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majestyeverlasting · 9 months

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A Sure and Steady Thing

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: A rainy evening in Hawkins sets your lake plans awry, but brings you closer together back at his place through a confession you didn't quite see coming.

Word Count: 2k

Features kissing and big feelings.

Relaxing into the passenger seat, you close your eyes and listen to the pattering rain. With how clear and blue the sky had been, doubting the weatherman hadn’t seemed so bad. He’d been wrong before, speaking of storms that never reared their heads. Except this evening, as dark clouds settled over Hawkins, that was far from the case.

Eddie can’t keep up with all of the fat droplets rushing down the window but he sure does make a game out of it like when he was a kid.

He doesn’t stop until he feels the gentle pull of you wrapping one of his curls around your finger. Wash day was two nights ago, so it’s still soft as silk. Curiosity glimmers in his eyes as he directs his gaze to your careful movements.

You smile at him. “Remember when I used to do this in Mrs. O'Donnell's?”

Halfway through senior year, the guy who sat behind him dropped out and you took his seat. Eddie had seen you around before, but only enough to offer nods of acknowledgement. The day you finally gave into the urge to play with his hair he didn’t tell you to stop.

“You were in that class with me?” A smirk pulls at his lips.

“Yeah,” you play along. “Had a big, fat crush that took you about five hundred years to see.”

Chuckling, he looks down and begins turning one of his rings.

Touching his hair expanded to drawing shapes on his back to passing cutesy notes. Somehow he’d still convinced himself that it was all some trick of the fluorescent lights. It wasn’t until you admitted your feelings straight to his face that he stopped holding back from expressing his.

“I got there in the end, though,” he says as you uncurl your finger.

Looking out the windshield, you can barely make out the line of trees before you. Let alone the trail that leads down a small hill to the lakefront. The rain showed no immediate sign of letting up, and there was only so much to do bound to a couple seats.

“Maybe we should plan for another day,” you suggest.

“If you’re tired of sitting here with me, you could just say so.” If it wasn’t for the lilt in his voice you would’ve believed his sincerity.

There’s fondness in your eyes as you meet his gaze. “When did I say that, hmm? Just don’t wanna be cramped in a van, is all.”

His eyes flit down to your lips when you offer a sweet smile that’s convincing enough. The console creaks as he braces a forearm arm on it to lean closer to you.

You melt a little when he presses his lips to yours. Your first kiss had gone something like this, just moments before he’d pulled out of the bustling school parking lot to drive you home. It was over before it began, rendering you both silent and grinning like fools under the spell of love.

It was nothing like the kiss you shared now that was as sure and steady as the falling rain.

There’s a tender depth to his eyes when you part. Like you’re staring straight through to an unbarred part of him that was just for you.

“We take the long way home if you want,” you say.

He smiles at that word. Home.

With how often you found yourself at his trailer, it was just as much yours. Any place was capable of feeling like home when there was love within its walls. He found that out for himself the day his mom dropped him off at Wayne’s trailer with a trash bag, a suitcase, and wide eyes. He eventually wanted to go off and grow into another home with you.

“What’s that look for?” You tilt your head.

Instead of answering, he gives your chin a gentle pinch between his thumb and forefinger before starting up the engine again.

•••

The streets of Hawkins are quiet and empty. Even more so than they usually are. By the time he pulls into Forest Hills trailer park, your hand has long been grasped in his. He gives it a gentle squeeze as he comes to a stop in front of his place.

“On my count?”

You nod, grabbing onto the door handle.

“Three…two…one!”

Both of you hop out of the van at the same time, weaving towards the front door. Warm raindrops immediately begin darkening your clothes and wetting your skin. Muddier parts of the ground give under your footsteps, but you’re careful not to tread too heavily. The wind picks up, thick with the sweet scent of the earth.

You stop behind as Eddie as he pushes the key into the lockhole—or so you thought. They fall out of his grip and clink to the wooden steps as he curses. The first streak of lighting lights the sky, followed by a low rumbling of thunder.

He snickers as he tries again. “Take two.”

Both of you clamber inside this time around. Thankfully, it’s warm and you aren’t met with the chill of the AC against your wet skin. There’s an intimate promise in being back. Everything is just as you left it, your belongings mixed in with his and Wayne’s and almost blending in. You take off your shoes and leave them on the mat by the door.

“I’ll bring everything in later,” Eddie says as he rubs the moisture on his arms.

The shrill ring of the landline interrupts his next thought.

“Hello?” he says upon answering. “Hey, Jess, what’s up?” There’s a curious furrow between your brows as you walk over to hug him from behind.

When he peeks back at you, you kiss his shoulder.

“And he just told you this today?...Yeah, no, I’ll be able to come in then.” You perk up in interest.

“Really, it’s no problem, man. Shit happens.” Eddie looks down at your fingers as you slip them under the hem of his shirt, gracing over old scars.

“Alright, see you tomorrow.”

When he puts the phone back on the base, you make an inquisitive sound.

“I gotta go into the shop early,” he tells you.

Humming, you splay your fingers over the warmth of his stomach. “No staying up late then.”

A hard feat when he was with you. There were always more conversations to have, more kisses to share, another movie to watch. Time always escaped from you, if you ever had a grip at all.

As Eddie turns around in your hold, you wrap your arms around his neck.

“What now?” Your question is light.

“I dunno,” he murmurs, drawn in again by your nearness and the sweet scent of your perfume. “I mean, I’ve got a couple ideas…”

You smile against his lips when they meet yours.

It’s a feeling you get lost in, letting yourself sink and then rise up again. There’s a warmth that builds and builds, and because there is no place for it to overflow you have to contain it all. It’s the only type of burning that’s ever felt good.

Eddie pulls away just long enough to lead you over to the couch. After he sinks down into the plush cushions, you straddle his thighs like they’re the best seat in the house. The weight of your body makes his head spin, and the way your chest brushes his as you lean in again makes him thirst like he’s gone without.

So he drinks and drinks and drinks more of you in.

For the longest time he swore the universe kept the sweetest things in life tucked away from him. Somehow you’d slipped through the cracks and found your way to him against the odds.

A sudden gust of wind blows, and the trailer walls creek in a way that makes you pull away. As you take a look around, you realize the warm glow of the lights have disappeared. All that’s left is the soft natural light pouring in.

Eddie watches the skin of your neck as you look everywhere but him.

“Power’s out,” you note, voice thick. “Should we turn on the radio in case they’re saying anything important?”

His hands squeeze your waist in what you assume to be an acknowledgement of your words. But it's really because you’re sitting so pretty with bright eyes and dewy lips. Turning back around to the sight of him staring so intently makes warmth rise to your cheeks.

“There’s that look again,” you softly accuse. “What’s going on up here?” You tap your index finger against his temple before trailing it down under his chin, making him shiver.

He purses his lips and shrugs.

“Try me.”

He squeezes your waist tighter, this time to stay grounded to earth. Outside, the storm begins to wane as if the universe is setting the stage for him.

“You’re it for me,” he finally says. “There’s a bunch of stuff I haven’t done and a bunch of stuff I still need to learn, but I’m sure about you.”

It feels like a garden begins to bloom within you, right down to the bone.

Being sure about anything was a risk. It took the type of faith that asked you to walk blindly into the future, relying only on what you knew in the now. If he didn’t know anything else, he knew that life without you wouldn’t be half as worth living. The happiness you drew out of him was immeasurable day after day. He’d stopped trying to make sense of it.

Wayne had warned him about a love like this one evening as they were looking through pictures of his late wife when Eddie was still a boy. He’d told him that one day somebody would come along and knock him off his feet in a way that made him question everything he thought he knew about himself—but in the best possible way.

It sounded obscure at the time. Eddie didn’t want to fall or be forced to rethink anything. At eleven-years-old, he swore all he needed for the rest of his life was his guitar. Wayne had laughed at his nephew’s confidence, but still made him promise that when that type of love came around, he didn’t run from it no matter how much it terrified him.

Eddie found himself running from a lot thereafter. All he seemed to do was run, and run, and run. It wasn’t until he officially met you in Mrs. O'Donnell's English class that he slammed on the brakes for one of the few times in his life.

You lean forward until your forehead touches his. “I love you so much it hurts sometimes,” you whisper.

Eddie laughs a little, overwhelmed. “Good to know we’re in the same boat.”

He takes hold of your left hand and blindly runs his thumb over your ring finger.

You were a couple of kids from Hawkins, Indiana, who’d seen the impossible, falling in love and drunk on the thought of forever—the world would’ve never thought.

The storm has rolled out by the time the sun begins to set, and fleeting daylight cuts through the clouds in defined golden streaks. It looks like heaven has been cracked open over Hawkins. As the two of you take it all in from the front porch, you can’t help but suppose it has.

Come the next weekend as you’re sitting beside Eddie on the shore of Lover’s Lake, you can’t take your eyes off the way your engagement ring marvelously catches the light.

Thanks for reading! I promise I see and appreciate every like, comment, and reblog. <3

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#eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie x y/n #eddie x reader #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things #stranger things 4 #stranger things 4 fic

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aislinrayne · 2 months

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[𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱]

𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: After a particularly rough case, Reader starts acting distant. Lockwood thinks giving her space will help. When he's woken by the phone ringing, George doesn't need to know what happened to know it's probably Lockwood's fault.

ℜ𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤: Mature/Explicit.

𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: Alcohol consumption, strong language, sexual content (second base with intent to go further), anxious avoidant Reader, Reader is shorter than Lockwood, drunk Reader, Reader is harassed at the bar, brief touch without consent, no use of y/n.

𝔄𝔲𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔯'𝔰 𝔑𝔬𝔱𝔢: Fuck I love playing with different kinds of dynamics. I've had this sitting partially drafted in my writing folder for a year now, and the brain-goblins wouldn't let me keep working on SM until this was done lmao Please let this be the year I finally get a handle on my creative flow fml

𝔚𝔬𝔯𝔡 ℭ𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 6.1k

The first time the phone rings, both inhabitants of 35 Portland Row manage to remain deep in a well earned slumber.

The second time the phone rings, it successfully rouses one George Karim. Muttering a string of colourful insults under his breath that - had he been in his family home - would have earned him a smack over the head with his mother’s slipper, he reluctantly drags himself from the warmth and comfort of his duvet. Letting out a long suffering sigh that lasts through the entire shuffle from his room to the phone on the floor below, he lifts it from the receiver and greets the caller with a noise somewhere between ‘hello’ and ‘fuck off’.

“Evening, sorry to wake you. This is James, calling from The Royal Oak. Is there a, uh-” Even over the numerous voices and the clinking of glass in the background, George can hear the gruff sounding man being interrupted by a woman’s voice mumbling incoherently before all sound is muffled by a palm being pressed over the mic on the other end, “-sorry, did you say…? Really, sweetheart? Alright, but don’t try to blame this on me tomorrow when you sober up.”

Then the phone is back to full volume. “Sorry about that, I’ve got a young lady here who says she lives at this address? She’s too drunk to get herself home and this is the number she gave for someone she trusts to come get her. But, uh, she-” James seems like he’d rather not say the next bit, “well, she just keeps asking for ‘that selfish wanker’? Won’t give me a name otherwise.”

There’s not a lot in this world capable of rendering George completely speechless, but that… That does it. He allows the phone to drop from his ear for a moment, resting it on his shoulder as he attempts to compose himself and reply to the nice man on the other end of the line.

“Uh… Yeah, she- she’s ours. Probably talking about our boss, then. I’ll, uh… I’ll go wake him. I’m sure he’ll be there very soon.” He has to speak up over the sound of James choking and sputtering in surprise to say a polite ‘thank you’ and ‘goodbye’, before slamming the phone down and jogging up the stairs to wake his friend.

He pauses for a moment halfway up, considering heading back downstairs to grab a boot to throw at the door. Unfortunately his need for immediate answers outweighs his urge to be petty, so he settles for pounding loudly on the door instead. There’s quiet rustling and not so quiet cursing on the other side before it’s ripped open.

“What?!” A dishevelled Anthony Lockwood snaps, blinking sleep from glaring eyes and leaning on the doorframe in an endeavour to keep himself upright.

“Just got a call from The Royal Oak, down on York Street? Turns out they have a resident of this address drunkenly calling for a ‘selfish wanker’ to come pick her up.” George crosses his arms, raising a challenging eyebrow at the taller man.

Lockwood’s expression shifts from its existing irritated frown into confusion, then straight to alarm. He wastes no time flipping the light switch beside the doorway, bathing the room in light as he crosses it to tug one of his dresser drawers open.

“Can you call me a Night Cab, please? Offer them double fare to prioritise.” He calls over his bare shoulder, searching for a t-shirt and hoodie to toss on. His researcher says nothing as he complies, deciding to save the interrogation for later.

Anthony is properly worried. Their third roommate had come back from their last job acting distant. They’d been separated by a pair of particularly nasty Spectre’s for close to an hour, but she’d succeeded in securing the Source’s and they’d all made it out in one piece. He’d been so caught up in pride for his team he hadn’t noticed the effect it had on her until days later. When he tried to approach her with his concerns, she clammed up and looked as though she was about to cry before excusing herself to her room. None of the members of his agency, himself included, had seen her exit her room for two days after that. He hadn’t asked about it since, and while giving her space seemed to be working by way of not making her cry, he was starting to wonder if it had been upsetting her in a different way. Even taking all of that into consideration, there’s still no way he could have seen a phone call like this coming at 2:56 AM on a Tuesday.

All he can find is a sleeveless black undershirt. With a huff of frustration he pulls it over his head, kicking the drawer closed simultaneously, then pulling open the one above it. The joggers he fell asleep in are fine enough, so after a fit of undignified hopping across the room to cover his feet with pink socks he grabs a random hoodie off of the armchair by the window, shrugs into it, and zips it on his way down the stairs.

George is waiting for him at the bottom, staring at his watch.

“Your cab should be here in three minutes, mine should be here in thirteen.” He looks up from his wrist, meeting his boss’s confused look with an exasperated one. “I’m heading to Flo’s for the night, so whatever you fucked up, mate? Fix it.” Karim claps him on the shoulder, walking past him to pack an overnight bag. It might not be conventional, but Anthony knows it’s the closest thing to encouragement he’s going to get.

The next several minutes pass in a blur of waiting and worrying, until finally it’s 3:14 AM and he’s slipping the cab driver an extra twenty quid to wait for them, swearing to be no longer than fifteen minutes. The ungodly-early morning air is sharp and cold, cutting to the bone as soon as he steps out of the comforting warmth of the vehicle. It’s plenty enough encouragement to hurry his way to the building, pulling the door open to slip into the soft golden warmth and loud ambiance of the pub.

He hesitates on the doormat, catching sight of the other patrons. Thankfully it isn’t a particularly highbrow establishment, but it's nice enough for him to feel noticeably underdressed in black joggers and a grey zip-up. And then he lays eyes on her, and all insecurities are immediately banished by the sharp knife of shock burying itself in his gut.

She’s balanced on a table, wearing a little black dress he’d never seen before. Her arms are raised above her head, fingers combing through her hair as her hips sway to the bass of the music in a way that probably would have had his mouth watering if it wasn’t for present circumstances. He isn’t the only one noticing her. There’s a group of men standing around the table, watching her with hungry eyes that make his skin crawl with disgust. A tall blonde man pushes his way past the rest of the crowd, deep set ice blue eyes chasing up her legs. She seems to either be unaware of his presence, or too lost in the music to care. Even from his position across the room he can see her eyes are out of focus, drifting away for split seconds every few beats from the speakers on the wall. The man raises a hand and grabs her thigh, using enough pressure to leave visible fingermarks.

Lockwood finds himself frozen in place, blood boiling as he mentally considers how challenging talking his way out of a murder charge could really be. Surely not that much harder than talking his way out of an arson charge, and he’d done that often enough to be confident in his abilities.

Before his sleep deprived mind can break free of its indecision, the girl spins around abruptly and slaps the lecherous limb away from her. The slime of a man attached to it is none too happy about that, making a move to grab for her arm. Her normally impeccable reflexes are slowed by the alcohol, she can’t move fast enough to avoid the attack. When his fingers close around her wrist, he pulls. Hard. She teeters on the edge of the table, her short cry of pain audible even over the music.

Huh. He’d always thought the whole ‘seeing red’ thing was entirely turn of phrase, but as it turns out, there’s actually a modicum of truth to it.

He’s halfway across the bar by the time he realises he’s in motion, but he’s not about to stop. Closing the remaining distance in a few purposeful strides, he grabs the creep’s arm in a vice grip. The blonde releases his hold on her immediately, instinctively trying to pull away from the pain. Lockwood lets him stumble away in surprise, wasting no time placing himself in between his friend and the threat to her safety. At first he’s optimistic he might have a chance to vent some anger when the wanker locks eyes with him, but whatever he’d seen in Anthony’s was enough to make him back down and stumble off with an insincere apology.

Reminding himself to focus his attention where it belongs, he turns to look up at the girl on the table. Her face lights up with delight when she recognizes him, then swiftly sours the longer she looks at him. He feels like an absolute prick for not noticing the dark circles around her eyes sooner. Swallowing around the lump in his throat, he reaches up to offer her both of his hands, palms up. She sways in place for a moment, scowling pensively at the proffered appendages. He studies her face while he waits patiently, trying to find any hint of what could be bothering her enough to take this approach to forgetting.

With a tiny hiccup she finally caves, placing her hands in his and allowing him to help her to solid ground. Once both of her feet are securely on the sticky floor, he offers her his arm for support. She gives him another little glare, but just like before, she eventually accepts his help. Scanning the other tables and chairs around her makeshift stage, he sees no sign of a purse or jacket that he recognises in the slightest.

“Did you bring anything with you, sweetheart?” He asks her directly, leaning closer to her ear to be heard over the noise. If he didn’t know any better he’d say she looks almost flustered; eyes glazed, cheeks flushed a beautiful shade of pink, looking through him rather than at him as she tries to filter his words through the haze of liquor clouding her mind. Although he’s prepared to wait as long as it takes for her to answer, he can’t help but feel a touch relieved when the bartender waves him over holding a familiar leather clutch. Gently taking her by the arm, he guides her to a nearby chair to sit and wait for him to collect her belongings. Giving a final warning look to the remaining crowd for good measure, he leaves her side to approach the bar.

The man behind it is average height, with mid length dark hair as well kept as his perfectly trimmed goatee. He abandons the glass he’s polishing, tossing the white cloth he’d been using over his shoulder and offering Anthony a calloused hand. “I take it you must be-”

“‘That selfish wanker’? Present and accounted for, though I also answer to ‘Anthony’.” He replies, accepting the handshake.

The other man’s grip is firm but friendly, and he throws his head back in merriment at Lockwood’s unexpected introduction. “James, pleasure to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you from your little Songbird over there.”

Lockwood winces. “Not all bad, hopefully.”

“No, not all bad.” James soothes before leaning in conspiratorially, “Just don’t tell her I said that.”

He shoots him a wink as he settles back, and now it’s Anthony’s turn to laugh. It’s decided then and there; they like each other.

He reaches behind the lip of the bar, grabbing the clutch he’d tucked out of sight until he could determine Lockwood’s identity. “This is all she brought with her. You’ve got a safe way home?”

Anthony takes it from him with a grateful smile. “Yeah, paid the driver to stick around. I consider myself pretty good at multitasking, just not ‘keeping her upright and not getting ghost-touched’ good.” James lets loose a hearty laugh in response.

The screech of wood against the floor draws their attention back to the woman formerly in the chair, now standing unsteadily a few feet away.

“And that’s my cue. Pleasure to meet you, James. And, uh-” He glances back at her involuntarily. “Thank you. For keeping an eye on her, calling us, the lot of it.”

The bartender smirks, quirking an eyebrow and giving him a knowing look. “It's what any decent person would do. Don’t be a stranger now, either of you.”

Lockwood departs the bar, clutch in hand, with a salute and a promise to be back another time. She seems confused at first when he tries to get her attention, switching to stare at him reproachfully when she recognises him again. He sighs, trying to tuck away his own feelings of exhaustion and defeat.

“Let's get you home, love.” He murmurs, offering his arm again. She takes it without hesitation this time, leaning heavily against him as they make their way to the exit. Pausing on the doormat, he carefully extracts his limb from her grip, soothing her little noise of protest by assuring she’d be using him as a crutch again momentarily. The metal of the zipper is cold against his bare arms as he shrugs his hoodie off, blatantly ignoring her attempts to argue with him and draping the grey fabric over her shoulders.

The cold breeze cuts into him once they’re outside, but he carefully schools his expression to avoid showing her it's affecting him at all. Despite having paid the man extra, he’s still pleasantly surprised to see the black cab still waiting at the curb. It’s easier than he’d expected to load her into the comfortable back seat. She doesn’t even try to swat his hand away when he places it on top of her head to prevent her bouncing it off the roof in her attempt to get in. Once she’s scooted to the far side, he climbs in after her. She seems lost in thought, staring absently at the headrest in front of her. He leans closer slowly, giving her ample time to move away if she doesn’t want him in her space. When she remains stationary, he reaches across her body to grab her seatbelt, gently buckling her in and tightening the belt over her hips.

She finally looks at him, expression blank as she studies his features. It’s clear her mind is elsewhere, and she returns to staring at the black leather so quickly he wonders if he’d imagined the whole thing. He gives their driver the all clear, directing him to drop them off where he’d first picked him up before slumping back into his seat for the uncomfortably quiet ride home.

They’re half-way there when he can stand to ignore the elephant in the room no longer. The words slip out before he can think of a more tactful way to ask; “What’s going on with you?”

She turns to look at him so slowly it’s almost unnerving. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She answers bitterly, her voice laced with the same steel as her eyes.

“That’s bloody horseshit!” He scoffs, far too tired to hold back. “If there was nothing wrong, I wouldn’t have gotten a call tonight.”

Her mouth opens and closes soundlessly for several seconds, seemingly overwhelmed by the number colourful insults she’d like to hurl at him.

“Like you care.” She finally mutters, shaking her head and turning away from him to stare pointedly out her window.

“...What?” He manages to put his frustration on hold for a moment, making room for his growing concern. “Of course I care, what makes you think I wouldn’t?”

She laughs darkly, shaking her head. “You’ve got a funny way of showing it.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?!” He cries in exasperation.

She whips around to face him. “You knew I was struggling! You knew, and you ignored it because it was easier than dealing with me!” Her eyes are wild, chest heaving as she draws in air like she has to fight for every breath.

All hostility drains out of him in an instant, leaving him uncomfortably hollow in its absence. He’s intimately aware of her eyes searching his face, trying to gain some kind of insight into his mind. He feels like he’s just stumbled into a minefield, and in a way he has. If his next words aren’t carefully chosen, he could detonate one and destroy his friendship with someone he can’t live without.

Organising his thoughts and taking a deep breath, he plunges ahead.

“I’m sorry. I thought by giving you space I was giving you what you needed, but I should have just talked to you. And you’re right, I was being selfish, just… not in the way you’re thinking.” She looks like she’s about to interrupt, but he ploughs on. “I was afraid if I pushed too hard you’d shut me out. I thought it would be safer to stay silent and let you come to me when you were ready, but it was my responsibility to communicate that to you, and I failed.”

They sit in stillness for far longer than he’s comfortable with, his words hanging in the air between them.

When she finally puts him out of his misery, he has to strain to hear her over the rumble of the car. “It wasn’t two Spectres.”

It feels like someone’s poured ice down his back. “...What?”

“The last job? We thought it was just two Spectres, but it wasn’t. It-” Her voice shakes, then dies. She has to stop and breathe, looking like she’s about to be crushed by the weight of the words on her tongue. “One of them was a Fetch.”

Staring down at his hands, he searches for the right words to say. Is he supposed to say anything at all? If he interrupts now, will she shut him out? If he doesn’t, will she think he doesn’t care? A point of personal pride for him is being able to read people, to shape himself into whatever role they need him to fill, but… he has no idea who she needs him to be right now.

She hesitantly continues. “It was you.”

He looks up at her only to find her eyes already on him. “It wasn’t.”

She laughs sadly, but doesn’t look away. When she tips her head to concede the point, the light catches at the corner of her eye. “Right. It did use your face, though.”

“Whatever it said, it isn’t true.” He can’t resist the urge to reach across the seat between them, wiping the tear from her cheek and hoping she can feel the truth in his words when he says; “A Fetch will find your worst fear and exploit it. And I swear to you, I will never allow anything to make you feel afraid like this again.”

Silence stretches on between them, becoming heavier with every second passing them by. His thumb continues stroking her face slowly, absentmindedly. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think her eyes had drifted to his lips.

“Kiss me.”

His hand falls from her face. For a second, he thinks it’s him that’s said it. When he realises it wasn’t, the potential implications of her words make his heart stutter. There’s a chance this is just a drunken impulse, a need for comfort in a moment of vulnerability. If it is, what the hell is he supposed to do about it? If he gives in to her, will he be able to carry on working beside her once he’s had a taste of the life with her he doesn’t even allow himself to dream about? On the flip side, there’s a chance that this is an actual confession. The Fetch had chosen his face to torment her, and as horrifying as that had been to hear, it only would have done so if she felt something for him. Maybe she feels the same as he does. Maybe the reason he can never figure out what mask to put on for her, is that she’s only ever needed him to be himself. Hope fills every inch of him as he stares at her, enraptured.

Then, he realises he’s been quiet for long enough for panic to fill her eyes.

“Ask me in the morning.” He breathes, feeling as perplexed as she looks when the words come out of his mouth. She’s confused that he hasn’t directly shot her down. He’s confused that he’s capable of this kind of restraint while sleep deprived.

“What?” She frowns, blinking as her eyes lose focus for a split second in her bewilderment.

Feeling more confident in his decision, he smiles softly at her. “Ask me when you’re sober, and when we’re not in this nice man’s cab.”

The driver laughs, trying and failing to cover it with a guilty cough.

Once they reach 35 Portland Row, Anthony covers the fare and slips the man a generous tip for enduring their antics before exiting the cab. The emotional intensity of the ride home had been enough to partially sober up his companion, but he still isn’t sold on her ability to climb stairs without assistance. He keeps his arm wrapped tightly around her waist until they reach the door of her room - formerly Lucy’s - on the top level of the house before reluctantly removing it. She wobbles for a moment, but it seems to be more from her leaning to chase his touch than any serious instability. They stand there for a while, neither willing to walk away from the other, until a large yawn overtakes her.

He chuckles, suddenly remembering James’ nickname for her. “Goodnight, Songbird.”

“That’s a stupid nickname.” She complains, scrunching up her face in distaste. When all he does is laugh some more, she sighs and carries on. “Goodnight, Anthony. Sweet dreams.”

He disagrees completely, of course. From her lips, his name is the sweetest song he’s ever heard. Turning away from him, she places her hand on the doorknob but doesn’t make any move to twist it. He’s about to ask her if something is wrong when she turns back to him swiftly, closing the distance between them and standing on her toes to brace her hands on his shoulders as she presses the ghost of a kiss against his cheek. By the time he’s raised trembling fingers to the tingling skin, she’s already in her room with the door closed behind her.

He spends his early morning dreaming of the flutter of wings, and birds gently pecking him on the cheek.

When he’s woken by persistent knocking on his door once more, Anthony Lockwood finds himself wondering what precisely he had done to piss off Hypnos in a past life.

Still on high alert from his unusual evening, he’s out of bed and across the room without a second thought. When he pulls the door open he’s entirely expecting another emergency, not to find the girl of his dreams standing there staring steadfast at her feet.

“I am so sorry about last night, I should have told you what was going on instead of going on a bloody bender. That was incredibly immature and irresponsible of me and I completely understand if you want to fire me.” She starts slow, but by the end of her apology the words are flying out of her mouth. Despite her best efforts, the misery in her voice as she says the last bit is tangible.

Why would he want that? Still not entirely awake, the first thing out of his mouth is the first thought in his mind. “Please don’t leave.”

“...What?” Not even remotely prepared for that response, she finally looks up at him. As their eyes meet, reality sets in and time seems to slow.

When he takes a proper look at her, he completely forgets the entirety of the English language. Her hair is mussed from sleep, remnants of last night's makeup smudged under her eyes. She’d apparently had the mental faculties to change into her pyjamas the night previous, and while he’d seen her in those shorts often enough to control the urge to stare, something about her wearing his hoodie zipped over them was making him feel like a moron. He’d never seen anyone more beautiful in his life. On the other side of the doorway, she’s having a very similar crisis. His sleep tousled hair only doubled her ever present urge to rake her fingers through it. And not only had he been in such a hurry to answer the door he hadn’t bothered to slip on a shirt, his joggers were also sitting dangerously low on his hips. Their eyes snap back to each other's faces in tandem, both flushing almost comical shades of red.

“Did you mean what you said last night?” He asks hurriedly, heart pounding in his throat.

“I said a lot of things.” She wraps her arms around herself, laughing nervously. “Which part?”

He keeps his eyes fixed on hers, searching them for some clue to tell him what comes next.

Mustering more courage than she thought she was capable of, she answers honestly. “Yeah, I did. Every word.”

Mimicking his actions from the night before he extends both of his hands towards her, palms up. She tilts her head quizzically, but places her hands in his. He uses them to pull her close enough their bodies are almost touching, guiding her arms to rest on his shoulders, releasing them to place one hand on her waist and the other on the side of her neck. She inhales sharply when he leans in, his thumb lightly stroking her jaw while her gaze flickers between his eyes and lips. He’s studying her face like he never wants to forget a single detail, but he doesn’t get any closer. She’s lightheaded and pretty sure she’s going to die if he doesn’t kiss her soon, which is probably why it’s not until she sees the corners of his mouth twitch into a smile that she realises what he’s waiting for.

“Kiss me.” She breathes.

He doesn’t need to be told a third time. He leans down and kisses her like he’ll never get the chance to do so again, like the world is falling to pieces around them and the only thing that can save them is the feeling of her lips against his. The hand on the side of her throat slides back to bury itself in her hair, cradling the back of her head to take the strain off her neck from their notable difference in height. Her hands wander the expanse of bare skin across his back, mapping every muscle and scar like it’s the braille translation of his life story. He shivers under her touch, wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her body tight to his in a desperate attempt to fill the yawning pit within him that had grown larger with every day he believed he’d never get to hold her like this.

As she runs her hands down his sides to his hips he gasps involuntarily, deepening their kiss with enthusiasm. Driven by curiosity, she lets her nails graze his skin as she retraces her previous path. The noise he makes in response is downright sinful, but so is the feeling of his rapier-calloused skin against her back as he slips his hand under the hem of his hoodie. Her breath catches as his fingers trace featherlight patterns up and down her spine, feeling him grinning between kisses when he notices she’s not wearing anything beneath the grey material. When he nips at her lower lip, she drags her nails down his back, and the last of his restraint abandons him.

Both of his hands drop, fingers dimpling the flesh of her upper thighs. As in sync as they are in the field he’d never dared to imagine the same would apply to the bedroom, so he’s a little blown away when she understands his intentions immediately, jumping as he lifts her up to wrap her legs around his hips without breaking from each other. Now he’s the one craning his neck to capture her lips, the floor creaking beneath his feet as he crosses the short distance to the wall, pressing her back against it and groaning at the restrained whimper that slips free from her.

“Please don’t hold back. I want to hear you sing for me, my little Songbird.” He urges, adjusting his grip to slide his hands up her sides under his hoodie, palming one of her breasts and swiping a thumb experimentally across her skin to carefully catch one of her nipples between his thumb and the side of his forefinger. She finally breaks, back arching away from the wall, head falling back against it as she moans unabashedly. All of his strength threatens to leave him when she rolls her hips against his, dropping his free hand to grab at the plush of her ass and pull her impossibly closer as he whispers praise between frenzied kisses pressed to her throat. She buries her hands in his hair, gasping for air as his ministrations travel to her collarbones then slowly down the centre of her chest, placing an open-mouthed kiss to swell of her breast-

The front door slams open, startling them apart. There’s the sound of shuffling beneath them as someone kicks off their shoes.

“OI, MATE!” George’s voice calls from the base of the stairs, “Did you fix it?”

They look at each other, dazed and drunk off each other. A confused frown decorates her features, mouth falling open to ask him what the hell their other roommate is talking about. He shakes his head in exasperation, shooting her a look that reads ‘I’ll fill you in later’ and dropping his head to rest on her chest. They take as many seconds as they dare like that, her fingers combing through his hair soothingly as he wraps his arms around her back, basking in the warmth of her body against his. Reluctantly, he lifts his head and steps away from the wall, gently setting her back on her feet and pressing a kiss to her temple. She seems hesitant to move away from him at all, back to staring at her feet instead of looking at him. He’s known her for long enough to know she’s overthinking.

“Hey, look at me.” He slips his fingers beneath her chin, gently lifting her face to meet his concerned gaze. “What’s on your mind, darling?”

“I don’t-” She starts strong but stops suddenly, shifting anxiously. “I really don’t want this to be a one time thing, or - or just a way to blow off steam-”

He lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, cradling her face and pressing a brief but searing kiss against her lips. She softens, melting into his touch.

“Good,” He murmurs as he pulls away, tucking her hair behind her ear and giving her a peck on the cheek like the one she’d given him the night before, “because I don’t think I can survive another day of not being able to kiss you.”

George chooses that moment to begin his ascent of the stairs. They break away from each other, struggling to make themselves presentable before he makes it to the landing. Anthony rushes to grab a shirt from the foot of the bed, throwing it over his head haphazardly She squeaks when she finds the zipper of his hoodie down to her navel, shooting him a teasingly chastising look when he snickers and crosses past her to greet their researcher in the hall, running his fingers through his hair in an attempt to tame it. She yanks the zip as high as it will go, trying to smooth her own hair as she approaches the bookshelf and grabs something at random. She throws herself into the armchair in the corner of his room just in time, flipping the book open to roughly the halfway point and staring intently at the page as George reaches the top step.

“Good morning!” Anthony greets him far too cheerfully, leaning against the doorframe in an attempt to obscure the other man’s view of his room.

“...Morning.” George replies, not even trying to disguise his attempts to peer around his boss. “How’d it go last night?”

“Um - fine! Yeah, just fine. Perfectly fine. Everything is… fine.” She closes her eyes, letting out a slow quiet sigh at his obvious nerves.

Adjusting the book to make sure it’s in his line of sight, she grits her teeth and bites the bullet. “Morning, Georgie!”

Lockwood looks over his shoulder at her in alarm, but at her reassuring nod he steps hesitantly out of the way so she’s in clear view.

George inspects her with narrowed eyes. “You are significantly less hungover than I’d expected.”

She winces, not able to fault him in the slightest for the disappointment in his voice. “Yeah, pretty sure it just hasn’t hit me yet. Sorry about that. It won’t happen again, Scouts Honour.”

“Why are you in Lockwood’s room?” His brow furrows almost imperceptibly.

She doesn’t miss a beat. “I was so drunk last night he was worried I was going to fall asleep on my back and choke on my own vomit, so he made me sleep in this ridiculously uncomfortable chair.”

Both men fix their eyes on her. Anthony looks horrified, while George looks strangely impressed. The bespectacled man studies her for another moment and she holds her breath, hoping he’d bought it. Shrugging a ‘fair enough’, he bids them a temporary farewell and walks into his own room, closing the door behind him.

She huffs a sigh of relief, closing her eyes and slumping back in the chair as the tension drains from her body. When she cracks an eye a few long moments later, Anthony is still standing in the doorway with the same look of horror plastered across his face.

“What’s wrong?” She asks, worry laced in every syllable.

“I didn’t even think of that! I could have let you die!” He seethes, throwing his hands up in annoyance at himself.

She has to fight the urge to laugh at him, focusing instead on gathering her strength to stand and walk over to take his hands in her own.

“I appreciate the concern, my love, but I wasn’t that drunk by the time you got me home.” She smiles fondly at him, lifting his hands to press soft kisses to each knuckle. When she glances up at him even his ears are flushed pink, looking at her with a lovesick smile.

“Call me that again?” He implores, pulling her against him.

With a quiet laugh, she drapes her arms over his shoulders before replying. “My love.”

They lose themselves in each other for another several minutes, only parting grudgingly at the rumble of his stomach and the threat of another interruption.

George waits until later that morning when Lucy, Kipps, and Holly have joined them and they’re all in the kitchen eating breakfast to comment on Anthony’s inside out shirt, and how impressed he is that the sixth member of their agency has learned to read upside down. As Lucy slowly turns to look at them, eyes wide and jaw seemingly aiming to touch the floor, Anthony lets the red-faced young woman beside him hide her blush in his shoulder. For some reason, he can’t even bring himself to be annoyed. Grinning proudly, he winks at the Listener, causing her to shriek loudly and demand to know the full story.

When his girlfriend looks up to shoot him a warning look, he mimics zipping his lips. “Gentlemen don’t kiss and tell, Luce.”

Lucy’s demands are finally met five years later when James taps the side of his champagne flute with his knife, drawing the attention of the room full of guests to tell his favourite story about the bride and groom.

⤛⊹ 𝔣𝔦𝔫 ⊹⤜

taglist: @tessas4 @chloejaniceeee @shakespearseclipse @ettadear @kassandra1000

𝔉𝔬𝔯 𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔞𝔤𝔢𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱, 𝔱𝔞𝔭 [𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢]

#aislin writes #anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood and co #anthony lockwood #lockwood & co #lockwood and co netflix #lockwood x reader #lockwood x you #anthony lockwood fanfiction #anthony lockwood x fem!reader #x reader #reader insert #x female reader

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sylverstorms · 4 months

Text

Demon Slayer Women ~How they Fall in Love~

Characters: Mitsuri Kanroji | Shinobu Kocho | Daki/Ume | Lady Tamayo.

Warnings: None, SFW.

Mitsuri Kanroji - Love At First Sight

It all began the fateful day Mitsuri's lively presence collided with yours. Quite literally collided, because the girl was dashing through the Ubuyashiki Estate, late to the Hashiras meeting, only to smack into a crash that was entirely her fault. To her credit, she had the split-second reaction time to grasp your biceps with her hands, pull you closer before you fell sideways and hit the wall. You still ended up in a tangle of limbs on the ground, though.

Flustered at her own carelessness, she immediately looked up to apologize, “Oh, gosh, I’m so s��” but her breath caught in her throat halfway through the sentence.

Her green eyes flew open wide, the blush on her cheeks only deepening. Your beauty radiated like the first light of dawn. She completely missed the first thing you said –that it was all good, or something– because, that sweet smile you gave her? It could melt the iciest of hearts. It certainly did a number on hers.

Without thinking, she reached up to brush the lock of hair that had fallen over your right eye. “I’m… really sorry.” came out in a breathy whisper. “Let me make it up to you?”

Ice-cream after the Hashiras’ meeting, her treat, Mitsuri insisted.

Little did you know, half the things said in that room flew right over her head, with how occupied it was with thoughts of you.

—----------------------------------------

Shinobu Kocho - Admiration To Love

It was often that the demon slayers praised and idolized their most elite warriors, the Hashiras. Not as often that one of the Hashiras came to greatly admire someone from the lower ranks.

Kinoto or not, you made a lasting impression on Shinobu. Your drive to protect humans that seemed to render you immune to the pain of your injuries, that laser-focused look in your eye as you stared a Lower Moon down and trusted her to deliver the killing blow in time, before the monster decapitated you first. When the battle was over and adrenaline started to die down, your wounds caught up with you. You collapsed forward, but she was there to catch you, gently lowering you to the ground.

“You could have retreated as soon as I arrived.” she stated, staring deep into your eyes, perplexed.

“Hey, I’m fine. S’all good.” you drawled, dizzy from the blood loss. “Please, don’t be angry. We won. Won’t you give me a smile?”

“I am.” she answered.

“A real one?”

Right then and there, you stunned her. Shocked her. You, who met her that night for the very first time, saw through her carefully constructed mask that fooled even her closest associates. But for that one moment, gazing upon your relaxed face, she almost forgot her constant, burning anger.

And she smiled down at you for real.

—------------------------------------

Daki/Ume - Rivals to Lovers

In the shadowed realm of demons under Lord Muzan, Daki reigned with a cruel elegance for decades. Not as the most powerful, but surely the most beautiful. Until. Until you came along.

You and your accursed, gorgeous face and your deep, magnetizing eyes. How dare you show up just like that -out of nowhere!- and flash her that thousand-gigawatt smile. How dare you wink at her and so casually, so confidently say:

“Hello~ It’ll be a pleasure working with you, prettygirl.”

Instantly, she knew that she hated you. She was quick to show it, too. Daki's first interactions with you were filled with disdain and antagonism. And yet neither of you could deny the spark that those homing, sharp-witted comments ignited within you.

In equal parts, you infuriated and exhilarated her. She masked her true feelings beneath layers of scorn, unwilling to admit the vulnerability that lay beneath her pride. Until the evening you walked up to her, pushed a jewelry box into her hands and told her to take it and like it. Within lay a priceless necklace you knew had caught her eye years ago.

“Happy Demon Birthday, sexy.”

She tried. She really did try to bite the fuck out of her growing smile down. In the end, though, it still managed to overpower her. And that kind of marked the point of no return.

—-----------------------------------

Lady Tamayo - Slow Burn Love

In a world where demons and humans clashed ceaselessly, Tamayo stood as an anomaly. A cursed existence with a gentle soul, a demon devoted to helping humans in pursuit of atonement. It was by chance she came across you, the injured slayer in dire need of medical help.

Tamayo took you in, cared for your wounds and remained by your side for nights on end. Even unconscious, you seemed agitated at her presence at first, as if you could sense what she was. Gradually, however, you stopped flinching at the touch of her hand on your forehead. Eventually, you leaned into it.

She couldn't explain why the serene smile you gave in your sleep tugged at her heartstrings so powerfully. Then a twisting worry began to take root inside her, that the moment you woke up your liking to her would disappear, replaced by malice.

When you opened your eyes, she drew a meter back from you.

“You. You're the one who saved my life…?” you spoke in a voice hoarse from unuse. “I should thank you for that.”

“No need. It's clear you recognize what I am.” was her reply. Your eyes met. Ancient lavender orbs held your gaze kindly, awaiting your judgment with the patience of a saint.

A demon, you thought to accuse. The words were perched right on the tip of your tongue. Yet the more you stared at her, the harder they got to voice. Thus…

“A doctor?” you offered, instead.

The soft, slow smile she gave in response could light up the whole town.

A/N: Tysm for reading and if you’re interested in ASMR-type stories written and voiced by me featuring Demon Slayer women and other anime hotties: My YouTube <3

#demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #fanfiction #mitsuri x reader #shinobu x reader #daki x reader #tamayo x reader #creative writing #demon slayer x reader

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coltermorning · 10 months

Text

Where Stubbornness Leads Pt. 2 (RDR2 Fanfic, Arthur Morgan x F!Reader, 18+)

Summary: A trip to town results in a conversation Arthur can’t get off his mind.

Author’s Notes: Part two of this one.

Tags: Arthur Morgan x reader, smut, high honor Arthur Morgan

AO3 Link

Where Stubbornness Leads

Word count: 7045

Part Two

It had been two weeks. Already two weeks of being with you, something good enough as to make Arthur think he was the luckiest man alive.

He wasn’t quite sure how it had ever happened or that he deserved it, but those things didn’t matter when he was with you. What mattered was that a woman as fiery and passionate and good-hearted felt for him right back. All things considered, he had thought that part of his life was over for a long time. And now that it wasn’t, each morning was like waking up to a pleasant surprise—something to lift his spirits beyond what anything else had for years.

Arthur awoke with that very feeling and decided to write it down—he was making a quick journal entry in the overlook’s early morning hours so as not to attract any attention. Halfway through his words, he debated what to draw alongside them. He would be lying if he said this was the first time you made your way into his journal. The night you met when the gang took you in, he’d written in a quick retelling. Then again on the night he kissed you, that one with a rendering of you in that dress you wore he couldn’t get out of his head. But this entry wasn’t about any night in particular, just spending time with you and how proud you remained. He chuckled at the thought, suddenly knowing exactly what to draw.

Half an hour later, he had a nearly-finished sketch of you, the perfect tilt of your hips as you cocked them at him making him smile. He looked up and saw the real thing meandering around camp and shut his journal to go join you.

You were wearing a dress this morning. You didn’t wear them all that often, and when you did it was a rare treat. Not only did you look good enough to make an ache settle in Arthur’s chest, but you couldn’t do as many of the chores you kept insisting on in a dress. This of course moved Arthur to step in for you, and even better, you didn’t refuse him when he did.

This was exactly what he found himself looking forward to when you waltzed over to the feed sacks. Another chore you knew would get his attention as if the dress hadn’t already. He walked over to join you.

“Don’t even try it,” he teased, making you turn.

You smiled that devilish smile he knew meant trouble. You reached for the sack anyway.

“Uh uh,” he said, denying you by stepping in and batting your hand away. He took the sack right out from under you, flipping it over his shoulder. You crossed your arms at him, eyes smoldering. The sight ate him up. “Don’t give me that look.”

“What look?” you said innocently, and before he could stop you, you’d reached down and gotten the other sack, coming up beaming at him.

“For christ’s sake,” he said, the edges of a grin tugging on his mouth despite it. He started for Pearson’s wagon with you alongside him.

“You wouldn’t have it any other way,” you shot back. You were right about that much.

“Maybe, but I prefer you didn’t throw your back out.”

“Oh, because I’m just a helpless little woman, am I?”

“No,” he said smugly. “Because you lifted that thing with your back, not your knees.”

Your expression soured. He laughed.

“Shut up.” You gave him a small shove, making him smile like a fool.

“Good lord. Get a room already, would you?” This from Karen who stood over her coffee at Pearson’s wagon. Mary-Beth, standing just beside her, snorted with laughter.

“How about you mind your business?” Arthur said hotly. The two of you hadn’t yet brought your relationship out in the open in front of the gang, but that didn’t stop them from making comments like this at every turn. In fact, Arthur was willing to bet there wasn’t a soul left who didn’t suspect you of being sweet on each other.

Karen barked a laugh. “Relax, I’m just needling you.”

“Very funny.” Arthur let you put your feed sack down first, hoping you weren’t too embarrassed by the gang’s constant badgering.

“Mr. Morgan!” Arthur turned at the sound of his name, finding Pearson ambling over. “Thanks for the help with those,” he said as Arthur set the sack down atop yours.

“No problem.”

“Listen, I need a few supplies from town. Think you could go get them for me?”

“What do you need?”

Pearson dug in his pocket and pulled out a list, handing it to Arthur. “There. Nothing too complicated.”

He looked over the list, figuring the trip would be quick work. He was glad to have a reason to visit town besides. To get away from all these people, more like.

“Sure, I’ll get it, Pearson.”

“Good man!” Pearson replied, already walking away when Arthur turned to you.

“Care to join?”

That gleam was back in your eye, and for a moment he thought you would tell him no. But then your face went slightly red, and you glanced at the other women. “Sure. I, uh, need to get some things myself anyway.” Before he could ask what, you were backing away. “Meet you at the wagon?”

“Sure.” Awful strange, seeing you unsure. Or hiding something.

Five minutes later when he was joining you on the wagon, Arthur asked about it. “What’s got you acting all strange back there?”

“Back where?”

“In front of Karen and Mary-Beth.”

“I weren’t acting strange.”

He chuckled. “You kinda were.”

“Well you’re strange,” you said quickly, your temper flaring.

“Whatever you say,” he quipped, making it obvious he didn’t believe you. But you didn’t say another word about it, and he dropped it for your sake. Precious few things got you embarrassed. He didn’t want to pry.

The two of you fell into pleasant conversation on the way to Valentine. You were discussing Pearson’s cooking, his need for some of the flavors he’d asked for, when the wagon jolted over a deep divot in the road. You winced, bringing your arms around your middle. The movement drew Arthur’s attention.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine,” you answered, but your gritted teeth said otherwise. He pulled the wagon over and stopped. “Arthur, really. I’m fine.”

“Tell me what’s wrong.” You met his eye then. He had discovered very recently you would forfeit your stubbornness if he was gentle toward you. As if you liked him enough to trust him, to put down your toughness when he did. Whatever the cause, it worked.

Your face heated again as you said with shyness, “I- it’s…women problems. Ain’t nothing.”

It took Arthur an embarrassingly long amount of time to figure out what you meant.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh, you big brute, now get back on the road,” you said, giving him a small shove of affection.

He obliged you, turning away as he steered the wagon, hoping his hat hid most of the redness on his face.

“Badgering me,” you muttered.

“You looked in pain,” he said in his defense.

“I am in pain.” And, at the look he gave you then, “Nothing I haven’t dealt with every month for years now. Relax, would you?”

He dropped it. He knew better than to say another word.

As it turned out, you had needed a few things from the store for said pain. That was what you’d been embarrassed to say in front of the women. Arthur leant you the money to buy what you needed, giving you space to breathe as he told you he’d be waiting on the bench outside. In a few minutes, you joined him.

“Thank you,” you told him with an unusually sincere look. “Didn’t have to make a big show of it.”

He shrugged. “For you I would.”

You smiled. And it tugged at his heart enough that when you got back on the wagon, he pulled you over and kissed you on the cheek before grabbing the reins and steering back out into the street.

Now that he knew the reason behind your pain, you stopped hiding it from him quite so much. On the ride back, you were wallowing around, curled in on yourself.

“That bad, huh?” he asked.

“Not terrible. But not great. Nothing I can do about it though.”

“Is there not?”

You looked at him with confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I just-” He immediately stopped himself, realizing why he had said that. Something he had heard a long time ago as a teenager, most likely just men being idiots, telling him that. No truth to it whatsoever. Arthur felt his face go so red that he knew there was no escaping your next words.

“What? What’s got you all red in the face?”

“Nothing,” he mumbled.

“Awe, don’t pull that crap,” you said with a smile. “What is it? I’ve already admitted all to you, so spill it.”

“No,” he said, digging his heels in this time. Admitting what was on his mind would only bring trouble.

“Come on,” you said, taking his arm and shaking him. “I want to know.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes I do. And it’s unfair that you-”

“Drop it this time,” he said, knowing how you were and that you wouldn’t unless he asked outright.

He thought he had gotten through to you until you yanked the reins out of his hands and pulled the horses up.

“I most certainly won’t drop it. Tell me.”

He sighed. “Y/N, now’s not the time to be stubborn. Trust me.”

It was the wrong thing to say. You were getting madder by the minute, and what he was holding under his tongue would only make it ten times worse.

“Tell me, Arthur Morgan.”

He turned away, shaking his head. May as well get this disaster over with. “Just…something I was told as a boy. About women and their…” He made a general motion that had you raising your eyebrow dangerously high. “Forget it. Forget I said a word,” he muttered, taking the reins back.

But your hand on his own stopped him. And he looked up to find you watching him smugly, like this was the funniest thing in the world. “Do tell.”

He huffed a breath, shifting around in his seat, not meeting your eye as he said, “Promise you won’t slap me?”

“No promises.” Of course not.

He took a breath before starting, knowing he was damning himself with every word. “There’s…an old wives tale I guess. Or maybe just some idiot spouting off things he don’t know, better left unsaid.”

“Which is?”

Arthur couldn’t keep the color off his face. How he got himself into these things…

“That, uh, a woman who’s- who has menstrual pain can lessen it by…well-”

“Good lord, spit it out man.”

“By pleasuring herself,” he said quickly. And he was met with such silence he braced himself and turned to you. You burst out laughing.

“You thought I would slap you over that? Oh, Arthur,” you said, your laughter barely contained. “Men are idiots. You included.”

“Hey, I’m just trying to-”

“Don’t finish that sentence or I will slap you,” you said, the smile on your face nearly contagious. “But I do appreciate you being so thoughtful.” If his face got any redder, he would be setting some kind of record.

“Sorry,” he mumbled with a sheepish smile of his own, whipping the reins. The wagon lurched forward, bringing your continuous laughter with it.

You only quieted down once you were nearly into camp. “You’re lucky I don’t know the other women well enough to tell them this. No matter how much I want to.”

“Please,” Arthur said, desperate. “Resist the urge. I’d never hear the end of it.”

“Oh, you won’t ever hear the end of it. Not from me.”

He met your eye and leaned over, giving you a quick peck on the lips. “You wouldn’t.”

“Won’t I?” you said, though your gaze caught on his mouth.

And soon you were back in camp, about to get off the wagon when your hand around his arm stopped him. Your voice dropped low so no one would overhear. “Any pleasure I get’s going to be from you, Mr. Morgan. Though you’re welcome to think of me doing that if you want.”

He quit breathing.

You jumped down and spun, your dress twirling around you as you leveled him with a wicked grin. He didn’t miss the color crossing your face, though his was likely ten times worse with how hot his ears suddenly felt.

Just like that, you had turned and walked back into camp. And Arthur realized he was still sitting there like an idiot, trying his best not to dwell on the image you had just put in his head. It was a nearly impossible task.

The rest of the day, Arthur worked harder than he had since Colter. There was no other way to keep his mind off your words. He didn’t necessarily want to keep his mind off them, but the feeling that shot through him every time he did was making it difficult to focus. So he worked. You joined in with some things, going on like the two of you normally did. He was almost sure you were enjoying this though, as he caught the corner of a smile on your mouth twice before you could turn away in time. This was a dangerous game you were playing.

The night turned unusually cold—something Arthur resented when he went to bed. Because he always let the canvas down around him when it was cold to keep the wind out. And he had just done this and had barely had time to sit on his cot before he remembered what you whispered to him. The thought brought the same image to him, of how you would look splayed back with your hands between your legs. And damn the cold weather, because the canvas was down, and he felt his arousal take hold, and there was nothing stopping him now from thinking about you all he wanted.

He laid back on his cot, taking his hat off and letting it fall to the ground. He rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands but discovered this to be worse—the darkness gave way to the image of you once more. And, with a breath of impatience, he gave in, reaching for the buttons of his pants. He was already half-hard when he pulled himself out, beginning to stroke himself to the thought of what else you had said, wanting him to pleasure you. He gladly would if that was what you wanted. He’d be honored to. Surprised, really, since you seemed to hate his company so much when you first met.

He thought of your smart mouth and felt pleasure jolt through him, working his hand a little faster when your mouth around him came to mind. He held back a groan when he thought of burying himself inside you, how perfect you would feel around him. All other thought fell away as he began to pump himself hard and fast, imagining it was you he was pleasuring.

In moments, Arthur felt his high nearing, closing his eyes tight to the sharp pleasure of it. The thought of your naked body splayed out beneath him sent him over the edge, wringing out every ounce of pleasure he could as he tried his best to keep his labored breathing quiet.

Arthur came back down to the thought of your words, knowing they had taken hold and wouldn’t let him go now—it would be this every night until he could have the real thing. He would wait as long as you needed him to, wanting you to be sure, but he had a feeling the simple act of admitting that to him meant you were close to giving in to your desire too.

The next night was the same hell in different form, having you but not having you. He was sat at the poker table playing against Javier and John. You and Karen lingered, you not giving him any help whatsoever like you had at the poker tournament, no matter how much he asked. That didn’t stop you from calling him a fool every time he made risky bets or played poor hands. The pair of you were beginning to interrupt the game bickering so much that Karen cut in.

“Oh, for god’s sake. Can you two just admit you’re sweet on each other already and let us get on with the game?”

Arthur felt his face heat and watched yours do the same before you met his eye with a sharp glance.

“Fine,” you said on a sigh, your annoyance aimed at whoever prodded it. To Arthur’s shock, you rounded him and sat down right in his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him in for a kiss. Karen cheered as you did it, John and Javier joining in. You broke the kiss like it was nothing, further proving to everyone you two had already done this before.

“Happy?” you asked Karen, still perched on Arthur’s lap with your hands around his neck like it was the most normal thing in the world. Even though the question wasn’t directed at him, he was happy. Happy as a king.

“Finally,” Karen said through a snort of laughter. “You owe me five bucks, Tilly!”

Tilly called out from somewhere in camp, “You’re kidding!” Arthur couldn’t help but chuckle, resting his hand on your lower back as Tilly came running over.

“Oh, I knew it!” she said when she saw you in Arthur’s lap.

“No duh,” Karen said. “We all did.”

“What’s this bet about then?” Arthur asked, trying to keep the pride out of his voice.

“I bet you would make the first move,” Tilly said with a smirk. “Thinking you didn’t care what any of us thought.”

“And I bet she would,” Karen said, pointing to you. “Knowing Arthur wouldn’t dare admit his feelings lest he impose.”

“Oh, lay off it,” Arthur said. His ears burning with the truth of it.

You barked a laugh. “She’s right, you know,” you said, looking down at him.

“Is she?” he said lowly. You held his stare, a grin turning your mouth.

“Good lord,” John said, throwing his cards down. “Why’d you have to bring it up? Now they’ll be worse,” he said to Karen.

“Why do you have to be so miserable?” she shot back.

“Forget it,” John said, getting up and stalking off.

“Goddamn baby,” Karen mumbled, the jab making Tilly laugh.

“I’ll take these,” Javier announced, shuffling John’s few chips over to his own pile. Arthur didn’t even care. He was having a tough time focusing on the gang’s usual camaraderie, his hand skimming over your back and coming to rest on your hip.

“Come on then, I’ll help you beat ‘em,” Karen said to Javier. She moved around to stand behind him, viewing his cards.

“Ooh, me too,” Tilly piped up, doing the same. Little did they know you were a damn good partner to have at the poker table. If you had finally decided to help him, that is.

You turned in Arthur’s lap, facing the table and joining the game. He would have been glad for it had you not just moved against him in a way that sent arousal shooting through him. He tried to adjust himself a little but only ended up with his hands on your hips. And the feeling of you in his grasp alone made things immeasurably worse.

“Let’s see…” you said, taking his cards, adjusting your seat. With the motion, your backside moved against him. Where Arthur thought you hadn’t noticed the effect you were having on him, he had been wrong—you had moved like that on purpose, throwing him a snide smirk over your shoulder.

“You make a habit of drawing the worst cards?” you teased.

“Seems so,” he answered, trying to keep his voice from shooting too low. Wondering how you kept such a straight face when all he could think about was your body against him.

“Here,” you said on a sigh, throwing a few chips into the pot. The game resumed, the two of you fairly evenly matched with Javier and Karen and Tilly. But Arthur could hardly give a thought to the game. He barely even noticed when his chips ran out, you turning to look at him.

“Oops.”

“What?”

“Bust,” you said, eyeing him knowingly, like you could read his thoughts.

“Damn,” he said, though it couldn’t be more obvious how satisfied he was with his lot.

“Damn indeed,” you said, tucking a strand of his hair back into place. He felt the same longing as he had when you’d straightened his coat. Worse.

After Javier gathered the coins that had been thrown down, he stood with satisfaction, saying, “Well, that was fun. Let’s do it again, Arthur. Maybe you’ll have more luck next time.” He smirked and managed one step from the table before the women started demanding their cut. Arthur chuckled, watching Karen and Tilly chase after Javier as he did he best to shake them off. He knew that was useless.

You ran your hand through his hair again, turning Arthur’s attention back to you. He was pleased to see the two of you were the only ones left at the table. In the nearby vicinity, even. It had gotten late enough to give you a bit of privacy, especially since he was sat in the seat nearest the cliffside so that he could see anyone approach. This left less than gentlemanly ideas coursing through his head, the look you were giving him not making things any better.

“What’s got you all in a bother then?” you asked, intentionally moving against him as you turned to face him better.

“You know what you’re doing,” he answered. “Don’t play like you ain’t doing it on purpose.”

“Doing what?” you said with a tilt of your head, turning fully so that you planted your feet on either side of him. Straddling him. He couldn’t tear his hands away from your sides if he wanted to but resisted the urge to pull you flush against him. Barely.

“I’ve seen how you sit in a chair,” he said. “This ain’t it.”

“You’re not a chair,” you said simply.

“No.”

He watched the gleam he adored enter your eyes, that scheming look enough for him to know he was done for. Sure enough, you raised up almost imperceptibly, moving against his erection in slow, intentional movements.

He clenched his jaw. “Sweetheart…” He said it in warning, wanting you proper, wanting to pleasure you fully, not like this in the middle of camp. But he knew if you kept on, he wouldn’t have it in him to stop you.

“What’s wrong?” you asked innocently, tilting your head to the side again. You kept on, grinding against him torturously slow.

“We’re in the middle of camp,” he managed, his voice so shot through with his arousal it was a wonder he could still speak.

“I’m just sitting on your lap,” you lied. “Nothing wrong with that.”

“This ain’t sitting,” he hissed when you sat a little lower, building the pressure against him.

“No?” you asked. “Well, let’s fix that.”

You sat, suddenly and fully enough to make Arthur hold in the edges of a groan. He felt one of your hands take his, bringing it to your thigh. He couldn’t tear his eyes from yours, that mischievous look pinning him down as much as you were. You slowly dragged his hand toward your middle, beginning to smirk like a cat. Arthur’s mouth went dry.

“You want to test your theory?” you asked lowly.

“What’s that?” he said, his voice catching.

Your smile widened. “Would you pleasuring me make my pain go away?”

He had forgotten all about your cycle. And concern trickled through him, not quite catching enough for him to stop what you were doing with his hand, though he still spoke his mind. “Are you hurting?”

He said it with sincerity, not wanting to cause you any worse pain. But he thought he saw a flash of something cross your face, something a lot like arousal. And just like that, you brought his hand to your clothed sex, his palm pressing against you. Your eyes fluttered shut for a brief moment before they were on him, all haughtiness gone, only want remaining. He was happy to oblige you.

Arthur moved his hand in small circles against you, loving the way your breath caught when he did. He cast a quick glance around to make sure the two of you were still alone. You were. God, did he want this to be more private. He would take you right here on this table if he could.

You parted your lips and let out a slow breath, the action drawing Arthur’s attention like nothing else. He kissed you, quick and soft, before pulling back. “My beautiful girl.”

Your face went red. He couldn’t tell if it was from his words or a flush in response to what he was doing to you. Your hands had gripped his forearms tight, your eyes losing focus.

His cock was straining beneath you, and he was seconds away from encouraging you to move with his other hand before he heard a voice nearby.

“…knew he was shit at cards. Hey, Morgan!” Arthur’s eyes snapped up, his hand going back to your hip.

“What, Bill?” He said it shortly, not meaning to sound so harsh but annoyed all the same at being interrupted. Even worse was the small noise of impatience you made that had Arthur debating taking you to his tent right then.

“There’s no need to snap at me. Hey, you two are…” Bill looked at you both like it had just dawned on him you were sitting in Arthur’s lap. Arthur spotted the bottle in his hand and scoffed.

“You’re drunk, Bill. Go sleep it off.”

“So what if I’m drunk?” he shot back. Arthur heard you let out an annoyed breath. He looked to you and found you already turning, your temper rearing its head. You stood and swung over Arthur’s legs, storming down Bill instead. Arthur felt his chest cave at the loss of your touch but didn’t dwell on it long, not when you flung so much anger in your approach that Bill cowered.

“Leave him the hell alone. He said go sleep it off,” you spat. You were much shorter than Bill but managed to tower over him with your rage alone. Bill knew not to test you with the way you were poised to strike. It turned Arthur’s mouth in a smile, seeing you like that.

“Sorry,” Bill said, his voice going high. “I’ll leave you alone then. Christ.”

You pointed to Bill’s shared tent, and with a scoff, he turned and did as you said, walking to it. Arthur chuckled lowly. Bill was normally too stupid to be intimidated, much less take orders.

Arthur got up, adjusting himself before he walked over to where you stood, fuming. “What’s got you all in a bother?” he asked lowly, repeating what you had asked him.

You swatted at him. Arthur laughed aloud, catching your hand. “Easy. Didn’t mean to draw that temper of yours.”

“I don’t have a temper,” you spat before turning on your heel, making for your own tent. Arthur was too busy smiling at that to be angry over the interruption. He would get to pleasure you proper soon enough. And next time, he would find the privacy to do each and every thing he wanted, drawing your want out of you until you were satisfied enough to forget all about that temper.

Arthur’s chance came four days later. It was late, most everyone else was asleep, and he found himself lowering the canvas around him as he had done every night before. Only, there was no chill in the air. Each night before, it had been for privacy as he worked himself over to the thought of the flush on your face, your pleasure made palpable. Now, it was for a different kind of privacy. For you stood in his tent before him, in a dress again, trying to argue with him about something. He couldn’t give said argument a moment’s thought.

“You’re not even listening to me,” you said, crossing your arms.

He finished tying the last of the canvas together and turned to you. “No. I ain’t.”

You had the briefest moment to look offended before he stepped forward and kissed you, any annoyance you had melting away as your hands found his face and you kissed him back.

The kiss turned heated, the first time he allowed it to. He knew he would never be able to stop himself after kissing you like this, your mouth parting for him, his tongue finding yours. And god above was it perfect.

He wrapped his hands around your back, reveling in the taste of you, the small heat of your mouth.

You pulled back suddenly, meeting his eye. “Don’t think we won’t finish this argument later.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied, already kissing you again.

His hands drifted down, finding your backside and slipping just below. He lifted you with ease, making you emit a small gasp as he continued kissing you, backing your toward his bed.

You took the lead then, desperate in how you kissed him. Greedy. Your legs wrapped around his waist before he could set you down, and his erection hit you right where he needed you most. He lined himself against you before remembering himself, remembering his patience. His own pleasure could wait.

He set you down on the bed softly, breaking the kiss, withdrawing his grip on you. He climbed over you, meeting your lust-blown gaze. “Let me make you feel good. Take that pain you were talking about away.”

“That pain’s gone. Has been for a day or two.”

He could only nod, staying quiet as he began to undress you. He made quick work of your pretty little dress, bringing it over your head and tossing it aside. He was slower with your chemise, kissing every inch of skin revealed, making you wait for his touch. He couldn’t help it. You were beautiful, and the more he saw of you, the more he wanted to kiss and taste and suck. The urge only worsened when he brought the fabric down over your breasts, your nipples hardened in your arousal for him. He immediately brought his mouth to your breast, flicking his tongue against you. He heard the slightest of sighs escape you and nearly lost himself over it. He wanted to hear it again. He wanted to make you make that sound for him over and over until you were too hoarse to make it anymore.

He worked your other breast with his hand as he licked and sucked against you, eventually switching to show the other the same kindness. Your hands roved over his back all the while, your touch awakening something within him he tried desperately to fight down. This was about you, not him. Not yet.

He eventually began moving downward still, the anticipation eating him alive as he removed your chemise entirely, pressing kisses against your belly as he moved down the bed. Your hands found his head and tangled in his hair, tugging slightly the closer he got to your womanhood.

He finally broke away from your skin, looking down to see your perfect sex. You were glistening wet through that small thatch of hair, enough to make Arthur’s cock throb at the sight. Not wasting a second, he brought his mouth to you. He would normally use his hands, had planned on it, but he suddenly couldn’t resist tasting you. The second your slick met his tongue, he groaned in satisfaction, your grip on his hair tightening.

“Arthur,” you said on a sigh. He could have found his release from that sound alone.

He licked against you before finally plunging his tongue into your entrance, tasting you. He repeated the motion enough to be sure you were enjoying it before he ran his tongue upward. He found that small bundle of nerves and kissed it, making your breath catch. He paused, just barely, long enough to look up and see your expression. Your head was thrown back, your mouth parted, your eyes shut against the pleasure he was showing you. He had half a thought he would have to make a new journal entry of you before you were tugging his hair, guiding him back down to where you needed him. He smiled as he began pleasuring you once more, his tongue finding your clit. His hands came down on your hips, pinning you down when you began squirming beneath him. He made you take every ounce of it, loving each and every noise that escaped your mouth as he did. And finally, when your breaths became heavy and he knew you were close, he pushed his tongue into your cunt again, his thumb finding your clit instead. He heard a sharp intake of breath, and in seconds, you had found your release on his tongue, panting from it. He nearly found his own too but caught himself, keeping his breathing even to fight it back down.

He focused on your body, tasting your slick again before pulling away from you, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

You met his eye. “Arthur,” you whined quietly.

“You say the word and I’ll do it again,” he answered. He would. In a heartbeat, he would. He was completely at the mercy of that arousal on your face.

“Want you inside me,” you muttered. It broke his will clean in half.

He moved upward, kicking his boots off as he did, kissing your belly, your breasts, your neck. You took his face in your hands and kissed him hard, your tongue finding his this time. You moaned into his mouth, and the feeling made Arthur’s patience shatter. He needed you now. He fumbled with the buttons on his pants, letting you take his mouth. But you were soon moving out from underneath him, turning him over. You made him settle on the bed beneath you and started undressing him. He didn’t quite have the patience for this, but he let you do as you pleased, knowing better than to test your anger. You stripped his shirt away, your hands finding his chest, your mouth finding one of his scars. He went dead still. And just like that, his patience was restored. Likely because of the small act, of you showing love to such an ugly part of him.

You continued, finding every scar you could reach and pressing your lips to it. Lovingly. The feeling made his chest catch in sadness and longing and adoration. It couldn’t be true. He couldn’t have found someone this perfect, someone to love him, scars and all. The feeling welled up in his chest until you finally broke away, kissing him on the mouth. “You’re ungodly handsome,” you whispered into his mouth. “It’s unfair.”

“Far from it,” he replied. “Nothing like you.”

“Better,” you breathed, pressing a kiss to his chest. His heartbeat thundered beneath it, a response to all you were doing to him. Giving him. You moved down, unbuttoning his pants, pulling them off. Doing the same to his undergarments until he was as bare as you. He watched you take in the sight of how hard he was for you, seeing the adoration in your eyes. Pride. Always pride with you. You met his eye and moved up, your body laying flush with his. You kissed him again, your hand finding his cock, stroking him. The feeling was so good he knew he wouldn’t last. He almost let you be anyway. Almost.

Arthur turned you, pulling you beneath him once more. You huffed in annoyance. “Stubborn bastard.”

He smiled. “Won’t last like that, darlin’.”

Your scowl in answer didn’t last long. He lined himself up with you, his cock pushing against your slick, and all your fight fell away, your touch gentle and wanting against him once more. He kissed you hard, reveling in the anticipation of it all for a few seconds before he pushed into you, slow and grating. Nothing on this earth matched the pleasure that shook through him as he did. He bottomed out, trying not to groan too loud. He was unable to keep kissing you. Unable to focus on anything but being buried in your cunt.

“Feel so good,” he muttered.

“So do-” He slammed into you, and your words blurred into a whiny moan.

“Shhh, sweetheart. Need you to stay quiet for me. Don’t want to wake the whole camp.”

You met his eye, a hunger burning in your gaze so hot he wondered whether he’d angered you. “I don’t care about the camp. Take me already-”

He had bucked into you again, so harsh the bed rocked. The last word you uttered gave way to a seething hiss of pleasure, your best attempt at staying quiet.

“There,” he said, starting a slow pace. “Good girl.”

“You did that on purpose,” you breathed, your eyes shutting in response to him rocking into you, his cock hitting so deep he knew this wouldn’t last long.

He chuckled, his happiness uncontainable. You kissed him, your tongue pushing his mouth open. Demanding. He did it right back. His arousal took over once more at what he was doing, at the thought of this being you underneath him, taking his cock so good. You were so tight around him he groaned again, especially when you started to dig your nails into his back from your own need.

He picked up his pace, wanting to feel you let go around him before he gave in. You let out a loud moan, and he didn’t have it in him to quiet you down. He loved the sound. He wanted to hear it again. In fact, he was a fool for doing this in camp and not taking you somewhere far away where he could make you moan as loud as you wanted. You shifted beneath him, bringing your legs up slightly, the new angle so good he clenched his jaw to keep his release at bay. He hadn’t wanted to be too rough with you, but he took this as proof of your toughness and wrapped his arm under your leg, tugging it upward. He hooked your leg over his shoulder and thrust into you hard. You both let out a noise of gratification, the feeling so pleasure-filled it hurt.

He was close. He wanted to watch your orgasm take over again, wanted to see your face this time as he got you there. So he brought a hand down and started circling his thumb against your clit.

“Arthur,” you breathed, your hand finding his forearm and clinging to it as you writhed beneath him. He swirled his thumb faster, making you clench down on him. “Fuck, Arthur.” And your mouth fell open, your chest rising in a held breath. Arthur fucked you through your release, buried beneath his own pleasure at you saying that word to him.

You let out sharp breaths as your high broke through you. The sight of you alone had Arthur teetering on the edge, but those sinful little sounds…

He pushed into you two more times before he came, pulling out and spilling across your stomach. It was ungodly good, pleasure that rendered him numb to anything else. It tore through him so harshly he fell onto you, barely aware that he was crushing you until you tried to pry your leg out from between you.

He took a breath before he could speak again. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to do that.” He used what little strength he had to raise himself off of you.

You smiled at him, the look of it on your blissful, tired face something he wanted to see over and over again. “Not that,” you breathed, still catching your breath.

“What then?”

“If I don’t get away from you now,” you said, taking another breath, your chest heaving. “I’m gonna keep you here all night.”

“Keep me here?” he teased. “This is my bed last I checked. I’m keeping you here.”

You smiled. He kissed you. “Or,” he went on. “I could just use my mouth on you again. You seemed to like that.”

You hummed in approval. “I have good reason to.”

He grinned wide. “Why’s that?”

“Because you’re too busy with your mouth to talk back to me.”

He laughed. “Unbelievable. Like I’m the one talking back when you know good and well it’s you.”

“It’s not me, like I was telling you before you-”

He kissed the argument right off your lips. And in doing so and moving against you, he remembered his spend on your skin, on his now too after he fell against you. He picked his shirt up off the ground and cleaned you both off, pressing a kiss to your forehead before pulling you into his embrace. Trapping you, more like, as he was sure you weren’t done arguing. Not by the look of defiance still on your face.

He pulled the blanket over you both, crushing you to him, glad to finally be able to have you in his bed. And when you did speak again, he was surprised to hear that it wasn’t about your earlier argument.

“Damn you for being so warm. And sweet. And good to me.”

He grinned, propping his head on top of yours, settling into the tiredness that stole over him. “Careful. That was damn close to a compliment.”

“Yeah, well, you bring out the worst in me.”

Arthur couldn’t help but snicker at that as you relaxed, finally settling against him like you were meant to be there all along.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #high honor arthur morgan #rdr2 arthur morgan #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 #fanfic #writing #nsft #lemon fanfic

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kaleidoscope77 · 9 months

Text

Make Me (NaLu One Shot)

Summary: Fed up with his antics, Lucy plans to get Natsu to apologize. One way or another.

Rating: T

Word Count: 1057

A/N: This was originally meant to be posted on NaLu day but then my power with out. :) yay for me!

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Lucy took a deep breath as she closed her apartment door behind her. As much as she loved being a guild wizard, sometimes the work could get exhausting. She could really go for a warm, soothing bath and a day off.

As she made a beeline for her dresser so she could get her coziest pajamas ready, the sound of her bedside window opening almost went unnoticed.

Almost, had it not been for the noise of surprise she heard from the pink-haired intruder sliding in.

Lucy's eyes locked with Natsu's, and the blonde knew that scolding him would be futile at this point.

"Sure, Natsu, come on in. Thanks for asking politely and using the front door," She chirped sarcastically as she continued searching through her dresser, "You always impress me with your manners."

Natsu stretched nonchalantly as he settled on her bed, "Didn't know you were here already."

"What, so you planned to just break in while I was away?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

Lucy puffed out her cheeks and glared at him, to which a grin spread its way across his face. He couldn't help but to mess with her when she gave him cute reactions like that.

"You should really start locking your window," Kicking off his sandals, Natsu reclined on the bed and folded his arms behind his head, "'Might help."

"If I did that, you'd probably just end up breaking it open anyways," Lucy smiled to herself when she finally found the silk pajama set she'd been looking for, and turned to give him a pointed look, "Where's Happy? You normally commit your crimes with him with you."

"I think the job really wore him out. I didn't wanna wake him, but I'll be back at my place before he's up."

With an understanding hum, Lucy sat on the side of the bed and nodded, "Yeah, I'm tired too. I could imagine the toll it took on the little guy," She started to yawn, but choked halfway through when a thought struck her, "Wait, so you came to be alone with me..?"

Natsu's eyes widened, and he looked away. The color in his cheeks was a good indication of whatever was on his mind.

"You wanted to be alone? Together?" Lucy reiterated, shifting to face him and feigning innocence in the way her fingers grazed the side of his hip.

It looked like he had no intention of saying anything, but when Natsu's eyes flitted back to hers for a split second, he caved, "Obviously…"

Lucy could help the small laugh that escaped her. It was always so fascinating when he got like this, suddenly so coy. She never would have thought he could be so cute, and she definitely planned to milk this.

"Maybe I can forgive you for climbing through my window, then," Her hand came up to rest on his cheek, rendering him unable to look away. She glided her thumb along his lower lip, causing him to lean closer, his tongue poking out to swipe along where their skin met. The way her hand moved to grasp his jaw had him letting out a surprised whine. "Maybe. If you say you're sorry."

It took a second for Natsu to remember what she'd been talking about, and he glared at her, "What?"

"Apologize for breaking in unannounced! Then I will forgive you," Lucy smiled triumphantly as his frown depended, slowly caressing his jaw until he grabbed her by the wrist.

"No."

"No? Are you sure?" Ignoring his grip on her, Lucy squeezed his cheeks in her hand, giving him the cutest looking pout, "You're not gonna like it when I don't forgive you."

"Lushi," With his face smushed, Natsu's words came out slurred, "Lemme go."

"Apologize."

Her grasp tightened, but Natsu held his ground, "Make me."

Admittedly, Lucy was impressed by his ability to remain competitive in a position like this. It was to be expected, though.

She shifted so that she hovered over him, using her hold on his face to shove him down against her pillow. He had that surprised look on his face again, yet he made no move to overpower her. Perhaps this was what he wanted.

Planting her knee between his thighs and ducking her head so their noses were only centimeters apart, Lucy tried not to let the blush on her own face lower her resolve. "Last chance. Apologize."

Natsu's eyes flashed with something serious, like he wanted to challenge her. But with one look down at her lips, his eyebrows furrowed and he tried to turn his head away. "Okay, okay. Sorry."

Surprised that she actually got him to do as she said, Lucy slackened immediately and abruptly sat back in his lap, earning a strained hiss as she realized what she sat on a bit too late.

He looked positively annoyed, but was blushing brilliantly, and Lucy couldn't stop herself from leaning down and giving him a peck on his nose. "See? That wasn't so hard. I forgive you. This time," She winked, and squeaked in surprise when he grabbed her by the hips to lift her slightly off of him.

She bit her lip at the way his forehead creased as he slowly exhaled, and now it was her turn to avoid eye contact.

"I, um, was planning to take a bath…" She glanced at him for a second before turning to look at the wall, "Do you wanna… join me?"

"Yes," Suddenly, Natsu sat up, almost making her fall had it not been for his hold on her hips. He let go of her for long enough to slip his scarf off and hastily undo the first few buttons of his coat, earning a breathless laugh from the woman on top of him.

Lucy helped him with his buttons, and as she reached the last few, he grabbed onto one of her hands to get her to look at him.

Their eyes met in a silent stare-off, Natsu's eyes softening as they filled with desire. He raised an eyebrow, being clear enough about what he wanted for Lucy to be able to catch on.

With a humored roll of her eyes, she closed the distance between them to plant a kiss on his lips, his other hand at the base of her neck stopping her from pulling away too soon.

#fairy tail #lucy heartifilla #nalu #nalu fairytail #nalu fanfic #fanfic #oneshot #natsu x lucy #natsu dragneel #my wriring #nalu day #nalu fluff #fluff #kisses #banter #teasing #nalu fanfiction #fanfiction

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drama--universe · 9 months

Text

You're not a monster

Requested by anonymous: Wen Ning (revived), who finds the reader caught in a net in the forest? Will it turn out that there are certain cultivator hunters who are catching cultivators to get information about Yin Iron? Then they travel together and gradually develop feelings for each other?

Pairing: Wen Ning x gn!reader

Word Count: 1.9k words

A/N I am so sorry that this took so long! I'll be honest, this request was a bit difficult due to the Yin Iron part in your request, since it basically just a censorship in the series and it does not really have decent meaning or reason to be there... That and I also had a writers block :/

Wen Ning was confused. The forest he resided in ever so often was usually quiet, not even the sounds of birds could be heard. Yet now, everything was a mess. Loud shouts pulled him deeper in the forest, making the despair of the forest more clear as Wen Ning noticed the sword marks in the trees. Then he noticed them, a group of men that surrounded a net that hung high in the air. Wen Ning quietly snuck closer, lucky that he barely made a sound as he got closer and closer to the source of the shouts.

When he got close enough, he noticed that the net did not hold an animal but rather a person. You were unconscious and Wen Ning winced as he took a closer look at your form. Cuts littered your form, some deeper than others, as the blood seeped through your clothes and dripping down to the ground. The group that surrounded the net were arguing loudly, shouting at each other while seemingly ignoring you. Wen Ning could hear their argument clearly, he could've heard them from miles away thanks to their volume, and he backed away when he heard the Yin Iron being mentioned a few times. He didn't want to be involved in this fight in any way, especially as someone who had a relative connection to the Yin Iron. Yet the little voice in his head would yell at him, pushing him to help out.

Without realizing, the chains around his torso started to loosen up and turn red. They inched closer to the group of men before shooting up and wrapping around the neck of the closest man. The chains tightened, just enough to render the man unconscious before moving on to the next victim. All five of the man were soon on the ground, eyes closed as they stayed in their forced slumber. The chains retreated before wrapping back around Wen Ning's torso, the weight finally resting back on his shoulders. His eyes moved to your form again, moving closer as he unwrapped the ropes to lower you. Once you were on the ground, Wen Ning pulled you out of the net before checking your state. You were alive, that was something. He lifted you from the ground, making sure you wouldn't lay in the dirt any longer. He'd have to take care of your wounds first, an infection was the last thing you needed now.

So Wen Ning spend the rest of the day tending to your wounds, wrapping them carefully after applying some medicine. And as the night fell, Wen Ning stayed awake to keep guard.

"Can you help out for a second!" You called out to Wen Ning, who came to your side the second he heard your shout, and he paused as he saw you. Your robes were down halfway, revealing your shoulders and back to him. The bandage around your shoulder was loose, but you were clearly struggling to replace it. So he kneeled behind you and started to remove the bandage, trying to be careful to not hurt you or to irritate the wound. When it was all off, he took the clean bandage from your hand and reapplying it to your shoulder. It didn't take long for it to be finished, wrapped tightly and covering the wound enough. You pulled your robes back up, tightening them before turning your head to face Wen Ning.

"Thank you." You gave him a short smile and Wen Ning knew that he would've blushed if he was still alive. Luckily, he was not and thus he remained as pale as before while shyly looking away. He returned to his previous task, the fire before him was still unlit and it was necessary with the rapid decrease of temperature. He wasn't used to making fires, he didn't need it thanks to the state of his body and yet you did.

"Do you need help?" You asked as you approached him, leaning over him to watch the wood and he looked straight up at you. You flinched slightly at the sudden eye contact before giggling at how cute he looked, staring up to you with wide eyes. You moved from behind him and crouched, taking the stones from his hands.

"God, you're freezing." You spoke as your hands touched his and he was quick to pull back from you, but you didn't stop as you grabbed his hand. You held it tightly, trying to warm his hand up with your own to no avail. The man just stared at you as you tried to warm him up, feeling shy immediatley when he realized how weird it must look for others. He pulled his hand back after a few seconds, awkwardly moving away from you until he was at arms length. You took ahold of the stones again, lighting the fire withing a few minutes before looking back at Wen Ning.

"I apologize if I made you uncomfortable." You said, but Wen Ning was quick to shake his head at the statement. You just smiled at him before sitting down on your make-shift bed. Wen Ning just watched as you fell asleep, hands moving closer to the fire to feel the warmth that he hadn't felt in so long. It left him with a longing for life, wishing he were not dead.

Wen Ning wasn't perfect, but surprisingly he was a perfect hugger. You barely remember what happened before you landed in his arms, you just remember a flash in the corner of your eyes before you jumped to Wen Ning. Without hesitation, his arms wrapped around your form to catch you and you almost melted in his hold. Even when he lacked the warmth of a normal human, you felt warmth embrace your body anyway.

"It was just a bird..." Wen Ning speaks and you look up at him, giving him a bright smile before releasing him from your grip. He followed your lead, unwrapping his arms from your form and taking a step back before looking at where the bird had landed. It looked sick, it's feathers pulled out and its skin pale. If anything, it was already dead. He went closer, poking at the bird and you were quick to pull him back.

"He's sick, do you want to get it too?" You hissed and Wen Ning looked up at you before turning back to the bird in question.

"I won't be harmed, I don't get sick." He explained, ignoring your confusion as he inspected the cause of the bird's death. The ominous feeling he got was quite similar to his own vibe, which only made him frown. Neither the Yin Iron or Wuxian were here near, so why would this bird be so corrupted? He abruptly stood up, looking around before marching to where he assumed it came from. You followed him, unaware of how he was finding his way. That was until you reached the destination, the land rotted and broken with a stench of death hanging around.

"Wen Ning?" You stepped closer to the man, grabbing his arm in a way of support as you were being pressed down by the heavy air. Your stomach was doing turns, almost making you hurl out the contents of your stomach. He moved back again, he was not going into the decayed forest with you. Although you were still far enough, you were clearly sick from the atmosphere and Wen Ning was quick to remove you by picking you up and leaving the grounds quickly. Once far enough, he laid you down before asking you if you were okay. You took a few seconds to breath in the fresher air before nodding at him, sitting up and sighing loudly.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Wen Ning asked again and you raised your hands to grab his face before nodding again. Wen Ning just stared, frozen thanks to your actions and unable to process his thoughts. He was pulled out of the thoughts, however, as you moved your hands to his neck before freezing. It was clear why, even his sister had been weirded out by his lack of living. No heartbeat and no body heat, the basic things that defined if someone was alive or not and he lacked. You didn't react much, you just let go and stared back into the forest.

"We should probably get away..." You finally broke the silence, getting up before extending your hand to him with a smile. You didn't speak of it again, but Wen Ning could sense your curiosity. He just wished he could

Wen Ning should've know that entering the nearby town would be a bad idea. People knew him, they recognized him by the chains that decorated his body and the veins that creeped up his skin. Whispers surrounded you and him, but you didn't seem to listen as you hopped from stall to stall to inspect the food. Yet he couldn't help but worry about your actual reaction, uncertain whether you would remain by his side. Although he wouldn't mind being alone, he had grown attached to your presence. You were a way for him to feel human again, which might be selfish in a way but he did not care.

"Are you bothered by the crowd?" You had returned to his side, grasping his arm softly and pulling him from his thoughts effectively. He looked at you before shrinking slightly as he heard someone loudly throw insults his way.

"Shut it!" You yelled loudly to the group of men by the road, glaring their way before dragging Wen Ning away. Wen Ning wanted to thank you, but chose not to when he noticed your current annoyance. Unfortunately, the whispers didn't stop until you reached the end of the town and by then you were fuming.

"Does it not bother you? The whispers behind your back?" You turned around and looked at Wen Ning, who only shrugged before stating that it was the truth.

"That doesn't mean they can call you a monster!" You were angry, Wen Ning could sense that even when you weren't actually mean to him. You looked angry, but at the same time you looked sad.

"Why does it matter..?" Right then and there, you broke as you watched him. He clearly believed the statements in a way, not wanting to even fight for himself or his dignity. You marched closer to him, throwing your arms around his neck and pulling him into a tight hug.

"You are anything but a monster..." You whispered in his ear, making sure to embrace him tightly and just waiting for him to respond in any way. He took a few seconds before he slowly wrapped his own arms around you. The hug was comforting to him, like a warm blanket on a cold night. He melted in your touch, a weight suddenly dropping on your shoulder as he laid down his head.

"You might not love yourself, but I do." The words came out without a second thought, you didn't know why but you didn't care since it seemed to make Wen Ning happier again as his arms tightened around you slightly.

"Thank you..." His voice was soft, barely a whisper as he moved away and you smiled as you moved back slightly to view his face. He was smiling as well, albeit a shyer smile, and you sighed softly. On one hand, you wanted to just kiss him but on the other hand you just wanted to squish his face and tell him how adorable he looked. You decided to do neither of those, instead you opted for taking ahold of his hand with a smile.

"Let's move on then, shall we?"

#the untamed #the untamed x reader #the untamed wen ning x reader #the untamed wen ning #untamed #untamed x reader #untamed wen ning #untamed wen ning x reader #mdzs #mdzs x reader #mdzs wen ning #mdzs wen ning x reader #wen ning #wen ning x reader #x reader #reader insert #request

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staycalmandhugaclone · 1 year

Text

Fever - Hunter - Pt 1

If you're new, this all starts with Touch Starved!

Febuwhump Day 11.2

Warnings: TW: mild suspense?

WC: 2,095

“Wrecker.” The impatience dripping from Hunter’s nearly snarled warning should have been enough to silence anyone, but his brother was no stranger to that tone and still let out a low grumble. We were well over halfway through the second day of our trek. What should have taken mere hours now felt endless as the impossibly dense rainforest continued to fight us for every step.

The air was so heavy with moisture, our lungs strained against the weight of it; the vague sense of drowning a constant discomfort. That wretched humidity proved even more merciless beneath the blistering heat trapped by the dense canopy overhead, rendering our bodies incapable of even the hope of cooling off regardless the amount of sweat that saturated long-stained blacks.

The unforgiving terrain spared no one. Echo’s cybernetics churned sluggishly beneath his every attempted movement. Wrecker already ran hot, so the temperature left him miserable. He’d long since emptied his canteen and we had to make frequent visits to the river that loosely followed our path through the forest for more. Crosshair’s fiery temper turned rabid, snapping at the smallest inconvenience, and Tech’s already defensive retorts at every doubt and complaint regarding his directions looked mere moments from turning violent. It was Hunter that my attention kept pulling to, however.

Stress was high for everyone, but the tension in the Sergeant’s shoulders, the way his kept twisting is head…

“How’s your water?” My heart twisted at the exhaustion in Echo’s voice, gaze shifting to find him walking wearily toward me, the others’ canteens already looped about his chest. I shook my own briefly to find it nearly empty as well.

“I’ll go with you.” I offered quietly, already altering my course before he could object. It was clear he was too tired to bother putting up a fight. I wasn’t much better, but Hunter was supposed to go with him and something in me rebelled at the mere thought.

“Think this ranks in the top ten most miserable missions?” I asked as we cut through the dense brush toward the river. He let out a scoff.

“This is about to break into the top five… and the actual mission hasn’t even started yet.” He retorted, and I gave a short chuckle. “If we don’t see some sign of the Separatists by tonight, Wrecker and Tech might actually come to blows.” He groaned.

“They better not.” The subtle threat in my muttered retort earned a quiet huff of laughter, but, as we neared the river, we both fell quiet, footsteps softening. The beasts that dwelled beneath that deceptively gentle surface had only revealed themselves once: massive, scaled creatures drifting lazily with the current despite the fearsome power veiled in a façade of disinterest until some unfortunate prey garnered its attention. The thing had moved so quickly, we’d barely had time to tense; immense jaw lashing out with a deafening snap as rows of needle-like teeth closed mercilessly around a small herbivore naively seeking a drink. It was gone before the thing even had time to even realize its mistake, and we’d taken care not to risk attracting their notice in the long days since.

“You have eyes on any of those things?” I asked, voice hushed as I motioned for the collection of canteens.

“Not yet.” He answered in the same careful whisper as his attention roaming the nearby waters, hand absently pulling the straps over his shoulder to pass to me. “You sure you don’t want me to take point?” I didn’t need to see those gorgeous eyes to feel the concern in them, and I shook my head.

“You’re a better shot.” I reminded him. “Plus, with the havoc this place is wreaking on your prosthetics, I might actually be faster than you, right now.” There was the faintest hint of a teasing lilt to my voice – just enough to lighten the blow. Echo still let out a quiet sigh that broke my heart. I leaned over to bump my shoulder gently against his, helmed gaze turned pointedly toward his despite the impenetrable darkness of our visors. Still, some of that tension eased from his shoulders, and I let out a little breath of relief.

“Don’t let me get eaten.” I added, and, again, I didn’t need to see his face to feel the deep frown that stole over him as his head tilted forward slightly. With a final chuckle, I started toward the riverbank, body crouched low and angled to constantly keep Echo in sight for any sign of warning.

Those few minutes of held breath and racing heartbeats seemed to drag out endlessly as I drew the too-warm water through the filter and filled each canteen in turn, gaze darting to every ripple breaking the gentle flow of that frightfully opaque surface. When the last bottle was full, I took several tentative steps back before finally turning around and quickly returning to Echo.

“Just that easy.” I stated happily despite the breathlessness to my words. Again, he let out a tense sigh before reaching his hand out to help pull me up the embankment.

“Yeah, yeah – if it’s so easy, you can fill them by yourself next time.” I couldn’t help but laugh at his retort before catching myself gasping at how easily he pulled me up. He wasn’t quite able to hide the little hint of pride straightening his shoulders as he turned back toward the forest. “Come on – don’t want them finding the base without us.”

We were both panting from the effort of pushing ourselves to catch up, following the path the others had hacked through the foliage for what little vantage that granted us. What light flickered through the blanket of dancing leaves and branches overhead was just beginning to dim when we finally caught sight of Crosshair’s tense form. His arms were looped tightly about his chest, hips cocked as he stared intently ahead of him. That was the first sign of warning that something was wrong. The notably lowered hum I could only just make out as Tech’s voice was the second.

Echo reacted to the same subtle sense of unease, movements quieting as we approached. Crosshair turned just enough to accept the return of his canteen but offered nothing beneath the way my gaze lingered pointedly on his visor. I let my shoulders drop in a silent humph but didn’t press him. I didn’t need to. As soon as I tread passed him, I saw the way Wrecker’s attention lingered on Hunter.

Tech was pointing out something on his datapad to the Sergeant mic only just picking up his quiet explanation. Hunter seemed to barely hear him, shoulder moving in a cadence that was far too mediated to not be forced. Everything about him looked painfully stiff from the rigid set of his shoulders to the way his fingers pressed into the armor about his waist. His helmet suddenly jerked forward. It was a tiny movement, torso giving the faintest buck alongside it, and I belatedly realized it was a sneeze, finally noting that he’d muted his mic.

Echo watched the two with the same attentiveness as me as he delivered Wrecker’s water, glancing briefly to me as I tread directly toward them. Tech said nothing as he accepted his canteen, but the way his helmet shifted from me to Hunter and back held a silent plea that twisted my already profound worry into dread.

“Hey, Hunter.” I called, voice dipping into a concerned murmur that instantly had him tensing, attention turning toward me with clear reluctance. “Echo and I had to push pretty hard to catch up – mind if we call it an early night?” He didn’t answer for a long moment, looking briefly toward the forbidding tangle of greenery around us before deflating beneath a short sigh. I knew he couldn’t see the gentle smile that automatically toyed with my lips as he gave a quick nod, but it was there none the less.

He didn’t speak as we created a web of hammocks between the trees. The incredible breadth of life teeming throughout the forest floor left even a quick rest atop the rich soil ill-advised. Tech was quick to volunteer for first watch, and the other were already beginning to settle down.

I waited until he reached for a ration bar, hunched forward in some semblance of sitting up atop the lightly swaying mockery of a bed, waited for the moment he finally reached up to remove his helmet before approaching him, and I could hear the heavy sigh escape him as he realized he’d been caught.

“I’m fine.” He nearly growled, voice far too thick for there to be even a sliver of truth to the statement. I offered a sympathetic huff of laughter before popping up to sit at the foot of his hammock with him, legs tucking against my chest as I pulled at my own helmet. He watched me in silence for a long moment, gloved fingers just resting against the lip of plastoid near his chin. My brows raised expectantly.

“I thought you were fine?” I pressed, teasing him at that brief hesitation. His grip tightened, and I thought I heard the click of his jaw snapping shut, but he finally wrenched the gray bucket off, attention immediately turning to the endless trees around us. He didn’t need to look at me, though. I could see the puffiness around his eyes, the redness of his nose as he tried to wipe at the excess moisture with a feint of nonchalance. The muscles balled beneath his cheeks as I let out a quiet sigh.

“You’ve been sneezing.” It wasn’t a question, but, after a few final seconds of denial, he gave a small nod. “Itchy eyes and sore throat?” I continued. Another nod. “Everyone else seems fine… Guess you drew the short straw with allergies.” The gentle apology in my voice offered little in the face of annoyance that simple truth shot through him. “Sorry.”

He let out a tense breath before finally turning toward me, and I saw the full extent of havoc the local flora had wrought on him, saw the exhaustion in eyes rimmed red with irritation.

“The histamine response has already started, but let’s see if we can’t keep it from getting worse.” I offered softly, already shifting to swing my legs over the edge of his hammock. “Unfortunately, I wasn’t expecting anything like this: I don’t think I’ve heard of a clone with allergies before.” His brows lowered further above a glare that was too weary to hold any heat. “But I always keep a few things on me.” I added, feet dropping lightly to the plush ground. “I’ll be right back.”

In a statement to the depth of his misery, Hunter voiced no objection when I set the tablet in his palm, nor when I instructed him in how to flush his eyes with some simple saline before hiding once more in his helmet to sleep. Whatever microscopic bits of pollen were causing the reaction had likely been in his suit since the first moment he’s broken the seal to drink, but continuing to wear it was the only hope in reducing further exposure.

What I didn’t tell him, however, was how mercilessly the medication was likely to sedate him. Within half an hour, his hammock lay almost perfectly still around him, and we could just hear the faintest snores from the mic he’d neglected to silence in those final moments before losing consciousness.

“I was under the impression that clones did not have allergies.” Tech stated, something of a challenge in his voice when I explained the situation to the others. I answered by simply motioning toward our Sergeant, and his lips bunched against further retort.

“But you gave him somethin’. Think it’ll be enough to get him through the mission?” Wrecker asked, weight shifting between his feet. The concern in his gaze was unmistakable, but I had no words of comfort to offer.

“What I gave him helps prevent the immune system from reacting like this… Since he’s already having such a bad reaction, it’s not likely to do a lot… but it’s all I have. If he’d said something when it first started, it might be a different story, but…” I gave a helpless shrug.

“So, where does that leave us?” Crosshair asked bluntly.

“Down a person for take watch tonight for starters.” I replied, but none of them seemed remotely fazed by that. “Otherwise… it just depends on how he is tomorrow.”

Next Chapter

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