely appreciate everything you have done for me. And thank you for taking Tara to school."

As Joel gathered his belongings and prepared to go, you couldn't help but feel grateful for having him back in your life. Despite the distress you were experiencing, knowing you had someone like him by your side gave you the resilience to face whatever lay ahead.

With a deep breath, you prepared for the meeting with Dwight, reaffirming your courage and telling yourself that you deserved better than the pain he had caused you. And as you saw Joel leaving, you couldn't help but feel like the story was repeating itself, as if you weren't deserving of permanent love.

The mood at the lawyer's office, where you sat across from Dwight, was strained. The air seemed heavy with unspoken thoughts and repressed feelings. Dwight squirmed uneasily in his seat, avoiding your gaze and fidgeting with the papers in front of him.

You took a deep breath, ready for the talk that needed to take place. "Dwight," you said, your voice firm but laced with bitterness, "we both understand why we're here. "This marriage... is over."

Dwight finally caught your stare, and you could feel the guilt and regret in his eyes. "I know," he replied softly, just above a whisper. "I messed up, and I apologize. I don't expect you to forgive me, but just know that I didn't mean to hurt you."

Your heart was crushed at his words, but you knew forgiveness would never come. "Yeah, I bet you didn't mean to have a child with another woman," you responded, your tone strict. "But apologies are not going to fix the damage already done. We need to move forward with the divorce, and I want you to tell Tara about your child."

Dwight nodded, a sense of resignation washing over him. "I understand," he replied, his voice full of remorse. "I will sign any paper that is required and won't disagree with it. I only want you to be happy, even if it is without me."

As you left the lawyer's office, without saying a word to him, Dwight turned to you with an eager expression in his eyes. "Can I have Tara over for dinner tonight?" he requested cautiously. "I want to tell her the truth and start making amends."

You hesitated for a moment, considering your alternatives. Regardless of the hurt and betrayal, you believed Tara deserved to know the truth about her father. And perhaps, by confronting the truth together, you would be able to repair the wounds that have been done to your family.

You sighed and nodded, an overwhelming feeling of conviction coming over you. "Yes, Dwight," you replied gently. "You can have Tara over for tonight.

Dwight nodded, a thankful smile flashing over his lips. "Thank you," he replied genuinely. "I won't let you down."

"I don't trust you, and if you make my daughter cry, I will fucking kill you, Dwight." You spoke with a steely tone to emphasize the importance of your warning.

Dwight's smile faded as he gulped and nodded his head. "I know I've let you both down," he muttered gently, his expression gloomy. "But I swear, I'll do everything I can to make things right. "I love Tara and would never do anything to hurt her."

You kept his stare for a minute, looking for any sign of sincerity. You slowly nodded, accepting his words with cautious apprehension. "But you did," you responded, your tone softening slightly. "Tara deserves nothing less than your best. "You are her father; act like one."

Dwight nodded firmly; his expression full of purpose. "I won't let you down," he said, his voice full of tenacity.

With a final nod, you turned and walked away, an avalanche of emotions spinning inside you. While you couldn't ignore the pain and treachery he'd caused you, you couldn't resist the flicker of optimism washing over you.

"Hey, pretty lady, can you help me with something?" Tommy spoke while reaching over to your desk.

"What is it?" you asked, in an unnecessarily harsh tone, as Tommy lifted his gaze to meet the sadness in your eyes and laid his papers aside.

"Okay. What's wrong?" He asked, concerned.

"Nothing but a soon-to-be divorce," you responded, faking a smile as if you had said something amusing, but Tommy did not laugh or smile.

"What?" you asked. "Okay, I'm kind of stressed with some things."

"I'm sorry to hear that," he replied quietly, his voice full of sympathy. "If you need someone to talk to, I'm here for you."

You felt a rush of gratitude rush over you after Tommy's offer of support.

Despite the facade you had been trying to keep up, the weight of recent events had taken its toll, and it felt good to finally share your burden with someone else.

"Is it because of my brother, or not? What about his date tonight?"

"Joel has a date tonight." you said, your heart cracking slightly.

Tommy's face furrowed with worry as he noticed your reaction. "Yes, he mentioned it earlier. He said he was going out with someone he had recently met."

The news made your heart sink as a range of emotions swirled inside you. "Oh," was all you could say, attempting to cover up the twinge of pain that stabbed your chest.

Tommy sensed a shift in your attitude, and his expression softened with understanding. "I'm sorry, I thought you knew since you are staying at his house."

"It's okay, Tommy," you said, attempting a forced smile.

However, it was not okay.

Not long after that, Joel came to the office door, ready to go, and drew your attention with a glance around the room. Without saying anything, he gestured for Tommy to join him, and the two of them rushed toward the exit.

You couldn't help but feel a tinge of disappointment as you observed them leave together, a reminder that you'd also lost him along the way.

As they approached the door, Joel paused and returned his gaze to you, his face softening as he did so, and despite the hurt and confusion whirling inside you, you managed to muster a small, strained smile in response.

"See you later," Joel murmured, his tone tinged with concern.

You nodded in answer, attempting to cover up the chaos that was growing within you. "See you," you said, the words seeming flat on your tongue.

Joel and Tommy disappeared in just one glance, leaving you alone in the office with your thoughts.

Maybe it was time for you to move on, leave his house, and even leave this town.

As the night fell, you found yourself lost in your thoughts, the events of the day weighing heavily on your mind. The sound of the door opening pulled you from your reverie, and you looked up to see Joel entering the house.

"Hey," he greeted you, his voice warm but tinged with concern as he noticed the somber expression on your face. "How was your day?"

You forced a smile, trying to mask the turmoil brewing inside you. "It was alright," you replied vaguely, avoiding his gaze.

Joel furrowed his brows, sensing that something was amiss. "Where are the girls?”

“Uhm. Sarah is upstairs doing homework”

“And Tara?" he asked, his tone filled with curiosity.

You hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to respond. "She's at Dwight's," you finally admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Joel's expression tensed slightly at the mention of Dwight's name, a flicker of emotion passing through his eyes before he composed himself. "Oh," was all he said, his voice neutral.

A heavy silence settled between you, the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air. Sensing the tension, you took a deep breath and decided to break the silence.

"So, uh, how was your date?" you asked, trying to sound casual despite the knot of jealousy tightening in your chest.

Joel's brows furrowed in confusion, his eyes searching yours for any hint of jest. "Date?" he echoed; his voice tinged with surprise.

Your heart sank at his reaction, realizing that perhaps you had misunderstood or misheard earlier. "Yeah, Tommy mentioned it,” you explained, trying to keep your tone light despite the growing unease in your stomach.

As you mentioned Tommy's observation, Joel's expression softened, understanding dawning in his eyes. “There was no date; I was actually still working at this dude’s house.”

“Then why did he? you began.

“Were you jealous?” he interrupted

You paused, caught off guard by Joel's interruption. The question hung in the air, heavy with implications. Your heart raced as you considered how to respond, unsure whether to admit the truth or deflect his inquiry.

"I... I don't know," you finally admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Would it be bad? I mean, would it be that bad for me to have a date?” he teased, smirking at you.

Joel's teasing tone caught you off guard, and you felt a range of emotions rushing up inside you. Part of you wanted to dismiss his inquiry with a casual reply, while another part wanted to express how sensitive you are and hurt.

"Maybe" you said, your voice tinged with sorrow.

Joel's humorous tone faded when he understood the importance of his words. He reached out and gently grabbed your hand, and you automatically retreated, feeling a flash of weakness and uneasiness. His gaze shifted, and his eyes showed fear.

"I think that it's better if I go to stay at my parents' house." You said, a lump developing in your throat as you battled to hold back your tears.

"I think it's better if I go to stay at my parents' house." You announced, a lump growing in your throat as you tried to hold back tears. "I just... I need some space right now," you explained, your voice trembling with passion. "I need time to think about my feelings and figure things out."

He chuckled gently. "I think you're being dramatic." Joel's giggle broke the tension, leaving you taken aback and irritated. The lump in your throat became bigger as tears welled up in your eyes, and your heart ached from the burden of his words.

"You don't understand," you exclaimed, your voice shaking with emotion.

"Then make me!" he exclaimed. "I thought you were going to be happier without him, but it seems like you're just a gosht."

"Oh my god, I'm sorry for being sad over the fact that the man I was married to for the last years of my life built another family behind my back as if I were nothing!"

"Dwight doesn't deserve you; he never did," Joel said.

As Joel's remarks hung in the air, a tight silence fell over the room, interrupted only by the sound of your heavy breathing. His attempts to lighten the situation had only deepened the wound in your heart, leaving you feeling even more alone and misunderstood than before.

The tears that had been threatening to spill over finally let loose, running down your cheeks in silent streams as you battled to control yourself. Joel's words were like a punch in the face, a burning reminder of the treason and heartache you'd experienced at Dwight's hands.

"Oh, and who deserves me then?" You said, "Tell me; I want to know."

Joel just stated, "Someone better,” deep down knowing it was him.

"Like you?" you questioned.

"You can trust me," he reassured.

"No, I can't because I don't know you!" you stated.

"I'm the same Joel you met," he said back, trying to stop the storm from coming between you both.

"The one who became a ghost or broke my heart? Which one?" you demanded, tears welling up in your eyes.

"Look, I understand you are afraid of things, but if you think I'm going to say I wish I could get back in time and regret having my daughter for one second, you're crazy." He merely pointed out,

You chuckled as tears flowed down your cheeks. You tried to wipe them away, attempting to remain calm as you stared at Joel, hoping for some form of understanding.

"I never wanted you to regret having Sarah," you replied quietly, your voice tinged with sadness. “I know she's the best thing that ever happened to you.”

Joel's face softened in reaction to your words, with an instant of guilt running through his eyes as he saw the pain on your face. He reached out carefully, his hand gliding in the air between you as a silent gesture of comfort and understanding.

As Joel's palm finally touched yours, a sense of warmth and connection poured over you, spanning the gap that had threatened to separate you. In that moment, you sensed a glimmer of joy and a fresh belief in the possibilities of mending and healing.

"I know," Joel said quietly, his voice full of honesty. "And I am grateful for her every day. But that doesn't change how I feel about you or us. He paused. "Actually, there's something I need to confess."

"What do you mean?" you inquired, your tone barely above a whisper.

Joel took a long breath, his gaze never leaving yours as he began speaking. "Do you remember those nights I was working late? I wasn't only working, Doe. I was saving money."

Confusion flared in your eyes as you attempted to process his words. "Save money? For what?"

"For a ring," Joel said, his voice full of remorse and vulnerability. "I was planning to propose to you."

The air in your lungs became still as Joel's words sank in. Joel had kept this secret from you all these years, while you were struggling with self-esteem issues.

Tears welled in your eyes. "Did you buy before I left that night we broke?" you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

He nodded. "I wanted everything to be perfect," Joel confessed, his eyes filled with grief. "But then... things got complicated." "And I thought... I thought I had lost my chance with you."

"But you let me go," you stated, sounding weak due to the weight of your words, heavy with the distress of the past.

Joel's face softened, and his eyes reflected the grief that filled his heart. "I know, and I'll always regret that," he said, his voice tinged with sadness.

His eyebrows seemed to furrow with remorse as he took a look at your intense stare. "I was a coward," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "I let my fear control me, and in doing so, I lost the most important thing I had in my life."

The vulnerability in Joel's admission resonated with the ache in your own heart. For years, you had carried the weight of his absence, wondering what could have been if only he had been brave enough to fight for you.

"I should have fought for us," Joel continued, his gaze locked with yours. "But I was too afraid of losing you, so I let you slip away."

“I need space, Joel,” you said. “And I deserve to be loved, so I’m not going to follow you or anybody else unless you show me that.”

Joel's shoulders sagged with the weight of your words, his eyes reflecting a mixture of regret and understanding. "I understand," he whispered, his voice heavy with remorse. "You deserve to be loved, and I've failed you in that regard."

As you spoke, a sense of clarity washed over you, a realization that you owed it to yourself to prioritize your own healing and well-being. You had spent too long waiting for someone else to validate your worth, and now you were ready to take control your choices.

"I won't ask you to follow me," Joel replied, his tone filled with resignation. "But I hope that someday I can show you the love and respect you deserve."

As you walked downstairs, the weight of your decision weighed heavily on your shoulders. Each step seemed like a bitter reminder of the past and an uncertain future. But with every stride, you felt a fresh resolution grow within you—a drive to reclaim control of your own life.

When you reached the bottom of the steps, you paused to collect your thoughts before heading toward the door. The sound of your footsteps echoed in the still room, providing an abrupt contrast to the turbulent emotions racing within you.

However, as you reached for the doorknob, a voice stopped you in your tracks.

"Doe, wait."

You turned to see Joel standing in the doorway, his expression full of anguish.

You turned to see Joel standing in the doorway, his expression full of anguish. His eyes pleaded with you, silently begging for the opportunity to set things right.

"I need to go," you replied, just above a whisper. "I cannot stay here, Joel."

Joel took a step closer, his eyes never leaving yours. "I understand," he replied, his voice tinged with regret. "You need space, but I have to tell you this before."

You hesitated, divided between the urge to leave and the need to hear Joel's words. With a disturbed heart, you nodded, quietly encouraging him to speak.

"I made a mistake that night," Joel said, his voice shaking with emotion. "I should've fought for you, Doe. I should have told you how much you meant to me instead of letting you leave."

You broke down in tears when you heard Joel's confession. For years, you had felt the weight of his absence, wondering if things could have turned out differently if he had been brave enough to fight for you.

"I'm sorry," Joel said quietly, his voice barely audible. "I'm so sorry for letting you go." He breathed in. "So that's why I'm doing this now."

“What?” you asked.

You furrowed your brow, attempting to make sense of his captivating comment. Before you could utter another word, Joel closed the distance between you, his movements swift yet gentle.

In an instant, his lips touched yours in a delicate kiss—a muttered plea for forgiveness and a promise of reconciliation. The world around you appeared to fade away as the warmth of his touch embraced you, washing away the layers of doubt and uncertainty that had tortured your heart for so long.

Joel knew words weren’t enough for you right now, and this swift action was the only way he found to pour and show all the love and promises he couldn’t save those years, being sealed in this very right moment.

Not letting you go this time was his first attempt to bring you back and offer you the life and love you deserved.

For a little moment, time stood still, and all that mattered was what you shared with Joel—a bond that transcended through the years.

Joel pulled away, his gaze fixed on yours, looking for any sign of recognition. His breath merged with yours, stealing what he believed was his. A silent exchange of emotions spoke volumes without the use of words.

"I can't let you go," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Not again, please stay with me," he pleaded, holding your face with his hands.

Joel's words lingered heavily in the air, echoing his desperation and need. You noticed a genuine desperation in his request, one that mirrored your own. You had ached for reassurance of his love for so long, and now as he stood before you, baring his soul, you couldn't resist the pull of your heart toward him.

"I don't want to leave," you said, just above a whisper. "But I need to know that this time is different, Joel. I need to know if you are willing to fight for us."

Joel nodded; his eyes full of purpose. "I am," he declared, his voice filled with passion. "I'll do whatever it takes to make things right between us, to prove to you that you're the one I want, now and always."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you met Joel's soulful gaze and noticed the depth of his love and honesty reflected in you. You lifted your hand while taking in the warmth of his face under your fingertips.

Feeling the warmth of Joel's touch under your fingertips, you took a deep breath, trying to steady the whirlwind of emotions swirling within you. Despite the overwhelming rush of love and longing, you knew that you needed time to process everything that had happened—to settle the chaos in your heart and mind.

"I need time," you admitted, your voice trembling slightly with emotion. "Time to process everything that's happened, time to heal, and time to figure out what I want."

Joel's expression softened, and his gaze filled with understanding. "I understand," he said softly, his voice a soothing balm to your frazzled nerves. "Take all the time you need, baby. I'll be here waiting for you, I promise.”

Sarah

“Guys, it worked! They talked things out!”

Tara

No way! Seriously?

Tommy

So, my lie worked? What happened?

Sarah

They kissed! My dad is over the moon!

Tara

OMG, really?! I can't believe it!

Tommy

Wow, I didn't think our little plan would actually work.

Sarah

We just needed to give them a little push.

Tommy

We? I lied for you little girls.

Tara

I'm so happy for them. They belong together.

Tommy

Yeah, they do. Let's just hope they figure things out soon.

tags 💌: @joeldjarin @missladym1981 @yomiyasxx @aliengirl99 @lola8888673 @nottodaysattan @picketniffler @violinchick @sadgirlcheesecake @caitlynsixxx @luvwanda @sarahhxx03

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wh0re43van · 6 months

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Boyfriend Pt 2 (Warren Lipka x Reader)

Summary: Your boyfriend catches Warren being a little too friendly with you, causing a fight to break out. Warren expresses that he wants to be more than a secret booty call.

Word count: 4.4k

Warnings: smut, violence (not really directed at reader), blood, weed

Pt 1 , Pt 3

I wake up to my cell phone buzzing on Dakota’s nightstand. I groan, throwing the unconscious boy off me as I roll over to grab the small rectangle of plastic. I check the digital alarm clock.

2:35 in the morning. Who the fuck is calling me?

My stomach flips when I see Warrens name lighting up on my phone. I run out of the bedroom and into the bathroom.

“Hey,” I whisper. “Warren it’s 2:30 in the morning,” I giggle quietly as I lock the door.

“I know, I know,” he laughs. “I just couldn’t stop thinking about you,” I hear the bong bubbling in the background. My cheeks burn red. “I just got some crazy bud if you wanna come smoke,” I can hear his smirk through the phone. “I can pick you up,” he offers. I smile at his extremely tempting offer.

“I can’t,” I sigh, disappointing both Warren and myself. “I’m at Dakotas. He’ll wake up and I already agreed to drive him to the gaming store first thing in morning,” I explain. He’s silent for a moment.

“Alright,” I can hear frustration in his voice. “Yeah, I’m the side piece, I forgot,” he scoffs. My heart sinks.

“Warren, I’m sorry,” I want to cry.

“No,” he sighs. “I understand I guess. I will see you soon though,” he says calmly.

“Of course,” I sigh in relief that he still wants to see me.

“I’ll see you around, beautiful,” he says, then the line goes dead. I delete the recent call before crawling back into bed, but I’m unable to sleep. I miss Warrens voice so much. I kick myself for not accept his offer as I toss and turn for the rest of the night.

•

The next afternoon, I sit across from Dakota in a small local diner, playing with the spoon sticking out of my coffee mug as he talks on his cellphone to one of his friends about a football game or something, I’m not too sure honestly. I’m not really listening.

A car door slams catching my attention. I look out the condensation covered window next to our booth to see Warren and a guy I’ve never seen before step out of a vehicle. My eyes light up.

“I’m gonna go smoke a cig real quick,” I sputter in one breath, taking my pack of Camels and running out the door before Dakota even responds. I walk up behind warren without him seeing me, as he talks to the other guy getting out of the car.

“Got a light?” I ask, popping a menthol in my mouth as I smile from ear to ear, tapping his shoulder. He turns around with his eyebrows threaded in confusion, but immediately matches my expression as soon as he sees me.

“Y/n,” he pulls me into a hug. “Spencer gimme your lighter,” he demands the other guy. He tosses a blue bic lighter to Warren.

“Who’s-“ Spencer begins to ask.

“Just go get us a seat, man,” Warren cuts him off. The awkward boy walks away quietly. Warren turns back to me, his grin returning as he lights the menthol cigarette between my lips.

“Thanks,” I smile, feeling butterflies in my stomach as he watches me remove the cigarette from my lips, exhaling the smoke.

“Mind if I bum one? Spencer locked mine in his car,” he motions to the pack of Newports trapped on the passenger seat. I giggle, handing him a cig.

“You here by yourself?” he asks as the orange flame from the lighter lights up his face and reflects an auburn glow in his dark eyes.

“Uh, no, actually,” I take another drag, motioning my cigarette towards the window of the dinner. Warren tuns to see Dakota talking on his phone, still unaware of my departure.

“Oh,” his grin faulters.

“I’m, uhm, free after this though,” I offer. Just like that, his dimples have returned.

“I have some stuff to go over with Spencer,” he throws his thumb over his shoulder in reference to the awkward boy in dinner, then ashes his cigarette. “But I’m free tonight,” he stares into my eyes. I can’t contain the huge grin plastered on my face. Warren reaches his free hand out to slowly release some loose strands of my hair that the wind blew into my lip gloss. His hand lingers on my face, we lock gazes as his thumb caresses my cheek, I close my eyes and lean into his touch.

“What the fuck are you doing with my girl, man?” Dakota shouts, quickly approaching Warren. He swiftly turns around to face my angry boyfriend.

“Just calm down man. I wasn’t-“ Warren laughs, tossing his cigarette on the ground, but Dakota cuts him off by shoving his chest, hard. He doesn’t budge, but easily retaliates the gesture, sending Dakota stumbling backwards a foot or two. I know it’s wrong, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say its insanely hot watching Warren get angry.

“Keep your hands off me, douchebag or ill kick your ass right here in front of your girl,” he spits in Dakotas face, literally. Dakota looks at me, wiping Warrens’ saliva off his face, then quickly hits Warren with a right hook. Warren’s head snaps to the side with the loud thud of knuckles on skin. Warren looks back at Dakota in shock, wiping the small trickle of blood from his nose. I watch completely stunned, even though I want to stop them, I can’t move. This all happened so fast.

“You hit like a pussy,” Warren chuckles before uppercutting Dakota so hard that his neck cracks as his head flies backward. I snap out of my haze, running over to Dakota as he steadies himself. I grab his arm in attempt to help him.

“Come on, Dakota let’s just go,” I plead, not wanting to watch him get his ass laid out on the frozen pavement.

“Get off me, bitch!” he screams, back handing me, not taking his eyes off Warren. I grab my cheek, about to cuss him out when Warren takes Dakotas collar into his fists, shoving him against Spencer’s car. Warren grabs his throat, holding his head steady, so his already bruised knuckles can strike as hard as possible against Dakota’s jaw. Blood immediately pours out of his busted lip.

“Don’t fucking talk to y/n like that!” he screams, just inches from my boyfriend’s face. The veins popping out of his neck, his knuckles turning white from how hard he’s gripping onto Dakota. Warren spits the blood that’s dripped from his nose between his lips into Dakota’s face. “Does that make you feel strong, pussy boy? Huh? You feel like man when you bitch slap your girlfriend?” he growls, his fist contacting Dakotas abdomen this time, knocking wind out of him, leaving my boyfriend wheezing.

When Warren screams that last phrase, that’s when I realize; Dakota is fighting for his masculinity, Warren’s fighting for me. I turn on my heels to run inside the dinner, finding the boy that Warren arrived with.

“Spencer, right?” I ask out of breath. He nods his head, confused. “Warrens beating the shit out of my boyfriend, I need you to help me stop him before he kills him,” I explain breathlessly.

“Oh,” Spencer says processing what I’m saying. “Oh my- Oh my god!” He jumps from the seat, running out the door with me.

“Warren, dude come on, you’re gonna get arrested!” Spencer shouts, cautiously approaching the scuffling boys. It seems like this isn’t the first time Spencer has witnessed this. It appears that Dakota managed to get another hit or two in, because Warrens eyebrow appears busted and they’re on the ground now, a small pool of blood forming on the frosted pavement underneath Dakota.

“Fuck off, Spence,” Warren growls about to strike again.

“Please Warren! You’re gonna kill him!” I shriek. Warren pauses, Spencer takes the opportunity to pull Warren off Dakota. I run over to my boyfriend, trying to help him up.

“Get off of me you stupid bitch!” Dakota shouts, slapping me off him as he tries to stand on his shaky legs.

“Hey!” Warren shouts in the background, Spencer holds him back again.

“Dakota, please. You need help,” I plead feeling bad for him.

“This is your fault! If you weren’t out here whoring it up with this clown, this wouldn’t have happened,” he screams in my face, blood dripping from multiple different wounds on his face, his nose already purple.

“Just let me drive you home,” I sigh, feeling less guilty since he had the audacity to call me a whore, when he slept with my cousin in my own car two months ago. Actually, after remembering that, I don’t feel bad for him at all anymore.

“No! I’m walking! Fuck off! And fuck all of you! You too Spencer!” he shouts as he limps away, holding his stomach.

I guess spencer was the mutual friend.

I turn to see Warren leaning against Spencer’s car, smoking one of his Newports.

“What did I do?” I hear spencer ask, I ignore him.

“Warren I’m so-“ my eyes well up with tears, my cheek still stinging as the cold wind blows against the hand print on my face.

“Come here, are you okay?” He pulls me into a quick hug then examines my cheek. Placing a bloody hand on my cheek.

“Of course I’m fine,” I sigh grabbing his face. “Look at you,” I frown, putting a gentle hand on his face. He winces against my touch. His bottom lip and right eyebrow are both busted. There’s blood coming from his nose, flowing over his lips and onto his chin. His right cheek is bright red and swollen.

“You should see the other guy,” he chuckles, popping the cigarette back into his mouth. How can he joke at a time like this. Nevertheless, I laugh lightly, shaking my head.

“Let me get you cleaned up,” I offer.

“I’ll go get your keys and stuff,” he smiles.

“No, Warren, I can get them. Just stay here,” I dash back into the dinner, everyone giving me weird looks. I smile awkwardly, throwing a 10 down on the table, then run back to the boys, the bells on the doors jingling loudly behind me.

“Okay, come on,” I take Warrens hand.

“Should, uh, should I just go home then?” Spencer asks awkwardly with his hands in his pockets.

“Yeah, Spence. Get the fuck out of here,” Warren dismisses him, half joking with the timid boy. I can tell that their friendship has an interesting dynamic.

•

“Thank god my folks ain’t here,” Warren sighs as he unlocks his front door, allowing me to enter the home first.

“Where’s your first aid kit?” I ask looking around the house, which is becoming a familiar scene.

“I’ll grab it, just head down to my room,” he says motioning to the basement door as he walks up the carpet steps. I obey, making my way to his bedroom.

I sit down on his couch, a few moments later, Warren enters with the first aid kit.

“Is the worst of it on your face?” I ask the mangled boy in front of me as I pop the plastic box open. He winces as he pulls his black t-shirt up and over his head. He turns around to reveal a nasty patch of road rash stretching from his spine over to his left shoulder. “Oh, Warren,” I gasp, sadness in my voice. I feel horrible for him. He sits down on the couch next to me.

“He got the best of me for about four seconds, but it was enough to fuck my back up pretty bad,” he laughs. Somehow still smiling even though he’s covered in dried blood-most of it not his- and his lip is busted.

“I’m sorry about that, Warren. I should have just stayed in the diner,” I shake my head as I open a gauze pad and grab the rubbing alcohol.

“But if you’d done that, you wouldn’t be sitting in my room right now,” he grins, but winces a bit. It probably hurts to smile; His cheek is bruised pretty bad.

“Yeah, but at least you wouldn’t be in pain,” I say as I pour the strong smelling alcohol onto the gauze.

“Worth it,” he smirks, resting his busted knuckles on my thigh.

“This is gonna sting,” I say, taking a deep breath. He nods, closing his eyes. I press the alcohol soaked cotton onto his split eyebrow.

“Fucking hell,” he grunts through gritted teeth, squeezing my thigh.

“I know, I know,” I pat the wound a couple more times before removing it. “I’m sorry,” I dampen another gauze pad, moving to his lip. He hisses again but allows me to clean the gash. Finally, I have him stand and turn so I can clean his shoulder. I can’t help but admire his back, running my fingers gently over the undamaged skin, leaving goosebumps behind every trace. The room is quiet, just the faint buzz of the dim overhead lights and Warrens breathing.

“Does it look bad?” he breaks the silence, looking at me over his shoulder.

“No, uh,” I clear my throat. “Sorry just uhm,” I clumsily grab a new cotton pad and the alcohol, naturally spilling it a bit, embarrassed that he caught me staring. “No, it’s not too bad,” I say as I fumble with the cotton.

“Why are you so nervous all the-“ he laughs, then I push the alcohol to his cuts. “Shit! Fuck, Y/n warn me next time!” he shouts. I wince at his loud tone as all the muscles in his back tense. I pull away, tears begin to form in my eyes. The past hour has been so stressful and him raising his voice sent me over the edge. I know he didn’t mean anything by it, that I just caught him off guard, but I can’t help how my body responded.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” he quickly turns around, seemingly forgetting about the pain, bringing me into a tight hug as a couple tears roll down my cheeks. “I didn’t mean-“

“I know,” I smile up at him as he wipes the stray tear from my face. He looks so pretty, even when he’s doused in dried blood and half his face is bruised. “I’m sorry, I’m just stressed… I really need to smoke,” I sigh.

“Ditto,” he agrees, pulling away. “I’m gonna shower real quick. If you could, would you grab me the icepacks out of the freezer in the kitchen? Then I’ll bust out the bong,” he winks as he walks towards the bathroom in just his blood stained jeans. I smile and nod, then turn to walk up the steps.

•

After locating the ice packs, I run to my car to grab my weed. I go back inside, making my way to the steps, hearing a The Offspring cd playing as I descend into the basement. I see Warren already sitting on the couch, wearing nothing but a towel, his damp dark hair stuck to his forehead.

“Hey beautiful, what took so long?” he asks as I take a seat next to him.

“Oh, I ran out to my car to grab my bud so I could match you,” I explain as I set the jar on the table, then I hold an ice pack to his cheek. “You poor thing,” I sigh. He looks much better now that he’s cleaned up, but now I can see the wounds for what they really are.

“Come on y/n, you know I’m not gonna let you match me,” he laughs, continuing to break up the weed.

“Warren, I insist. I already feel bad enough that I got you into a fight,” I open the jar, but he snatches it out of my hand.

“No,” he says sternly, looking into my eyes. “And don’t say that. You had nothing to do with the fight, that dumbass came out swinging and disrespecting you. That’s all on him,” he says seriously. I just nod, a bit intimidated by his stern tone. He grabs the lighter and the bong handing it to me,

“Ladies first,” he winks, the mood much lighter now. He takes the icepack into his own hand so I can hit the bong. He watches me as I take a big hit. The warm smoke filling my lungs quickly. I blow the milky smoke towards the ceiling, as I sink into the couch.

“What?” I giggle when I realize that Warrens still watching me.

“You’re just so pretty, I never want to take my eyes off of you,” he smiles, setting the icepack down to take the glass out of my hand, pulling a huge hit. I see his muscles relax almost instantly.

“You’re pretty too,” I chuckle, taking one more hit. It doesn’t take long to feel the effects, I feel light but heavy at the same time; like I’m floating, but my limbs are too dense to move. This is one of my favorite feelings in the world.

“I was, until I got my face banged up,” he frowns, putting his mouth to the opening of the bong.

“I don’t think it’s a bad look,” I say honestly. “I know you’re in pain, but you do look pretty badass. It’s kinda sexy actually,” I giggle, the THC clouding my brain doesn’t allow me to keep that last thought to myself. Warrens ears perk up at the word ‘sexy’. He sets the bong down, scooching closer to me, the towel wrapped around his toned torso falls a bit, exposing his V-line and a bit of brown hair right below it. The sight makes me moan internally.

“Is that so?” he smirks, his face coming closer to me.

“Mhm,” I smile, bringing my hand up to feel his bare chest. He hovers above me as I lay heavy in between the couch cushions. “Even sexier than normal,” I smile, looking at him through lidded eyes. Warren leans down, pressing his busted lip against mine, I kiss back gently.

“I’ve missed your lips,” he smiles, resting his forehead against mine.

“Doesn’t that hurt?” I ask, cupping his uninjured cheek in my hand.

“Nah, you fixed me up real good Doc,” he chuckles. “Plus, I’m pretty stoned right now. As they say, weed’s the best medicine,” he says bringing me into another kiss. I melt completely into him; This is all I’ve craved in the two weeks it’s been since I’ve seen him last.

“I’ve missed you so much, Warren,” I admit into the kiss.

“Lay down darling, I owe you for fixin’ me up,” he says helping me turn to lay down the couch.

“Warren, you should just take it easy, baby. You’ve been through a lot,” I rub my hand up and down his arm, over his silly tattoo. He smiles at the pet name, reaching for the waistband of my pants.

“I am taking it easy, beautiful. Weed might be the best medicine, but you’re a close second,” he smirks, taking my pants and underwear off in one swoop, making my stomach flip. I’m almost ashamed of how easily I become puddy in his hands. “Mmm, so pretty,” he gently runs his hands up my thighs as I spread my legs for him, he doesn’t even have to ask. I’m always ready for him.

“Warren you really don’t have-“ he places a quick kiss on lips.

“Shh, I don’t wanna hear you speak unless you’re moaning my name, okay, beautiful,” he says gently but sternly, a small smile plastered on his face. I can’t help but giggle as excitement courses through my body. I simply nod my head ‘yes’.

He slides down my body admiring me in all my glory. He gently slides a finger over my heat, watching me intently.

“Sucha pretty girl,” he coos as he settles his head between my legs. He wraps his arms around my thighs, holding them open as he begins licking at my clit, quickly earning a moan of approval from me. He gently sticks a finger inside of me as he continues working on my nub. “Does that feel good baby,” he asks against my core.

“Mhm,” I moan out, bringing a hand to hold onto his damp hair. The amount of weed in my system amplifies the pleasure by 100. He sucks gently on my bundle of nerves as his finger pumps into me, curling perfectly.

“Fuck warren,” I pant, curling my toes, my breath becomes shallow. He continues his steady pace, the pleasure winding in my stomach begging for release. I begin grinding against his face, begging for more contact as his tongue works expertly against me. He moans against my sensitive skin, sending chills down my spine.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” I come undone, gripping hard onto his hair as my hips continue to grind into his face, covering him in my release. He pulls away proudly, licking his fingers as I try to catch my breath.

“You taste just as good as you look,” he winks making me blush. He sighs happily, before grabbing the bong, taking another hit.

“That’s all I get?” I ask as he passes me the glass. He looks at me confused. I take a quick hit- not worried about the weed, I want him inside of me. I reach over, further removing the loosely draped towel covering his torso, revealing his erection.

“I was treating you, baby,” he laughs, “but if you insist,” he lays me back down on the couch once again as he presses a gentle kiss to my lips. He gives himself a couple pumps before lining himself into me, those dark bloodshot eyes gazing into mine makes my heart skip a beat.

“Fuck, I love how you stretch me out,” I moan as he pushes into me, a proud smirk appears on his bruised face.

“You feel so good, beautiful,” he grunts, grabbing my hips as he begins to thrust in and out of me. He’s so deep; I swear I can feel him poking my stomach.

“You fuck me so good warren, faster, please,” I whine, begging for more. I’m defenseless against him, the amount of pleasure he brings me is inhuman. He obeys, fucking me faster and deeper. I wrap my legs around him as he leans down, placing a sloppy kiss to my lips. “I want you to cum in me warren,” I pant against his lips, his eyes go wide. “I’m on the pill,” I giggle. “Please Warren I want to feel you cum inside me, I’ve never let anyone else do it, please,” I beg. His eyes cloud with even more lust, something I didn’t think was possible. He groans, sitting up so he can pull my hips flush against his with every thrust. He brings one hand down to play with my bundle of nerves, I’m unable to contain my noises of pleasure, moaning out his name.

“Fuck,” he groans lowly to himself as he rocks his hips into me. “Who’s pussy is this?” he asks in a deep growl, goosebumps appear on my skin. “Y/n, who’s fucking pussy is this?” he asks again as he thrusts hard hitting my g-spot perfectly.

“Fuck!” I scream. “Yours! It’s all yours Warren,” I pant desperately, my tone that of one you’d hear in a cheesy porno. His possessiveness and the way he’s hitting the deepest parts of me mixed with the weed brings me to my second orgasm of the night.

“That’s fucking right,” he growls, grabbing my face. My walls clench around him as his powerful thrusts become sloppy. I scream out his name, euphoria enveloping me as he shoots his cum deep inside me, I’ve never experienced anything as erotic as him fucking his seed into me as it leaks out of my throbbing cunt onto his couch. Warren pulls out reluctantly, his legs visibly shaking. I lay limp in the same spot, trying to steady my breathing and stop my own legs from shaking.

“Are you okay?” he laughs helping me sit up.

“Yeah,” I giggle. “I’ve just never been fucked like-“ I stop when I see his lip gushing blood. “Warren, baby, your lips bleeding again,” I stand up quickly to find the gauze, I ignore his cum that begins to run down my thigh.

“Leave it” he waves his hand, laying back on the couch. “I feel too good to care,” he laughs. “Come lay with me,” he pats the couch. I pick up an alcohol soaked cotton pad, then sit next to him.

“Let me clean this first,” I say. He nods reluctantly, hissing as the pad hits his lip. The bleeding stops soon. “You need to put some antibacterial ointment on that. Mouth abrasions can get infected really easily,” I begin to explain.

“You should break up with your boyfriend,” he blurts out. I don’t think he was listening to anything I said. He stares at me nervously awaiting my response.

“I know I should,” I sigh, he reaches over to the coffee table handing me my phone. “What? Now?” I ask shocked. He nods his head.

“I want you to be mine, all mine. I can’t go another two weeks without seeing you, having you too busy with that douche to see me, and I sure as fuck don’t want anyone else touching you like I just did,” he pours his heart out, not dropping my gaze once. I look away, biting my lip. He’s right, as always. I belong with him; Anyone can see that.

“Well, at least wait until the morning,” I sigh looking back at him. “I mean you did just beat the shit of the guy and cum in his girlfriend, isn’t that enough for one night,” I smile lightly, not sure how he’ll feel about the idea.

“If you stay with me tonight, and do it very first thing in the morning, then I’ll agree,” he offers with a small smile. I agree, cuddling into his side. He lays a kiss on my forehead.

I should feel guilty, but I don’t, not towards Dakota at least. I feel guilty about getting Warren hurt, but my bitch ass boyfriend had it coming. I’ve finally found someone who cares about me, and I refuse to lose that, even if this is just a fling.

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samodivaa · 1 year

Text

Deny the truth,set my world on fire (Part 3)

Bucky Barnes x Reader (Winter Soldier x Reader)

He knew that she was having an affair...she denies, but the love marks on her body are still there. She can't tell him the truth, it will break him - the Winter Soldier is indeed inside of him, fucking her at night and Bucky doesn't remember. Part 1⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ Part 2 ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆* Part 4⋆*･ﾟ:⋆* Music --- Vivaldi - Winter (L'inverno) Quotes - Fyodor Dostoevsky └── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──┘ Warnings - heavy ANGST, mention of murder, non-con

youtube

Listened to it on repeat until i finished the chapter. Enjoy. ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ Calm, boring days, an unknown future, and an irregular sleep, the days pass and nothing new. The absence of knowledge is the presence of paranoia – she crumbles mentally. It's been happening for so long – it is all that is happening, over and over again. She is full of fear, leading to feeling grief. Her life, a tragedy, a land of devastation and destruction. All the bright, precious things of Bucky fade so fast – in the end, memories are all she keeps. It makes her tremble to think back, to remember how she thought their life would be. Her greatest regret – believing so much in their future. She used to build dreams about Bucky and now she can’t believe if she will ever do it again - she treads the icy path between Spring and Winter, slowly and cautiously, for fear of tripping and falling into the snow again, for fear of losing her dearest Spring. She feels the chill north winds coursing through her home, despite the locked and bolted doors…this is Winter, which nonetheless brings it's own delight – after Winter, Spring always comes next.

She spend so much time in my head and in her heart that she forgets to live in her body, not hearing someone entering.

“Pain and suffering are always inevitable for a large intelligence and a deep heart. The really great men must, I think, have great sadness on earth.”

She blinks at that line of the book, her mind lingering once again to Bucky…but when is a monster not a monster – oh, when you are the reason, it has become mangled…she remembers when those eyes said love loudly, now these walls so quietly shift towards her as he leans on the door frame stealthy, still not alerting her. She puts the book aside, deciding to wash her dishes – her vast inner solitude poisoning her whole existence, there is no dignity in loneliness. The worst moment, when sitting alone at dinner, she has forgotten the ocean eyes, the depth of his laugh, it all had faded into into the past, where memories are silent.

Winter brushes his hands along the hardwood of the door, tentatively waiting for a sign that she had noticed him in the doorway. Three knocks follow on the wooden frame and her shoulders are already quavering, he once again craved a bullet with her name on it, burning Bucky down and in the ashes left behind – coming to burn her.

She glances at the door behind her as she holds her arms wrapped around herself before turning around to face him. Winter seems so human with his genuine smile, nodding slowly when his presence is finally acknowledged. Rage explodes inside, fire rushing over her skin. Winter’s face is flooding with color by then, and she finds that the sight makes her feel refreshingly nostalgic – the shades of Bucky somehow showing.

Dem light plays upon his face, revealing gleaming eyes, a mouth pulled into a grin. Stillness wraps her up in a cold embrace, a chill running down her body as he speaks.

„I warned you and you didn’t listen“

Winter shifts closer, caging her to the counter.

"Oh no…“ she whispers brokenly.

She brakes into a sob she could not contain, hands wrestled free from his grasp and worked their way to shield herself. He grips her hips, drawing her close, and roughly presses his mouth to the soft, swollen lips. Soldat longed for her for so long, dreamed of it as one would of an impossible journey to the moon, and now? How would he ever let her go?

The winters are becoming longer, very monotonous. Spring does come eventually, but it feels so short, looking back – it is not much more than a coupe of days.

He steps back, his fist unclenching, urging her to see – Walker’s work badge. All of her paranoia which played complicated possible outcomes - what an utterly incomprehensible thing has happened - without delay, Winter plucks every vibrating string in her mind by choosing to mock her.

„I warned you“

„You fucking monster what have you done?! I hate you so much I wish they never created you! I want you gone so much it hurts.“

His heart becomes a shriveled rose, poisoned with death and petals fall with every word from her mouth, sending him into a bottomless pit of anger.

„I will tell him, I will tell Bucky the tru-“

If once one has recognized the truth and seen it, you know that it is the truth and that there is no other and there cannot be, whether you are asleep or awake.

The melodious ringing sounds of Bucky’s dog tag chimes deep into her soul – as he holds them in front of her – as if a funeral bell is ringing, pealing for one a last farewell.

„Bucky is no longer“ dressed in all black, he is giving the eulogy „We can bury him together“ he says with the intend to drop them on the floor, but she catches them.

Up in her conscience, it's making her nauseous, she shifts backwards momentarily, but there is no where to run. Instinctively, Winter tightens his hold on her waist, though he neither pushes her away nor pulls her closer – just grounds her in place when she tries to slide to the floor.

„No…it can’t be, I don’t believe it“ comes her unenlightening, despondent response.

„He never picked up the phone that day. It was me, doll“

Now it all began to fall into place. A poor, beautiful, tragic fool - he had thrown her hope away on a moment's false illusion, and she was paying dearly for it. With her hope, her love, her soul.

„No, you are lying“ she whispers brokenly, her voice trembling. She blinks at him, her eyes enormous pools of misery with wetness clinging to the lashes and collecting in the tender indentation above her top lip.

„Stop crying “ he licks the hollow of her throat. "It is getting annoying“ a long, slow lick up her throat "…цветок“ (flower)

And if it frightens and torments her to think of Bucky and the simplicity and silence that accompanies him – she still believes in the illusion that he is there, it’s life-giving.

His left hand slides up gently to cup her chin as he leans in and kisses her once more, and with all her strength that she could find, she slaps him across the face, forcing it to turn to the side. He murmurs her name low. She whispers „no’s“. Winter presses himself close, giving a hollow bark of laughter as his angry gaze searches hers. He feels the trembling woman in his arms, her breathing shallow and uneven, clearly overcome with emotions.

„Тебе лучше, моя куколка?“ (Feeling better, my doll?)

„Don’t you dare call me that“

From the desert of Bucky’s abandoned love, he dares mock her pain. Winter stares her down, watching every reaction as his hands memorizes her curves, groaning, his fingers clawing at her back and quite possibly tearing her shirt.

Bucky dreams - the trees, stripped of all foliage, are white and bone-dry, twisted and curved like desiccated skeletons. Smoke drifts up from the scorched soil that crunches under his feet. In the distance, there’s a hill where, on the other side, y/n stands waving at him. He quickens his steps. She is calling for him, her voice distant, desperate.

The smoke beneath his feet thickens, he is choking as he he is trying to find her.

The fog begins to thin.

He is no longer walking on stone or dirt, but on show.

Winter of the world has come, and her body is lying on the ground, thin layer of snow covering it.

He wakes up, covered in sweat, looking around and everything is so unfamiliar, it’s feasting off his fragile and confused being.

– and there she lies – – not dressed in snow, but in white sheets.

In the deepening grasp of reality, Bucky has no choice but to recognize the trembling in his own heart. A trembling ocean underneath his eyelids. The veil of sadness and shame – causes him to scream as he holds her body, awaiting her warmth.

„Y/n? Baby…what-t, where, baby come on wake up“

„Baby, please wake up, Jesus what happened…I can’t remem-“

But love unexplained is clearer.

She is still clinging on something, still clinging on hope – the dog tags – it seems that she wanted to pour out all her heart into his heart in hopes of waking him up – she loved him, she shall love him always, loving him more than life itself. “Much unhappiness has come into the world because of bewilderment and things left unsaid.” PART 4 ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Tag list @kaz11283 @montyrokz @queenashen @pandabearrrrrrr @depressed-gays-of-marvel @introverbatim @chocolatelovemusic @happinessinthebeing @goodkittyspost @venting402 @tilltheendofthelinepal9950 @lovelywritinglady @lady-loki-barnes-djarin @msoldier

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky x y/n #bucky angst #bucky x you #winter solider imagine #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier fanfiction #winter soldier x y/n #winter soldier x you #bucky x female yn #bucky x female reader #bucky x f!reader #bucky barnes angst #heavy angst #PROUD OF MYSELF

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murderhusbands4life · 8 months

Text

Hannibal Lecter X Autistic Child Reader

first request!

request: Can u do like austitic child reader with Hannibal

summary: Hannibal latest patient is a child filled with trauma over their elder brothers death and Hannibal cares for them like his own.

Third person pov...

Mrs L/N and her 7 year old arrive outside Dr Hannibal Lecter's office, Y/Ns new physiatrist. A little over a month ago Y/Ns elder brother died, the 7 year old witnessed it since then the child had been filled with terror and hadn't slept well since.

Said child was grumpily standing next to their Mum staring down at their shoes swaying back and forth. "Do I have too" they pout, this makes Y/Ns mum sigh, she kneels and holds her Childs shoulder making the kid flinch not liking touch.

"Sorry honey, but you know what the school says you have to stick with the same therapist for at least a week before going back to school" explains the kids Mum, the child sighs. "Okayy, lets do it" they say making the women smile at them.

The building itself was beautiful with a sense of historical back ground, it was tall and didn't look like a physiatrists office, nervously Y/N follows their mother inside the building, Mrs L/N had heard from her close friend Jack Crawford about an amazing physiatrist and decided to make an appointment for her child.

Soon they came to a door which was Dr Lecter's office, Mrs L/N knocks on the door, looking down at her nervous child of course the child was nervous, Y/N doesn't like change and this is a huge change for them, then the door opens and man stands there.

He was tall around 6tf, he had ash grey hair, brown eyes, he had sharp cheekbones and an obviously fake smile on his face, to Y/N he looked about 40 maybe mid 40s. he was wearing a dark red pinstripe suit and dark brown shoes.

He looks at the mother and child in front of him wondering who they were. "hello, you must be Dr Lecter, Im Y/M/N L/N and this is Y/N we have an appointment" says the H/C woman, Hannibal eyes widened a fraction before returning to normal. "ah yes my apologies, I had forgotten please come in" he says and stands to the right holding the door open.

He had a slight accent, possibly eastern European, Y/N wracks their brain trying to place it but couldn't think, they shall have to ask the man later.

But Y/Ns mum shakes her head at the invitation. "I'm already late for work, I'll leave Y/N with you" she says before turning her back and kneeling next to her child, Hannibal watches as the child's eyes wonder not looking at their mother.

"Y/N love, I'll be back to pick you up later okay, my shift at the clinic will finish at 5 okay see you then, be good and respectful to Dr Lecter now" she says to the child kissing their forehead and walking away throwing a wave goodbye behind her.

The hallway was filled with silence as the Dr and Child stand. "Please come in Y/N" he says to the silent child. Y/N nervously enters the pristine office, the child gasps at how large the room was, bright E/C eyes marvel at its beauty.

Dr Lecter lips turn up at the emotionless child gasping at his office, he then walks over to the child and begins taking their coat, this makes the child look at him before smiling in thanks. "Thank you, sir," Hannibal hears a mumble.

"of course, now if you would please take a seat we will begin" he says motioning to one of the chairs he uses for his patents, though it had been a while since he had such a young one in his office.

"now then we shall begin, I am Hannibal Lecter and I will be your physiatrist" he says smiling at the small child sitting in the overly large chair, said child was still looking around the room drinking in all the details and books.

"Im Y/N L/N, sir im 7 years old" comes a tiny voice, Hannibal smiles slightly, they were getting somewhere at least he got their name. "hello Y/N do you know why you are here?" he asks the child, Y/N stopped looking around and instead looked at their shoes.

"because I don't sleep and Mummy's worried about me" comes the quiet voice, Hannibal was barely able to hear. He crosses his legs and continues to write in his notebook, brown eyes look over the child sitting opposite him, their movements skittish like a scared bunny.

"And why is that Y/N?" he asks gently coaxing the child to speak more, minutes pass before the child speaks. "Because brother died and I still dream off him though not nice dreams, I miss him" whispers the child tears gathering in the corner of their big E/C eyes.

Already seeing this happening Hannibal hands, the 7 tear old some tissues he keeps on his desk, tiny hand grab the white tissue and wipes their tears and blows their nose. "t-thank y-you s-sir" comes a tearful voice.

Hannibal smiles gently at the child reassuring them. "of course, child" he says as their session moves on.

Over Y/Ns next few appointments with Hannibal they began to get more comfortable with him and always enjoyed coming to his office, once he noticed how their eyes wondered toward his many books on the second level, the expression of surprise will forever make him happy as he told the child they could read his collection.

Said child bounds over to the many books and carefully grabs a couple, he had learnt that Y/N was autistic and had a love for books they loved reading anything, the two become ever closer their sessions became something less formal.

Hannibal had never felt this close to a child before, but he enjoyed their sessions together and was delighted to be able to help such a sweet innocent child go through their trauma.

The end!

Hope you liked this first oneshot for this new book. Sorry for the spelling and grammar mistakes in this.

Requests are open!

Word count: 1065

#hannibal #hannibal lecter #hannibal nbc #hannibal lecter x child reader #x autistic reader #x child reader #death of brother #oneshot #fluff #hannibal x child reader

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notmyneighbor · 5 days

Text

the new neighbor | francis mosses x female reader

chapter 4

words | 3.8k

cw | cheating, explicit sexual content

ao3 link

taglist | @kaislashes @unicorngirly1 @charli33-b33 @natiii727227 @the-lazyyy-artist @teeesthings

Francis Mosses stares at you seated across from him and he wants.

Frustratingly close and yet still so far out of his reach. He forces himself to make small talk, to consume the meal that’s been placed before him. The voices become garbled and his responses evolve into noncommittal murmurs. The food tastes like ash. Nothing will satisfy him because it’s not you.

He knows he’s being obvious and yet he cannot stop. He is in far too deep, far too quickly.

“I’ll meet you outside your door in an hour,” he manages to hiss against your ear as he helps you with the dishes once the meal finally draws to a close. He cannot resist dragging his fingers across the tiny buttons at the rear of your dress, where they secure the fabric between your shoulders. Beneath the cloud of soapy water, he can safely touch your hands, even when your father brings another forgotten utensil that needs washing. The milkman offers a friendly smile to the college professor while his hidden fingers caress yours, twining them with his. His breath presses hotly to your temple as soon as the other man departs. “Touch me. Any part of me, I don’t care what.” You look frightened, and aroused, all at once. Startled by his words, by the lack of self control you both exhibit. Your citrus scented fingers stroke across the crooked bridge of his nose, the divot above his top lip, then linger against the center of the bottom one. His eyes flutter closed and you say his name and then you move apart because the other option, to be closer, is impossible right now.

His gaze is hungry as you part ways at the door, the promise of later now tantalizingly close at hand. He returns to the apartment one floor above with Nacha and Anastacha and waits for the allotted time.

***

“I’m going to get some fresh air.”

Nacha looks up from the shirt she’s mending for Ana. Their daughter is already tucked into bed. “You’re going outside now? At this hour? What about…”

She means the doppels, of course, and he’s taken this into consideration as well. “I’ll go up to the roof. I just need…” He doesn’t finish the sentence. He can’t admit the truth.

He grabs the throw draped over the couch. “I’ll be back soon. Don’t worry about waiting up. I know you’ve got work tomorrow.”

“So do you.” She bends her head and severs the tail of the thread with her teeth, surveying her handiwork.

The milkman shrugs. “I barely sleep anyway.” He starts towards the door, halted by his girlfriend’s voice.

“Be careful, Francis.”

“I’ll be fine,” he says.

***

You’re not outside your apartment door yet, but Francis isn’t overly concerned.

It’s more difficult for you to sneak away, he knows. Waiting for your father to fall asleep, pretending to be doing the same. The door eventually creaks open while the older man waits, blanket thrown over one arm, rocking on his heels, hoping no one else emerges to find the two of you together. They don’t. You shut the door carefully behind you and it’s all Francis can do not to grab you, to drag you against him. He clutches one of your hands and guides you to the stairs.

“Francis, where are we going? I don’t have my papers with me.”

“We’re not going downstairs. We’re going up to the roof.”

You allow yourself to be led up the last flight in the stairwell, the heavy steel door parting to reveal a mostly flat expanse beneath a field of stars. It’s a beautiful evening, mild and pleasant. The incessant rain has mercifully stopped.

“The guys come up here to have a beer in the summer, sometimes,” he explains, nudging at one of the brown glass bottles left there from the previous year. He’d been invited to those gatherings but preferred coming here alone. Or at least, he had. Before you had come into his life.

He spreads the blanket out so you have someplace to sit. There’s a bit of an overhang from the roof of the stairwell exit that shields the top of the building, offering a dry patch to settle down on.

“I can’t stay long,” you caution, joining him on the slightly padded surface, tucking the hem of your dress beneath you.

“I know.” He tips his head back, letting it rest against the brick and mortar. “Next weekend I’m going to take you out on a proper date. We’ll go to the drive in. I’ll say I’m out at the bowling alley. You can think of an excuse to be away for a few hours?”

“A study group, maybe. I never socialize. Dad’ll know something’s up if I say I’m out with friends. I don’t really have any.”

“You have me.” Francis reaches for your face, tucking his fingers beneath your chin. He’s forcing himself not to rush this stolen moment, savoring you for a little longer. He knows once he starts kissing you, it will be a struggle to stop.

When he finally surrenders to that desire, he finds you taste like peppermint toothpaste. His hands wander over your body, sliding over breasts and hips and beneath your dress. He presses you down beneath him on the blanket. So little time. Your legs part and he grinds against you, rutting, wishing there were not the layers of clothing shielding your bodies. “I’m so crazy about you already.” He whispers this secret against your throat. “It almost scares me how much.”

“You’re trembling.” Your fingers sift through his hair, your knees hugging his ribs.

He huffs a short laugh. “I told you. Scared.”

“Of getting caught.”

“A little of that. But that’s small in comparison to the other. This feeling.”

You lift your head and capture his lips. “I feel like every time with you is new. Taking me apart, making me into something else.”

Francis draws back to look into your eyes. “I want to do that. Take you apart. I want to be inside of you,” he growls against your ear, his face dropping, tongue darting out to taste the sensitive patch of skin just behind the lobe and you hiss in response, your breath harshly expelled. “Move on your side. I want to try something.”

You frown but cooperate, waiting for him to move before you lie on your side, your dress a rumpled mess around your uncovered thighs. The older man lies down beside you, his body spooned against yours. “Keep your legs tight together.”

The milkman thrusts into the close tuck of your thighs, sawing between them from behind you, rubbing his now freed erection against your bare pussy after he’s hastily shoved your panties down. One hand digs into your hip, then reaches for your clit, kneading it, his mouth wet against your neck. “Want to feel you from the inside, baby girl. Someday soon. Take my time. Open you up for me. Fill you. You feel so good. So hot and wet against my cock.” The finger circling your bundle moves faster, pressing more firmly against the swelling flesh, the sex organ violating your thighs increasing its pace. He moans your name and you shudder to completion and his turgid member pulses, coating your legs with his seed.

Francis uses the blanket to wipe you both off. He’ll be leaving that up here to deal with some other time. Sensing your eyes on him, he looks up midway through zipping his fly. “What is it?”

“I don’t want to get pregnant.”

“Of course not. You’re too young for that. And I certainly don’t want to make that mistake again.” He pauses, shaking his head. “That came out poorly. I’m not saying being intimate with you would be a mistake. I do want it. Badly. I’ll use protection.”

You nod, smoothing down your dress and patting your hair.

“When you’re ready. I’m not going to force you. I’m not forcing you with any of this, am I?”

“No, Francis.”

“I’m trying to do right by everyone here. In spite of how it might seem. I don’t know. Maybe I am just being selfish now.” He touches your cheek. “I wish we had more time. There’s never enough.”

You’re escorted back downstairs. Francis peeks out into the hallway and then nods for you to follow. He steals another hurried kiss in front of your apartment door and whispers about seeing you tomorrow. He touches your hair and inhales your scent and then he returns to his apartment, finding it quiet and dark. He lays on the couch and he stares into the void above until sleep brings him a temporary respite from the never ending huger for you.

***

In the park the following afternoon, Francis watches you and Ana trying to outdo each other on the swing set.

You’ve changed out of your school uniform, wearing jeans now, your hair pinned up but already falling loose from activity. You’ve chased Ana around since your arrival, playing tag and helping her with the challenges of the jungle gym and running until the roundabout had gained enough momentum, sending the pair of you spinning around and around, his daughter tipping her head back and giggling, saying she was getting dizzy.

The next time Ana insists her father and her sitter ride together. He’s able to generate greater speed, his shoes digging into the grooved earth that’s been trod upon by many previous participants, making it impossible for the grass to ever have a chance at reclamation. Your grip is white knuckled on the bars and you squeal in alarm as you lose your balance, colliding into the solid barrier of the milkman’s chest. He wraps one arm tightly around you, clutching the railing until at last the merry go round grinds to a squeaky halt. “You’re beautiful,” he whispers in your ear before you’re tugged away, led forward by the elementary schoolgirl’s urging.

He takes turns pushing both of you on the swings, his hands forever lingering on yours wrapped around the lengths of chains. Ana complains that her father is giving you an unfair advantage, spending more time aiding you. He protests and laughs and his fingers drag against your spine before he returns to his daughter.

At the picnic area Ana busies herself with crackers and juice and Francis rests his hand on the bench. You’re sitting beside him and your fingers nudge his.

“Your little girl is beautiful!” An elderly woman croons nearby, her own pair of grandchildren and a small rat terrier in tow.

She means you and the milkman. As if you are a couple. Francis worries a splinter on the surface of the table.

“Daddy, can I go pet the doggie?”

“If she says it’s alright. Remember what I showed you. Hand flat out. Let it sniff you first. And don’t go too far.”

“I know,” she huffs, unaware of how much she sounds like her father in that moment. She slides off the bench and cautiously approaches the animal who takes to her immediately, nosing her hand and then jumping up to lick her cheek.

“She’s been asking for a pet for ages. I don’t know. It just seems like a lot of responsibility. It would be us getting the pet, not her. I don’t think an apartment is a good home for a dog anyway. They need a yard. Ana should have a yard…” His voice trails off and he looks at you. “She thought she was ours,” he nods towards the elderly woman.

“She’s old. She can’t see well,” you laugh good naturedly. “I’m not offended.”

“I wish she was right,” he whispers.

The smile slides from your features. “Francis…”

“Do you ever think about it? If I was free. If there were other options.”

You shake your head. “I’m still in high school.”

“Not for much longer.”

“I’m still not sure about college. A career.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” He abandons the sliver of wood and begins working on one of the peeling strips of evergreen paint instead. “Sometimes I get carried away.” Ana has started to head back, the dog now occupied with chasing a frisbee. “I would be proud to say she was ours. That you were mine. Does it ever hurt here, when you’re lying in bed at night, one floor below…” The fist he rests against his chest drops and he plasters on a smile for the youth with an identical set of tired looking eyes. “Go pick one more ride to go on and then we’ll head home, okay?”

The young girl scowls but nods, heading back towards the swings.

“You never hear about the doppels taking children, thank God,” he murmurs, watching Ana settle into one of the scooped swings once again.

“Why do you think that is?”

He shrugs. “Maybe they think it’s pointless. They won’t get access to anything they really want or need if they pose as a child. Who knows?”

“I do,” you say, and his gaze shifts from his daughter to you. “I do feel it.”

Francis doesn’t respond.

There’s nothing left for him to say.

***

Francis is seated on the living room couch later that evening.

He’d put Ana to bed early. She’d been tired from her busy afternoon at the park. He was worn out, too. Not just from the added activity after working a shift. There’s a kind of inner weariness, gnawing away at him. That initial effervescent feeling he’d gotten from being with you is evolving. It’s something weightier now, more solemn. He doesn’t even hear his girlfriend say his name when she enters the apartment, drumming the secret code on the door frame to alert him that she’s not a doppelganger.

“Hmmm? Oh, hi. Sorry, long day.”

“Did you take Ana to the park?”

“Yes. She had a great time. So great, in fact, that she wore herself out. She’s in bed already.”

His pretend fiancée nods, sitting down beside him. “Found this in the back of my car.”

Your piano book is dropped onto his lap. He stares at it and his stomach lurches. He’d completely forgotten about it, when you’d been in the back seat with him. Shoving it to the floor before you’d…

“Is that the sitter’s?”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, I gave her a ride home the other day. When I went out to pick up groceries, remember?” He hopes his words sound convincingly innocent.

“Right. Didn’t you go bowling that night too? No wonder you look even more exhausted than usual.”

“I guess I have been doing a lot.”

“Well, that was kind of you, in any case. Don’t forget to return it. I’m going to head to bed. Unless you want to? It’s your turn, actually.”

“No, go ahead. I’ll stay here.”

Nacha nods, rising to her feet. She’s halfway out of the living room before she pauses, turning back to face her partner. “It’s good that you’re getting out more. Maybe you’ll meet your special someone, hmm?” She smiles and he nods and then she disappears through the hallway.

He stares at the cover of the book in his lap for several moments, finally lifting the cover. Your name is written in neat cursive inside. He flips through the sheet music. He can’t read a single note, but he bets you’ve got most of them memorized. He lets the cover drop back down and sighs. It was time to get ready for bed. Quick brush of teeth and glass of water and undress until there is only a layer of undershirt and briefs clothing him. He tosses and turns and ends up on his stomach, his arm hanging off the couch, his fingers on the cover of your music book. He thinks about being with you at the park, pressed into his arms by centrifugal force, brushing hands on chains, nudging fingers on the bench seat. Too much, too fast, and going further still.

***

It rains the night Francis plans to take you to the drive in theater, but he’s not too upset by it. If anything, it just greater heightens your privacy together.

He’s pleased to see you’ve dressed appropriately—skirts were so much easier to deal with than pants—and relieved to not actually be where he’d claimed he was going to. He’ll have to go out with the guys from the apartment building again soon, but for now, it’s just a convenient excuse to be out of the house.

The milkman stretches an arm out across the seats and lets it curl around your shoulders. The film is some science fiction fantasy about invaders from another planet, a tale that hits a little too close to home nowadays. The actors are much too old to be playing teenagers, but that was the way Hollywood worked.

Still, it’s not a bad movie, and under different circumstances he might have devoted his full attention to it. But he’s got you tucked against him now, and that’s too much temptation to resist. The windshield wipers squeak agains the glass as his mouth finds yours. You’ve got some kind of cherry lip gloss on that he laps clear little by little. His hand moves beneath the hem of your skirt, then your panties, and you shift, spreading your legs a little further apart.

“I want to try something, baby girl. It’s going to hurt, but after…oh after, I promise, it’ll be so, so good.” His middle finger rests at your entrance. “Do you want me to attempt it?”

He can feel the uncertainty wafting from you. Anticipation, too. Radiating heat. You nod and he sighs and he presses slightly. You wince instantly and he freezes. Only to the first joint and you’re snug, resisting the intrusion.

“Okay, honey. Relax. Let’s try something else for awhile.” He distracts you with kisses, with his fingers teasing your bud. When he feels you becoming slicker and more relaxed he tries again, this time shoving a bit further in. His mouth muffles your moan of pain when he reaches inside of you to his knuckle. The score of the film rises to a crescendo perfectly in time with his digit invading deeper. You’re squeezing him mercilessly and it’s impossible not to think of how his cock is going to feel being surrounded by all that muscle, milked until bursting through that narrow channel.

“Francis.” You spit his name through gritted teeth, struggling to endure that violation of your virginity. He does not dawdle, finishing the penetration and then withdrawing, wishing you were wetter, recognizing the sticky hot feel of blood now staining him. He thinks you must hate it right now, that awful burn and stretch, so he lavishes you with kisses and praise and tries to be gentler now, not pressing in quite as far, trying out a more shallow drag, making sure to stimulate your clit. He’s completely lost track of the plot of the film at this point. Had the Earthlings triumphed? Surely they had. Most movies had happy endings. No one wanted to see a villain emerge as the victor.

Am I the villain? Deflowering this young woman. Stealing a moment she can never have back again. Wrapping her up in lies to shield others from the truth. Her secret, older lover.

The windows are becoming clouded. The closing credits are rolling. There is always a brief intermission between films. He knows he can’t keep you through the second one. It will be too long an absence to explain to your father.

Still he makes no move to start the car and you do not mention it. He’s stopped fingering you for now. He thinks it’s enough for one night, even though he wishes he could make you enjoy the experience more. His cock gives a dissatisfied lurch that he ignores.

You, however, do not. Your hands are there and he hums a weak protest, saying you don’t have to. You say you want to and he can’t deny you. Your soft fingers stroke his prick and he tucks his face into your neck.

“Are you sorry? I shouldn’t have…maybe this wasn’t the best place…”

“No, I’m not sorry.” You smear precum over the head and massage the frenulum and he sucks in a deep breath. You’re too good at this. You know his body so well already.

“I want it to be good for you. I want you to be happy. Happy that you’re with me.” He huffs the last couple of words out as the pleasure of your touch overwhelms him. His climax is fast approaching.

Francis’ head lifts and he looks into your eyes. “I couldn’t live without you now. I don’t know how I ever did it before. You don’t know what you mean to me, sweet girl, my girl…” A broken sound almost like a sob and then he pulses against your stroking fingers, spewing out streams of release. His face is hidden in the space between your neck and shoulder again, his breath coming in soft pants.

“Francis. Francis, I have to go home now,” you murmur.

“I know.” He reluctantly straightens, staring at the screen for a few moments. The second film has advanced well past the opening credits and a musical number. This one looks like another alleged teenage driven tale about a young woman’s sister being framed for murder.

He hates this feeling he has, this sudden resentfullness, this sullen attitude that lingers after you’ve both fixed clothing and cleaned as best you could. He can see there is still blood tucked around the cuticle and surrounding the nail bed of his middle finger. He swallows thickly and starts the engine. The vehicle exits the theater, the car jostled a few times by pot holes in the long dirt driveway that leads to the site. He bitterly remembers how he’d cautioned you about how this affair would only get more difficult as time wore on, and he absolutely despises how right he’d been.

The milkman stops before reaching the apartment building, pulling over and killing the engine. You look over at him for an explanation.

“I don’t want you to think I’m upset with you.”

“I know you’re not.”

“It’s the situation.”

“Yes.”

“Do you still feel like you’re sharing me?”

“A little. But I’ve seen how you are together firsthand. I know it’s not the same as it is with us.”

He runs a finger over the steering wheel. “Are you sore?”

“Yes.”

He likes your bluntness, even if he’s sorry for your answer. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“I know.”

“I know you have to go home. I’m taking you right now. I just wanted you to know…”

“I know,” you say, taking the older man’s face between your hands and kissing him. “I know, Francis.”

He turns the key in the ignition.

#francis mosses x reader #francis mosses x you #milkman x reader #milkman x you #tnmn smut #divider @cafekitsune

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theywhowriteandknowthings · 3 months

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The Princess And the Duke | Chapter 10: Pandemonium

Summary: Things go from bad, to worse, to utter pandemonium Word Count: 7k Warnings: strained family relationships, abusive parent, threats of physical harm, abuse, mild violence, language, strained friendships, violence, gun violence, stalking, pining, angst. Author's Notes: We're almost at the end! There will be an epilogue (or 6?) after the final chapter is done, but the journey is reaching it's end friends. Two more chapters to go, will The Princess and The Duke get their happily ever after? Co-written by the marvellous @angelofsmalldeath-codeine Follow @vi-notifs and consider buying me a coffee if you enjoy my work! AO3

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The smell of coffee lures you awake. You open your eyes to find the light from your windows muted by a sheet over your face. You frown, still weary with sleep as you try and gain your bearings.

The sound of your cupboards opening and closing beyond your bedroom door makes you freeze, there’s someone in your apartment. The sound of someone humming a tune carries through the door and it hits you.

Dave.

You wrestle yourself out of your sheets and check your phone, it’s almost ten in the morning and you rub your jaw as you check through your messages. Multiple missed calls from both Pete and Ash, your group chat has been renamed a few times, ranging from “Bitch, are you alive?” to “Please contact us, babe.”. You scroll through the messages before typing a response.

You: I’m fine, Nancy’s in jail. I’m safe, Dave slept on the couch cuz the door’s busted. Don’t say a word, Pete. I’ll keep you posted. Please don’t come over, I need space. I mean it.

You watch as both of them start to type, the little bubble appearing next to both of their names. You throw the phone onto the bed before heading to the bathroom. You shower and get dressed; you hold Dave’s hoodie in your hands for a moment. It still smells like him, at least you think it does. You decide against it, you stuff it under your comforter before pulling on a plain black one instead.

“Dave?” You call through the door as you hover over the doorknob.

“In the kitchen,” Dave calls back through the apartment and your heart twists at the sound of his voice, at the thought of him making you coffee in your kitchen.

Before you can lose yourself to the fantasy of domesticity with Dave, you break the spell. You pull the door open and it’s worse, so much worse. He’s there, hair dishevelled as he stands with his back to you. His dress shirt is creased, sleeves rolled up to the elbow as he works the coffee machine. His tight slacks hug his pert ass too well and you want nothing more than to walk up and wrap yourself around him from behind.

“Morning,” you say meekly as you remember how he stopped you from taking things further last night. You want to tell yourself it wasn’t a true rejection, you felt it in the way he kissed back, you want to believe that he was as desperate as you. But the moment he turns to look at you, your heart shatters.

“Morning,” he responds, his voice low as he glances at you for a second over his shoulder before turning back to the coffee machine.

“You don’t have to stick around,” you say as you linger in the doorway, “I can handle the maintenance guy, it’s fine.”

“I promised I’d stay and help,” Dave says as he turns around, two mugs of coffee in his hands.

“I don’t want to keep you, I’ll be fine,” you say a little firmer this time, you can feel the grief welling up in you as he looks at you. His expression is cold, so neutral it can’t be anything but a practiced mask.

“If you’re not comfortable with me being here, I can go,” Dave says as you notice his jaw tick to the side a little, “I’ve already called the security firm and their guy is on the way.”

“That would probably be for the best,” you say as your voice breaks, “Thank you.”

“If you need anything, just call,” Dave says as his mask slips, his shoulders sag and he looks at you, dark eyes betraying the sadness behind the mask.

“I will,” you confirm as you force a smile, you want to say more but you know if you do you’ll probably cry.

Dave nods curtly before placing your coffee mug on the counter, he drains his own with a grimace. It’s clearly too hot to have done that comfortably. He lingers for a moment before striding over to the door. He has to force it open; the doorframe so badly damaged it really did have to be jammed shut last night. He pauses, looking as if he wants to say something else, but ultimately decides against it, flashing you a sad smile before disappearing into the hallway.

You pick the mug up from the counter, taking a tentative sip of the hot liquid before retrieving your phone from the bedroom along with your laptop. You settle down against the armrest of the loveseat before emailing the Bar admissions office.

It’s going to be a long day of explanations, citing police reports, and endless email chains to get your application back on track.

~*~

Dave lets out a frustrated sigh as he sits back in his desk chair, glaring at Resnik as the smaller man seems to shrink away from Dave’s scathing gaze. It’s Friday morning, two days since Nancy decided to break into your apartment. Two days since he’s heard from his subordinate that should have been checking in at hourly intervals.

Furious doesn’t come close to describing what Dave is feeling right now.

“So,” Dave says calmly, “Do you want to explain yourself?”

“I was just getting some more pictures, you know, surveillance and all that,” Resnik splutters as his beady eyes flit to the blinking light of the card reader attached to Dave’s PC.

“Surveillance?” Dave repeats as he turns one of his monitors around aggressively to face his subordinate, “What were you surveilling here, Resnik? Huh?”

Resnik squirms as he’s forced to look at the pin-sharp image of you bending over in yoga pants. It’s from the start of your run with Pete yesterday, there’s no mistaking what Resnik’s lens was trained on.

“I fucked up, boss,” Resnik says as he aggressively scrapes his fingers against his chin, unable to offer any other excuse than that.

“Fucking pathetic,” Dave snarls as he turns the monitor back around, “You’re off the PI job, Ari’s taking over, get out of my sight.”

“But-,” Resnik starts to protest but Dave shoots him a look, his dark eyes flashing with rage like nothing Resnik has ever seen. He opens and closes his mouth a few times before scurrying out of the office.

Dave pinches the bridge of his nose as he counts back from twenty in his head. The stress of the target, of Nancy’s freshly served divorce papers on his desk, and your safety is wearing him thin. The only thing keeping him sane is the knowledge that you’re safe, for now.

He picks up his cell phone and dials Kovac’s number, it rings twice before Kovac’s gruff voice sounds in his ear.

“Maintenance guy just left, fucker wouldn’t paint the new doorframe,” Kovac grumbles without so much as a word of greeting. Dave likes that about Kovac, no bullshit.

“Noted, I’ll sort something out,” Dave says, hoping he can smooth things over with you soon, “Let me know when you’re done.”

“Yes, boss,” Kovac says flatly before ending the call.

Dave spends the next few hours looking over the CCTV footage from the chase. Scrubbing back through minute by minute as he tries to find where the target slipped away. He’s been reviewing the footage obsessively. Practically not moving from his chair and barely eating. He tells himself it’s just the job, but he knows some of it has to do with you. The way you looked when he rejected you is burned into his brain. It haunts him to know he hurt you, even if he knows it was the right thing to do.

His stomach gurgles, snapping him out of his thought spiral and he sighs. Having skipped breakfast and now, lunch it seems, Dave is ravenous. He’s about to give up and get something from the break room vending machine when he sees it. Something he hadn’t caught before.

The flash of police cars in the background of one of the final moments of footage before they lost the target. Something worries at the back of Dave’s mind as he brings up a map of the area on his other monitor.

“Son of a bitch,” Dave curses as he brings up the CCTV footage from outside your building. He watches in horror as a lone figure makes his way into the frame. The dark-haired man lingers at the edge of the taped off crime scene, Nancy is being hauled out unconscious as the target lifts his head up and looks directly into the lens of the camera.

Dave scrambles to pick up his phone, desperately trying to get through to you, but each time it goes to voicemail.

“Fuck!” He roars into the empty room as he throws his phone down.

He has to calm down, there’s no guarantee the target was there for you. It has to be a coincidence, there’s no way there’s a target on your back. He settles back into his chair, hunger forgotten as bile rises in his throat. He continues to watch the recording, hoping beyond hope that the target moves on when Nancy is carted off.

The police car leaves the scene and Dave’s jaw goes tense as he watches the next thirty minutes play out. He watches as he arrives at the apartment, the target stays exactly where he has been the whole recording. Waiting.

To Dave’s dismay, it’s only when he watches the recording of him escorting you out and away from the scene that the target leaves. There’s no mistaking it now.

You’re in danger.

~*~

The small hole-in-the-wall establishment is quiet as you drum your fingers on the top of the lacquered bar. You scroll through your phone as you wait for Ash and Pete to arrive. You’re already regretting the decision to call Ash. It’s too soon, you’re too angry with them both. You tip back the last of your whiskey as you check your phone for any new messages. Nothing.

The last two days have dragged, you’ve barely left your bed. The moment the security guy had left, you’d locked up and shut down all your devices. Between crying and sleeping far too much, you made the decision to meet with Ash and Pete.

You’re about to leave when you notice a fresh drink being placed in front of you. You look up to the bartender who points to the other end of the bar.

“Gentleman insisted,” he says with a smile before being called over by another patron.

You turn to look at your admirer and you smile politely at the man. He’s a little older than you, around Dave’s age if you had to guess. He’s well dressed in tight black slacks and a loose fit white shirt. His buttons are undone to expose the cleft of his pecs, there’s a smattering of dark hair there that makes your stomach flutter. He has a kind face, dark green eyes that sparkle in the low light of the bar. His dark hair is short and parted to the side.

“Thanks,” you say with a kind smile, “But I don’t take drinks from strangers.”

The man smiles wider at this, nodding knowingly.

“Smart, I don’t blame you,” he says with a dazzling smile, “You just looked like you needed a pick-me-up.”

“That obvious, huh?” You say with a grimace as you turn on your stool to face him.

“Not obvious per se,” he says as he takes a sip from his drink, “But I had a hunch, what with you being here all alone. Mind if I join you?”

“Not alone, just painfully early for friends who are notoriously late,” you say with a snort as you hail the bartender.

“Sounds like you need better friends,” he says with a raised brow as takes a seat next to you, “Making a gorgeous woman like you wait seems like a crime.”

“You flatter me,” you say as you feel the praise prickle pleasantly under your skin, “But they’re good people.”

The conversation lulls but you can feel the stranger’s eyes on you as you scroll through your phone. You’re browsing reels on Instagram when you feel a pair of arms grab you from behind. You panic, shoving back as you practically catapult yourself off the stool. You scramble to your feet and back away from the bar with wild eyes. You’re ready to swing at your assailant, adrenaline pumping through your veins.

“What the fuck?” Ash’s familiar voice snaps you out of your haze. You look up to see Ash and Pete looking at you in horror.

“Jesus, Ash!” you say with a heavy sigh of relief, “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

You notice the smirk on the stranger’s face as you scold your friends. There’s something else simmering under the surface there, but you’re not paying attention to him anymore. You’re smoothing down your pants as you look at your friends.

“You, ok?” Ash asks as she looks you up and down, no doubt she can see the way your shoulders slump and your eyes are glassy and bloodshot. Pete gives you a sheepish smile.

“Not really, come on, let’s get a table,” you say as you gesture further into the bar. As you turn, you hear the sound of a phone camera shuttering, but you dismiss it.

The three of you sit down in a booth, Pete and Ash taking their place opposite you. If it hadn’t already felt like an intervention, it does now. A waitress comes over and takes your drinks order before leaving the three of you alone once more.

“I see you’re really leaning into the sugar daddy angle,” Pete remarks as you take your seat, nodding towards the guy at the bar. Your jaw ticks to the side as you ignore him, Ash shoots him a look and you feel a little less tense seeing her on your side.

“Thanks for meeting with us,” Ash says, “How are you doing?”

“Not bad considering my mother broke into my apartment and threatened me with a hammer, whilst demanding I admit I was fucking Dave,” you say with a shrug, too tired to beat around the bush.

“She did what?” Ash asks incredulously, “Why didn’t you call us?”

“Because after Wednesday I wasn’t sure I’d get the support I needed, let alone that you’d take my side on it. Somehow it would have to be my fault, right?” You say, the venom dripping from your tongue, and you look at them both in turn.

“You know we wouldn’t have pinned that on you,” Ash pleads but you shake your head slowly at her.

“Do I? The last few weeks have me questioning everything, Ash,” you sigh as you see your phone screen light up. You grit your teeth as you see it’s a message from Dave. Pete’s eyes flick to the screen and you’re grateful for the nickname attached to Dave’s contact.

“That’s not fair, we’re just worried about you,” Ash argues but you turn your gaze to Pete.

“Is that what Wednesday was, Pete? Concern? Because it seemed like it was all about judging me, not being concerned about my wellbeing.”

“I was concerned, the man was able to track you down on our night out. Ash told me he kept hounding you even after she took you home after that too.”

“He wasn’t hounding me,” you say as the hair on the back of your neck stands up, “He texted me once to make sure I was ok.”

“He’s creepy, babe, he’s your goddamn stepdad, and you are fucking him,” Pete says with a scowl, and you notice Ash flinch next to him.

Your blood runs cold as you realise Ash has been talking to Pete about everything behind your back. You wonder how much she’s told him. It makes you feel sick, for all Pete’s judgement and scorn, you have always been able to confide in Ash. Or so you thought.

“You told him?” You look to Ash, your heart breaking for what feels like the hundredth time this week, “Ash, I told you about that in confidence, next you’re going to reveal you gave Nancy my address,” you scoff, but the look of shame on Ash’s face gives you pause, “You didn’t? Did you?”

“Of course not!” Ash blurts as her eyes go wide, “I only talked to Pete because I was worried about you, I’d never do that to you.” Ash says as she holds her hands up in a show of surrender.

“And yet you told Pete, behind my back,” you retort, the hum of adrenaline in your veins makes you twitchy as you look to Pete. He physically shrinks back as he meets your gaze.

“Is this why you went so hard at me on Wednesday? What gave you the right to ambush me like that?” You ask incredulously.

“You’re not known for making good choices with men, hun,” Pete argues meekly, and you have to bite your tongue, “I was just trying to make you see how fucked up this is.”

“That’s rich coming from you, Pete,” you scoff as you shake your head, “I’m not the one proposing to a guy that ‘drives me crazy’,” you emphasise the phrase with air quotes, “Because he doesn’t answer your every obsessive text and call. Can you not see the irony there?”

Pete opens and closes his mouth a few times before scowling at you. Ash is looking at her hands, her shoulders slumped, and you almost feel bad for her. Almost.

“So, which one of you decided to go full-Nancy and pull this intervention type stunt, huh?”

“That’s not what this is-,” Ash starts, her eyes wet with tears as she looks at you.

“Then what is it? Tell me, because I certainly don’t see it as anything else.”

You sit there for a moment, desperately trying to process everything as neither of them come up with an answer for you. You see your phone light up again and you snatch it up before standing. Something is wrong if Dave is messaging you now, there’s no other reason for him to break his promise to give you space. You’re once again reminded that Dave seems to be the only who never violates your boundaries.

“Where are you going?” Ash asks as her eyes plead with you.

“To the bathroom,” you snap as you meet her gaze with a stern look, “Is that ok? Or do I need your permission to pee?”

She shakes her head, looking down as the drinks arrive and the waitress obscures you from them both. You stride towards the bathroom and pull out your phone, ducking into a stall and locking it behind you.

Your eyes go wide as you see multiple missed calls from Dave, accompanied with a string of texts that make your blood run cold.

Duke 🎷: Get out.

Duke 🎷: Please, get out of there.

Duke 🎷: * Duke 🎷* sent a photo.

You open up the attachment and you see the back of your head as you walk over to Ash and Pete at the booth. There’s a banner caption on the bottom half of the image that makes your blood run cold.

“She’s beautiful, shame if anything would happen to her.”

You clap your hand over your mouth to stifle a cry as you realise the man at the bar had taken a photo of you. You slump back against the stall as you try and collect yourself. Your phone rings once more and you answer without hesitation.

“Dave?” You whisper, your voice faltering as you fight the urge to cry.

“Are you ok? Has he hurt you?” Dave’s voice is frantic on the other end of the call, which only makes your heart beat faster; it only cements the fact that you’re in serious danger.

“No, he tried to buy me a drink, I didn’t take it,” you say as you clutch the phone tightly in your hand, desperately trying to stay calm.

“I think you understand who that is right? Yes or no answers only, we can’t trust the line with specifics, ok?”

“Ok. Yes, I do, I understand who he is.”

“I need you to slip out the back,” Dave’s voice has lowered, adopting a calmer tone as he takes you through the next steps, “I’m in a silver sedan one street over, don’t run, but I need to get you out of there now. Do you understand?”

You nod, forgetting for a moment that Dave can’t see you.

“Hey?” Dave says your name and it’s like a slap to the face.

The name jolts you back to the present and the sound of the bar outside the bathroom fills your ears as you take a steadying breath. Your heart is hammering in your chest as you force yourself to focus.

“I’m here, I’m on my way,” Your voice is more level than you expected, and you slowly make your way out of the stall, “Stay on the line?” You ask as you slip towards the back door of the bar.

“Of course, I’m here.”

You keep your eyes fixed on the bar as you walk backwards out of the bar, you feel the push bar of the back door on your palm as you hold the phone to your ear with your other hand. You hear Dave hiss on the other line as you watch the stranger chuckle to himself at the bar.

“What?” You ask, morbidly curious to what the stranger had clearly sent to Dave.

“He’s sent me another photo of you, just get out of there, ok?”

You lean back slowly, depressing the bar as gently as possible, there’s a small voice in the back of your mind hoping the door isn’t alarmed. The soft clunk of the door opening luckily isn’t loud enough to reach the bar, but the moment you’re across the threshold a siren sounds loud in the street behind you.

The stranger’s eyes flick up at the sudden sound and his glowers at you as he immediately launches himself in your direction. You slam the door behind you, heart in your throat as you try and remember where Dave said he was.

“Dave, where are you? He caught me leaving, he’s coming.”

“Turn right out of the alley, I’m waiting on the street. Go!” Dave barks as you hear an engine roar to life.

You break into a sprint, thanking your foresight to choose flats instead of heels tonight. You her the slam of the door crashing into the alley wall behind you, but you don’t turn back. You hear an angry shout behind you, and you almost pitch forward onto your face as you hear the gunshot that follows, so close behind you.

“Are you ok? Where are you?” Dave’s voice is frantic in your ear as you break out onto the street.

“I’m ok. I see the car,” you pant as you charge towards the silver sedan idling at the curb. You yank the door open, checking at the last moment that it is actually Dave in the car. His dark eyes are blazing with emotion as he checks you over briefly before driving off.

“I heard the gunshot, were you hit?” Dave asks as he focuses on the road ahead, eyes flicking back and forth as he scans for any apparent danger.

“I don’t think so,” you say with a shaky breath as you tentatively scan your body, hands drifting over your torso as you confirm, “I’m ok.”

“Good,” Dave says with a grunt as he cuts off a semi-truck. His shoulders are tense as he drives, his jaw is tight, and his knuckles are white from exertion from gripping the wheel so hard.

You slump back into your seat, your body buzzing with unspent energy as the adrenaline high courses through you. You sit in silence for a while as you watch Dave wind through the streets of Austin. You realise too late that he’s already overshot your apartment building by a few blocks. You’re heading out of town.

“I didn’t know you were in the bar,” Dave says through clenched teeth as he pulls the car into a parking garage a few blocks over from your place, “Not until he sent the photo.”

You furrow your brow, trying to understand what he means.

“Dave, what are you-?”

“I wasn’t following you, I wanted to give you space. I’m sorry but he forced my hand,” Dave turns to you with anguish behind his dark eyes.

It’s only then your brain catches up through the fog of adrenaline and fear. You remember that you pushed him away, needed him to give you space after he rejected you.

“I understand,” you say as you look away, the bitter sting of rejection burning under your skin once more as you replay the way he stopped your advances.

“Where are we going?” You ask as you realise you’re on the I35 out of Austin.

“Your apartment isn’t safe, the only place I can keep you safe is back home,” Dave says, and you can hear the agitation in his voice. You’ve never seen Dave like this, he’s so utterly unflappable, but now, it’s painful to see him so panicked.

“Home,” you nod, gathering yourself for a moment before slumping back down in the seat. The word rolls around your mind like a marble, rattling around as you try and gather your thoughts.

Neither of you say another word until you’re pulling up into a hauntingly similar parody of the day Dave brought you home from the airport all those months ago. An empty garage, no cherry red Escalade, but no red mustang either. It’s eerie.

Dave hovers at your elbow, head on a swivel, as he closes the garage door. He guides you down into the basement, hovering behind you, but not quite touching you as you descend the steps. The moment your feet hit the bottom step, it’s like a switch flips.

Tears come unbidden as you feel your knees go weak. You hear the sound of Dave arming a security system in the background as you feel the floor shift from under you. You fall to your knees and sob, your chest constricting in waves as you let out the frustrations of the last few months.

You hear the heavy thud of Dave’s knees hitting the floor next to you, followed by a barely concealed hiss.

“Hey,” his voice is low, soothing as you feel him hovering next to you, but he doesn’t touch you, he keeps his distance as you sob, “I’m here.”

But you don’t want him to keep his distance, you’re tired of the distance between you. You look up with bleary eyes and it takes you less than a second to close the gap between your bodies. You wrap your arms around him, awkwardly clinging to his kneeling form as you cry into his shirt.

“I hate you,” you sob, “I fucking hate you.”

Dave stiffens beneath you for a moment before wrapping his strong arms around you, pulling you tight against him as you choke through your anger.

“Do you know what it’s like, Dave? To be so sure of something that it physically hurts when you can’t do anything about it?” You ask, it’s rhetorical, and he knows it, so he only holds you tighter.

“I did everything right. I kept my distance, I tried to forget about you, forget about us, but I can’t Dave.”

“I know,” he whispers and something about his admission – his honesty – breaks something inside you.

“I can’t keep doing this, Dave,” you say as you pull back enough to look up into his eyes, they shine with tears as they regard you with something akin to remorse, “I can’t keep loving you if it means that all I do is hurt.”

“I know,” he repeats, a single tear tracking down his face as he tries to blink them away.

“I wish I had stayed in New York,” you snap, it’s cold and you don’t really mean it, but there’s a grain of truth to it, “I would have been miserable, but I wouldn’t have this hole in my chest. I wouldn’t have fallen so hard for someone I can never have.”

Dave doesn’t say anything to that, tears falling freely now as he bows his head.

“Did I ever actually mean anything to you? Beyond being collateral damage and sex?” You ask, it’s an unfair question but nothing about this is fair anymore. It’s never been fair to you.

“Of course, you did, you still do,” Dave says solemnly as he meets your gaze, “I love you.”

It’s like time stands still as you look up into his eyes, they glitter with more tears as he brings a hand up to cup your cheek. You lean in without hesitation as you search his face for any hint of deception.

“You mean that?” You say, voice barely more than a whisper as you plead with whatever deity that is listening that this isn’t some sick joke.

“I’ve loved you for some time,” Dave says with a sad smile, “I can’t keep pretending I don’t, it’s killing me.”

“It’s been killing me too,” you say as you place your hand over Dave’s holding his hand against your cheek, “But why tell me now? What changed?”

“You mean the hitman coming after you notwithstanding?” Dave allows himself to laugh bitterly at that and you can’t help but smile, “Nancy filed for divorce from prison, got her lawyer to serve me papers this morning.”

“You’re joking?” You laugh, a genuine, throaty bark of a sound as you shake your head, “She really thinks she’s got it all figured out, doesn’t she?”

“Hubris, thy name is Nancy,” Dave says with a sigh, “Once this is all over, once the threat on your life has been neutralised, we will have time to talk this over, talk about us, about what you want.”

“I want you,” you say without hesitation and the way Dave’s lips curve up makes your heart clench, “I will always want you.”

“I want to hold you to that,” Dave says as he leans forward and presses his forehead to yours once more, the contact makes you shudder, “But we can’t rush this, you can’t rush this. Once we’re on the other side of this, and once the divorce is finalised, we can do this right.”

“Ok,” you say, disappointment poisoning the moment just enough to make you focus on the danger at hand, “But I mean it, Dave,” you say as you pull back to look up into his eyes once more, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he says, and you see the flicker of emotion in his eyes, the way they dart to your lips for a brief moment.

“Can I kiss you?” You ask, preparing yourself for rejection, but it doesn’t come.

Dave leans down, his lips slotting over yours as his hand moves from your cheek to the back of your head. You sigh as you melt into the kiss. You fist the collar of Dave’s shirt as you lean into him.

It’s different from the other night, his lips pull gently at your own as you feel the stirring of something more than lust or desire in your chest. You stifle a soft whine as he pulls your bottom lip between his own. Heat flares in your core as you savour the heat of his mouth on yours.

You pull back, fire coursing under your skin as you look up into the warmth of Dave’s gaze. You’re both smiling, Dave’s cheeks are dimpling, and you lean forward to kiss him again.

The sound of the doorbell jolts you both out of the moment and you look at Dave with wide eyes.

“It’s ok, it’s Kovac, one of my trusted colleagues, and friends. He’s here to look after you for a while,” Dave explains, a blush creeping over his face as he realises, he didn’t fill you in on the plan.

“How long is a while?”

“A few days,” Dave says as he places his hands over yours as they cling to his shirt, “A week at most, I promise.”

“You’re going to kill him, the guy from the bar. Aren’t you?” The question slips from your lips effortlessly, you’re not naïve. You’ve noticed the absence of police presence; the way Dave hasn’t so much as called anything in since you left the bar. None of it was above board, you just know it.

“Yes,” he says, his face hardening a little as he meets your gaze, “This isn’t something that will go away if he’s put behind bars.”

“Then finish it.”

Dave’s eyes go wide at the conviction in your voice, but whatever he’s about to say in response is cut off by the furious buzzing of his cell in his pocket. He answers it with a snarl.

“Kovac, I’m coming, let yourself in,” he barks down the phone before ending the call.

Silently he eases himself onto his feet, a groan escapes him as one of his knees makes a nauseating pop. He holds his hand out to you, and you take it, letting him pull you up onto your feet.

“You have to stay down here, no matter what, ok?” Dave says as he looks over his shoulder at the basement stairs.

“What about-,” you begin to protest, you’ve got nothing of value on you, no laptop, no clothes.

“Ari, one of my other guys,” Dave interrupts, “Has a go bag for you, he’ll drop it off with your laptop and other essentials later this afternoon. Take anything you need from my drawers, use the bathroom, whatever you need, it’s yours.”

You bristle a little at the way you feel like you’re being handled, but you realise that’s exactly what’s happening. You’re an asset to be protected, there’s a very real danger out there wishing you harm.

“I’ll check in regularly, and Kovac will do anything for you, I mean it. I trust most of my men with my own life, but I wouldn’t trust anyone but Kovac to protect you.”

“Fine,” you say, trying to quash the petulance bubbling beneath the surface, “But Dave?”

“What?”

“Come back to me.”

It’s not a request, he knows it too well, but he pulls you against his chest, holding you tight.

“Nothing on this earth will stop me coming back to you,” he breathes as he presses a soft kiss to the crown of your head.

“I’ll hold you to that,” you say as you bury your face in his chest before reluctantly easing out of his embrace as you hear heavy footsteps on the stairs. You look up to see the same hulking man who fitted your security alarm.

“Dave, that’s-?”

“I told you,” he says with a sly smile, “I wouldn’t trust anyone else to keep you safe.”

You look to Kovac, and he shrugs, his face set in a smug smile as he and Dave give each other a nod of acknowledgment. Your heart flutters at the interaction, a weight lifting from your shoulders as you realise the extent of Dave’s commitment to keeping you safe.

~*~

A few hours later, Kovac answers the door as you’re sat on the L-shaped sofa in the basement. A rerun of ‘Parks and Rec’ is playing on the TV but you’re not really watching, until Duke Silver appears on screen, and you can’t help but smile.

There’s a poisoned irony at the way your group chat with Ash and Pete keeps blowing up, asking you if you’d gone home with the DILF at the bar. But you’re too dazed to care, you’ve muted the chat now, instead staring into the middle distance as you try and bring yourself back to the present.

“Hey,” Kovac’s low rumble startles you as he rounds the sofa with a duffel bag on one arm, a plastic bag filled with takeout containers in his other hand, “Ari brought your laptop and some other stuff, Dave ordered takeout and some beer.”

“Thanks,” you say with a weak smile, “I’ll sort the bag later, just dump it on the sofa.”

“Sure,” Kovac does as he’s told, dropping the bag gently on the sofa cushion before setting the plastic bag on the coffee table. He goes to leave straight away, and you stop him.

“There’s way too much food here. Do you want to join me?”

Kovac hesitates for a moment before shrugging and taking a seat on the floor opposite you. You smirk at the gesture but don’t say anything as you start to unbox the food and Kovac pops a beer and offers it to you. The two of you eat in silence for some time.

“So, you and Dave,” you say, curiosity getting the better of you, “How’d you two meet?”

Kovac chews slowly for a moment, as if contemplating how much he can actually say.

“Marines,” he says as he takes a swig of beer, “Served with him from start to finish, good man.”

“He is,” you say absently as you watch the credits roll for the episode and you immediately skip to the next one, “Thanks for staying and eating with me,” you say as you drain the last of your beer, “I appreciate it.”

Kovac shrugs and continues eating without missing a beat as he eyes you up and down.

“It won’t be long before you’re out of here,” he says as he gestures around the basement with his free hand, “Dave doesn’t fuck around when it comes to people he cares about.”

The statement, no matter how crude, has your chest constricting with joy. Of course, you want to believe that Dave cares about you – that he loves you – but to hear it from Kovac is vindicating. It makes everything feel a little more real.

“I don’t doubt it,” you say as neutrally as possible as your lips curve up into a smile.

You sit in silence for the rest of the meal until Kovac excuses himself, taking the dirty dishes and takeaway containers upstairs. He refuses to let you help, assuring you it’s safer if you stay in the basement.

You’re suddenly very tired, the events of the day catching up to you finally. You give your armpits a tentative sniff and grimace at the smell. You haul yourself up from the sofa and shower.

By the time you’re showered and dressed in a pair of Dave’s sweatpants and one of his hoodies, Kovac is back. He sits on the sofa, watching you re-enter with an unreadable look on his face.

“Sit,” he says as you approach the opposite end of the sofa to him. There’s an object on the coffee table, covered in a cloth and you realise immediately what it is.

“Is there a reason you’re looming menacingly over a gun?” You ask, trying to ease the tension in your gut with a bit of levity.

“Dave asked me to give it to you,” Kovac says bluntly, “You know how to use it?”

He unfolds the cloth to reveal a silver Colt 1911 and you nod slowly, already reaching for the pistol.

“I grew up in Texas,” you say with a shrug as you inspect the utilitarian firearm, “I’ve handled bigger and meaner guns than this in my time.”

“Good,” Kovac nods, “Have you ever shot someone?”

The question throws you a little and you slowly shake your head.

“I’ve never had to.” You say.

“I hope that doesn’t change,” Kovac says solemnly, and you look up to see a flash of emotion in his blue eyes, something like remorse, “But if you need to, don’t hesitate, not even for a second.”

You eject the magazine and pull back the slider to expose the breech. You nod slowly to yourself, the whole process something second-nature to you normally. The threat looming over you makes everything feel surreal, disjointed.

“I promise,” you say as you depress the slide release and re-insert the magazine before flicking the safety on, “Thank you.”

Kovac simply nods, seemingly happy with your reaction before he stands and makes his way to the stairs.

“I’m going to keep watch upstairs, I hope you get some rest,” he says without turning before ascending the stairs.

“Night,” you call after him absently as you turn back to the television. Parks and Rec is still playing but you aren’t in the mood to mindlessly watch TV. You turn it off and head into Dave’s bedroom.

You place the gun on the nightstand, the cold thud of the metal on the wood surface loud in your ears. You slide under the sheets, and for a brief moment you’re lost in the familiar scent of Dave. The fresh, spiced smell of his body wash and the unique musk of simply him envelop you as you burrow into the sheets. Your eyes flutter closed, and you let out a soft sigh as you try and relax.

It could have been seconds, or hours since you closed your eyes when suddenly you’re jolted awake by the harsh blaring of an alarm. You check your phone, but the device lies silent, the display lights up as you move it, it’s just gone 4am.

You blink away the sleep as you see Dave’s desktop PC screens flashing violently, red and white as an emergency alarm blares through his speakers. Your stomach drops as the CCTV feed pops up in a new window.

There, on the doorstep – gun in hand – is the man from the bar, smiling up into the camera lens.

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poraphia · 10 months

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"Four Medium-Sized Coffees, One Big Fat Work Crush"

lvjy!wilbur x manager!reader 1457 words • 8.9.23 request by @mrssabinecallas! "lead singer will with a manager reader! they book all their performances and bring them coffee every morning, just happy to be there with Will and their friends"

requests are still open!! dont be shy :3 pt. 2 here <-

How to be a good tour manager: 1) Bring them coffee every morning 2) Don't fall in love with the lead singer

♡♡♡

Y’know, when I signed up for this job, I didn’t expect the roller coaster of emotions and action that would come with being an on-tour manager.

I especially didn’t think I’d end up falling for the lead singer of Lovejoy, William Gold.

I have been a stage director for concerts for a couple of years now since I graduated from university. I worked for different venues, taking up jobs such as being in charge of soundcheck and directing the lights. After years of hard work and a resume of experience, I was finally offered my first opportunity of being an on-tour manager for a rising band that was touring the world.

I have to admit, it was different. I was constantly away from home and on the road. The one thing genuinely battling this homesick feeling was the constant adventure and excitement we faced in every city. From sitting awkwardly in an Uber as the driver told us horrific stories, to running around the late-night streets tasting cuisines we had never heard of before.

I remember on the first day, I was a nervous train wreck. I spent most of that night pacing around my hotel room while occasionally practicing in the mirror how to greet the band, how to talk to them, and how to even shake their hand. It wasn’t until the peak time of 4 AM I decided that I should keep things simple (and that I should probably go to sleep because I had to wake up in three hours).

I met up with the band at our first venue for a soundcheck. When I got the text that they were arriving shortly, I ran to the nearest cafe and ordered four coffees, each with a simple shot of espresso, two scoops of sugar, and a cup of milk. It was basic, and it wasn’t guaranteed it would be something they’d love, but I was far too deep to turn back around and return the coffee. Plus, wouldn’t that be a super awkward situation? Oh, hey Mr. Barista! Sorry, can you refund me these four coffees after I walked in the blazing city heat for roughly ten minutes before—

“Hi,” A deep, posh voice caused me to snap out of my thoughts. I looked around, not even realizing I was already at the venue, and the man was holding the door for me. He was tall with disheveled curly hair and he wore a striped T-Shirt with some basic black jeans. Glasses rested on the bridge of his nose but more importantly, there was the guitar case slung across his shoulder.

“O-Oh, thank you!” I stuttered, rushing past him to avoid any more embarrassment. He softly chuckled behind me before closing the door. I turned around, half-smiling to shake off the embarrassing situation I’ve seemed to stumble in.

“You must be (y/n), right? Our manager?” He asked, his eyes trailing from my face to my lanyard, to the cardboard cupholders presenting four hot and fresh beverages.

“Yeah!” I exclaimed a bit too loudly. Guess that’s another check on the list for what will keep me up tonight. “I, uh, I got these coffees for you guys! Just to help you guys out with the jetlag and all…” I trailed off in the end. But thankfully, the man smiled and took a random cup, slightly pursing his lips to retrieve the beverage only to flinch back, laughing.

“Holy shit, this is hot.” He chuckled. I couldn’t help but laugh along as well. “Oh, fuck, where are my manners– My name is Wilbur, Will, William, honestly call me what you like.” He shrugged. “My other mates are right there and are practicing on stage right now. There’s Ash, Mark, and Joe.” He pointed to the respective person, each calling out their name.

We both began to walk toward the backstage area and continued talking. As Wilbur walked nonchalantly with coffee in hand, I struggled to catch up to his long strides while also maintaining the balance of the rest of the drinks. “It’s a funny way how we all became a band actually–” He turned around. Noticing my struggle as he spared a few milliseconds so that I may catch up. Will chuckled before continuing to walk at a much slower pace.

Once we arrived in the backstage lounge, I pushed the door for him with my back. He thanked me before walking past. “Oh, (y/n), I would like to mention something–” He said, turning his head to face me. I tilted my head, anticipating. “Next time you get us coffee, I’d like mine with two cups of milk!” He smiled. “Although, it is perfect as it is anyway. I’m sure the rest of the band would love it.”

As I watched him finish up his coffee and make his way to the stage, my mind was set on a new goal:

“Find out Lovejoy’s desired coffee orders.”

From that day forward, I brought them coffee every morning. From meeting them on the tour bus, at soundcheck, to even waiting in the hotel lobby. I would listen closely to what comments they would make. If Joe slightly mentions to Ash he doesn't like sweet coffee, I'll remember to add less sugar. If I heard Mark asking around for creamer, I'll remember to put more cream. My petty rule for myself was that I wouldn't dare ask them directly about their preferences. It was a fun little game for me, and it only took Wilbur a little over two months for him to notice.

Wilbur and I were sitting in the tour bus booth area going over the set list when he brought it up. "Hey, (Y/N), can I ask you something?" He said, tapping at his cardboard cup. I looked up from the piece of paper I was writing on to meet his eyes.

"I know what you're gonna ask– I've already asked the stage crew if we could add smoke for The Fall along with some more flashing lights during Warsaw." I explained, pointing at the paper with the pen I had in hand.

Wilbur let out a soft chuckle with the softest smile on his face. His hair covered a bit of his eyes but even then I could see the reflection of light making his pupils sparkle. His laugh caused a fluttering sensation in my chest. My hands and stomach tingled as if dozens of butterflies were dancing on my skin. Was I.. Getting flustered?

"No, no, I wasn't going to ask that." He spoke gently. I held my breath, a little embarrassed for my rambling. "Though I do appreciate it all. You've picked up so much about us as a band in just a couple of weeks." He held the end joints of my fingers between his grasp as he spoke, fidgeting with them as he talked.

"Oh, well…" I felt the blush creeping to my face. "that is kind of my job." I chuckled.

"Also you've been getting our coffee orders perfectly I've noticed. Mark was raving to me earlier about how good it tasted. Ash even posted it in his story." Wilbur said, reminiscing on his mornings with his friends.

I couldn't hold back the biggest smile on my face. It took every nerve of my body not to jump up on the table and do the goofiest, happiest dance of my life. Instead, I nodded and hummed, using my thumb to rub circles into his hand.

"I'm really glad to hear that. This is my first on-tour job, so here it's just–" I stumbled over my words trying to find the right phrases, but I was so overwhelmed with giddiness I just sighed. "Thank you…"

Wilbur looked back up to meet my eyes again. His cheeks were dusted with the slightest bit of pink as he examined bits of my face. I wanted to take in every feature of his as well. From the small mole near his eye to how pink his lips were. How pretty his lips are… they look so… Soft–

"(y/N)! Wilbur!" Mark called out from the other end of the bus. Immediately we pulled away from each other, sinking ourselves in our opposite-end seats from embarrassment.

"Yeah?! What is it, Mark?" Will called out, but he dared not to turn around to face him.

"We're in LA now! You guys ready for our last gig in the States?!" He asked excitedly.

Oh, God.

It was the last gig.

Which means…

I looked over to Will, who also had a slight shock on his face as if it slipped his mind as well.

This is it, I suppose.

Who was I to think I would get my happy rom-com ending?

♡♡♡

my wilbur soot masterlist ~! a / n ~ i have a part two idea for this already omg should I do it?? reblogs and likes are super appreciated!! they be motivating me :33

#wilbur soot #wilbur soot oneshots #wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot x y/n #wilbur soot x you #lovejoy #wilbur hc #wilbur soot fanfiction #wilbur soot fluff #will gold #wilbursootmcyt #mcyt headcanons wilbur #mcyt tag #mcyt x reader #mcytblr #mcyt

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bradshawsbaby · 9 months

Text

Si Vis Amari Ama

VIII. Let the Games Begin

SERIES MASTERLIST

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Pairings: Rooster (Roman Name: Gallus) x Female Reader (Roman Name: Sabina), featuring Hangman (Roman Name: Carnifex) x Phoenix

Summary: A girl whose freedom was stolen to pay her father’s debts. A gladiator enslaved for the entertainment of Rome. A love they never thought possible.

Author’s Note: I apologize that it's taken me so long to update! I've been having a hard time finding the motivation to write as of late, but this story remains very near and dear to my heart and I'm grateful that I've had the inspiration to work on it these past few days. Thank you for bearing with me! I hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 13k+

Warnings: Slavery in the ancient world, angst, allusions to unwanted sexual advances, gladiatorial combat, violence, blood, death, slow burn romance, alternating point of view.

He could feel the thunderous roar of the crowd pounding in his skull, a searing pain that pulsed behind his closed eyelids, rivaled only by the throbbing ache in his shoulder. The stamping feet of tens of thousands of spectators shook his bones and thrummed in his bloodstream, the energy of his captive audience rising and growing like a living beast. He could sense it burrowing just beneath the surface of his skin, engulfing his body in flames—the same Roman flames that had stolen his mother away from him and destroyed the only true home he had ever known.

And yet, for all that his body felt as though it was wrapped in fire, he found himself unable to move. Unable to lift the arm that held the sword they’d so foolishly placed in his hand. Unable to open his eyes and gaze upon the crazed, bloodthirsty faces of the people he hated so much. Unable to do anything except succumb to the pounding that vibrated through him, rattling him to his core and robbing him of any shred of peace. But when had he ever known peace?

Swallowing deeply, he realized just how dry his mouth was—drier than the sands of the arena itself. And on his tongue, he could taste nothing more than salt and ashes.

But that pounding. When would it cease? He couldn’t even raise his hands to his ears to block it out, not in his frozen state. When would he be free of it? When would he ever be free?

Just as he felt ready to open his mouth in a silent scream, he suddenly heard a faint sound in the distance, so small and gentle that he could scarcely make it out over the throbbing in his head. But then it came closer, so close that he almost felt it brushing against his cheek in a delicate caress. It was the flutter of dainty wings, like those of a dove.

His little dove.

The longing in his chest at that sweet sound was enough to propel him forward, to unlock him from the invisible chains that kept him bound and let loose the strong limbs that had been held captive in his mind.

“Sabina!” Gallus cried out, sitting up suddenly and reaching out—but grasping nothing.

Blinking painfully against the early morning light that filtered into his cell, he turned his head slowly and let out a grunt of pain at the stiffness in his shoulder.

As he blinked slowly a few more times and shook his head to clear the fog from his mind, Gallus took stock of his surroundings and remembered where he was. He wasn’t in the arena at all, but on the hard packed earthen floor of his cell, where he’d evidently fallen into an unhappy sleep after the overwhelming events of the previous night. Glancing downward, he realized that he was still clutching the carving you’d gifted him in one hand, the oak wood leaving a firm impression against his scarred palm.

And that’s when it all came flooding back—the banquet, the way those filthy men had dared to put their hands on you, Atticus’ threats, the tears you had shed for him. He closed his eyes against the memory of your confusion and pain when he’d thrown you out of this very cell, everything he’d ever wanted slipping through his fingers because it was the only way he knew how to keep you safe.

His own broken heart was a price he was willing to pay to ensure that no harm befell you. But that didn’t make it hurt any less.

Shuddering, Gallus swallowed deeply and realized he could still taste the salt from his dream. Had it been a dream at all? Or was it just the taste of the fruitless tears he’d shed until exhaustion had finally claimed him sometime before dawn?

Rolling the stiffness out of his shoulders, his ears perked up when he registered the fact that the taste of salt wasn’t the only thing he’d carried over from his dreams. The pounding that had haunted him persisted, though he quickly became aware that it wasn’t the wild stampeding of the crowd, but a fist pummeling his door with single-minded determination.

Groaning under his breath, he felt his bones creak and could hear his joints pop as he slowly rose from the floor, setting the carving down on his small table before gingerly stepping towards the door, apprehensive about who he would find on the other side.

He was only mildly surprised to see an irate Phoenix standing on the threshold of his cell.

“What did you do?” she hissed, shoving one hard finger into his chest as she forced her way into his room without invitation.

Gallus had seen Phoenix this angry before, but it had never been directed at him. It was usually their masters who garnered this much fury from his raven-haired friend. Sighing deeply, he closed the door behind her, quickly glancing from side to side to make sure no one had observed her arrival.

“Phoenix, listen—”

“Don’t you, ‘Phoenix, listen’ me!” she growled, crossing her arms over her chest and planting herself in the center of the room, glaring up at him. She looked immovable, a fierce force of nature the likes of which even a seasoned gladiator might hesitate to go up against. He would be proud of her if it weren’t for the fact that he was also mildly terrified.

“What did you do?” she demanded, repeating her question from when she’d first arrived. “Do you know Sabina came back to the villa in tears last night? I could barely get her to speak at first. I thought for sure something terrible had happened to her, that one of Atticus’ disgusting friends had—” She shook her head, clearly unable to even finish speaking the thought aloud.

Gallus was glad for that, for he suddenly felt bile rising in his throat at the mere thought of any man laying his hands on you against your will. He would kill anyone who tried.

“Phoenix,” he began again, the pitiful remains of his heart breaking at the vision her words conjured up, the idea of your tears too much for him to bear.

“How could you do that to her, Gallus? How?” Phoenix pressed, her cheeks growing red from her mounting frustration. “Do you have any idea how humiliated she is? How ashamed? She said she doesn’t even know how she can return to the ludus again, how she could ever face you after last night. She took a chance, opening herself up to you like that, and you just threw her away. How could you do that?!”

“Phoenix, there are things you don’t understand,” he replied, trying to hide the panic that stirred in his chest at the thought of you never returning to the ludus, of never getting to see you again.

“Then make me understand!” she exploded, lunging forward and shoving at him with both hands, causing him to lose his footing and stumble back a step or two. “Because I know that you care for Sabina, Gallus! I know you, and I know that you have never felt for anybody what you feel for her! So make me understand how you could reject her and break her heart when she offered it to you on a golden platter.”

Her last words were spoken so quietly, yet seemed to steal all the air out of the room.

“Atticus knows,” Gallus told her flatly, his expression as stoic as ever in an attempt to mask the turmoil that was roiling inside him.

“What?” Phoenix gasped, taking a step back as her mouth fell open in shock, some of the rigidity melting away from her posture.

“He knows what Sabina means to me. You know him, Phoenix. You know what a wily bastard he is,” he went on, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “He figured it out even before the banquet. He tried to offer Sabina to me as a—a concubine,” he confessed, swallowing back the distaste that burned in the back of his throat.

Phoenix’s dark eyes widened, her fingers instinctively curling into fists at the thought of Atticus thinking he could turn you out like some kind of whore. What was worse was knowing that he could, and that he could do the same to her on a whim. Not only would neither of you ever be free, but you would never be safe either, not in the household of Atticus Cornelius Juventus.

“I knew he was testing me. After all this time, Atticus knows that I want nothing to do with the women he tries to force into my bed. But I still fell into his trap anyway. I couldn’t—I couldn’t let him talk about her like that. I couldn’t let him threaten to hurt her,” Gallus murmured, hanging his head in shame that he hadn’t been smart enough to protect you right from the start. “And then last night at the banquet—I couldn’t let those pigs get away with treating her like that. I would do it again, no matter what Atticus did to me.”

“What did Atticus do to you?” Phoenix asked, her voice softer this time as she stepped closer to her oldest friend, reaching up and brushing a gentle hand against the bruise forming just beneath his eye.

He turned his face away, his jaw ticking as Atticus’ words from last night flooded back into his mind. “It doesn’t matter what he did to me. I can take his abuse. He’s not as strong as he likes to think he is,” he muttered, trying not to think about the pain that had exploded beneath his eye when their master’s signet ring had collided with his cheek.

Phoenix was quiet for a moment, her expression thoughtful as she stared up at him and waited for him to turn back and meet her eye. “But that wasn’t all he did, was it?” she questioned, already knowing the answer.

Gallus shook his head miserably, taking a deep breath as he stepped away from her and lowered himself down on the edge of his bed, burying his head in his hands. He remained silent, even as the bed dipped beside him and he felt one of Phoenix’s cool, soothing hands come to rest on his back in a comforting fashion.

“Talk to me,” she whispered, feeling the torment that hovered above him like a storm cloud as keenly as a summer rain soaking her skin. “What did Atticus do?”

When he finally lifted his head to look at her, it was with an expression so broken that he didn’t know how he had managed to make it this far without crumbling to pieces on the floor. “He threatened to hurt her, Phoenix. He threatened to hurt Sabina.”

She knew what his response would be before he even uttered the words, but the reality of the situation still slapped her in the face anyway, more brutal than even Aurelia’s abuse. Phoenix bit back the sob she felt rising in her throat, giving Gallus the space he needed to continue speaking.

“He reminded me that she is his property,” he spat out bitterly, digging his fingernails into his thighs and not even registering the pain. “That Sabina is his to do with as he pleases, and that if I ever dare to step out of line again or go against him in any way, he’ll beat her within an inch of her life and make me watch,” he continued, his voice catching despite himself.

“Oh, Gallus!” Phoenix cried out, wrapping her arms around him and hiding her face against his shoulder to try to mask her own tears.

“You would think it couldn’t get any worse than that, but remember that this is Atticus we’re talking about,” he went on, his utter hatred for his master evident in the way he practically snarled his name. “He also threatened to sell Sabina to the nearest brothel he could find.” His voice grew cold as he repeated Atticus’ threat from last night. He would burn Rome herself to the ground before he allowed that to happen to you.

Phoenix let out a soft gasp, horrified at the mere thought of such a cruel fate befalling you. You were too gentle, too good, too pure. You would never survive a punishment such as that.

“So you see? She’s in danger, Phoenix, and it’s all because of me,” he said miserably, the wounds in his heart being torn open anew as he contemplated the truth that his love and affection for you were what had put a target on your back.

“Hey,” Phoenix replied instantly, sliding off his bed and rising to stand in front of him, placing both hands firmly on his shoulders. “Hey, look at me,” she demanded, waiting until Gallus slowly lifted his eyes to meet her gaze. Setting her face like stone, she told him, “Sabina is not in danger because of you. Any danger she may be in is because of Atticus and his sick, twisted mind. Do you hear me?” She shook his shoulders slightly, as if to emphasize her question.

“Atticus would never have set his sights on her if it weren’t for me. He’s doing this to torment me, Phoenix. So it is my fault,” he argued, shrugging her hands off his shoulders irritably and rising as well, pacing around his cell like a caged lion—or a wolf, as you had so aptly described him. “That’s why I need to keep Sabina as far away from me as possible. If there’s nothing between us, then Atticus has no reason to harm her,” he rationalized, trying to convince himself as much as Phoenix.

To his surprise, Phoenix scoffed in response, crossing her arms once more. “Oh, how noble of you.”

He stared at her, taken aback. “Phoenix—”

“So you think that denying Sabina—denying yourself—any scrap of happiness you might possibly be able to cling to in this miserable place is the right thing to do? Breaking her heart and making her believe you care nothing for her is the best course of action?” Her voice started to rise slightly as her temper grew hotter. “You do realize that we’re all slaves, right? We will always be at the mercy of Atticus and Aurelia and their capricious moods! Who’s to say that Atticus wouldn’t find some other reason to torment Sabina that had nothing to do with you? We both know full well that Aurelia takes great pleasure in making her life a misery. What’s to stop her husband from doing the same? But where she might at least have been able to find a moment’s comfort in your arms, now she’s left feeling even more alone than ever before! Did you think of that when you were trying to play the martyr? Did you?”

Gallus turned away from Phoenix’s barrage of words, overcome by the sense in them and not wanting to face it. She was right, and he knew it. It was nothing but foolishness that would have made him believe he had any sort of power to protect you. That was what was so maddening about all of this. No matter what he did, he could never truly ensure your safety. The reality of it was enough to drive him to insanity.

“Why didn’t you tell Sabina the truth?” Phoenix further pressed him, not letting him off the hook and not allowing him a moment to breathe. “She’s not a child, Gallus. You could have explained to her what was really going on. Don’t you trust her?”

“Of course I do!” he exploded, dragging his hands down his face and trembling with the desire to smash his other stool against the wall, the way he had done to its twin last night. “Of course I trust her! But I wanted to protect her! I wanted to shield her from whatever savagery I could. She’s already experienced so much evil. Why cause her any more heartache if I could avoid it? Why make her live in fear every day?”

“But you didn’t let her make that choice for herself! You took it upon yourself to make it for her!” she snapped back. “So what makes you any different than Atticus or any other master she’s ever had?”

His blood ran cold at her words. It was true. What did make him any better than any other man who had claimed you as his property? For as long as you had been enslaved, your life had not been your own. There was no decision that you were free to make for yourself. Save one, perhaps—no one could truly tell you who to love. But Gallus had taken that freedom from you as well. He had denied you the chance to choose him, to decide that you were willing to pursue whatever this thing was between the two of you, no matter the risk. He had determined that he knew better, and he had broken your heart in the process.

How could he ever hope for you to forgive him?

“What have I done?” he groaned, stumbling towards the table pressed up against his wall and spreading his large hands out to catch himself. His head hung low and he squeezed his eyes shut, as if by doing so he could shut out the catastrophe he had created.

“There’s still time to fix it,” Phoenix reassured him, moving beside him and resting a hand on his arm. She paused a moment before saying, “The games begin today.” He didn’t fail to notice the fear in her eyes as she uttered those words. “You need to have a clear head when you’re fighting in the arena. You have to speak to Sabina and make things right with her before you go.”

“She won’t want to see me,” Gallus said quietly, staring at the carving that sat atop the table. Your gift seemed to silently taunt him, to remind him of all that could have been his, had he not so foolishly thrown it all away. He wouldn’t blame you if you never wanted to see him again. He had hurt you badly. He had never deserved you to begin with. “You said it yourself, she doesn’t ever want to step foot in the ludus again.”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll talk to Sabina,” Phoenix insisted, looking newly determined. “I’ll make sure she gets here before you all leave for the games. Just make sure you tell her the truth.”

As she spun around to leave, her dark braid nearly whipping him in the face, Gallus reached out and grabbed her wrist before she could go. “Phoenix?”

She turned to look up at him expectantly.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely, squeezing her hand. He had never been very good at voicing his feelings aloud or expressing himself, but he hoped she knew how much he treasured her friendship, and all the ways he was grateful for her.

As if reading his thoughts, Phoenix beamed up at him. “Hey, what are friends for?”

Before he could stop her a second time, she was out the door in a flash, looking eager as ever to complete this new mission she’d assigned herself. He knew that if Phoenix had set her mind to bringing you here, she would find a way to make it happen. But the thought filled him with nerves greater than those that normally assailed him on the day of an appearance in the Colosseum.

What would he say to you? How could he make you understand? Would you even want to listen to him? Would you want anything to do with him after how he had treated you last night?

Knowing it was a poor idea to just pace in his cell for hours, awaiting your arrival, he dropped down to the ground and began a series of push-ups, trying to clear his mind of everything beyond his impending fight this afternoon. After all, it wouldn’t matter much if you forgave him if he was dead before sundown.

Gritting his teeth, sweat pouring off his face, Gallus pulsed his strong body up and down, up and down, up and down, your face the only thing he could conjure up in his mind’s eye.

You couldn’t believe Phoenix had convinced you to do this.

All of last night, and well into the early hours of the morning, your eyes had poured out an ocean of sorrow, your heart aching with the pain and humiliation of Gallus’ rejection. You’d hardly slept at all, and it showed in your puffy, red-rimmed gaze.

You hadn’t gone to Gallus’ cell last night with the intention of throwing yourself into his arms like some lovesick puppy. You truly had been afraid for him when Atticus dragged him out of the banquet after the scene he’d made, and you just wanted to check on him and make sure he was safe. But there was something about the way he held you, the roughness of his demeanor belying the gentleness of his fingers as he brushed away your tears. And when he ran that calloused thumb across your lips, you thought you might truly melt into a puddle at his feet. There was something in his eyes, something in his touch, something in the way the very air between the two of you crackled with the heat of a summer storm. You had been so sure that he felt it, too, that thing that existed between the two of you that you could not name. So you’d taken a chance and opened yourself up to him in a way you had never done before. Everything you had to offer—your mind, your body, your heart—they were all his for the taking.

But you were wrong. Gallus didn’t want you. That’s why he’d told you to leave. He was probably embarrassed for you, the mousy little slave girl who thought Rome’s champion would actually want her. He could have any woman he wanted—the most beautiful courtesans in Rome would fall at his feet. What would he want with you?

That’s why you hadn’t argued or tried to plead your case when he’d tossed you out of his cell last night. Attempting to piece together the shredded remains of your dignity, you’d simply turned and fled into the night, barely making it out of the ludus before the tears started to fall.

Phoenix had been out of her mind with worry when you finally returned to the female slave quarters, her dark eyes wild with fright when she caught sight of your disheveled, hysterical state. It took a few moments and several deep breaths before you were finally able to assure her that none of Atticus’ guests had accosted you. But when you eventually were able to explain to her the real cause of your tears, embarrassment and shame tingeing every word you whispered, her worry turned to shock, which was quickly replaced by anger.

“He’s an idiot!” she seethed, wrapping her arms around you and stroking your back as you continued to cry. “I’ll talk some sense into him.”

“Phoenix, no!” you gasped, practically choking on your tears as you tried to keep your voice down. “That will only be even more humiliating! He doesn’t want me, don’t you see? We’ll just leave it at that. Oh, but how am I ever supposed to return to the ludus after this?” you whimpered, covering your face with your hands. “I’m so ashamed!”

“You have nothing to be ashamed about,” Phoenix told you sternly, pulling your hands away from your face. “I’m the one who should be ashamed for calling such a fool my friend. There has to be an explanation for his behavior, Sabina. Trust me,” she said, brushing your tears away with her fingertips.

Not wanting to prolong the conversation, you just curled up on your sleeping mat and closed your eyes, although the tears just kept spilling down your cheeks until you could taste the salt at the corners of your mouth.

You must have slept a little bit, because when you awoke just as the first hints of dawn were beginning to break through the small window in your quarters, you rolled over and found that Phoenix was already up and gone. Your stomach sank sharply. You truly hoped she wasn’t off to talk to Gallus as she had threatened.

With the villa already a flurry of activity, you didn’t have much time to dwell on it. Rising and dressing quickly, you grabbed a piece of stale bread from the kitchen before you set about cleaning up the evidence of your masters’ disastrous banquet. Most guests hadn’t left until the early hours of the morning, and in the bright light of day, it became apparent just how much carousing and revelry had gone on the night before.

Atticus and Aurelia seemed to be sleeping off their hangovers, which at least meant that you and the other household slaves could go about your chores in peace, for a few hours anyway. You spent most of the early morning helping clean the gardens, which had apparently been the chosen destination for more than a few rendezvous last night. By the time Phoenix found you, you were on your hands and knees, scrubbing the mosaic tiles of the fountain Dominus had just installed a month ago. It was of the Roman hero Hercules, and you suddenly found yourself unable to look at it. Just a few weeks earlier, you had smiled to yourself, thinking how much it resembled Gallus.

“There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you,” Phoenix exclaimed, dropping down to her knees beside you and grabbing a spare rag so that she could help you.

“It’s been a busy morning,” you murmured softly, turning your face slightly to try to hide your puffy eyes from your friend.

Phoenix, however, was no fool. Reaching out, she rested one hand on your shoulder and waited until you finally looked at her. “I spoke to Gallus.”

“Phoenix!”

“I had to! If nothing else, he deserved a good tongue lashing for the way he treated you last night,” she replied stubbornly, returning to her task and scrubbing at a particularly pesky stain.

When she said nothing else, your curiosity got the best of you and you bit your tongue before asking, “And? What happened?”

“Ah, so you do care,” Phoenix winked, her eyes twinkling as she nudged you teasingly.

“Phoenix!”

“Alright, alright,” she said, throwing up her hands in surrender. “As I suspected, he had his reasons for doing what he did last night. I don’t necessarily agree with them, and I told him so, but I promise you that his intentions were good.”

Your stomach fluttered at her words, but you tamped down foolish hope before it had a chance to grow wings.

“What were they?” you asked, trying to sound casual, though you both knew you were anything but.

Phoenix shook her head, which caused your pulse to quicken nervously. “He has to be the one to tell you that, Sabina. He assured me that he would.”

“But, Phoenix!” you argued, running a clammy hand down your face. “I—I can’t! I can’t go back there and face him, not after everything—”

“Sabina,” Phoenix interrupted, pulling your hand away from your face and squeezing it tightly. “He’s going to be leaving in a few hours for the Colosseum. This may very well be—well—you don’t know what the Fates have in store,” she said, her voice much more subdued and her expression suddenly downcast. “You don’t want to have any regrets that you didn’t set things right between the two of you before he goes. Trust me. Just go talk to him. Please.”

As terrified as you were about the prospect of facing Gallus again after all that had transpired, you were even more terrified at the prospect of letting him leave without saying goodbye, knowing that it was possible you would never set eyes on him again in the land of the living. The thought alone made you feel ill.

So that was how, once the gardens and the fountains were cleaned, you had somehow ended up trailing behind Phoenix on your way to the ludus once more.

Neither of you spoke as you walked behind your friend, nervously twisting your sweaty palms in the folds of your tunic. You hadn’t felt this afraid to enter the gladiator training grounds since that first day that Titus had asked you to assist him. The day you met Gallus for the first time.

As you came closer to the training arenas, you realized that the ludus was a hive of activity. With it being the first day of the summer games, everyone was in a frantic rush to get everything ready for the transport to the Colosseum. You and Phoenix were able to slip by most of the men without attracting any sort of attention.

That was, anyway, until you began to approach the Pugiones’ training grounds.

“Ladies! Come to wish us luck?” Caius called out, grinning broadly as he flexed his muscles just for show. “Apollo already beat you to it,” he added with a chuckle, indicating the little orange cat who was currently rubbing up against his ankle.

He was standing with Pollux and Felix, but the other Pugiones were nowhere in sight.

“Of course,” Phoenix grinned in return, taking your hand as she pulled you over to where your friends were standing. “We couldn’t let you leave without wishing you all the best.”

“Are you alright, Sabina?” Felix asked in concern, noting the wan expression on your face despite your best attempts to mask it.

Caius and Pollux both turned in your direction, looking equally concerned.

They were off to put their lives on the line in the Colosseum and they were worried about you? The thought alone was enough to make you want to curl up and weep. But you didn’t. Instead, you straightened your spine and forced what you hoped was a calm and reassuring smile onto your face.

“Of course,” you fibbed, nodding your head slowly. “Just a bit tired after last night. I’ve never served at a banquet quite like that before.” It wasn’t totally a lie.

“Don’t remind us,” Pollux sighed, rolling his eyes skyward. “Of course Atticus couldn’t let the evening pass without trying to put on a show. But it looks like Gallus bested him at his own game,” he added, the men sharing pointed looks with one another before turning back to you and Phoenix.

“I’ve never seen him lose control like that before. At least, not outside of the arena,” Felix said, shaking his head. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him that angry before either.” He shot you a sideways glance before continuing, “I heard him last night, in his room. It sounded like he was trying to turn every piece of furniture he owns into firewood.”

Caius and Pollux grimaced, but said nothing.

His words instantly caught your attention, however. All of Gallus’ furniture had been perfectly intact when you arrived at his cell last night. Had he started destroying things after you left? But if so, why?

Phoenix glanced at you knowingly before reaching down to scratch Apollo behind the ears. “See? He knew enough to come back to wish you boys luck before you leave. Not that you’ll need it. You’re the best of the best. You always come home.”

Her words hung in the air as the five of you looked at one another, no one wanting to admit out loud that it was a very real possibility that someone—maybe more than one someone—wouldn’t be coming home tonight.

“You’re all going to be great,” she went on, clearing her throat as if to dislodge the emotion that had suddenly wedged itself there. “The people love you. Give them a show, and then come back in one piece, will you?” Avoiding eye contact, she quickly wrapped each of them in a hug before stepping back.

“Good luck, boys,” you told them, not trusting yourself to say much more for fear that you would break down crying. Following Phoenix’s lead, you gave each of them a hug before stepping back and quickly wiping away a traitorous tear at the corner of your eye.

Caius, Pollux, and Felix all cleared their throats as well, shifting from one foot to the other.

“Well, we’d better finish getting ourselves prepared. We’ll see you both tonight,” Pollux told you, emphasizing his last statement to let you both know that none of them had any intentions of losing today.

As the trio walked away, Phoenix sighed softly and turned to look at you. She bit her lip, glancing over both shoulders before whispering, “I’m going to try to say goodbye to Carnifex. I’ll meet you back here, okay?”

You simply nodded in response, for your mouth suddenly felt as dry as sand. You glanced over your friend’s shoulder in the direction of Gallus’ cell, but your feet felt rooted to the ground.

“Hey,” Phoenix murmured gently, reaching out to take hold of both your hands. “It’s going to be okay. You’ll see.” She gave you one last squeeze of reassurance before nudging you in the direction of Gallus’ room, her own path diverging as she headed towards Carnifex’s.

Taking a deep breath, you forced yourself to put one foot in front of the other, your body moving as if of its own accord until you were finally standing outside of the cell that you had run from not very many hours before. Your stomach flopped anxiously as you lifted a hand to knock, hurt and humiliation and fear and worry all roiling together inside you like the stew that Alba was always stirring over the hearth fire. Before you could think better of it, you rapped a couple times on the door, pulling your hand back as though it had burned you.

It seemed to take an eternity, and you were about ready to turn and flee once more when the door suddenly swung open and you were standing face to face with the man who had stolen your heart, much as he evidently would have preferred not to.

Just as it had the night before, the air between you seemed to crackle like Jupiter’s thunderbolts. Your breath got caught in your throat as you gazed up at this giant of a man who made it so difficult to think straight whenever he was near. He looked dressed for battle, and you realized you had never before seen him in his full regalia for a bout in the Colosseum. With his leg greaves, armguard, and protective belt, and his shoulder-length hair tied back from his face, he looked every inch the mighty Hercules, ready to slay the Nemean lion.

You were embarrassed to realize you were staring, mouth slightly agape, but that was when it dawned on you that he was staring, too. His dark eyes, which looked almost golden in the midmorning light, were wide as he gazed down at you, one of his large hands, which had cradled you so tenderly last night, gripping the door frame as if for dear life, his scarred knuckles turning white from the effort.

Your heart skipped a few beats when it struck you that you had no idea what to say to him. In all the time you had been growing closer to him, that had never been a problem, but now your brain couldn’t think of one logical or reasonable thing to say. The only thing that came out of your mouth was a small and hesitant, “Hi.”

It seemed as though he had been holding his breath, for he suddenly let out a long sigh, his chest heaving slightly as he continued to look at you. “Hi,” he rasped, lowering his hand to his side. That was when you noticed the bruises and cuts that you were fairly certain hadn’t been there the day before, and were once again reminded of Felix’s words.

Not knowing what else to do, you looked back up at his face and said, “Phoenix said that I should come talk to you.”

Was it your imagination or did he deflate slightly, his shoulders stooping somewhat as he nodded in response? Had he been hoping you would come see him of your own accord?

“Yes, of course. I know how persuasive she can be,” he replied, one corner of his mouth turning up in a half-smile as he attempted to lighten the mood. When he saw that your expression didn’t change, however, his smile fell. “Would you like to come in?”

You hesitated, not confident you had it in you to cross that threshold again.

“Please, Sabina,” he begged earnestly, leaning towards you, but then thinking better of it and stepping back again. “There’s no excuse for how I treated you last night. For what I did. But I’d like to try to explain it to you. I don’t want to lose—to lose you. Please?”

Something in his voice, in the genuineness of his expression, compelled you, and you nodded, stepping into his room and glancing around slowly as he closed the door behind you.

In the corner of the room was a mound of broken bits of wood that had been swept together in one neat pile. Your eyes flickered towards the table where you and Gallus had often passed a meal together, and your mind registered the fact that there was now only one stool residing beneath it. But there, at the center of the table, sat the small carving that you had bought him in the Forum—the wolf and the dove. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

Turning, you found that Gallus’ tormented eyes were fixed on you, his gaze flicking quickly towards the carving before landing back on you once more.

“Sabina,” Gallus began slowly, his voice thick and heavy, draping around you like a blanket in the tight confines of his cell. It had never felt as small as it did at that moment.

“I’m sorry, Gallus,” you interjected, unable to bear the awkwardness any longer. “I’m sorry about last night. I presumed too much, and you were right to turn me away. We don’t need to speak about it again, and I promise that I will remember my place from now on.”

He let out a loud breath in the silence that followed, as if he had just been punched in the gut. “You’re—what? You’re sorry?” he repeated incredulously, his eyes going wide once again. It took him a moment to fully process your words, but then he was shaking his head and stepping closer to you. “Sabina, you have nothing to apologize for. Nothing. I’m the one who needs to be apologizing to you. I treated you abominably last night. I hurt you, even though that is truly the last thing on earth I ever wanted to do.”

With each statement, he drew closer to you, but you could tell his movements were slow and intentional. He didn’t want you to feel caged. He made sure there was space for you to move away from him, if you so chose. But you made the choice to remain rooted in place as he approached.

“I didn’t want to turn you away,” he confessed quietly, just a handbreadth away from you now. Your breath intermingled as he angled his face downward, capturing your gaze with his own. He lifted one hand, painfully slow, and ghosted it against your cheek as he whispered, his voice husky, “And you presumed nothing.”

Your heart began racing at his words, at his touch, at the nearness of him. It felt as though your body was physically aching with need for him, but you were frozen. This was almost the same situation you had been in last night, but it had ended so disastrously then.

“Why?” you breathed out, your hands tentatively reaching out to rest against his bare chest. You could feel his body go taut beneath your palms, his throat tightening as he stared at you. “Why did you make me leave if you didn’t want me to?”

You wanted so desperately to understand.

“Sabina,” he said your name again, so reverently it almost sounded like the prayers of the priests as they made their offerings to the gods. “There—there’s so much I want to tell you. There’s so much I need you to understand,” he told you, looking like a desperate man as he cradled your face in his hands, his forehead coming to rest against yours.

“I want to understand, Gallus,” you whispered in return, closing your eyes and breathing in the scent of his skin. You wanted to commit it to memory forever. “Please, whatever it is, just tell me. Help me understand,” you pleaded.

“You have to know—”

His words were suddenly interrupted by the sharp blare of a horn blasting outside.

Startled, the both of you turned towards the door, Gallus still holding your face between his hands. His gaze darkened as he glared forward.

“It’s time for us to go,” he stated, a sense of defeat in his tone as he turned back to you. “Atticus can’t catch you in here,” he added, a strain of something else—fear?—marking his words.

“Gallus, please, talk to me. Tell me, whatever it is,” you begged, tears stinging your eyes at the thought of having to say goodbye to him now, with so much still left unsaid between you.

“There’s no time,” Gallus murmured regretfully, sounding near tears himself. He caressed your cheek lightly as he leaned in, your foreheads touching as they had before. “We’ll talk…when I get back. I promise.”

“Come back,” you begged, taking one of his large hands between both of your own and squeezing tightly. “Please come back to me.”

“I will always come back for you,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead before stepping back. “Go, now, before anyone sees. I’ll see you tonight. I promise.”

“Goodbye, Gallus,” you breathed out, wrapping him in a tight embrace before tearing yourself away and making for the door.

You were nearly out of hearing range when the words, “Goodbye, little dove,” floated past your ears.

Fighting hard not to break down weeping, you ran to find Phoenix.

Phoenix was finding it shockingly difficult to keep from weeping herself as she stood in the center of Carnifex’s cell, wrapped in her lover’s embrace as the two of them silently held one another.

She hadn’t intended to stay long. She had only wanted to wish him luck and say a quick farewell before the men were trundled off to the Colosseum, but Carnifex had other plans.

“There you are,” he’d murmured when she slipped into his cell, rising from the edge of his bed and wasting no time in taking her into his arms, his kiss as hungry as it always was—even more so, perhaps.

“There isn’t time,” she had scolded him, slapping his hands away as he began fumbling with the ties of her tunic. “And besides, that isn’t how you should be spending your energy right now.”

“Ah, and are you my lanista now?” he teased, honoring her wishes and opting for running his fingers through her hair instead. She’d worn it loose to come see him, knowing how much he loved to play with her long, dark locks.

“I should be, considering I seem to know just the way to tame you, stubborn beast that you are,” she smirked, wrapping her arms around his muscular shoulders and kissing him again. “I can’t stay long,” she added a moment later, lowering her feet to the floor and releasing him from her hold. “I just came to say—”

“Don’t leave yet,” Carnifex interrupted, his tone urgent, desperate even. “Please. Stay. Just for a few moments longer.”

“Carnifex,” Phoenix murmured, biting her lower lip as she glanced over her shoulder. “If anyone catches me in here…”

“Let them catch you!” His words burst forth as impetuously as a child’s.

This man. He would be the death of her.

“How could you say something like that?” she demanded hotly, her frustration matched only by her infuriating affection for this impossible gladiator. Forcing a calming breath out of her lungs, she moved closer to him and took his face between her hands, looking deeply into eyes so green, they reminded her of the seafoam back home. “You know what would happen if we were found out. What Aurelia and Atticus are capable of. Do not tempt them, or the gods, with your arrogance.”

“I would defy all the gods for just a few more moments with you,” he insisted, his hands coming to rest on her hips as he drew her in closer and pressed hot kisses to her neck.

“Then you are a fool!” she snapped, angrily pushing him away and turning her back on him. “I knew this was a mistake!”

He was silent behind her, and regret filled her veins at the harshness of her tone.

“Carnifex,” she murmured, spinning back to face him once more. Her heart was pierced by the look of hurt on his face, the look that he did nothing to try to mask.

Stepping closer to her, until they were no more than a breath apart, Carnifex stared down at her, his expression inscrutable as his light eyes bore into her dark ones.

“Would you miss me?” he asked, his voice giving nothing away.

“What?” she asked, shaking her head and trying to back away from him. “Stop it.”

“Answer the question, Phoenix,” he demanded, matching her step for step. “Would you miss me? Do you care what happens to me in the arena?”

“What kind of question is that?” she huffed, growing more frazzled by the second. She had just come to wish him luck and to see him off. What was all this?

“A question you still haven’t answered,” he shot back pointedly, crossing his arms over his chest and continuing to stare her down. “Well?”

“Of course I do!” Phoenix exploded, running her fingers through her hair like a madwoman. “How could you even ask me that? Why do you think I’m here?!”

“Why are you here, Phoenix?” Carnifex pressed, arching a brow coolly.

“Because I couldn’t let you leave without saying goodbye! Is that what you want to hear?” she practically shouted, for once not caring who heard them. “Because my heart is breaking at the thought of you walking through those gates and never returning, and I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if I let you go without seeing you one last time!” Her chest was heaving as she battled the force of her own emotions, wanting to both claw and kiss him at the same time.

Carnifex made that decision for her, easily closing the gap between them as he lifted her into his arms and engulfed her in a kiss so hungry, so forceful, so tender that for a moment, she lost all sense of time and space.

Burying her fingers in his hair and wrapping her legs around his waist, she kissed him back with equal fervor, the two of them devouring one another as if it was their last meal on earth.

“Phoenix,” he groaned against her lips, gripping her body tightly and molding it to his. “Oh, Phoenix.” He never wanted to forget the feeling of her pressed against him.

There were no more words left to say as she silently slid back to the floor, her arms still wrapped tightly around him while he buried his face in her neck, inhaling the sweet scent of her hair, that hair that forever reminded him of ravens and the darkness of night.

They held each other like that for what could have been minutes or hours. Neither of them were quite sure. But when the blast of the horn signaling the men’s departure broke through the shield of their private haven, they slowly broke apart, their eyes trained on each other’s faces.

“Just come back, you hear me?” she told him, forcing herself to maintain a stiff upper lip. “Preferably in one piece so that Titus and I don’t have to spend all night stitching you back together.”

Carnifex couldn’t help but chuckle at that. No one could accuse his Phoenix of being a soft woman.

His Phoenix. When exactly had she become his Phoenix? Was she really his?

“I’ll come back. I always do,” he assured her with a wink, giving her one last kiss before walking towards the door. He told himself that he could leave without looking back, but his head turned of its own accord when he reached the threshold.

He would carry the image of her, standing with that raven hair loose and wild about her shoulders, with him into battle today and all the days of his life.

Once he was gone, Phoenix waited a few moments before slipping out of his cell, each step she took feeling more painful than the last as she fought back the tears that threatened to overwhelm her.

She didn’t have to go far before she found you hidden behind a lavender bush near the break between the ludus and the villa, wiping tears off your cheeks and making a brave effort to compose yourself.

“Oh, my sweet friend,” she murmured in understanding, sitting down on the ground beside you and wrapping you in her arms. “They’re going to come back,” she promised. “They will.”

Even as she said the words, she knew they rang hollow. What did she know? How could she make such promises?

She couldn’t.

Like you, all Phoenix could do was sit and watch as the men were loaded up and carted away, being shipped off to an uncertain fate in which the odds were most certainly not stacked in their favor.

Swallowing back the bitterness and the fear that threatened to consume her, she clung to you and whispered over and over again, “They’re coming back.”

The insatiable roar of the crowd pounded in his head, rattling his bones and beating like a drum in his bloodstream.

This time, however, it wasn’t a dream.

They roared his name, those bloodthirsty Romans who hadn’t been satiated by the hours upon hours of beast hunts, public executions, and brutal gladiator matches they’d already witnessed.

Nothing would ever satisfy them, Gallus realized. No matter how this match ended today, they’d still come back tomorrow, braying for more blood to be spilled across the sands of the arena. They were the most soulless people he had ever encountered. There was nothing honorable about death in the Colosseum, about men who were stripped of all means of protection and devoured by feral lions and tigers, about prisoners of war shrieking for mercy as they were hacked to pieces or torn limb from limb, about slaves who were pitted against one another and forced to kill just for the chance to see another day, when they’d be forced to do it all over again. And all for the entertainment of the thousands of people who surrounded him now, their ugly faces red and puckered as they screamed for violence and bloodshed.

The Romans called his people the barbarians, but he had never known a more barbaric people in his life.

Sweat dripped into his eyes, making it even harder to see beneath the bronze helmet that hindered his peripheral vision. As the pounding in his head intensified, Gallus gripped his sword all the tighter, holding it out before him in a defensive gesture as he subtly adjusted his hold on the shield he carried.

His was the very last match of the day, the grand finale to wrap up the inaugural day of the summer games. He had spent all afternoon in agony, thinking of you and worrying about the fate of his friends. As the day wore on and he watched Caius, Pollux, Felix, and Carnifex each walk through the Door of Victory one by one, he was able to breathe a little easier. But it didn’t change the anxiety he felt about his own bout. Magnus had informed him upon their arrival that he had been paired to fight against Aengus, a Gallic gladiator who was thus far undefeated and growing in popularity.

There was once a time in his life when it didn’t matter to him who he was paired against. He cared very little whether he lived or died, so it mattered very little to him what his odds were of defeating his opponent. But now, for the first time, Gallus wanted very much to live. He wanted to leave the arena through the Door of Victory. If he didn’t, he would never get to see you again. And that was not an option.

Aengus had proven to be an admirable opponent indeed. The two of them had been battling for close to thirty minutes, with neither side making much headway. Domitian and all his sniveling cronies didn’t seem to mind, not so long as the gladiators they had paid for put on a good show. For it was only when the people grew bored that the emperor’s good will evaporated.

And there was nothing more dangerous for a gladiator than a foul-tempered emperor.

But Gallus and Aengus had been living up to their reputations as undefeated champions, prowling about one another in a dangerous dance as they lunged and parried, nicking flesh and targeting weak points, but never quite succeeding in bringing the other to his knees.

The deafening screams of the crowd smothered the heavy breathing of the two men fighting for their lives upon sand that had already devoured the blood and mangled flesh of countless beasts and men alike that day. The thought struck Gallus as he circled his enemy—no, not his enemy, just the man they would force him to kill if he ever had any hope of seeing you again—that this stadium had seen more brutality and death than many a battlefield.

And many of the men who had fallen here had fallen at his hands.

He could hear people shrieking his name, goading him on to victory and demanding that he finish his opponent off. His opponent—a man who, like him, had no say in becoming a murderer for sport. A man whose only crime was trying to stay alive.

He couldn’t think like that. He couldn’t. Not now. He couldn’t look at Aengus and see the humanity in him. For if he did that, it would all be over. He might as well fold now and offer his throat up to the other man’s blade. He needed to be ruthless, to cut this enemy down with single-minded focus and determination. It was the only way.

He needed to do whatever it took to get back to you. He had promised he would always come back for you, and he wouldn’t break that vow.

Fueled by the need to get home to you—to explain everything to you as he had promised and make you understand—Gallus’ strength was suddenly renewed and he pounced at Aengus, bringing his sword down against the other man’s shield so roughly that he felt the force of it vibrating up his arm.

The people went wild, but he ignored them all. This wasn’t for them.

Aengus had taken a fair number of shots at him during the match, and his body was hurting, but as he observed his opponent carefully through slitted eyes, he realized that the Gallic gladiator was suffering more than he had initially thought. Though he masked it well, Aengus was favoring his left side and his chest was heaving erratically, indicating that his breathing was growing more labored as the match went on.

“Come on, barbarian!” Aengus called out tauntingly, waving his sword in the air, almost a bit impatiently. “Let’s finish this!”

Crouching down into an attack position, Gallus took his time, circling the other man slowly, his eyes never leaving his face. Perhaps this was what he needed. He could wait the other man out, draw on his impatience and force him to react impulsively. For in the arena, impulsivity often meant fatal mistakes.

The spectators were growing restless, buzzing with the need to see more blood spilled before they packed up and went home for the day. Their cries were growing manic, their feet and fists pounding as they howled for death.

Gallus thought only of you, and he waited.

His patience was finally rewarded as, growing frustrated by the lack of action, Aengus rushed at him, sword raised high even as his shield arm hung dangerously low. He let out a loud cry—what must have been the battle cry of his people—as he leapt at Gallus.

This was Gallus’ chance and he had to take it. He had spotted the chink in Aengus’ armor as they’d been circling one another, but he needed just the right moment to take advantage of it. And now, with the other man’s shield arm weakened, that moment had arrived. As Aengus ran at him, Gallus waited until the final second to lift his sword and plunge it into his opponent’s shoulder, severing bone and muscle as he did so.

Aengus roared in pain as he collapsed to his knees, somehow managing to remain upright even as Gallus pulled his sword out of his shoulder, soaked in the Gallic gladiator’s blood.

The crowd’s reaction reached a fever pitch, the people screaming for Gallus to finish him off, this undefeated champion who they had once cheered for.

He had never known a people so fickle as the Romans.

Gallus didn’t even look up at the emperor’s box, though at this point he knew Domitian must have been giving the people what they wanted and indicating the sign for death with his thumb.

It was time to finish this.

As he raised his sword, Aengus raised his head and met his eyes from behind his own helmet. “Do it,” he said stoically, staring death in the face without a hint of fear.

Swallowing, Gallus raised his sword and pointed it at Aengus’ exposed throat. The Romans loved a drawn out, torturous demise, but he knew he could end this man’s suffering in one fell swoop.

“You would be doing me a favor,” Aengus chuckled, tossing his own sword down onto the sand at Gallus’ feet. Pain flashed in his eyes as he told him, “I can be with my Clodagh again.”

Respect for this man flooded every fiber of Gallus’ being. He had fought well. He had fought nobly. And he was willing to face death like a true warrior. He had made his people proud.

“May your Clodagh be there to greet you,” Gallus murmured, thrusting his sword forward and turning away as the light went out of Aengus’ eyes.

Jaw tightening, he threw his helmet down to the ground and stormed towards the Door of Victory, refusing to meet the eye of the emperor or any of the tens of thousands who cheered his name and showered flowers and gifts down upon him.

He had lived to see another day, but as always, it was at the cost of another man’s life. This time, it was a man who had willingly succumbed to death so that he could be with his love again.

Your face, your beautiful, precious face, was the only thing on Gallus’ mind as he stalked down the tunnel towards where Magnus and the other Pugiones were waiting for him, clapping him on the back and welcoming his return.

They didn’t cheer him. They knew, as he did, that there was nothing to cheer for, much as the Romans may have disagreed. There was nothing but silent acknowledgement among all of them that they had lived once more, that the gods had not yet seen fit to cut their chords of life, and that they would be returning home together.

Home.

Gallus had never considered the household of Atticus Cornelius Juventus to be home. He had never considered anywhere to be home after he was dragged away from the rolling hills of Britannia.

But as he climbed into the cart that would carry him in chains back to the villa of his master, he thought of you and for the first time since he’d stepped foot in Rome, he knew that he was going home.

All afternoon, you and Phoenix had been working side by side in silence, sick with worry and fruitlessly trying to avoid thinking of all that could be happening at the Colosseum.

Apollo, sweet creature that he was, seemed to sense your anxiety and kept curling up in your laps or against your sides as the two of you scrubbed the training weapons and washed and hung the laundry in the ludus.

At least Aurelia had gone to the games with Atticus, so you were left to work in relative peace.

You couldn’t eat, couldn’t speak, couldn’t concentrate or think straight. All you could do was wonder what it was that Gallus had wanted to tell you, and pray to every god you could think of that he would return safe and unharmed. The gods had never seemed to hear or care about your prayers, but you begged them all the same. It was the only thing you could think to do. You were powerless to do anything else.

The sun was well past its zenith and beginning to sink lower in the sky when Titus suddenly appeared, as if out of nowhere. He was panting slightly and running a hand through his thinning hair.

“They’re coming,” he told you and Phoenix, the both of you freezing in place. “I’ll need your help.”

He said nothing more as he turned on his heel and rushed back to the main gate of the ludus, which was opening now to welcome back the gladiators who had returned victorious.

You and Phoenix turned to look at each other, reaching out and squeezing each other’s hands, exchanging silent words of comfort and assurance before you hurried after the medicus.

Holding your breath, you stood silently and watched as the men filed back into the ludus one by one, appearing varying levels of exhausted and traumatized. Some were worse off than others, and you knew that Titus was already performing triage in his mind, determining who needed care more urgently, and who could wait a while longer. Your eyes flickered across each man’s face, taking in the newer gladiators your master had purchased, the ones who fought in the early afternoon as a sort of warm-up for the main events.

With a sinking feeling in your stomach, you realized that two men you had tended to recently, men who really couldn’t have been more than boys, were not among those who had returned. You blinked back tears and felt your throat constrict.

For the first time, you truly understood why Titus had warned you not to bother learning their names.

Phoenix reached out and grabbed onto your arm, her short fingernails digging into your skin as the newer recruits finished filing into the ludus, making way for the champions.

Felix was the first to emerge from the cart, followed quickly by Pollux and Caius. Your heart leapt with relief at the sight of your friend’s faces, but sank again when you did not immediately catch sight of Carnifex or Gallus.

You could tell that, like you, Phoenix was no longer breathing as the two of you stood waiting for what felt like an eternity, your eyes growing wide.

Just when you were certain your friend was going to unintentionally break your arm, Carnifex suddenly appeared, looking a bit tired, but altogether well. Phoenix let out a strangled breath beside you, easing her grip on your arm, but not letting go.

Your heart was hammering painfully inside your chest as you waited for him to appear. He had to be there. He had to be with them. The rest of the Pugiones had survived, and he was the very best of them. You felt hysteria bubbling up inside you, threatening to consume you, when all at once, there he was.

There he was.

He looked bone-tired, his strong body littered with superficial cuts and bruises, but he was alive. He was alive! He had come back, just as he promised.

It took everything in you to resist the urge to run to him and fling yourself into his arms. You wanted nothing more than to hold him, to see for yourself that he was truly whole and well.

You could tell that Phoenix was resisting that same urge as she bounced restlessly beside you, her eyes never leaving Carnifex’s face. He looked across the training grounds at her, and you swore you could have started a fire with the look that smoldered between them.

Cheeks growing warm, you turned away from the shockingly intimate moment and sought out the man who had captured your own heart. As your gaze roamed across the grounds, you were drawn instantly to him, like a moth to a flame. Your eyes landed on his handsome face, and you were somehow unsurprised to find that he was already looking at you.

Your heart grew wings, fluttering inside you as if it wanted to escape your chest.

The moment between you was broken, however, when Titus called out, “Girls, come! I need you!”

You had never considered yourself an impatient person, but the next few hours were torment for you as Titus put you and Phoenix to work, helping him tend to the worst of the men’s injuries. Unsurprisingly, the Pugiones had suffered minimal injuries which had mostly been dealt with at the Colosseum. They were sent to their cells with express orders to rest almost as soon as the medicus laid eyes on them. But you and Phoenix had to spend the majority of the evening cleaning and stitching deep wounds, setting broken fingers, and assessing the amount of internal injuries potentially impacting the greenest of Atticus’ gladiators.

By the time all was said and done, and Titus had dismissed you, you still had to return to the villa to avoid raising suspicion. Thankfully, Atticus and Aurelia were dining at the home of a wealthy acquaintance, which meant that you and Phoenix could quickly scarf down some dinner in the kitchen before slowly making your way back to the ludus.

It was startlingly quiet as you returned to the gladiator school. You didn’t think you had ever seen the grounds so abandoned, or heard such silence.

As you and Phoenix approached the men’s cells, she reached out to take your hand, smiling a bit impishly. “I’ll probably be a while tonight,” she admitted, not a hint of shame in her expression. “And I hope you will, too,” she added with a wink.

“Phoenix,” you mumbled in embarrassment, lowering your head as you felt your skin grow warm.

She laughed softly, wrapping you in a tight hug before turning towards Carnifex’s cell. “Good luck,” she whispered, disappearing in the blink of an eye. You had never known anyone as stealthy as your friend.

Taking a deep, calming breath, you ignored the fact that your hands and knees were trembling as you walked towards Gallus’ cell, seeing the tiny flicker of a flame glowing through his small window.

You had barely finished knocking, the sound so soft you weren’t even certain he would hear it, when his door suddenly swung open, his dark eyes looking wild as he gazed down at you.

“You came back,” you whispered, your eyes welling up with tears as you looked up at him.

In one fluid movement, Gallus reached out and took you into his arms, pulling you into his cell and shutting the door behind you. His embrace engulfed you, your cheek pressed against his chest as he held you close and buried his face in your hair.

Closing your eyes and taking a shuddering breath, you wrapped your arms around his middle and clung to him, silently thanking whatever gods had heard you for returning him to you.

When the two of you finally broke apart, arms still loosely wrapped around one another, you took a small step back so that you could gaze up at him once more. He was silent as you examined him, the light from the candle burning nearby illuminating his skin and casting a golden glow over his dark hair.

“I was afraid I would never see you again,” you confessed, your voice small as he reached up slowly to touch your cheek.

“You were the only thing on my mind all day today,” he replied, his rough fingertips somehow feeling so smooth against your skin. “It was the thought of you that brought me back.”

Squeezing your eyes shut at his admission, a few stray tears slid down your cheeks. “Gallus, I’m so confused,” you whispered hoarsely, the sting of his rejection from last night still burning a hole in your heart. “What—what is this between us?”

He sighed softly, reluctantly releasing you and taking a step back. “It’s my fault you’re confused. I—I thought that I was doing what was best, but I selfishly just can’t stay away from you,” he muttered, almost to himself, as he shook his head and turned to face the flickering candle, the light of which caught on the small carving of the wolf and the dove.

“I don’t want you to stay away from me,” you blurted out, stepping closer to him and reaching out to place a gentle hand on his arm. “Gallus, please. Talk to me. Tell me what’s going on. Help me understand.”

Gallus slowly turned to meet your eye, and you could see the full weight of his agony and fear. It was staggering in its intensity, and you found yourself trembling in response. But you held firm to his arm, showing him that you were not going to run away.

“Sabina,” he began quietly, his voice a desperate rasp between you. “Atticus is not a good man.”

You blinked slowly, your heart suddenly seizing with terror. What had Atticus done to him last night? And was it all because of you, because of what Gallus had done to defend you? You felt sick.

“What—what happened?” you asked softly, afraid to know, but also recognizing that it was the key to understanding Gallus’ actions last night.

Sighing again, a soul-deep sigh, Gallus leaned forward and rested his palms on the flat surface of the table. He was quiet for several minutes, but you stood beside him, patiently waiting.

“Sit down,” he told you gently, pulling out the one remaining stool and setting you down upon it carefully, making sure you were comfortable. He paused again before saying, “Atticus has always known that he hasn’t had anything to hold over my head, and it makes him crazy. I’ve never truly cared whether I lived or died, and there isn’t anything he can take from me that I haven’t lost already.”

You sat perched on the stool and listened to him carefully, still except for one hand nervously twisting in the folds of your tunic.

“He’s tried many times to lure me with gifts and rewards, trying to find some kind of weakness in me that he can exploit for whatever his purposes are. That’s what he does, Sabina. He watches people and he learns their weaknesses and he uses them against them.” He sighed again, running his hands through his hair as he clearly fought to continue on. “And I always thought that I was safe from all that, that there was no weakness he could find in me, nothing he could manipulate to get to me. But now there is,” he admitted, fixing his gaze on you slowly.

“What is it?” you asked, your pulse pounding in your veins.

“You.”

The word hung between the two of you, suspended as if in midair as your eyes widened and the truth of it etched itself across Gallus’ face.

“Atticus knows that I care for you, that I would sooner die than see any harm befall you. And after the stunt I pulled at the banquet last night—well, now there’s no denying it,” he grimaced.

“Oh, Gallus, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” you exclaimed, feeling responsible for the turmoil he was facing.

Gallus held up his hand, halting your apology. “No, Sabina. This is all me. I’m responsible for this.”

“I still don’t fully understand,” you said slowly, biting your lip as you looked up at him. “Last night, during the banquet, when Atticus pulled you away—what happened? What did he do?”

“It’s not what he did,” Gallus told you, his voice low and saturated with bitterness. “It’s what he threatened to do.”

You felt nauseous all of a sudden, but you couldn’t quite explain why. You sat silently, both hands resting still in your lap, waiting for Gallus to go on.

He surprised you by suddenly kneeling on the ground before you, taking both your hands in his and resting his forehead against them. “Sabina, this is all my fault. I wanted to protect you. I’m so sorry.”

“Gallus, what is it? Whatever it is, just tell me,” you coaxed gently, slipping one of your hands out of his grasp and resting it atop his head, running your fingers through his hair.

When Gallus finally lifted his head to look at you, his misery was so profound that it took your breath away. “He threatened you, Sabina. He knows now that he finally has something to hold over my head. He made it clear that should I ever do anything to displease him, he would take it out on you, that he would hurt you and—and—” It seemed that there was more on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it.

Gasping softly, you took his face between your hands and pressed your forehead to his, absorbing all the pain and fear and misery he had been carrying around all on his own. The horror of his admission—and of just how awful a man your master truly was—washed over you, but you clung to him all the tighter, refusing to let him go.

“I thought—I thought that if I could distance myself from you, push you away, that you would be safe,” Gallus went on, pain cracking his words and splitting them in half. “Sabina, last night—you have to know how much I—but I—”

He had been trying to protect you. What you had understood to be rejection and indifference was in reality a testament to just how much this man cared for you. He was willing to break his own heart, to let go of you forever, if it meant keeping you out of the clutches of your vindictive master.

No one had ever cared for you in such a way before.

“Gallus,” you whispered, stroking his face as you stared deeply into those dark golden eyes of his.

You understood now the magnitude of what it meant to give yourself to him. You thought of Phoenix and her fear of having her relationship with Carnifex found out. You thought of the tragic, ill-fated love of Rufus and Niobe. It was a risk, a danger to give your heart to him and accept his heart in return. It would make sense to do as he said, to distance yourself from him and let him push you away.

But he was the first glimpse of true happiness you had ever known in this life that was not your own. With him, you felt alive in a way you never had before.

You had known nothing but pain and suffering and misery since you were six years old. Your heart had been broken more times than you could count. You had survived and pushed forward anyway, compelled by some force you couldn’t name and certainly couldn’t understand. But you knew, with undeniable clarity, that you would not survive this heartbreak if you had to give him up. It was like you had been drifting out at sea all these years, and he was your first real sight of the shoreline—of safety, of security, of home.

You could not let him go.

Whispering his name once more, you wrapped your arms around his neck, threading your fingers through his hair, and pressed your lips to his, kissing him so tenderly that you felt your own heart shatter and then begin to knit itself back together again, stronger than before.

Gallus was still for a moment, frozen beneath your touch as your lips covered his. But then, as if by instinct and the guidance of some invisible force, his arms came to wrap around your waist and he rose slowly, pulling you off the stool as he did so. One hand came up to bury itself in your hair as he kissed you back, his mouth moving against yours in a way that was almost shy.

You moaned softly, tightening your grip on him as you stood on your tiptoes, melting into him. You felt the wetness on your cheeks, but it took you a moment to realize that they weren’t your tears.

Pulling back, breathing heavily, you stared up at him, at this man who had captured you, mind, body, and soul, and found that he was crying.

Lifting your hand, you brushed away his tears, as he had done so many times for you, and smiled at him through the haze of your own emotion.

“I am yours,” you vowed, pushing his hair back and cradling his face in your hands. “No matter what anyone does to me, I will always be yours.”

“Sabina,” Gallus breathed out, pulling you into his arms and kissing you again, relief coursing through his body as he held you close.

He held you like he would never let you go.

And as you kissed him, your mouths fitting together like they had been carved by the gods for that express purpose, you knew with unwavering certainty that there would never be another for you in this life.

He was yours, and you were his. Forever.

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#bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster x reader #x reader #x female reader #hannix #hangman x phoenix #top gun #top gun: maverick #miles teller #Ancient Rome AU #si vis amari ama ⚔️

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byizoyas · 1 year

Text

sfw ; alhaitham x gn!reader. coffee shop au | alhaitham might be down bad for reader

you look at your left then at your right. few customers are still here; some are talking together and you spot him. he is sitting all alone, a cup of coffee in front of him, one that you brought to him earlier and it seems that he didn’t touch it.

you meet lots of people in one day, serving them and of course you cannot remember every person you hold a casual conversation with.

but him. he is one of a kind you cannot forget. you wouldn’t dare. and you genuinely can’t.

he’s got you obsessed lately because yes, he’s been passing by quite often actually so no wonder you remember him so well.

and well, his appearance is quite unique too. his voice is low in your memories and he always sits on the same spot of the room. next to the bay windows but still away from the front door. since your shift is almost over, and your colleagues all left early, you’re on your own with the few seven people remaining.

you look at them. the atmosphere is super peaceful. everyone is chilling. and that guy; he’s reading the same book over again. he doesn’t even look back at you after you announce the closure is approaching.

but you don’t mind. he seems busy; and focused and well, that makes him attractive to you.

you shake your head, quick to forget about that and instead go to put the chairs on the tables so it’s easier to clean the floors later.

that was one of the reasons you hated so much to do the shutdown but you had no choice.

you look at the watch on your wrist. it’s officially time to close. you stop yourself for a minute.

the customer is still here. you can see his ashes hair from behind the counter. he’s away and you don’t particularly like to speak loud, so you go towards him to inform him that he’s going to have to leave.

‘sir.’ you say. he does not turn around, which you find a bit rude at first so you insist. after a few seconds of being ignored, you eventually lose patience and tap on his shoulder gently, a smile on your lips so you seem less intrusive.

he turns around, taking off an earphone. ‘mh ? what is it ?’

his voice is calm. and low, making him sound super serious. but not only that, his whole routine and habits were kinda giving you the hint so in the end, you’re not really surprised.

your smile grows larger as you tell him to leave. you wouldn’t want to sound rude; it wasn’t your first shutdown where people had stayed so late, but it was a first time talking to him despite him spending so much time here.

‘i see. thank you for the coffee.’ he says, and it almost sounds ironic since he absolutely did not drink a single drop of it. and you can tell by the motif you’ve drawn that is still quite in place.

‘is there something wrong ?’ he asks, looking at you, whose eyes are glued to the full cup resting on the wooden table.

‘no aha, it’s alright, have a nice day sir.’ you reply, walking away towards the kitchen to grab the groom and start with your cleaning task.

he looks at you walking away, his closed book in hand and his jacket in the other.

‘it’s midnight though.’

to that you giggle. spending the day wishing every single customer a lovely day made it become automatic. you rub your face, passing your fingers through your hair.

‘indeed. good night then, sir.’

you’re not sure, but you can almost swear you’ve seen a smile forming on his lips as he speaks again.

‘alhaitham.’

‘mh ?’

he crossed his arms against his visibly muscular chest, blinking a few times. ‘it is my name. since i know yours, you should know mine.’

his remarks make some sense indeed. and you can’t tell if the lack of sleep is the reason you’re confused but you genuinely ask yourself how the hell he could know your names; and you can’t help but asking him.

to your question he only giggles, a slightly mocking smile appears on his usually very composed face.

‘it is written. y/n.’ he points your apron to which a small etiquette with your name is sticked to it.

you rub your face with your two hands, letting go of the broom by the way and the whole scene is embarrassing for you, yet as much as it is, you feel good. tired perhaps. but it is as if the person beside you could see through you and make you feel at ease.

he laughs a bit too and helps you moving a few chairs over the tables. as a customer he’s not supposed to do this, but it was so kind of him you didn’t have the heart to decline his help when he offered it.

‘well, i’m done. goodnight y/n.’

‘good night alhaitham.’

you look at him walking away, biting your lip because you crave to ask if he will be back tomorrow. the moment you just shared was nothing exceptional. but something happened. something that made you want to seek more of him.

‘will i see you tomorrow ?’ you ask him just as he’s about to open the door and take his leave.

you’re surprised at your own boldness. but you have nothing to lose, right ? then why would you stop yourself from asking.

‘who knows ? i don’t particularly like the coffee here.’ he waves goodbye, closing the door behind him, wishing you luck with the end of your shift. and just like that he’s gone, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

because if he didn’t like your coffee; what reason did he have for coming here everyday ?

#byizoyas.#alhaitham #alhaitham x y/n #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham scenarios #alhaitham drabble #alhaitham imagines #alhaitham fluff #genshin x y/n #genshin x reader #genshin drabbles #genshin scenarios #genshin imagines #rq.

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moonlightazriel · 6 months

Text

Longing for Change /// Aemond X F!Reader

Summary: When the gang rescues a widow, Aemond finds himself getting the chance he always dreamed of. A Red Dead 2 inspired AU.

Warnings: Well, death, smut, robbery and bounty hunting.

Word Count: 3,3K

Notes: I lowkey always wanted Sadie and Arthur to be together so this is me saying it! Yeeeehaw outlaws for life

Main Masterlist

Y/N curled against the cold wall, she could hear them, chatting and laughing like they were at a bar, and not HER home. Three days stuck there, not knowing how many they were, how many guns they had, she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to calm the anger rising in her heart.

Three days agonising, wanting to call for her husband, she cried herself to sleep, her body cold, and her thoughts burning with rage, the gunshot still ringed in her ears and she wondered what they had done to his body, did they at least have the decency to bury it? She knew the answer for that question, those rats didn’t have enough respect to do that.

Curled against the cold wall was when she heard it, the knock on the door, one of them getting up to answer, the quick exchange between them before the shots began. She pressed her palms against her ears, trying to muffle the sounds.

Only when she didn’t hear anything, neither voices nor steps, she clutched the dirty kitchen knife and got downstairs, losing her balance and falling on top of someone. The guy was dressed in a heavy coat, he shoved her away, angrily mumbling to himself.

She held the knife up in defence, to which the man scoffed and knocked it out of her hands, yanking her forward by her arm, knocking a candle in the process. He threw her on the snow, the cold terrain making her violently shiver.

“What do we have here?” Someone asked, she looked up, meeting the lilac eyes of a white man, his silver hair was covered by a hat and he wore a fur coat.

“This crazy lady tried to kill me.” The man spat, throwing the knife on the snow, dangerously close to her head.

“That’s not a way to treat a lady, Criston.” The other man kneeled by her side. “Are you okay?”

“Those bastards killed my husband.” She felt the tears falling, but her limbs were too tense for her to try and wipe them away.

“You’re safe now.” He patted her back, helping her to her feet, the smell of smoke drew her attention back to her house, and she cried even harder as she saw the flames engulfing what once was her home. “I’ll give you two options..” he placed the furry coat around her shoulder and she sighed with relief at the warmth. “Either you come with us, or you can stay here.”

She looked at the flames, burning everything that she and Cregan worked so hard for, everything she owned turned to ashes, she wiped her face with the coat’s sleeve, taking a deep breath, she turned to him again.

“I’ll come with you.” The man gently smiled at her. Someone groaned, dressed in a green coat, the man looked at her, he was wearing a hat, a silver hair similar to the older man behind her, but his was much longer, tied behind his back, he was tall, and had a lilac eye, only one, the other was covered by an eyepatch and a long scar crossed his beautiful face.

“Great, Aemond this is…” The man motioned to her, so she would introduce herself.

“Y/N Stark.” Her heart sank after saying the last name of her deceased husband.

“She’s coming back with us, take her with you.” The man ordered, and Aemond nodded. He silently grabbed her hand and pulled her towards a black horse, much bigger than the others she had seen or owned. He easily climbed the horse back and offered a hand for her, she took it, forcing herself up the huge animal, curling against his back, feeling the horse move away to the unknown.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

They were a gang, she learned later, outlaws running away after an unsuccessful bank robbery at the Riverlands. The Targaryen gang, Daemon was their leader, taking a few strangers in here and there, but mostly, the gang was composed of his family members.

Rhea and the girls, Baela, Rhaena and Helaena had took her in, providing her with clothes and words of comfort after she had lost everything, everyone in the gang had their job, either robbing and getting money, helping around the camp or earning money inside the limits of the law.

Y/N was designed to help Larys with the kitchen. The man was an absolute nightmare to work with, always arguing and demanding too much. She dreamed of ripping his flesh open with the cleaver he had given her to chop vegetables.

Despite being strong and knowing how to handle a gun, she hasn't had the energy to leave the camp. They had moved from the cold mountains to a nice warm place hidden in a cliff. The sun was always hot and made the view look breathtaking when it was setting.

Aemond would always check on her, stopping by her tent to talk and ask about her day, telling her about his adventures in the nearby city where he was working as some kind of bounty hunter. He was kind, quiet and very smart, his only eye would look at her intensely as they talked, making her shy under his gaze.

Her eyes would always follow him around the camp, and she would always notice when he was gone, his empty tent always made her heart clench for some reason, a newfound fear of him not returning to the camp was starting to set its claws in her heart. So when he wasn’t near, she would sit around, talking with the twins or reading with Helaena.

Sometimes she would walk to Daemon’s tent, when he wasn’t around, and chat with Rhaenyra, his wife and mother to Jace and Luke, her ex husband Laenor and the man that rumours would say was the father of her children, were also in the gang. She would always find it kinda weird and a bit funny how they managed to get all those people who had some kind of relationship to live together in peace.

She also enjoyed spending some time in Floris' tent, playing with little Jaehaerys, they were the family of Aegon, Aemond and Helaena’s older brother. The trio had run away from their absent father and joined their uncle in the life of crimes.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

“Do you ever wonder what your life would be like if you hadn't run away from home?” She asked, sipping on the coffee she had made, she and Aemond sat on a log, near the horses, watching the sunrise.

“I don’t know, I would probably be married to Alys.” He looked at her, his eye studying her features. She was a beautiful and brave woman, she hadn't backed away from their lifestyle, and she wasn’t afraid to protect herself.

“Who is she?” She dared to ask and Aemond shook his head, emptying his coffee mug.

“A girl I fell in love with, she was from a good family, but her father wasn’t very pleased when he found out I had run away to live with my uncle. I tried to ask her to run away with me, but this life isn’t for her.” It didn’t hurt anymore, he had fallen out of love with Alys a long time ago.

“I’m so sorry things happened that way.” She patted his shoulder and Aemond nodded, feeling bold enough to ask.

“What about your husband?” She took a deep breath, looking down, her voice laced with pain and sorrow.

“It was a match for love, I've loved Cregan ever since I first met him, when I was 16. He worked hard to convince my father that he could be a good husband, and we got married at 18. We had our farm, we shared the tasks, took care of everything, he never thought I was less than him, or treated me like I couldn’t do things just cuz I was a woman. He loved me entirely.” She was shivering, he could feel it.

“I’m so sorry they took that away from you.” His arm rested on her shoulders as he pulled her close, she let her head rest on his chest, and for a moment they just stayed like that, in silence, seeking comfort in each others embrace.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

“She’s going to kill him.” Rhaena yelled in Daemon’s face, her cheeks hot from running to his tent. They had moved again, to a camp near a lake and Larys was being particularly annoying with her in this new location.

“What is happening?” Daemon asked the young girl.

“They had a fight, Y/N will kill Larys.” Daemon rushed to the kitchen wagon, finding Larys pressed up against the wooden surface and Y/N holding her beloved cleaver against his neck.

“What if I cut your neck instead and we feast on your meat?” She threatened, face contorted in a angry frown while Larys begged for someone to take her away from him.

“You’re not cooking him.” Aemond said, pulling her by the waist, flush against his chest, while she whined and kicked to be freed from his iron grip.

“Then take me away, I can’t look at him right now.” She pleaded and Daemon agreed.

“Take her to town, we need some supplies anyway.” He dismissed them, and Aemond once again held her hand, pulling her towards a smaller chariot.

“Are you going insane?” He asked, a smirk dancing on his lips as he conducted them towards the city, her chest moved up and down as she tried to control her breathing.

“Yes! I can’t get stuck there anymore with that pig, ordering me around like a dog.”

“But you can’t kill him for that, unfortunately we need him.” She looked at him.

“If you gave me a gun I could.” She mumbled.

“You know how to handle a gun?” He inquired, eyebrows raised.

“Of course I do, I would shoot you with my eyes closed.” She joked and Aemond motioned for the horses to stop.

“Then show me.” He said, handling her a rifle. She weighed the weapon, heavy but not enough to send her falling on her ass if she shot. “Shoot that tree.” He demanded, pointing to a tree a little far away from them.

Y/N positioned the gun, the handle pressed against her shoulder, hand holding the barrel steadily, she took a deep breath, closing one of her eyes, and aiming to the centre of the tree, an imaginary target painted on it. As the air left her lungs, she pulled the trigger, the gunshot startled some birds, who flew away.

Aemond looked at her impressed, climbing out of the chariot and walking towards the tree, where a bullet made a hole in the centre part of the tree. He clapped.

“You know how to shoot.” He said, sitting by her side again.

“Told you so.” She answered. Taking the reins from him and making the horses move.

“I have to say that I’m very impressed.” He eyed her, her cheeks coated in red at his compliment.

They arrived at the city, and Aemond left her alone at the store, buying some of the items the gang required, while he mailed some letters and visited the gunsmith. He looked at the options, opting for a rifle similar to his, a bit smaller but perfect for her.

He found her next to the chariot, the market owner loading the thing while she adjusted her clothes.

“I see that you’ve gone shopping.” He looks at her up and down, she’s wearing pants and a shirt, cowboy boots and a hat, the clothes hug her frame and accentuate the natural curve of her hips. “With clothes like that, you will need a gun like this.” He hands her the rifle.

“It’s perfect.” She thanks him, testing the gun. She pulled the gun around her shoulder, jumping on him in a hug. “Thank you so much for the gift.”

He buried his nose in her hair, feeling the softness of her locks, while his hand caged her against him, resting on her lower back.

“Nothing to thank me, I’ll take you bounty hunting with me. Time to make some money.” She giggles, still feeling his body pressed against her, the sensation was nice.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

Aemond was truthful to his word, they had gotten her a horse and now they were travelling around, hunting criminals and making money legally. They were camping under the stars, tracking some criminal from the Vale of Arryn.

“I’m feeling disgusting.” The moon shone upon his silver hair, as he looked at her. “I’m heading to the lake to clean myself.”

She looked at him, he was already removing his boots and coat. He winked at her, leaving her alone as he headed for the lake. She pondered for a bit, staring at the fire. It’s been a while that new feelings started to blossom on her heart under his attention, she wanted him and she was ready to chase what she wanted.

So she slowly got up, removing her clothes in the chill night breeze, and carefully walked towards the lake. Aemond wasn’t looking at the shore, so he didn’t notice her approaching until her body touched the water.

He turned to look at her, her skin glowing in the moonlight, he could see her silhouette perfectly, her round breasts and the full curve of her hips and ass, the image of her walking towards him immediately sending blood straight to his cock. He didn’t want to think about her that way, she was a widow, but he couldn’t help as he looked at her and sought her company.

“Thought you may want some company.” She declared, an inch away from him, if she walked any closer their naked bodies would be touching.

“Smart girl, as always.” He praised, one hand cupping her breast as the other he pulled her close, she felt her body on fire as they kissed, a kiss so desperate and filled with passion, she hadn't felt a desire like this in months.

She would gladly burn for him and melt away in his touch. His cock was pressed against her thigh, she reached for it, stroking it slowly as Aemond moaned against her lips.

His hands slowly pressed the flesh of her breasts, pinching her nipple, making her shiver. Her core was dripping, and Aemond felt a very pleasant sensation as his finger dipped between her folds, rubbing circles around the bundle of nerves.

“Do you really want it?” He asked, forcing her to open her eyes and look at him.

“Give me everything.” He captured her lips again, grabbing the back of her thighs and pulling her up, she wrapped her legs around his waist as he guided them to the shore. Laying her on top of his clothes.

He kissed her neck, sinking his cock inside her warm hole. She moaned and arched her back, while he set a fast and steady pace. Snapping his hips against hers, making the woman underneath him melt with the pleasure growing on her.

His lips wrapped around her pert nipple, his tongue flickering and sucking the flesh. She dipped her nails in the skin of his back, pulling him impossible close to her. His hips moved so fast and her orgasm hit her so suddenly that she almost blacked out, he kept moving, now in a more slow pace to respect her sensitive walls. He removed his cock, pumping it until he was spilling his seed on her belly.

“You’re mine now.” He said, getting to his knees and taking her back to the lake so they could properly clean themselves now.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

After that, they were inseparable, always leaving camp together and sharing a tent. The gang congratulated them, throwing a party in their name, a party that was rudely interrupted by the law, threatening them and forcing them to move again.

It was weird how whenever Cole disappeared, the law would find them again. Aemond was noticing it too, but Daemon was too stubborn to listen to them.

“I know he’s plotting something.” He groaned, sitting at your shared bed in Dragonstone, where you were hiding now.

“What if we just leave?” She suggested. “We have the money, we can find a place for us, we can live off hunting.” Aemond looked at her.

“I can’t leave Daemon, he took me and my brothers in, I owe him.” He sighed.

“And you paid, everything that you owed him was paid. You did everything that you could to help.” He blinked. “I feel that Criston is up to something, we need to go before we end up being killed.”

Aemond seemed to ponder a bit, he new she was right about everything that she spoke, but he was so afraid to leave.

“I’ll be by your side, forever. We can take Helaena, Aegon, Floris and Jaehe. Anyone will be welcomed. But we must leave.”

“We need money to buy land, and we don’t have much.” She got up, rummaging through her things until she pulled out a letter.

“The bank sent me this, my father died and left me 20.000 dollars, which is more than enough to start again, Aemond.” He quickly read the letter.

“I can’t ask that of you.” He gave her the letter back.

“You’re not asking, I’m giving it to you. You gave me all you are, and I’m giving you all I am. I am yours and this money is ours.”

He got up, pulling her in for a hug and kissing her dearly.

“We will get out.” He promised.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

Dorne was nice, no one knew them there, it was easy to buy a piece of land and start to build their house there. A house big enough to accommodate them and his family.

They left two months ago, sending letters to his siblings, telling where to find them and saying they were more than welcome there.

They had people building the house and the farm, so it was quickly done. They brought animals and seeds, Aemond would go on hunts here and there, going to the nearby town every once in a while to see if they could make money. Pentos paid well, especially bounty hunters, so it was mostly what Aemond did, Y/N joined him sometimes.

He was walking around in the city, looking at the jewellery store, he nervously looked for a ring, he wanted to take her as his wife. She had saved him, he would always be thankful for that. He loved her and wanted to make their love eternal.

Finding the perfect ring he headed home, a wagon and a different horse waited in front of his house. He let his horse under a tree and walked inside, finding people laughing and talking.

Three silver heads turned his way. Jaehaerys was in Floris' lap, Aegon and Helaena both by her side. Y/N served them food. His sister jumped on him, hugging him close.

“I’ve missed you.” She sobbed and he rubbed her back.

“Me too, Hel.” He passed by Aegon, playfully hitting his head on the way, kissing Y/N’s head and greeting Floris.

“Shall we start now?” Aegon spoke.

As soon as they left, the gang collapsed. Criston was planning on taking Daemon to the law, get the reward price for his head and get the gang killed. Laenor, Harwin and Rhea ended up getting killed. Baela and Rhaena ran away with Jace and Luke. Daemon killed Criston and the whole gang had gone their separate ways. Leaving Aegon, Floris and Helaena to accept their offer.

Aemond was happy to have his family back with him, so when they celebrated at night, drinking and singing, he got to one knee and proposed to the love of his life. She happily accepted, kissing him a million times. They danced that night, dancing to the promise of a better future.

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average-vibe · 5 months

Text

Taunt

Summary: You and Wilbur have been childhood friends your whole lives. what’s a bit more? Pairing: Wilbur x fem!reader tw: swearing,long fic with no proofreading a/n: hi! this was originally gonna be a Tommy fic but i changed my mind- lmk if you want the tommy ver. (also the name of this fic is based off of one of my fav songs lol) masterlist

*******************************

“Hey! thought you’d never come outta that thing.” Wilbur joked as you climbed out of the taxi, waving the driver goodbye.

“look, when your told 10 minutes beforehand that you need to be ready, it’s hard to be on time.” you said, cringing at the memory of applying powder to your face infront of the driver, who seemed to think you were a little crazy.

“yeah yeah. who ya trying to impress?” wilbur asked, walking down the pavement swiftly, his long legs striding with ease, and you admittedly struggled to keep up.

“me, myself, and i.” you answered. “i see your not trying to impress anyone, by the shape your in.” you joked, making wilbur laugh. it was true though, considering his socks were mismatched.

“whatever. your hair looks terrible, so i don’t know what your talking about.” wilbur said, stopping to turn and look at you.

You got on your tippy toes, attempting to smack wilbur in the back of the head. he easily dodged, and started laughing like crazy.

this is how it always was. wilbur laughing at you, or you laughing at wilbur, or you two laughing at yourselves. everything was always like this, and you never wanted it to change.

ok, maybe you did.

not in a bad way. you just wanted wilbur to love you. not like a friend, like a soulmate. like how you loved him.

the change you wanted was for wilbur to sweep you off your feet. for him to dance with you at night or in the kitchen, and for him to sleep with you peacefully. you’d never told wilbur this, obviously, you didn’t have the guts.

so you were quite surprised when wilbur took your swinging hand and held it.

“I’m not sure that’s the nicest route, is it, darling?” Wilbur whispered in your ear, bending over to do so.

your heart fluttered, and your breath hitched. you didn’t think you could say anything at all, even if you wanted to. but as soon as he did it, wilbur’s hand let go of yours, and his eyes were off of yours aswell. you two walked down the street in silence, barely even breathing.

“You coming to my show tomorrow, right?” wilbur asked, looking at you gently (don’t ask how someone looks at someone else gently-).

“yeah i guess.” you answered, sure that your cheeks were still bright red from the recent encounter. “I thought i would have to work, but my job closed.” you added, halving at wilbur.

“oh shit! really?” wilbur questioned, stopping in his tracks. “That’s terrible, y/n. you need a job?”

“yeah, i guess so.” you said shrugging. “you got something in mind, soot?” you asked, nudging him with your shoulder.

“yup. we need an editor for our music videos.”

“You pay good?” you joked, smirking at wilbur.

“only for you, dear.” wil said, smirking right back at you. that took your cocky smirk right off your face.

why did he have to be so damn good at flirting?

wilbur laughed at your reaction, grabbing onto your shoulder for support. you rolled your eyes at his exaggerated response, and continued down the pavement to the studio.

(wilbur’s POV)

Wilbur glanced at you constantly, even growing up he thought you were pretty. and as he got older, he slowly began to have a crush of you. luckily, his wits and quick thinking aslways saved him from slipping up.

but something about today, he couldn’t stop flirting, and he also couldn’t stop looking. he didn’t know what it was, but no matter what you did that day, seemed perfect to him. when you’d hum a song, or when you’d wave at pedestrians, or even just smiling at one of his jokes seemed amazing to him. you were so perfect.

as you two walked up to the studio, you took a glance at one another as you walked in. wilbur quickly noticed Ash and Mark, who were sitting on small stools, chatting about some idea they had for a music video.

“hey wil.” mark said, grinning at him. “and who are you?” mark asked, stretching out his hand for a handshake.

“i’m y/n.”you answered. “wilbur asked me if he wanted me to be an editor for your music videos.” you said, smiling at wilbur. wilbur smiled back, wishing that he could hug you without his band mates (and you) thinking he was a total freak.

(y/n pov)

I nervously watched the band record, wilbur’s voice ringing through the studio. when everything was done, you helped them pack up, and after a quick goodbye, you and wil were off to do whatever you wanted.

“what’d you think? did we sweep you off your feet?” Wil asked, putting his hand on his head to add to the dramatics.

“oh, for sure. i’ve never been more impressed with a show in my entire life!” You say, smiling at him. “it was great. and definitely good enough for ice cream..” you smirk, glancing at wilbur who’s smiling at you, making your face red with embarrassment.

“Oh was it now? well, since i played so good, i think you should pay.” the brunet taunts, reinginget an eyebrow. “or, we can get lunch and ice cream.”

“someone’s hungry.” you comment, glancing at him.

“yeah, i’m hungry as fuck.”

“maybe if you ask nicer i’ll consider.”

“oh please! your majesty! i’m fucking starved! please!” wilbur mocks, begging with his hands.

“hmm. well, i guess so.. since you asked so nicely.” you smirk slowly turns into a grin as you watch him beam in excitement. “but you’re paying for lunch. i got ice cream.” you say. “Damnit! thought i got away with it.” wil pouts, making your giggle like a school girl.

as you and wil go into the small shop, wil leans down or your level, saying, “i forgot this shop only has shit sandwiches. they do have incredible croissants.” making you chuckle. “somebody’s been here a time or two.” you joke, eyes squinting at the tiny words on the menu. “yeah, thanks for noticing.” wilbur says, smiling.

Wilbur’s Pov

I watched as she ordered her food, with her small smile and quiet voice that she suddenly got when she was in public.

“Thank you!” she said, e/c eyes glowing in the sunlight that shone through the windows. she slowly went to find a table and sat down, glancing at me and giving me a thumbs up, which i return with a chuckle.

After i order, i walked over to the small booth she has picked out for us. “Just a tea?” she questioned, motioning to my lone cup.

“you said i was paying.” i joke, smirking. “i also got a sandwich, don’t worry so much, love.”

“thought you said the sandwiches are shit?” she interrupted my sip of tea.

“they are, but i’m hungry and i don’t really care what i’m eating at this point.”

“huh.”

we sat in silence for a couple of minutes, just enjoying each others company.

“you’re cute, yknow that?” i say suddenly, words coming out of my mouth before i can think about them. She freezes, eyes wide with shock. or disgust. or anger. or hatred. oh for fucks sake, she hates me. she stares at me for a couple more seconds before she says, “you’re cute t-too, soot.” she stared at her hands for the entirety of the time she said it, but she did. she said it.

“I love you.” she says, eyes still glued to her hands. “I have for a while now. and i know taht we say we love eachother like every night, but i don’t love you like that. i love you like.. fuck. i love you so much i don’t know what to do with my self.” she sputters it all out in one big word jumble. but she said it.

“i love you too. 10 times more than that, too. hell, 20 times.” i say, smiling slightly at her small figure, glancing at me and her hands.

“glad we got that out, soot.”

“me too, love.”

—

a/n: SCREAMING CRYINH THROWING UP BC WHY WAS THAT NOT SHIT??? LIKE HELLO?- this was a draft from like, forever ago lol so pretty old but i like it so wtvr

REQUESTS ARE OPEN (i think?)

#on a side note why is he so FINE LIKE DAMN #sbi x reader #dsmp #fluff #wilbur #wilbur soot #ok bye <3

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awingedinsect · 2 months

Text

-Flood me like Atlantic-

Chapter 10

Word count: 2.6k

Warnings: cursing, alcohol use, Vessel is that bitch. Minor character death

“What do you think of my gift?”

Vessel head is bowed. He can feel the mark on his forehead flickering, burning; carving his flesh over and over.

“It’s beautiful.” He says.

He can feel the earth beneath his knees. What was once a blank plane is now something rich and almost real, a dark forest that creeks and twists with ancient power. It’s serene.

There’s a black cloak on his shoulders, the hood draped over his head. Another gift.

He looks up slowly, eyes scanning the trees as they whisper to him.

“Do you have a form?” He asks, hands clamped to his knees. “Can I see you?”

There’s a silence.

“I am something beyond sight.” The forest says. “I am a force, a saturation of thought. Any form I take does no justice to my entirety, nor any name, to what I am. Though to you, I am something you have needed since first you opened your eyes.”

Vessel feels something cold along his spine, slithering over his skin and dragging delicately like a mothers touch.

“…I believe you know my name.”

“Sleep.” Vessel whispers.

There’s a weight over his face. It turns his vision to slits as he looks up, feeling the touch drag along his shoulders and to his chest. His breath grows deeper as he feels his chin tilt up. “I am the author of your dreams. And you are the catalyst of my hunger. Worship.”

His lips part slowly, watching as his colorless surroundings seep fog into the little clearing until it rises up past his eyes. There’s a form in the haze; a singular bit of color that splits into six pieces that slowly gather before him.

Six glowing slanted eyes bore into him.

“Be my voice.”

When he looks down, he sees his arms covered in ash. His hands tremor and climb up over himself, admiring the palette of the trees as it bathes his skin.

“Does it please you to dress me like your home?” He asks. “…Why do I have a new face?”

“This place is what you make it, not me.” The eyes say, trailing over Vessel’s body. “The mask, is a sacrament of your surrender. You don’t need a face, only a mouth. And what is not necessary is not shown. Did you ask them to wear the masks?”

“…yes.”

“Is it almost time?”

“…yes.”

“Then stand, Vessel.” The trees twist and spread into four corners around him, the canopies spreading black and consuming above. He gets to his feet, setting the empty glass he finds in his hand on a table.

“Give your voice to me.”

He walks through the wooden door and opens it into a hallway, feeling the lights and the fog and the crowd all beckoning him. His cloak flows behind him and he reaches up, adjusting the mask one last time before mounting the stairs.

Worship. He thinks, unsure of what it truly means.

Worship.

He steps over wires, brain sloshing a bit more than it ought to be. But he’s truly not sure he could have gotten on stage at all without a bit of liquid courage. II is there, behind the drums. IV stands quiet and still with his guitar, arm free of the sling just for the occasion; it’s obvious how happy he is to be reunited with his instrument.

Vessel’s eyes move to III, dragging over him slowly as he makes his way across the stage. He didn’t talk much before the show, which was probably for the better anyway, if not a little concerning. He had hardly protested when the idea of the masks came up; something Vessel did not expect. Although if only one of them hid their face it might seem a little strange to the hundred or so people gathered in this tent to witness a mostly unknown band with a completely unknown name.

He wanders to the mic stand.

There’s a lot of eyes. More eyes than he had on him the first time. He’s safer this time, for sure; the paint, the mask, the hood… these things come together in a concoction free of normalcy and full of interest that has practically nothing to do with who he actually is beneath. All they want is a show, not him. But even with that thought he can’t look up.

There is a single pair of eyes he wants on him tonight and it’s not in the bloody crowd.

He pulls the mic of the stand and wanders off, trailing the chord head bowed. Can they tell he’s nervous? He prowls slowly as the music starts, looking down at himself bathed in the pale lights. The paint is honestly half-assed; splotchy and missing a whole few centimeters between his jeans and hips, displaying a glaring reminder of how rarely he sees the sun.

Whatever.

He picks up a water bottle and takes a small sip, before twisting the cap back on and just dropping it on the stage floor. He can practically hear III’s anger, and he can’t help but smile a little.

His lips hover over the mic, parting slowly.

“And I’ll see you when the wrath comes…”

“Do you have any songs you wanna add to the set, Vess?” II had asked. He sat with a pad and pencil on the couch. “That song you played at the bar, maybe?”

“Knocking on your bedroom door with money…”

“…actually, I’ve kinda been writing a new one.” He said, fingers twitching at his sides. “…I was gonna run it by you guys at practice, see what you think.”

“Building you a kingdom…” Vessel’s voice is low. Breathy. It draws a few screams from the crowd, something that does nothing to put out the fire simmering in his chest. God, it’s so much easier. He’s just a mouth, and they're just ears. And whether he understands it or not there’s a god who approves of that arrangement enough to make him promises he can’t begin to understand.

He glances at III, heart lurching when he sees the bassist strumming intently to his words.

“Dripping from the open mouth. I’ll show you what you look like…”

Both hand graze the mic, caressing the chord like his heart isn’t beating at twice its usual pace. “…from the inside.”

He steps up to the front of the stage, now casting a brief glance at all the sets of cold eyes now warming up as they watch him. It’s euphoric. Interesting. And it’s enough to make his back sticky with sweat.

“And I’ll see you when the wrath comes around.”

When the breakdown hits him, he can’t help but move. The sound erupts in the little tent like a call to a whole new plane of being and he closes his eyes, jumping side to side on the stage as the crowd reaches and roars for that plane. That Eden. His bandmates don’t hold back either, pouring their hearts through their fingers and giving everything they have to offer. And when he sees III actually kicking the air to the beat his face splits with a glistening smile.

He loves this.

Suddenly his head flares with a shooting pain. He doubles over, hands reaching up with the mic still trembling in his hold. He gasps and scrunches his eyes as a thought loud enough to terrify him seeps through the cracks of his skull;

“Don’t be driven to distraction. I will build you a kingdom, so long as you know to who you belong.”

His chin wobbles, a line of spit falling from his glossy lips. “Let’s load the gun.” He whispers below the music. “Load the gun…”

A wicked laugh falls out of his mouth as he straightens, forcing the pain deeper and raising his hands in the air. He ignores the wet tracks making their way down his face. He just smiles and bows his head, feeling the music flood his fucking form.

He floats on the brief silence as the song closes, chest heaving. It’s an intense quiet. Like a grave, at the bottom of the sea.

Then noise thunders into his ears like breaking waves.

They’re ecstatic; screaming and clapping and demanding more, maybe more moved than he is. He can’t believe it. Do they really like him- the music, that much?

He suddenly feels very awkward, aware of how lost he’d gotten and how insane he must have looked. He just stands there, stiff and still with a mic in his hands.

He gives them a little nod of thanks and retreats back as the next song starts up; one of II’s own.

• • •

Vessel’s still in his costume.

He feels a little silly, standing around in almost plain sight behind the tent. Although he’s sure that a lanky guy in paint and a mask isn’t necessarily the strangest nor most exciting thing to see at this festival.

He sits on the rigging, swinging his socked feet and looking up at the sky as dusk sets in over the chaos. He likes being secluded.

He takes a sip of his beer.

“That was insane.” IV says, pulling his mask off and leaning back against the structure. He drops his head back, swiping his face with his still-weak arm propped up on his guitar, and pops the cap off his own beer with a keychain. “God, I’m tired.” He says, taking a swig. “You?”

“…where’s III?” Vessel asks, voice a little quiet. He’s pretty drained after all that, body quite literally dripping with sweat. IV shrugs. “Off getting lit, most likely.” He says. “There’s plenty more shows to watch before the nights over, and he’ll probably be in as many pits as possible.”

“…and II?”

“Meeting up with some friends, I think.” IV rolls his head over, lashes flickering up at Vessel as he takes another sip of his drink. “What are you wanting to do, Vess?”

Before he can answer, II comes around the tent with a much taller man in tow. Vessel straightens, clearing his throat and blinking behind the mask. He wasn’t expecting company.

“Vessel! I want you to meet someone.” II says, pulling the guy by the arm. He’s a brunette, with soft features and a flushed, smiling face. He’s probably hit up a few drink stands himself tonight.

“Matt, Vessel.” II says, dropping the stranger in front of him. “Vessel, Matt.”

“Nice to meet you,” Vessel says, considering offering his hand but opting to just clutch his beer awkwardly between his knees. “Drummer, right?”

“Likewise!” Matthew says, still smiling wide as he shoves his hands in his jean pockets. “And yep, that’s me. Listen, man, I managed to watch your set- that was fuckin brilliant. Brilliant.” His eyes suddenly flick up and down Vessel’s body, smile quirking thoughtfully. “I like your style.”

If it weren’t for the mask, Vessel’s pretty sure his blush would be record breaking. But he just sits there instead, nodding and tugging his mouth into an award straight line of an expression that says “thanks” in the most casual way he can muster.

He fails a bit.

“What’dya think of the new name, Matt?” II asks, stealing the beer from IV’s hand and taking a long sip. “Does it suit us?”

“no man, it’s sick.” Matt says, turning to his friend, though his eyes are always just a fraction away from Vessel. “Though honestly, can’t believe you changed it! But ‘Sleep Token’ has a hell of a ring.”

IV snags his drink back from II. “Well, we didn’t exactly want to go down as the band that played before the damn crisis of the year happened.” He says. “Besides, it was time for a new vibe. Vessel actually came up with it.”

At the mention of the Blacklit room, Vessel’s body tenses. But he’s quickly distracted once more as Matt turns to him, grinning. “Oh really? What was the inspiration, then? Or does it just sound cool.”

“Um, both… I guess.” He smiles. “I mean, We all need Sleep, right?”

They all laugh a little good naturally, eyes gleaming as the dark sets in.

“Well,” Matt says, rifling through his back pocket and producing a pen and napkin. He starts scribbling it, eyes drifting to Vessel midway with a small smile. “If you ever wanna tell me more about it.”

He sets the napkin down on the rigging besides Vessel, casually dropping his pen back in his pocket.

Vessel swears he catches a wink before Matt turns back to II.

“Man, your percussions were wild. What was the name of that second song? Halfway through I swear…”

Vessel stops listening, eyes flicking down to the napkin as his fingers curl around it. There’s a little flutter in his chest, a smile fast growing on his lips as he unfolds it just enough to see the beginning of an area code.

He shoves it into his pocket, eyes twinkling under the mask and turning to IV.

IV takes a sip of his beer and offers him a small thumbs-up.

That night they all crash immediately. II, IV and of course III. After about twenty minutes of searching they managed to find the bassist in a mosh pit, screaming and shoving every person in sight until the whole thing nearly required security. He was wasted, and fell asleep against the backseat window with II on his shoulder as IV navigated them through traffic. Vessel sat shotgun, blinking away the alcohol with his hands in his lap, mask, robe and paint getting second-looks from other cars.

He thought he looked sick.

The next day they did nothing but practice until 5:00pm, when II suggested they all go get sandwiches. They did. And when they got home, the sun was already setting.

They all got ready for an early night.

“Anyone wanna watch some tv?” II asks, wandering out of his room in an oversized shirt and boxers. III is already digging through the fridge again, and II ducks under his arm, pulling out a beer before disappearing in the living room.

Vessel is leaning against the kitchen counter, a yawn trapped in his mouth while IV downs a glass of water before filling it up a second time for the singer.

“I’m good,” Vessel says after II, checking the clock on the wall. He nods his thanks at IV and sips the glass he’s handed. “I’m fuckin beat. Guess I didn’t sleep all that great last night.”

III is hauling a half-eaten banana pudding into his room, not bothering to say anything at all as he retires for the night.

IV looks at Vessel.

“You know, you do look off.” He says. “You feeling alright, bruv? …I heard you get sick last night.”

“What?” Vessel rubs his eyes. “Me? I…“

A horrified scream suddenly fills the house, turning his blood to ice.

“What the fuck-!“ III speeds out of his room, charging down the hallway to get into the living room where Vessel and IV have already gathered.

They find II on the couch, jaw dropped and wide eyes filled with the reflection of the tv.

“…found dead early this morning, in an abandoned home three blocks from his apartment.”

Vessel covers his mouth, a choked sound leaving him as he sees the face on the screen.

No way.

III and IV are already holding II, trying to quiet his cries. But Vessel feels empty. Devoid of reaction or even the ability to move.

“The man has been identified as Matthew Todd, a 22 year old college student.”

Tags: @thevenomousseprent @moonlit-valkyrie @mmendez0124 @yourviscera @rain-down-on-me @xzero01

#vessel #vessel sleep token #sleep token art #sleep token fanfiction #sleep token iii #art #sleep token #sleep token fanart #sleep token ii #vessel art #fanfic #sleep token iii fanfiction #jennifer’s body au

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green-typewriterz · 18 days

Note

hey there :) ! fun idea: cowboy/sheriff sam winchester in some southern town, maybe the reader could be a bandit and they repeatedly run into each other (maybe sam lets them get away at times, like it’s half rivalry half admiration) but there’s some creature around that forces them to work together ? fluffy end too bc I’m a sucker for riding into the sunset endings

Raise Hell

Cowboy!Sam Winchester x Bandit!Fem!reader

summary: 1800s AU - you’re a bandit, Sam’s what the Sheriff would call ‘a demon hunter’, they just happen to come by your camp

Warnings: injury, mentions of guns, demons, its the 1800s…so…, timeline may be weird, no specific season

Author Notes: this was much longer than I intended but enjoy. Also i know this is u H, i recognise your typing style

word count: 4046

You sighed as you walked past the third wanted poster with your face on it that morning, tearing it down while whispering a, “they never get my nose right.” To yourself. You continued on your journey, assuring yourself and your horse, Songbird, that there wasn’t that much longer to go.

After hours of travel, you set up camp a ways out of a town, staying in the shrouds of the shadows. You didn’t need any townsfolk spotting you and handing you in. You were sitting at the fire, eyes watching the skyline as the wood spit ash onto the floor by your feet, almost like a warning.

There would be a passerby every now and then, but no one important enough that you noted anything particular about them.

“Evening Ma’am.” A voice called, tone harsh and strong like the old folk singers. You looked up, but kept your hat low on your head, covering your face in the same deep blue of the sky.

Two men stood in front of you, broad shoulders and polite smiles. You knew who they were, of course you did. The Winchester name was well known across most of America, though you were never sure how much of it was legend. You decided not to take any chances. You nod to them silently, not sharing the same courtesy to smile back.

Sam spoke next, sounding a lot less irritated than his counterpart. “You wouldn’t mind if we rested with you for the evening would you? Our horses are tired and so are we.”

There was silence for a moment as you thought. You should say no - it was in your best interest to do so. But they hadn’t seemed to recognise you yet, and, with the bandanna you had quickly pulled over your mouth, they shouldn’t for the rest of the evening. You nodded once more.

Dean sighed at your silence but sat anyway, opposite the fire from you so he could try and see your face better - something you were trying your hardest to not let happen - while Sam went and hitched their horses next to yours.

”She’s beautiful.” Sam said to you, gesturing to your horse. Songbird was a full black shire horse with a large white strip along the nose. She was certainly flashier than was wise for a bandit, but you got her when you were young and you’d rather die than part with her.

You smiled and stood, heading over to the three horses. “She’s smart as hell, my best judge of character.” Sam laughed gently, looking over at you as he petted the blonde horse in front of him. You tried not to speak too much - though you weren’t sure how recognisable your voice was, you didn’t want to risk it. Sam stared at your hands, noticing how a large scar pulled its way along your palm - unusual in shape.

”Same with my Riot, he’s an Arabian so he’s pretty judgmental. Dean’s is the worst though, Baby’s so temperamental it’s almost impossible to get anything done” You smiled and looked over at the sleek black Hanoverian - you noted how well kept it was.

You both made your way back to the fire and sat, refastening the clasps of your boots to save you doing nothing.

The sun had fully set by now and night bit at the fire, causing it to settle into embers. Sam leaned against a tree, and you assumed he was sleeping while Dean sat opposite, his eyes still trained on you as if you would draw your gun.

It seemed as though he had planned to calm down when a series of cheers echoed across the valley. Both of you looked up, eyes sharp. You’d recognise the voices anywhere and you’d wager that the boys would too. Dean ran for his horse, not bothering to wait for his brother and rode after them.

You woke Sam quickly and headed for Songbird, apologising to her for the loud noises. The two of you rode after the older officer, but soon realised that you were being circled by the gang. You signalled to Sam to take a different route, but he was too focused on his brother and was quickly knocked off his horse by a bullet to his arm. You pulled to a stop and got out your pistol, Shooting at the bandits as they passed. They didn’t want you, nor Sam really - they just wanted to cause chaos.

Your shots rang as a warning and the gang cleared out, leaving you, two scared horses and a bleeding officer who would most likely arrest you given the chance. “Dean.” Sam called out but you silenced him, putting pressure on his arm.

”Shut it. You’re brother’s probably alive.” You spoke quickly, helping him to stand. Using a mix of his own strength and yours, he climbed onto the back of your horse and held his arm tight around your waist. You gripped the loose rein of Riot’s leash and headed back to your camp, quickly and quietly.

When you returned, you found your camp ransacked. Food was missing from your bags and small smoke clouds trailed from the now put out fire. They didn’t want you to find it again, which most likely meant they’d be returning for the rest. You’d have to be gone by the next evening.

Sam was pale and his eyes were fluttering every so often. You were warm and it was hard to breathe so with a sigh you pulled the bandana from your face and wrapped it around his arm, securing the wound and partially stopping the blood flow. Luckily, the bandits hadn’t had time to go into the packs in your tent and you smiled in relief when you pulled a large bottle of whisky from it. You poured some over the injury then took a large swig, wincing at the bite of the alcohol.

You’d let Sam sleep for now. He could get proper medical care when he returned to the sheriff's station, hopefully without you in handcuffs.

Sam was lucky in the sense that he got sleep that evening, something you weren’t so blessed with. Fatigue pulled at you and you found yourself playing with the remaining hot embers to stay awake - though they were dwindling by the minute. Eventually, Sam woke and sat up, his brows furrowing in confusion.

”Morning.” You said simply, sending a nod his way. He groaned in pain and turned to face you, good hand pushing his hair from his eyes. Now your bandana was off, Sam had a good chance to look at you.

His eyes narrowed, taking in your features. “I know you from somewhere.” He said gently, voice raw from pain and sleep. He wasn’t wrong.

1870

You were standing still behind a wall, one hand inching toward your pistol and the other holding money you were currently attempting to steal. It would’ve been an easy escape, you could’ve ran, called your horse and been clear of the town before anyone noticed but the new ‘specialist’ that had been travelling through Texas had to get in the way.

He tackled you to the ground, pulling the money from your hand and pinning you with minimal force. “Ow.” You said with annoyance, trying to move your hand so you could reach your blade that hid in your waistband.

The man’s gaze was stern as he kept you pinned against the hot sandy floor. “What are you doing?” He asked, voice harsh with suspicion. You sighed and turned your head to the side so you could actually breathe and rolled your eyes.

“Is it any of your business?”

“Ow.” He replied, mocking you. You stared at him, finding it unusual how a man of his profession had such long hair, which was cut into a small fringe and was falling slightly over his eyes. He eventually relents and allows you to stand, hand resting on his pistol as he places cuffs on your hands.

He took in your outfit, noticing how you wore dark denim and black leather, the only thing standing out was a red bandana. You certainly looked like a bandit.

You sighed and held up your hands, looking at the handcuffs in annoyance. “Seriously? You’re gonna cuff me? How are you so sure I’m a criminal?” You asked, voice bored - this had happened far too often to be entertaining at this point. He went to reply, when a deep voice yelled his name.

Sam.

He turned, breaking into a sprint and leaving you cuffed there. “You’re not gonna-” You began but sighed, realising he wasn't coming back and walked grumpily toward the abandoned blacksmith’s saw - not a good idea in retrospect, but it got you free.

1872

Sam walked idly into the sheriff’s office, hand reaching up to remove his Stetson when he saw you, sat in the gaol with your arms leaning on the bars. You were wearing a lighter shade now, mostly donning browns and blues, though the red bandana was still safely tied around your neck.

“You don’t seem very good at your job.” He said, smirking as he walked closer. You looked up at the man, sighing when you saw him. His hair had grown longer, sitting gently by his chin.

You leaned back in the seat and the cuffs on your feet clink, “I’ve been a bandit since ‘65…and I’ve been caught twice - though I’m not counting the first since you didn’t technically arrest me.” You replied, staring with boredom at the dirt under your nails. He nodded in response, reasonably impressed at you.

The two of you sat in silence for a while, him watching you with tired but amused eyes and you fiddling with the cuffs around your ankles. Sam’s eyes were drawn to your hands, seeing the large red scar that ripped over it, shining slightly on your palm.

Suddenly, a loud gunshot rang through the sheriff’s range and the both of you sat up straight. A large group had planned an organised attack on the station and, much to your luck, it gave you a proper chance to escape (one which you accepted gratefully). Sam had seen you climbing quickly onto your horse, but he had more pressing matters at hand - at least that’s what he told himself.

1876

He sat in the bar, head in his hand as he played with the whisky glass in his palm - the ice creating a cold film over his fingers.

It was like something from a novel, the way you stood in the doorway, a perfect silhouette. You stepped into the light, looking overly annoyed at nothing in particular and Sam almost didn’t recognise you. The lace gloves on your hands looked as though they itched and he was surprised you could breathe in the corset,, but you looked…different, all the same. It seemed as though you didn’t recognise him either as you took a seat next to him at the bar, signalling for something (anything) to drink.

“Bandit?” He asked, eyes stuck on you. You turned slowly, recognising the voice. He had certainly changed, in fact, he almost resembled a man, though his face was still slightly too young for this to be true.

You smiled, sipping your drink. “Sam. And it’s Y/n.” you replied, sending a nod his way. Sam replied with the same courtesy and furrowed his brows, looking at the amount of skirts and ruffles that you wore. You took notice and sighed, fiddling with the outer lace. “Not my choice, too difficult to run in - but my brother chose the dress code for his wedding and the jacket wasn’t acceptable.” You complained, voice tired.

He laughed, though noted to himself that you had kept the bandanna around your face - no doubt the pistol was still hidden somewhere.

The two of you drank for a long while, sharing short stories (you trying to keep the more illegal details out) and talking about your brothers. However, it seemed as though all of your meetings would be short-lived.

“Ma’am.” A voice called, stern and unwelcoming. It was a voice you recognised (you had taught yourself to remember every voice of every Sheriff in the state…for your own convenience). You shared a look with Sam, you’d been recognised.

You sighed and agreed, standing and leaving the bar. “I don’t doubt we’ll see each other again, Sam.” You said simply, heading back toward the wedding.

1883

“Hello.”

Sam turned, smiling as he recognised you. You were back in the usual attire, red bandanna seeming more red than usual…if that were possible. You were standing, leaning against the wall with one hand lazily resting on your belt.

He found himself smiling. “I should technically arrest you,” He stated, standing in place by his horse. You grinned in reply, moving closer to him with a simple smile.

“Who cares about technicalities?”

You kept your hand on your holster, the other by your side, mirroring his pose. Your eyes moved to his hand, noticing how his fingers twitched in some sort of anticipation (though you weren’t sure whether he was going to arrest you or something much more exciting). Sam’s head cocked to the side, following your every movement with an unreadable expression, then he almost whispered, “wasn’t it fun though, me putting you in handcuffs?”

Sam had aged rather drastically in your few years apart, his jaw was harsh and square and his hair flicked, slowly but surely nearing his shoulders. He was broader too - before he had been young and as lean as a six foot four man could be but now he was all muscle, large shoulders and strong arms. He looked built for the job now. Sam’s scarred hands played over his belt buckle and your eyes flitted over it, seeing a small star sigil with a circle wrapping around it - something you recognised.

A smile played on your lips and you moved away again, fingers tucked through the loops of your jeans. “Smooth,” you spoke lazily, then turned just before you reached your horse, adding on, “but yes, it wasn’t too bad.” He laughed gently and you climbed onto Songbird, leaving him staring after you yet again.

1884

“Bandit.”

You smiled, nodding your head lazily. “Is my name so hard to forget?” You replied almost snarkily, a hint of something else hidden in your tone. You leaned down, wrapping any spare cloths you had found around his injury - you knew better than to remove the bullet.

Sam laughed gently, voice slightly weak. You looked up, brows furrowed in confusion as he spoke. “I just find it a funny sight…a bandit fixing up a ranger.”

You smiled too, now, shaking your head gently - you tried to ignore his wince as you tightened the scraps around his shaking arm. “You’re not really a bull though, are you?” He shook his head in response, sitting up slightly as if it would be a task to explain what he does.

”No. I’m more of a…specialist?”

”Oh, so a hunter.”

Sam went silent, almost in a state of shock - he wasn’t sure how to reply so instead he resorted to a simple nod and you went back to bandaging him, talking absentmindedly. “I am too, technically. I’m just more… illegal about it.” You spoke and he laughed, nodding once more in agreement.

You finally leaned away from his arm and sat by the completely extinguished fire, eyes stuck to him. “How about we go searching for your brother?” You asked, arms crossing. He moved closer to you and began to set up the fire once more, prompting a confused look from you.

”We’ll go in the morning, it’s not safe to travel now. I wouldn’t be able to fight in case anything happened.” He replied, adding, “a days more rest.” You nodded and leaned back against a large rock, eyes lidded as they flitted over to the slowly growing fire.

The night had grown dark, flurries of rain filtering through the deep blue sky. You were still awake, running your hands through your hair softly. Sam was sleeping, as soundly as you could with the annoying, spitting type of rain running down your face. It picked up after a while and under the harsh cover of night you could swear you heard the beating and repetitive sounds of hooves against wet sand.

You were, unfortunately, proven right and the very same bandits from two nights ago stormed you, coming back for what they had left. You knew you couldn’t leave Sam behind and resorted to a good old fashioned knife fight. If any gunshots were heard, they didn’t wake Sam - this type of noise was far too familiar in Texas.

You managed to fend them off until they gave up, but garnered a few nasty cuts on your arms. It was something you’d handle later on. Rain beat down now, choking you and you’re not sure what’s water and what’s blood in the dark.

The sun rose again - as it had always done - and your role of tending the fire dwindled to watching it die as Sam awoke beside you. “You’re hurt. How?” He asked, leaning close. Both yours and his wounds seeped in unison, weeping at each other for retribution.

”It’s usually the job description of a bandit to be hurt.” You replied, declaring to both him and yourself that it was no one's business. He didn’t relent.

He drew nearer, hands twitching in want - to help you as you had for him. Though, Sam couldn’t find it in himself to speak on the matter and moved on to something much more pressing. “Dean is alive. Back in town I’d wager.” You looked over, glad he had moved on.

You raised a brow. “And you’re sure how?” He allowed your confusion, offering a sort of explanation for the matter.

”His horse, if he had been hurt, Baby would ride straight back here.”

“What if Baby’s dead.”

Silence. No one had ever offered the idea. No one liked to think their pet would die. “That damn horse is invincible. Keeps on going. It’s been two days, they’re back in town.” Sam assured, watching you poke idly at the sand.

You nod and stand, brushing the dirt off of your knees. “Let's go meet him then.” You said simply, heading over to your horse. The knife wound on your thigh tugged at your movements and you tried to brush it off, hoping the limp wasn’t too visible.

The air was heavy and humid, ripping air from your lungs and sitting hot against your skin. “What happened?” He asked gently as the two of you headed in the direction of the town. Sam’s eyes lingered on your skin, tracing over where sweat stuck your clothes to you.

”It was nothing, a few of the bandits came back. It’s nothing I haven’t dealt with before.” You replied, pulling your collar away from your neck in irritation. The heat had risen with impossible speed and for once you were happy that your bandanna wasn’t secured around her neck. You leaned against Songbird as you rode, skin damp.

Sam watched from beside you, noticing how quiet and calm you seemed. “And you’re not bleeding out? I can help-“

You shook your head. “No need. I don’t want you to return any favours,” You looked at him with a smirk, “I might need a ‘get out of jail’ pass some day.” He laughed, turning back to the open path.

As if sent from the heavens, the wind picked up and cooled your skin, blowing warm air across your body - though you would’ve appreciated a cold breeze, this’d have to do. The morning had become midday, sun high in the sky and air foul with an uncomfortable smell, when Sam stopped still, both him and Riot seemingly staring off at nothing.

You came to a stop too, listening. Watching. “What?” You whispered, but then you saw it, so far away it could’ve been a speck. The breeze, the smells. It was a demon. There was a quick nod shared then the both of you took off toward the old barn. It was the only thing for miles and you were both sure that no human could live out here without supernatural assistance.

Sam usually would’ve taken time to plan, but he had been hunting this thing for far too long and irritation had whittled his patience down. He took the blade from his belt and pressed his back hard against a half-ruined wall while you went around the back, a bottle of holy water you kept in your pocket securely in your hand.

Of course, it had been expecting you, and your ambush was more of a self-sacrifice. Your back hit the barn wall harshly and you hit the ground, the holy water falling a ways away. Sam was next to fall, blade being ripped from his grasp. You sat up, groaning in pain and looked over. It was a man, one who had clearly been a bandit.

Pain ripped through your thigh and you looked down, seeing the stab wound tearing wider than it had before. You turned your head to the side, seeing the demon fighting Sam. He certainly had the mis advantage however and was moments away from his own knife entering his chest.

”Hey!” You yelled, standing up again. The demon. You wiped the sweat from your brow and pulled the colt from your waistband. “Christo, bitch.” You pulled the trigger and the demon crumpled to the floor, a mess of sinew, blood and demon ash.

Sam stood, wiping the sweat and blood from his brow. “Nice shot.” You nodded at him and walked back out the barn, your limp much more pronounced - something you could’ve expected.

——

The both of you reached town, ugly stains of red littering your clothes and skin. Dean was standing on the porch of the Sheriff's station with bruises of his own - though his weren’t as frequent and had nearly healed. He pulled his brother into a fierce hug, hand pushing the back of Sam’s head into Dean’s shoulder (if he had seen Sam wince he didn’t take note of it).

You watched from a distance, leaning next to your horse tiredly. Before you could turn to leave, cuffs were placed around your hands, guiding you away from Songbird. You looked up at the Sheriff with angry eyes, voice harsh and raw from fatigue, “I just saved your boy’s life. Multiple times.”

Sam looked over, brows furrowing as he saw you being led inside. He would’ve followed - he had all intention to - but Dean held him back with a harsh grip against his palm. “Sam. She’s a criminal.” There was a wager in his mind: he wanted to do the right thing - to free you, but a more guilty part of him won. He didn’t want to disappoint his brother. Sam turned away and your eyes tracked him in disappointment, though you know you shouldn’t have expected much.

Night fell fast, and the usual heat of Texas was replaced with splintered wooden floors, a sticky yet icy breeze and cold metal bars. You picked at your nails, trying to clean any remaining dirt out from underneath. Your weapons had been seized and without both them and your bandana you felt exposed.

You were just warming up to the idea of getting comfortable when a shadow covered the moon light that streamed through the windows, one with broad shoulders and a Stetson. The door of the cell swung open slowly, quietly and the shadow stepped to the side. “Go to your horse and leave.” The shadow whispered.

Sam.

A rough hand placed a piece of red cloth into your palm and a soft breath tickled against your ear. “Think of it as me returning the favour.” Through the filtered moonlight you could see Sam’s face, the old bottle windows scattering the night scene across his features like glitter. You smiled gently and leaned forward, placing a kiss to his lips. It was something slow and gentle, something memorable.

But then, you were gone, leaving no trace that you had been in the cell except the opened handcuffs and the sharp, yet fleeting smell of cherries and tobacco. Sam found himself smiling.

#fic #fanfic #one shot #writing #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester #sam winchester x you #angst #sam winchester x fem!reader #supernatural #hurt/comfort #fluff #happy ending #if you squint #supernatural fic

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yuyu-writes · 8 months

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sweet (just like you) [18+]

[ kinktober 2023 ] day 5 - freebie

⟡ haikyuu!! -- matsukawa issei x reader

⟡ wc: 8,170

⟡ working from @/darling--core's kinktober list! NSFW, 18+ only!

⟡ summary:

Who would have thought, Matsukawa Issei, your best friend's best friend, is a demon?

Obviously, not you. But it works out in your favor, even if you're a demon hunter.

Archive of Our Own

It’s a school night, so you should probably head home soon.

It’s a passing thought as you wipe your cheek, rubbing away the black sludge on your skirt. The stench of blood and ash fills your nose as you watch the minor demon melt. It’s shrieking, writhing in pain as your exorcism spell reaches its end.

Its inky tendril reaches for you, but you don’t even flinch, watching it dissolve into the air with a final cry.

A sigh escapes your lips, and you finally relax your shoulders.

The demons around Miyagi have been more active as of late, and it’s taken a toll on you. You’ve been taking longer patrols after school, which means you stay up later into the night to complete your homework before sleeping a restless sleep and repeating the cycle. You could probably count the number of hours you’ve slept on average with one hand, yikes.

You’re tired, to be frank. Thankfully, most of them are lower levels, but they’re a force to be reckoned with when they have power in numbers, and you only have so much energy to take care of a large area on your own.

It’s not like you voluntarily chose to hunt demons. But it wasn’t something you could walk away from. Ever since you began seeing them as a child, you soon found yourself under the local priest’s training, mastering basic exorcism techniques and continuing to practice advanced ones that even the priest struggled to use.

No one else saw what you saw, only becoming a victim to them when they sapped human energy to gain more power. You’re not too sure how they’ve come into the human world, but the priest theorizes it’s some sort of rift that has let them cross the barrier. Closing the rift is a whole different story, and even you’re stumped for ideas, so you do what you can in the meantime.

If you could make someone’s life easier, unburdened and no longer haunted, you would.

It was a thankless duty, but a duty regardless.

You head home for the day, dreading the upcoming exams and the pile of homework that sits in your backpack, completely blank.

“Oh, [Name]!”

The call of your name has you jolting awake at your desk, quickly blinking away the sleep as you look up. “Hiro? What’s up?”

The clay-haired boy enters your classroom, making his way to your desk and sitting in the one in front of yours. For the most part, everyone went off to eat lunch outside since the weather has gotten warmer, which lets you ditch the thick winter uniform for the short sleeve button-up and skirt.

“You said you’d meet me and the other guys for lunch, but you never showed up. And now I find you dozing off– you good?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you wave off, rubbing your eyes. “Been sleeping late the past few nights, but I’m going to try to fix up my sleep schedule this weekend, hopefully.”

Hanamaki eyes you suspiciously, and you stare at him with the same intensity. As childhood friends, you can read him just as easily as he can read you. It’s not often you wear yourself out to the point it's noticeable, but it just can’t be helped and like the workaholic you are, you can always blame it on upcoming college entrance exams.

He gives in with a sigh when he realizes you aren’t faltering, and he shrugs. “Just don’t push yourself too hard,” he says, gently. “You work hard enough as is, and I think you deserve a break with how much you’ve been doing.”

You smile, because you know how much he cares, and you know that he still respects your drive and your own judgment. This also makes you extra careful around Hiro, who would absolutely freak out if he knew you were out hunting demons.

“Yeah. You too, with volleyball. I don’t think your friends would appreciate having two volleyball-obsessed players.”

“Ha! Like I’d ever reach Oikawa’s level of obsession.”

You banter with him a little, your exhaustion melting away as you chat with your best friend before he suddenly stops mid-sentence with a noise of realization.

“Wait! You haven’t eaten anything, right? Since you were sleeping?” he asks, and when you nod, he stands up quickly, ignoring the way he trips over the chair slightly and grabs your wrist.

“Let’s grab something from the cafeteria before it closes! We can probably make it!”

And you run with him down the halls, dodging friend groups and teachers who yell at the two of you to behave.

And for the first time in a while, you smile brightly, enjoying this moment of normalcy.

While you absolutely love Hiro, you find yourself unsettled ever so slightly with his friends.

Not Iwaizumi, since he’s rather respectful and polite, and not Oikawa, since he’s just a flirt whenever you’re around.

But Matsukawa Issei is another story. He is…dangerous, for a lack of a better word.

You find yourself nibbling on a curry bun that Hiro managed to buy from the cafeteria right before they closed. With about fifteen minutes left of lunch, you take him up on his previous offer to eat with his friends, sitting on top of the school rooftop with the four boys as they finish up their lunches.

When you greet them, you can’t help but avoid Matsukawa’s heavy stare. There was something oddly familiar and unsettling about it…something you couldn’t quite put your finger on, and you opted to blame it on the unfamiliarity, or the fact that he’s one of Hanamaki’s closer friends after entering high school.

The idea that Matsukawa stole Hanamaki from you doesn’t sit well in your gut and you chastise yourself for even having that thought. Maybe he thinks the same thing, hence the strange feeling you get whenever you are near him.

You push it to the back of your mind, and do your best to ignore him as lunch comes to an end, heading back to class. It’s uneventful, as always, learning new concepts and putting them to use on your worksheets and later, for exams. It’s mundane, but you enjoy it, since it’s not like you’re actively putting yourself in danger as you normally do.

As soon as the last class ends with the ring of the bell, you briefly replay Hanamaki’s concerned words, before you shake your head.

You’re better than that, you could keep hunting, keep helping , even just a little. It’s a responsibility that you’ve chosen to handle, and you can’t slack off just because you’re a little tired .

It’s ok, you reason with yourself as you pack up your notes. Just a short patrol, and you’ll take time to rest today.

It’s unfortunate that your plans always seem to get foiled, and you eat your words. Literally.

A blast sends you flying, and you think you hit your head against the lightpost before absolutely eating shit on the sidewalk. The demons laughs, it’s screeching noise grates your ears, slightly disorienting you as you struggle to get up. You’re unsteady on your feet and while you’re fully aware of how hard you’re pushing yourself, you can’t just go home, not when the demon presence in this area is just so high.

It wasn’t this bad before. Their numbers keep rising, and your efforts barely make a dent in their forces. It’s a harrowing thought that makes you falter for a moment, but you grit your teeth and steel yourself once more. Summoning another talisman, you launch it at the demon, watching the paper attach themselves to its body, burning through the inky black as it disintegrates. Your limbs tremble, and you ignore the numbness in your legs.

You let out a shaky exhale, but you remain on alert. The air is saturated with despair and evil, and it makes your chest tight.

You’re so, so tired.

Just one more sector. Just a little more and you can end your patrol and go home and get rest.

Just one more–

Thump!

Huh?

Pain sprouts at the temple of your head. You’re staring across the asphalt of the alleyway, the faint silhouettes of demons growing larger–coming closer to you from the street.

Get up, get up!

Yet no matter how much you willed your body to, you lay crumpled, defeated, and tired.

A wave of cold dread washes over you and you close your eyes tight.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry Hiro, I’m–

High-pitched shrills fill the air, and your eyes fly open, immediately lifting your head to see –

“Makki kept telling me he was worried about how tired you looked. Guess this explains why, huh?”

Matsukawa is standing protectively in front of you, but your eyes land on the black, ridged horns that protrude from his messy hair, curling slightly at the tip and alarms blare in your mind.

Matsukawa Issei is a demon.

And you have to kill him.

The thought crosses your mind briefly, but then you look past him, watching as his splayed hand emits another burst of energy that disintegrates the demons at the mouth of the alleyway. They are the ones screaming in pain, they are the ones to die in front of your eyes. Not you.

“Why…” you mumble, because what was this demon doing, attacking his own kind to protect you?

Without a response, he finishes off the last of the small demons who have attempted to escape around the corner, and silence falls over the two of you.

Shit, maybe he’s going to kill you next. Maybe he’s just so cruel to take the kill of a demon hunter all to himself. Without a doubt, he was not some weak troublesome demon–no, he was much, much stronger than those you normally deal with.

He would enjoy watching you die, watching the life leave your eyes in amusement.

You close your eyes tight, trying your best to get up, trying your best to come to terms that you are going to die at the hands of a demon (your best friend's best friend, nonetheless) as you listen to his footsteps grow closer and closer. They stop, and you know he’s standing over you, probably reveling in the sight of your weak, crumpled body.

You brace yourself once more, expecting pain to erupt and bring you to the edge of death.

“Can you stand?” You open your eyes, confusion filling your head. He’s crouched down, hand hovering over your face. The chilling smile of death that you envisioned is erased as you see his eyebrows furrowed as he scans your figure for injuries.

His eyes have a red tint to them that makes you freeze for a moment. He knows fear when he sees it, and he sees it clearly in you as he meets your gaze.

“Y-Yeah. I think so,” you say slowly, shifting to rise. His hands hover over you still as you get to your feet, wobbly, and standing for just a moment before your knees buckle from under you. Matsukawa is quick, arms encircling your frame and catching you before you can hit the ground again. He sits you down against the cold wall, maneuvering you, careful to lean your head back with his hand.

“You’re bleeding a bit,” he points to his forehead, and you swipe at your own, grimacing at the blood. “But you aren’t hurt anywhere else. I’m glad.”

“Glad?” you parrot in disbelief. “You’re glad that I, a demon hunter, am not hurt?”

Matsukawa blinks, before he laughs, soft chuckles escape him and you watch him incredulously because why does he think this is funny? “Yeah, I’m glad,” he says, smiling. “Since you’re the one keepin’ most of them at bay. I try to get rid of ones near the school area, but I usually don’t go any farther out than that.”

“What do you mean you get rid of them?”

He contemplates for a moment, eyeing the entrance of the alley before his eyes flicker back to you. “Maybe we should get out of here and have a chat, hm?”

Never in your life did you expect to find yourself in a demon’s home.

And never in your life did you expect that a demon’s home would be a cozy little apartment nestled in the residential district just ten minutes away from your high school.

To be fair, your life is anything but normal, so maybe this falls into the realm of likely possibilities.

That sucks, you suddenly think, because that means there are more things you simply don’t know about–which isn’t new, but it’s never a good thought to dwell on.

You keep your distance as he leads you back to his place. He lives on his own, having forged fake identities for his “parents” and keeping up the guise that they’re busy with work in Tokyo or abroad. It makes sense, but you’re filled with questions to the brim.

With the main one being, “why?”

He’s back to the human Matsukawa you’ve known for years, the one without horns and red-tinted eyes.

As he unlocks the door, you hesitate for a moment, suddenly imagining scenarios where you’re being led into a demon’s dungeon, that you’d be tortured and your soul would be offered up to the demon king or whatever higher level demon exists and–

“Are you just going to stand there?”

His deep voice brings you out of your stupor, and you’re embarrassed, gaping at him for his casual response–as if he’s just bringing a friend over to hang out. With a stutter of “no,” you enter, wary of your surroundings.

It’s plain, for the most part. Blank walls with minimal furniture fill the home, and everything is relatively cleaned up as you enter deeper. Matsukawa heads to the kitchen as you walk into the living room that has an untouched loveseat in front of a small TV.

“Tea? Or do you want some water?”

“Water is ok,” you answer him, and you take a seat gingerly, setting your bag down and suddenly feeling awkward.

He brings you a glass, and you thank him quietly, staring at it to see if there was anything amiss in your drink.

“It’s water,” Matsukawa deadpans at the sight of your intense stare. “I didn’t do anything to it, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’ll get the first aid kit though, and we can clean up your head before we start talking.”

Watching him disappear to what you presume is the bathroom, you look back at the glass of water before taking a sip, which turns into two, and then two more gulps to finish it off.

As you set down the glass, you see Matsukawa return with a small kit and wet cloth, taking a seat next to you before cleaning up your wound. You bite your lip at the stinging sensation, staying still as he finishes up with a bandaid.

His hand is warm against your forehead, and you try not to let your mind linger on that fact.

“So, where should we start?” you ask, watching him pack up the kit and setting it on the coffee table. He hums, leaning back and throwing an arm over the back of the couch.

“I can start,” he proposes. “I’m a demon, as you already guessed. Was born, if you could call it that, about the same time you were probably born. I never really liked the idea of stealing human energy solely to grow powerful, so I aged slower and stayed under the radar to avoid getting killed by hunters.”

“And how’d you do that?” you ask, because you have to admit, he did a great job hiding his presence the past three years you’ve known him.

Something was always off about him, ever since the day you met him in your first year, where Hanamaki excitedly introduced you to his new teammates.

“Oh, I’m an incubus,” he says offhandedly. “Most of our kind usually don’t stand out in the first place, and it’s much easier for us to mask our scent and blend in with humans.”

“An…incubus? As in, the demons that…” you trail off, realization hitting you like a truck and it hits harder when you see Matsukawa smile.

“C’mon, you can finish that sentence, you’re a big girl,” Matsukawa teases, and you feel heat rise to your cheeks.

“You gain energy from sex.”

“Bingo.”

It takes your mind a moment to process and remember what you’ve learned about incubi. You haven’t encountered one before, to be honest, and you recall that they, as well as succubi, were the rarer types of demons to exist.

Most demons didn’t have a developed sense of consciousness, merely driven by their hunger for more energy, to gain more power with no other purpose.

You’re piecing things together because, yes, it makes sense now how he is so human despite being a demon, how he can retain a human form and not a monstrous blob, and–

“Wait a minute–then, who have you been having sex with–” you shut up the moment the question tumbles out, and Matsukawa laughs again, a deep, hearty laugh that leaves you absolutely humiliated.

“Wow, asking about my sex life already?”

A slap to his arm gets another laugh out of him. You have no doubt he’s enjoying teasing you.

“But, really. It was me and Makki, for a bit,” he says earnestly, and you let out a noise of surprise, but he doesn’t stop there. “No, we didn’t fuck or anything, before you jump to conclusions. We made out and stuff. But lately he’s been talking to that one girl in class 3-B, so we called it off–just a few days ago, actually.”

You feel a headache coming on.

First off, you’re definitely going to Makki and probing him about whatever fling he had with Matsukawa because how dare he not tell you about it.

Second–

“How are you still so powerful if you’ve been just living off…what you have–no, had with Hiro? What are you going to do now?”

“Well, that’s the thing, little hunter,” he mumbles, leaning back. “I used most of my energy on getting rid of those demons earlier, so I’m exhausted.”

You take a moment to mull over his words, and that’s when you realize how there are dark circles beneath his eyes, which was definitely not there before when he first helped you up.

“And it’s not like I’m going to go out and just go to anyone,” he continues after a moment. “I just want to live my life as normal as I can. ”

Whatever unsettled feeling you had in your stomach before is replaced by guilt. You’ve never…communicated with a demon before, and never did you think that they’d have such honest emotions and desires to be human.

“You really don’t want to harm anyone?”

“No,” Matsukawa responds, seriously. “I want to keep all of them safe: Makki, Iwaizumi, Oikawa, all of them.”

“You’re a traitor to your own kind.”

“And I’ll continue being one, if it means I can live as normal as I can.”

You stare at him, looking at his hooded, dark eyes to see if there is any hint of deceit. As suspicious as you were of him, you can’t help but believe him. And what would that do, killing a demon who just wanted a normal life, a demon who was also a dear friend to many?

Hiro would be devastated.

“I’m sorry,” you begin, and Matsukawa’s eyes widen, not at all expecting the apology. “All this time, I thought demons were…evil. But if you’re being honest, then who am I to kill you when you’re just trying to live a normal life?”

“Well, I’m glad that we’ve come to a truce,” Matsukawa says. “Thank you. Didn’t think all you hunters were fine with us, but I really do appreciate that you’re letting me live–I have no doubt you could kill me, even now.”

That makes the both of you chuckle, but soon after, a tired sigh escapes Matsukawa, and you see him close his eyes, and you’re suddenly reminded that he exhausted most of his energy saving your ass.

Perhaps it was obligation, perhaps it was curiosity, but–

Something burns inside you.

The words escape your lips before you can reel them back in, and you’re instantly mortified right as they leave your lips.

“If you need energy, then why not with me?”

You're staring at your hands that are folded on your lap, your entire form tense as you realize what exactly you just offered to him. Silence follows. No laughter, no rejection, no movement.

“Of course, you don’t have to agree–”

“You sure?”

Raising your head to meet his gaze, you’re frozen by the hungry look that he has in his eyes, darkened with an unfamiliar feeling that makes you shiver. You think you see red flash in his eyes.

“I…I owe you for saving me today,” you force out. “And if this helps you maintain your power, then we can maybe… work together to keep everyone safe.”

“I’m asking you again, are you sure?” he says, voice low, making a shiver crawl up your spine as he pushes himself up with his elbow, leaning closer to you.

“I’m sure,” you confirm, swallowing down any hesitation as you face him directly.

He surveys you, closing his eyes and chuckling a bit before he grins, amused.

“Thank you for the meal, little hunter.”

In an instant, he’s next to you, his breath ghosting over your ear, and you jolt in shock and at the sudden heat that runs through your veins. He’s leaning over you, trapping you with his arms and you gulp nervously, letting out a soft noise as his tongue trails along the curve of your ear before he moves further down, licking a stripe up your neck.

“You know, I always thought you were cute,” he mumbles into your skin. “I was surprised when Makki wasn’t into you, but that’s fine, it worked out perfectly in the end.”

His lips latch on, sucking gently, and you moan softly at the foreign touch, absolutely embarrassed at the way he easily makes you melt.

In the midst of warmth, you vaguely feel his large hands trail down your body, before they grasp at your hips and—

“There we go,” Matsukawa praises as he flips you so you’re straddling his lap, your crotch right over his—

“I’ve never done this before,” you blurt out in nervousness, because you most definitely feel his growing bulge through the thin layer of your own underwear.

“That’s ok. We don’t have to go that far,” Matsukawa answers instantly, calming your nerves just a little. “I can get energy from giving, too. Not just receiving.”

One of his hands finds its place on the back of your head, tangling with your hair as he looks up at you, wanting, hungry.

“May I?”

A small nod is all you can muster.

“Tell me properly, little hunter,” he whispers, and you feel a hot flush crawl up your neck.

“Yes, I… kiss me, please,” you mumble out quietly, looking away, and he chuckles.

“As you wish.”

The hand behind your head presses down softly, leading you so your lips are just mere centimeters away from his before he closes that distance.

Soft.

His lips are so soft against yours, his warmth enveloping yours and you hold your breath, clumsy, unfamiliar with this dance. If he notices your inexperience, he makes no comment on it, looking up at you with hooded eyes and licking his lips as he leans back.

“Not so bad, right?”

An affirmative hum escapes you as a pleasant feeling tingles along your skin and further down, and the feelings of embarrassment fade away, replaced with your desires for more.

When you open your eyes, you immediately find yourself looking back at red ones, and you watch as his horns appear from the curls of his hair once more. Upon closer look, they're sleek black, equal ridges traveling up to the very tip that curls slightly.

His lips curve into a smirk that makes you feel smaller, but another part of you wants to wipe that smug look off his face so you lean back in, crashing your lips onto his with a sudden feeling of confidence that surges through you.

You jolt from the sudden feeling of his tongue as it teases your own, and you have to prevent every ounce of your demon hunter instincts from biting it as he explores your mouth.

You focus on Matsukawa, his lips, his hair under your fingers, his hands on your waist, his bulge pressing up against your wet sex.

Fuck , his tongue swipes against yours and you falter, leaning forward when he backs away, a satisfied quirk of the lips. His hand trails to cup your cheek, dipping his thumb into your open, waiting mouth, and you swirl your tongue around.

“Ah, I forgot to mention my spit has some…aphrodisiac properties. But you seem to be enjoying it.”

Your head is fuzzy, eyes glazed as a string of saliva connects you with his thumb as he pulls it away from your mouth. You’re too gone to care about your pride, and the pleasant buzz you feel blurs all your morals.

You don’t even realize that you’re moving your hips, grinding against his growing bulge that makes you nervous and…

Excited.

Something flares inside your chest at the realization.

You don’t know how long it lasts, your tongue dancing with his, hands roaming, exploring everything he had to offer you and you for him. It’s dark by the time he finally pulls away, gently tugging you off his lap as a string of saliva connects your lips to his.

“Thank you,” he says your name, making you whimper, leaning forward to chase after his lips. “You’ve done more than enough for me today. I look forward to working with you, little hunter.”

He licks his lips, and with the little reasoning left in your head, you can’t help but realize how you’re absolutely under his spell.

–

The next few days are strange.

Strange in that, you notice Matsukawa more than usual. On occasion, you would see him with Hanamaki as he greets you when lunch period starts, or when he gets out of volleyball practice with everyone.

Although, something changes after that particular day and you see him in passing as you eat lunch with your classmates, when you head to the restroom, or even when you take some papers to the teacher’s office. He’s just always somewhere in your peripheral vision, intentional or not, as if watching over you from a distance.

Hell, you make eye contact with him where he’s seated out in the courtyard with the other boys and you just so happen to look outside for a brief moment while you’re on cleaning duty.

When he smirks up at you with a wink, you feel warmth spread across your cheeks, suddenly reminded of…

All the events of that day rewind in your head within the span of ten seconds and you grip your broom tighter.

That fucking demon.

Your classmates ask what has you so flustered and you can only sigh and rub at your cheeks, hoping to wipe away the brightening red.

You hope they don’t notice how you squeeze your thighs together ever so slightly.

It doesn’t help that as the next few weeks go by, even your childhood friend notices your not-so-subtle change, and unfiltered as he is, he immediately jumps on it.

“So, you and Mattsun, huh?”

“What?”

You raise an eyebrow at his suggestive tone, and he takes it as a sign to continue, waving around his milk carton.

“Don’t pretend– you and him have been talking more, out of the blue too! And he’s not very discrete, I saw him looking at you a few times,” he mock-whispers to you. “Did something happen? Should I be happy? Or maybe even worried?”

“Neither,” you grumble, because Hanamaki most definitely misunderstands the entire situation but you can’t exactly clear it up. “We just started talking ever since we bumped into each other a few days ago. There’s nothing more.”

“Hm.” He’s looking at you with his usual stare, and you don’t even look up from the worksheet. “If you say so. I’m glad you guys are getting along better.”

You look up to meet Hanamaki’s gaze, but from the corner of your eye, you see Matsukawa chatting with some other students in the hallway, locking eyes with you before sending you a knowing smile.

Getting along is one way to put it, that’s for sure.

Just a few hours after that conversation with Hiro, you find yourself pushed up against the wall of the boy’s volleyball club room, moaning softly as he peppers open-mouthed kisses down your neck and grinds his thigh up against your sex.

“Ah–Don’t you dare leave any marks,” you gasp, shamelessly moving your hips for more friction against him.

“Or else what?”

His teasing voice has you throwing your head back, and the trails of his saliva burn deliciously along your neck. Matsukawa’s hands trail up your waist before they cup your tits, squeezing playfully.

You have no retort for him, opting to quiet down – practice is soon, and he has dragged you into the lesser-used clubroom to “recharge.” There’s a chance that anyone from the team could come in, knowing your terrible luck, and the thought makes you both humiliated and excited, to your horror.

“Just a little more,” he mumbles into your skin, and you’re lost in his dance, brain turning to mush as heat overwhelms you. You’re half frustrated as Mattsun refuses to go any further, edging you on and bringing you so close to your peak before pulling away.

He lets you go, letting you stand on your feet before leading you towards one of the plastic chairs, sitting, before tugging on your waist so you sit in his lap, back against his chest.

“What are you—”

“Shh, not too loud,” he whispers, licking at the shell of your ear before nibbling at it, as his hands unbutton your blouse. You don’t even stop him, grasping at his forearms as you feel the fabric of your shirt pull away.

“Open your eyes.”

You don’t even realize you have closed them. You crack open your eyes, as he commands, and you see yourself through the full-length mirror that’s hung near the empty lockers. Your blouse is opened, revealing your bra, and one of his hands is lifting up your skirt, legs spread and revealing the soaked patch through your panties as they rub against his bulge.

“Such a cute little slut, don’t you think?”

Locking your eyes with his through the reflection, you turn red at the sight of his smirk, and when his tongue darts out to lick the shell of your ear, you throw your head further back, shivering under his touch. A hand travels up your torso, and you squirm at the ticklish feeling, before letting out a choked moan as soon as he cups one of your tits, squeezing playfully, before pushing your bra up with his hand. His finger teases your nipple, pinching it gently and eliciting more muffled moans out of your pretty lips.

His hips grind up to match your own movements, and he hums, his hand on your hip trailing down to your clothed sex, rubbing small circles at your clit. It makes your hips jolt, shaking as they try to match his pace and he lets out a chuckle against your ear.

“Wait–I’m–”

“Go ahead, cum.” His low whisper tips you over the edge, heat bursting in your gut as you cum against his fingers. The fuzz of your orgasm fills your brain and you’re boneless against Mattsun, who lifts his fingers to his mouth, and you hear him suck on them.

He sits you down on one of the chairs before he fixes his uniform, and you’re sitting there, dazed, the scent of Matsukawa lingering in your nose, his taste still upon your tongue.

More, more, more.

Matsukawa looks back at you, a satisfied smile on his lips.

“Practice is starting so you won’t have to worry about anyone coming in anytime soon. I’ll meet you after?”

You hum, not trusting your words to come out. He grins, leaning down to peck your lips one last time.

“Good girl.”

A promise is a promise, but you don’t know how you can keep going with his teases.

That fucking demon.

–

For the most part, the doubled power makes your patrols much easier, and you feel better about going out without pushing yourself to the edge. Matsukawa’s powers aren’t the strongest, objectively speaking, but the extra hand and cooperation makes your strength combined something to fear. The areas that you’ve left to simmer and grow are much more maintained, and you’re able to make good progress that even the priest comments on when you visit him occasionally.

Of course, you don’t tell him about your partnership. You’re not sure if it would be received well, and you’re not willing to take that leap.

It continues like this for awhile, and you can finally catch up on sleep, even getting a thumbs-up of approval from Hanamaki when he sees you more lively than usual.

But…

There’s something darker in the air today.

It had been a few weeks since you’d nearly met your end. Most areas have lightened up in terms of activity, but for some reason, you feel a chill in your bones that makes you uneasy all day. Matsukawa must have also felt it, glancing at you with worry in his brow.

It’s overcast, and you smell the incoming rain as you tug on your coat, pulling the hood over your eyes as you walk past some high schoolers heading home. Matsukawa is unbothered, merely looking over and nodding to them as they pass.

Practice was canceled a little earlier than usual, so you decided to take an alternate route that goes a bit further from your usual patrol while it was still evening. Rain begins to fall, splattering on the pavement at your feet, and you sigh annoyed. Mattsun breathes out of his nose, a soft exhale as he looks up to the sky. Suddenly–

He stops, whirling around to face the end of the street you two are crossing.

“Get ready.”

“What?”

Your question is answered too soon.

Something crashes, and you jump in surprise, losing your balance as the ground trembles beneath you. Matsukawa catches you, holding you steady, eyes glued to the particles that center together at the end of the street, forming together into a dark blob and taking shape.

It’s downright ugly and terrifying, exuding such malice and rage that has you stepping back. The demons you’ve dealt with before are absolute small fry compared to his massive size and aura.

“What is that?” you shout over its screeching and Matsukawa grimaces.

“A goliath,” he says, a little too calm in your opinion. “Said to be servants of the underworld, or something. I think they consume other small demons, just for energy.”

It roars, a large arm protruding from its back and you recoil in disgust. It is, by far, the largest demon you’ve encountered up until now, and you have no doubt it’s the strongest.

“Ok, well, what the hell is it doing here?” you yell at Matsukawa, who jumps back at the sudden tremor it emits.

“No idea!” he shouts back at you. “Be careful!”

There’s not much room for you and Matsukawa to fight–the street is narrow, and the beast in front of you nearly takes up the whole width. You keep your distance, making sure you’re not in its reach as you launch a few talismans toward it, maneuvering them so they cover its body. Matsukawa approaches it, launching his own attacks as he weaves between each swing of its ugly limbs.

It’s slower than you imagined, and you think as long as you keep your distance, it should be fine–

Dark static flicks off its skin before it explodes in an instant, shooting uncontrollably before it bursts wildly, covering the ground and traveling towards you.

“Watch out!”

You’re shoved to the ground, watching a strike pierce through Matsukawa, in midair as he jumps right where you were.

“Matsukawa”

You see him go down, blood splattering against the asphalt with a sickening sound as his body hits the pavement, hard. Anger fills you with red, and you cast most of your talismans towards the demon, binding it tightly with your power as it screams. It’s stunned for a moment, disoriented as it recovers, but you take the time to run towards Matsukawa, who’s struggling to get up onto his knees, blood dripping from his torso, washing away on the asphalt with the rain.

“Let’s get you out of the way,” you say hurriedly, throwing his arm over your shoulders and dragging him to an alleyway. “Don’t move, you’ll open your wound up.”

As soon as you set him down, the demon screeches, an ear-piercing sound that makes both of you falter.

Demons aren’t perfect. They’ll die with enough damage, and you do so, dwindling down their health with continued attacks, moving constantly to avoid its electricity.

Left, right, under–jump!

You can barely catch your breath as you dodge its movements, careful of where you end up. A screech erupts from its head, piercing your ears, and you take the moment to send more binding charms, tying its limbs together and buying you time .

It struggles, and just as you’re about to blast it with more of your attacks–

A large burst of energy shoots at him from behind you, slicing the goliath’s head off with a clean schuck!

It thuds to the ground, lifelessly, and you’re gasping for air, falling on your ass as it rolls just a few feet away from you.

Matsukawa is peeking around the corner of the alleyway, leaning against the wall as he sends out that last burst of power before he’s sliding down, falling against the brick wall. Without hesitation, you hurry over to him, nearly tripping over your own unsteady feet as you crouch beside him.

Blood spreads across his clothes, a pool of red that makes your hands shake because it’s just so much blood, demon or not. Your eyes flicker up to his, dull and unfocused as they glance up at you.

You tug up his shirt, trying hard to ignore him flinching out of pain to see a deep gash across his stomach, one that curled around his torso, and you have no doubt it probably pierced through him.

The first thing your mind goes to is—

You smash your lips on his.

You taste copper.

He yelps a little at the sudden force, and you cup his cold cheeks with your hands, kissing him deeply.

There’s not an ounce of shame because you’re saving his goddamn life right now . He’s quick to respond, kissing back and groaning against your lips, and in a few moments, his wound is gradually closing up, his blood-coated skin patching itself together.

When you back away, he winces, looking down at his wound, blood and spit smudged against his lips, and you have no doubt that you look the same.

Shit , you think to yourself, feeling a wave of warmth hit you suddenly. And it’s different today because you just want more for once. Perhaps it’s the adrenaline, perhaps it’s because you almost lost him. You’re tired of constantly being edged by him, when you know he could give you so much more, that you could give him so much more.

“Your place is close, let’s get out of the rain.”

Curse Matsukawa for his height. He easily towers over you, and it makes it ten times harder for you to properly support him as he leans against you, his arm thrown over your shoulders as you weave through back alleys, slowly making your way to his apartment. It doesn’t help that the rain hasn’t let up, drenching both of you.

He’s lost a lot of blood, and you’ve been trying to keep him conscious with little success, as he keeps blinking in and out. By the time you’re at his front door, he’s awake enough to dig through his pockets and give you the key with a shaky hand.

There’s blood on it, and you wipe it away with your thumb as you jam it into the keyhole, quickly twisting and opening the door, stepping into the hallway and navigating to his room.

You kick open his door, feeling your strength falter at the sight of his bed and with one last burst, you unceremoniously drop him on top of his covers. He lets out a grunt and laughs a bit under his breath.

“How romantic,” he chokes out, and he rolls onto his back painfully, groaning as he twists his body, mindful of his healing wound.

“Shut up,” you mutter, taking off your coat and kicking off your shoes, slamming the door closed after a moment. Taking in a breath, you steel yourself before you lean on the bed, one knee first, before you swing your leg over his, straddling his lap.

Without any warning, you lean in, kissing him, grinding your hips down on his. You moan against his mouth and–

“Let’s do it, this time, c’mon,” you moan out impatiently, nipping at Matsukawa’s neck as he grabs your hips, tight enough you’re sure you’ll be bruised by the end of it.

“You sure?” he asks softly, lacking his usual teasing lilt, and you nod.

“I’m sure,” you reassure him, looking him dead in the eye, watching as his horns grow out. “I’m saving your life and I’ve wanted to do this with you for a long time. I think it’s a win for both of us.”

He grins, pained, but absolutely ecstatic, as if he’s won the lottery.

“You’re telling me we could have done this earlier?”

“Stop talking and we can get right to it, you dumbass.”

And you can’t stop the curse that leaves your mouth when he flips you over, trapping you under his arms. He tugs off your shirt and your pants, kissing you before you reach up to return the favor. His torso is red, but there’s no longer open flesh that makes you sigh in relief.

At the sight of you bare to him, he leans back, admiring the view and whistling as his eyes trail down your body.

“Can’t believe I went slow with you when you’ve wanted this too,” he comments, leaning to press kisses against the inside of your thigh before he leaves a long kiss on a spot and bites hard . You yelp at the sudden pain, gripping at his hair as he licks his new mark, thighs trembling as he continues to mark you up.

His fingers reach up, hooking under your panties before—

Rip!

“Hey!”

“I’ll buy you new ones,” he says, uninterested, eyes locked onto your cunt instead. “You’re so fucking wet—and all for me.”

He swipes a finger up your leaking pussy, earning a yelp from you and he brings it to his lips, sucking on it

“Sweet,” he whispers. “Didn’t think you’d taste so good, and it’s all mine .” He leans down, spitting on your cunt before licking a long stripe at your folds as you keen, your hands once again finding purchase in his wet hair, tugging at his curls as he makes a mess of you. Your back arches as his tongue flicks at your clit, swirling around it before thrusting in, wanting to taste all of you. His fingers make their way beside their tongue, and he’s pleasantly surprised with how you take one, two fingers, then three as you sing so beautifully.

Your eyes are glazed over, purely lost in pleasure and everything is so hot and you just want his cock so bad and—

It’s coming it’s coming I’m coming—

“Issei!”

The cry of his name makes him smile against you, as you're suddenly hit with a mind-numbing orgasm, back arching and body trembling against his mouth as he continues to coax more you have to offer him. Coming down from your high, you’re far from satiated, still feeling the wanting burn deep in your gut.

You don’t notice him taking off the rest of his clothes until you feel him press up against you. He pushes up your legs, your thighs pressing against your stomach as he leans close and folds you to his will.

He’s huge, you realize, and you’re not sure if he’ll fit, feeling its weight as the head of his cock kisses your pussy. You jerk at the feeling of him rubbing his length against your wet folds, his eyes trained on the way his cock glistens against your wet cunt, slapping it once, twice against it.

As if reading your mind, he offers a reassuring smile, squeezing your thigh.

“Tell me if you need me to go slower,” he says. “Last thing I want to do is hurt you.”

You nod deliriously, moving your hips and rubbing against his length, urging him to hurry up. He finally obliges, pushing in slowly, and you let out a broken moan, clawing at his arms as he groans, sinking into your heat inch by inch.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he grunts, and he listens to your breathing, waiting for any indication of pain before he keeps going until he bottoms out, hips flush against your ass.

You’re just big, you want to retort, but you can’t even form words, choking on your spit as you feel so full, turning lightheaded at the feeling of his cock stretching you out wide. He’s holding back, biting his lip and a furrow in his brow as he lets you adjust, barely able to control himself.

He’s careful, his calculating gaze roaming over your face as you focus on leveling your breathing, letting yourself relax before–

“Issei,” you moan, “Move, move. ”

He wastes no time, starting slow and experimentally he moves his hips, pulling out of you until the tip of his cock is inside you before he snaps his hips, making you scream as he buries himself to the hilt once more. The bed frame creaks with each thrust, and you whimper, his cock reaching depths that even you weren’t aware of, your walls fluttering around him.

You chant his name, lost in pleasure and Issei knows you’re long gone, completely undone by his cock and his punishing rhythm. He shifts, leaning down to swallow up your moans, tasting you, relishing in your sweet, sweet flavor as you cross your legs behind his back, bringing him closer, deeper inside.

“Let me cum in you,” he grunts out, not slowing down as his dark eyes stare at you and you feel as if he’ll devour you. “Make a contract with me, I’ll be yours, little hunter, just say the word, and I’ll give you my all.”

“Please!” You cry out, nails digging into his back as you hold on for dear life. “Cum inside, I’m yours, I’m yours—“

Your words flow out of you as the knot in your stomach builds quicker as Issei’s unrelenting pace seemingly gets faster and faster.

“Issei, ‘sei, please, please more—faster!”

“Fuck!” he curses, feeling you tighten up around him. “Gonna cum inside your pretty fucking pussy—”

He pushes as far as he can inside you before he stills, moaning against your shoulder as you feel yourself reach your peak, clenching around his cock.

Something warm burns in your abdomen, and you look down dazedly, seeing Issei’s cock buried deep inside you and a strange symbol etched on your skin, just below your belly button. Your hazy mind barely registers the shape, feeling it tingle along your skin.

You feel yourself twitch as he pulls out, a small moan escaping you as you feel his cum leak out of you. He collapses beside you, absolutely spent, and you turn to look at him, brushing a hand through his messy hair.

“Are you ok?”

“Now I am. Thank you, master .”

“Wha– What do you mean?” you ask, flustered, and he laughs, grabbing your hand against his cheek and squeezing it before he trails down to your stomach. His thumb brushes over the mark, and he opens his mouth, sticking out his tongue for you and the same mark is drawn on it.

A contract.

“I’m your familiar now. So, please, treat me well,” he says your name, voice deep with want. The coil in your gut tightens, and you meet his red-eyed gaze. His lips meet yours, and you yelp when his fingers find your tit, pinching lightly. “I’ll treat you well, too.”

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