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veryfruitywriting · 5 days ago

Note

You’re asking for Mac scenarios?! I’m your girl!!! How about one where all that training with Dunk finally pays off and we carry Mac up the stairs so they can cuddle with us because I don’t think they have the strength or ability to get up there like everybody else.

Dunk can act as our bestie wingman and carry up Mac’s wheelchair while we carry the real goods because I don’t think we’re strong enough to carry that wheelchair only the Mac. ❤️🫶🏻

ohhh i absolutely love this. — been gushing over this last night trying to brainstorm 😼 — thank you for sliding in my asks 🫶

ANYTHING FOR YOU

— a mac ( date everything! ) x reader oneshot

word count : 1k

(new to this… don’t throw tomatoes at me pls)

After seeing Dunk for the first time (again), he wasted no time to bring you back into your fitness era! You were hesitant at first, not sure if you were willing—or even had the motivation— to bring yourself back into it. But as you slept on it, you decided it would be nice to try and find a schedule again.

After receiving these glasses and working at home most of the time, there was going to be a point where you were gonna lose your mind being in this house. Might as well become a better you with this much free time. You were a bit slow paced with these workouts but after you met Mac, there was a bit of determination now. Not that you noticed at first but the more you chatted with them, the more you think about them as Dunk counts your reps.

Mac doesn’t really think much of your appearance but focuses more on your technical mannerisms and skills. Doesn’t mean they don’t notice the difference in your body tone and boost of energy. The deeper the relationship between you two has gotten, the more you strive to look better for them.

It only seemed fair since they mentioned they wanted to be good enough for you. Which absolutely broke your heart once they admitted their reasonings for the necessary update—along with other important things. You knew they meant well by it, by showing no hard nor sad feelings when they said it but you decided it was your turn to be good enough for them.

You tease Mac saying one day you’ll lift them up with ease one day. They reply saying they can’t wait for when the day comes.

There are moments where you genuinely want to sweep them off their feet but you still have a fear lingering in the back of your mind that you’ll drop them. That you’re not strong enough for them. It only fuels your determination more. It doesn’t go unnoticed during the workouts. Dunk takes note of your firecracker attitude when it comes to the workout he has plans for the day. His smile gets bigger and his adrenaline skyrockets when you ask for heavier weights or challenging exercises.

Night was arriving soon and you could feel your eyes grow heavier. “You should really get to bed,” Mac gently grabbed your shoulder with their hand, the little mouse on their shoulder moving in agreement. “You spent well over our usual 14 hours today.” “You really have to be a bit more careful when it comes to indulging yourself with the screen.”

“Sometimes I can’t tell if you remember that you have the ability to blink or not.” You laugh softly and reassure them that you do blink—sometimes—. “You should invest in blue light lenses.” You tilt your head to the side, it sounded familiar then it came to you. You’ve been seeing ads for them a lot lately… and have seen them in your cart for some unknown reason.

Mac looks off to the side as you click the pieces together, “It’s hard not to try and do these things. It runs through my veins being your computer and all.” As they face you again, you’re already leaning over from your chair and to their direction. Planting a soft kiss onto their cheek before they could say anymore.

You reassure them that you’ll buy the glasses, their shoulders visibly relax. “It’s getting to your usual bedtime, I’ll just finish scanning over any potential viruses —as I think the website you used earlier seemed a little sketch..— and sleep for the night.” They wheel over and soon extend their hand out to shoo you away but you gracefully grab it. Squeezing their hand in a heart-warming manner.

“Join me tonight.”

The blush on Mac’s face faintly paints their face. You’ve asked many times before but the expression on your face tonight said you weren’t going to listen to their excuses anymore. It wasn’t that they weren’t uncomfortable. The amount of times the both of you have fallen asleep on the couch were too many to count. It was the worst thing in the house for them: the stairs. Not Stella personally, she was a nice woman but the structure of the stairs… damn you architects.

“Join you?” Mac responded quickly, a bit surprised by your question. “Yes, upstairs.” You respond confidently. They shuddered excitedly at your changed demeanor, the blush on their face getting more visible by the second. “As much as I would love to, you know that it’s going to be a hassle to—“

You let go of their hand, soon standing up from your desk chair and finding yourself beside Mac. You lean over slightly, your fragrance overtaking their senses before they realize that your hand is slithering down to their lower back. “May I?” You ask softly. Mac’s face turns to your direction, your noses barely touching. “Are you sure?”

“Trust me.”

With that, Mac gives you a sure nod. You can’t lie to yourself and say you weren’t sweating nervously. You could feel the clothes clinging onto your back. Mac threw their arm over your shoulder and in a second, you lifted them up effortlessly.

You both had a shocked look plastered onto your faces. The office was still and quiet, only the sound you can hear was the sound of your heartbeat pounding against your own ears. “Woah. Dunk really had you training.” Mac broke the silence. You look down at them and excitedly plant a kiss on their forehead.

“You were my motivation.”

Being a romantic for a minute only took you so far. You carried Mac effortlessly through the room but that wheelchair was a pain in the ass. One minute it was stuck in the doorway, the next its wheel wasn’t turning and was dragging on the floor. Your arms flexed underneath Mac as you readjusted them on your chest. Their flustered face wasn’t determined if they enjoyed being in your arms or were embarrassed by their wheelchair not cooperating with you.

“Hey!” A familiar voice echoed through the dimmed hallway. You turn your head over your shoulders and find yourself looking at Dunk. “Glad I caught you in time. Just wanted to go over tomorrow’s workout, I have BIG things planned.”

As Dunk reached the two, his smile grew wider and the light of his eyes shined. He was so happy for you. He was so happy that you GAINED STRENGTH. “Woo!” His hand slapped on your back as he examined you, “I saw the progress but this really solidified the killer sets we’ve been doing. We knew not to say no to your inner athlete.”

Of course, he was glad you were doing this for your partner but he really was more into the fact that you looked at your prime. Dunk’s eyes found themselves on Mac, they both exchanged glances and quick waves. “These look great on you.” Dunk boosted happily, grabbing your flexed bicep and squeezing it with glee.

“I have to ask for more weights tomorrow.” You responded quickly, “Oh? I can’t say no to that. But, can I ask why?” Dunk tilted his head slightly. You quickly turned around and pointed at the wheelchair with your feet. “Noted. But lemme help you out, love to get a quick workout in before I sleep for the night.”

Before you and Mac could reassure him that there was no need, he lifted it above his head and adjusted it on his back. He did a quick squat with its weight with ease before letting out a quick ‘woo!’ “Oh, this has to be over 60 pounds. Let me get a feel for it and I’ll find out the exact weight for tomorrow.” “Be careful with it.” You bit your lip nervously. “I won’t drop it.” He responded, racing upstairs. You look at Mac and they seem completely fine with Dunk handling it.

Finally arriving at your bedroom, you thanked Dunk for his helping hand. “5am treadmill run?” He raised his eyebrow as you both fist bumped. You felt Mac’s arms clench more forcefully around your neck as you lifted them slightly to meet fists. Your eyes flickered down at them before at him once you readjusted, “I’d like to sleep in tomorrow.”

“Ah, gotcha.” He noticed your priorities and nodded understandably. “Goodnight you two.”

You turned on your heels and closed the door with your hip. Gently, you placed Mac on the edge of the bed, allowing their feet to feel the floor. You pressed a kiss against their cheek before departing so the two of you could get ready for bed. You placed comfortable clothing for them to choose beside them as you did your nightly routine.

You changed and once you returned, they were wearing that band t-shirt you loved. They looked much more relaxed than before. Especially in your clothes. Your heart swelled in happiness and love. You could get used to this view.

The lights were off, all but one. Your nightstand lamp on Mac’s side. You crawled on the side of your bed, leaning over them with dilated eyes. Their hand slithers up the side of your face, “As much as I miss you during your workouts, I have to say I love this look on you.” They grinned. You move your head slightly, kissing the palm of their hand. “With the numerous fanfic posted on the internet, I’m glad we finally get to experience what people usually read about.”

With quick motion, you grab their waist and bring them close to you. Chests touching and a gentle squeeze on their hip, you two basked in each other’s presences. Your eyes flicker down to their lips and Mac notices your soft plea. The softness of their lips against yours makes your body tense. You hold them carefully but firmly. You’re overjoyed by the new opportunities that you worked hard for. All that you’ve done was for them.

Mac broke the kiss and turned off the last light. Finding themselves in your arms once more. Normally, they would’ve popped up a screen and finish doing their usual task for the night but they felt so comfortable in this position with you. They wouldn’t dare ruin this moment.

You had already fallen asleep, mouth agape and your hand grasping onto the fabric of the shirt they wore. Mac sighed softly and placed their glasses on the stand before wrapping their arm around your shoulder. They planted a quick kiss on your chin before allowing themselves to dream for the night.

WHEWWW i’ve been through so much while writing this. hopped on grow a garden when i was finishing it up and just in time before i have dnd!

hope you enjoy and did your prompt justice ♥️ first time writing (serious) fanfic KINDA NERVOUS

will be doing the asks later this week!! trust!!!

#veryfruitywriting #mac date everything #date everything x reader #mac date everything x reader #mac nation #kinda scared ngl #hope i did good #and did mac justice #didnt give them much lines so i do apologize if that’s a turn off #i’ll get better trust #thank you for the asks!

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rika-mmendmethings · 9 days ago

Text

Interdimensional Epiphany l Rafayel

CHAPTER 5

Chapter 4 | Chapter 6 coming soon

Summary: A fortnight of compensated leave from your company was supposed to be a rejuvenating experience. Things take an unexpected turn when Rafayel, your choice of ML, starts becoming self-aware. His love knows no bounds, not even interdimensional ones.

Warning(s): Subject to change as we progress further into the story. The series has major character deaths, subdued manipulation, heavy angst with a happy(?) ending, slight yandere themes, fluff, did I mention angst? For this chapter: Major character death, torture, immolation, heavy references to blood and betrayal, graphic violence, arson, not myth or timeline accurate, maniacal characters.

Word count: 5k

Playlist coming soon.

Notes: IT IS BACK EVERYONE!!!! Shoutout to all who waited patiently and I present you a very long chapter and important to compensate for lost time ;) I've mentioned this before that this series will be a deeper dive into Rafayel's cruel persona and will actually deviate from myths so hope y'all keep this in mind. I had to face so many obstacles to write this because it took me lots of brainstorming to think of the what ifs. Anyway, hopefully, you enjoy the read and stay tuned for the series. Lmk if you wish to be added to the tag list for this. ♥

Taglist: @loveanddeephistory @ittybittyfanblog @lyssandraxo @micasosa34 @hyein21 @browneyedgirl22 @yournextdoorhousewitch @blessdunrest @altair718 @3fg7 @froleineeeee @mikachux3 @aiehtta @beaconsxd @poptrim @animecrazy76 @zackenblacken @rainycreationfart @invaderzia1 @his-ocean-emissary @multisstuff @wondering-again @some-girl-idk @itsrandompersonyall @plzdonutpercieveme @renchai @mc-cos-charm @mentaltrouble2201 @jeremywillis @dysphxriaii @paper--angel @bymoonlightfics @lizzyyrawrs

The manor that had been arranged for Rafayel to stay in for some time was a far cry from the home he’d known. Rafayel didn’t remember much of the drive there, only the long stretch of winding roads leading him further away from the smoldering wreckage of Mo Art Studio. His mind had been somewhere else, a deep, painful fog that seemed to darken everything in its path. He hadn’t asked for the relocation. But the decision had been made without his input, and he’d accepted it the same way he accepted the news of the fire — without resistance, too numb to care.

The manor sat on another hill overlooking Whitesand Bay, a sweeping view of the sea below, but Rafayel had no desire to look at it today. The water, once a calming reminder of his roots, now felt distant and infuriating. Instead, he sat in the center of the expansive study, staring at the high ceilings, his breath shallow. The space was overwhelming.

Rafayel let out a low exhale and sank into a plush armchair, spinning the chair absentmindedly. His fingers drummed on the armrest, the rhythmic sound filling the air like a ticking clock. Time passed, but nothing seemed to move forward. The anger, simmering beneath the surface, threatened to boil over again, but he clamped down on it.

He couldn’t act recklessly — not yet. He had to be patient. There were details to consider, a plan to form, and the last thing he needed was to lose control now. He needed answers, and he would get them, even if it took everything inside him to stay calm.

And then the door to the manor creaked open. Rafayel didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. His manager’s footsteps were hesitant, Thomas’s head appeared around the corner, his gaze wary, like he was approaching a bomb ready to explode.

“I, uh... I think you’ll want to see this.” Thomas said, his voice tight, as if he were trying to tread carefully. He moved toward Rafayel, a small USB drive held in his hand.

Rafayel didn’t say a word. Thomas’s expression was one of guilt — regret even. He hesitated for a moment, then set the drive on the table in front of Rafayel, as if afraid to get any closer. Without a word, Thomas turned and left the room, his footsteps fading into the quiet distance. He didn’t move for a long time. His fingers curled into fists as his eyes stayed fixed on the USB drive. After a few more moments of contemplation, he reached for it. The weight of it felt too small for what it was about to contain.

Rafayel didn’t waste a second. He shoved the pen drive into his computer, eyes already narrowing, waiting for the inevitable. A file popped up automatically on the screen, and for a moment, his heartbeat stuttered. Surveillance footage.

He clicked on it.

The timestamp on the video read a few hours before the fire. Rafayel leaned forward in his chair, his hands gripping the armrests tightly, his breath shallow as he watched the grainy footage unfold. The first part was uneventful. A few people walked past the building, chatting or on their phones. He clicked through, fast-forwarding the mundane snippets of time. The room around him was unnervingly silent, save for the occasional hum of his computer and the muffled sound of the sea outside.

And then — there she was.

Mikayla.

At first, the footage showed nothing unusual after her arrival. Mikayla, with her slender frame and determined gait, walking up to the door, stopping to adjust her hair. But then came the unmistakable glint of tools in her hands and a kerosene can beside her legs. A lockpick was delicately wedged into the door. Rafayel’s jaw tightened as he watched Mikayla, the woman he'd once trusted, invade his personal space with cold calculation.

The next few frames were more damning. He saw her slipping inside — the house quiet and empty, as it had been when he’d left. But the silence was broken only by the sound of kerosene splashing. Rafayel’s jaw tightened as he watched her pour it. Everywhere. In the living room. In the hallway.

His eyes blazed with a cold fury, flicking between each camera as she systematically soaked the rooms. Especially the studio. His studio. The place where he'd poured his heart out, the very space where he'd captured you — his muse, his obsession. The portraits of you, unfinished and aching with life, lying there, oblivious to what was coming.

He flicked to the kitchen cam next. She turned on the stove, the flame dancing briefly as she set something near it, perhaps setting it up to ignite the rest of the house. Then, the heaters. One by one, she activated them in rooms scattered throughout the building.

She was ensuring there was no way to contain it, Rafayel thought, anger bubbling in his chest.

The last angle — the yard camera — showed her walking down the pathway, her head held high. And then she stopped. Turned her head slightly, as if to watch her handiwork. And that was the last frame before the fire began to spread. It wasn’t just a spark. It was a rush of fire, a violent wave of heat, starting from the kitchen and spreading like wildfire, engulfing the entire structure.

Rafayel’s vision blazed blue again, the glow so bright it nearly illuminated the room. His hand slammed onto the desk, splintering the silence with a force that felt like it might tear him apart. His teeth gritted as he muttered under his breath, “It was her…”

The revelation hit like a hammer. His mind raced, thoughts colliding, trying to make sense of it all. Why? Why would she do this?

But no matter the reasoning, no matter how many times he replayed it, the truth was simple. Mikayla had burned everything he had ever cared about. She didn’t even consider the effort he had put into his works, or the fact that he cherished Mo as his home to some extent.

His powers flared again as his mind replayed the footage in an endless loop, each time seeing Mikayla’s face, each time imagining her walking away, untouched. But not for long.

She’ll pay.

He stood abruptly, the chair screeching across the floor as he rose. His heart pounded in his ears, as he dialled a number of a person he had kept in the back of his mind all these years. He presses the phone to his ear just as the line connects.

“Amund, it is time.”

Mikayla stood at the edge of the cliffside estate, her figure small against the vast expanse of Whitesand Bay. The wind tugged at the hem of her coat, lifting strands of her hair and carrying them into the salty air. She barely noticed. Her eyes were fixed on the horizon, glassy and unfocused, while her fingers tapped rhythmically against her phone screen — not with intent, but as if driven by muscle memory alone.

She had come here because of a short, cryptic message from Rafayel.

“I need what you’ve kept with you for too long.”

There had been no context, no greeting, just that single line. She had read it twice, then again, confusion twisting into unease. Whatever it meant, she couldn't ignore it. Rafayel didn’t speak in riddles unless there was weight behind them — and lately, his silences carried the mass of a storm.

Her heels had clicked up the stone pathway to the manor only to be met by Thomas. The door cracked open just enough for him to peer out — expression unreadable, lips a straight, disapproving line. His eyes were sunken with fatigue, and something else, something grim: a knowledge he didn’t want to hold.

“Rafayel’s not here,” he’d said curtly.

She opened her mouth, but before she could form a question, he added, “Don’t ask. He disappears like that. Always has.”

Then, without another word, the door had shut. So now she waited. The manor loomed behind her like a sleeping beast — windows tall and dark, its chimneys unmoving against the gray sky. She had texted Rafayel again two minutes ago, asking about his whereabouts and had gotten no reply yet.

Mikayla turned her gaze back to the ocean. It stretched endlessly, a field of rolling steel-blue waves that mirrored the heavy clouds above. Normally, this view brought her peace — the ebb and flow of the tide, the way the sunlight danced on the water’s surface. But today, something was different. The sea was no longer passive. It felt alive.

The wind sharpened, slicing across her cheeks. Down below, the shoreline churned, frothing violently as wave after wave collided with the rocks. The waters had turned from sapphire to slate, turbulent and restless, like a beast pacing within its cage.

Mikayla took a step back instinctively.

A sudden surge of water roared up the beach, crashing toward the cliff’s edge with startling speed. She barely had time to move, stepping sideways as the wave surged close — not quite high enough to drench her, but close enough to spit foam onto her shoes. She glanced down, cursing under her breath, but before the irritation could fully settle, she felt a shift.

It wasn't just a change in tide. It was as if the ocean had decided it no longer wished to sit still. A sudden hush settled, eerily quiet — and then the sea screamed. From the horizon, a towering swell rose, unnaturally fast. A tidal wave, dark as night and crowned with whitecaps like sharpened teeth, hurtled toward the shore. It curved like a spine, arching as if summoned by wrath.

Mikayla’s breath caught. Her feet froze. The sky dimmed as the wall of water rose above her, blotting out what little light remained.

Cold seized her legs first — then her waist, her chest — and then she was under. Dragged violently through the sand and into the frothing embrace of the sea. The world above vanished, replaced by a riot of bubbles, shadow, and cold pressure.

She fought, but it was futile. The ocean didn’t care for struggles. It twisted her limbs, spun her in currents that felt like iron cables wrapping around her. She tried to cry out, but the sea swallowed her voice.

Her fingers slackened. Her limbs, once flailing, drifted like ribbons in the dark. The light overhead — distant and warbled — faded until she could no longer tell up from down.

And far above, on the cliffs of Whitesand Bay, the sea hissed against the rocks, retreating slowly — as if it had claimed what it came for, and was now satisfied.

Mikayla blinked against the watery haze, slowly regaining control of her senses. She realized her wrists and ankles were bound, held by coils of glowing kelp-like chain, pulsing faintly in the water’s ethereal light. She opened her eyes, and the sight that greeted her stole the breath she hadn’t even known she could draw underwater.

The world around her shimmered with an otherworldly sheen — an ancient ruin, bathed in bioluminescent blues and deep violets, its crumbled stone columns etched with unfamiliar symbols. Coral bloomed from broken walls, and strange, luminous fish swam between the gaps like wandering thoughts.

And then it struck her.

She had seen this place before — not once, but countless times in dreams, always out of reach. And now, she was here.

As Mikayla’s thoughts scrambled to make sense of it all, a dark silhouette stretched across the ocean floor, and her body tensed. She raised her head instinctively, eyes adjusting to the approaching figure, and there — just a few feet away — was Rafayel.

Her initial tension dissolved into fragile relief.

“Rafayel,” she breathed, her voice soft, the sound somehow carrying through the water as clearly as it would on land. Seeing him — a familiar face in a sea of the surreal — steadied her, if only for a moment. “What is this place? Why are we here…? Is it some wanderer’s effect?”

She expected a trace of warmth in his eyes or a sarcastic quip. But none came.

Instead, he stopped before her, his presence impossibly still. Up close, she could see how changed he was — how far from the man she remembered. His usually dusky eyes were now a luminous ultramarine, glowing with a quiet, alien intensity. Fins, translucent and glimmering, curved elegantly along the shell of his ears, and scaled patterns — the same deep blue — trailed from beneath his jaw down his throat, disappearing under the folds of his garments. But more than his appearance, it was his expression that pierced her the most.

From the edge of her vision, she noticed another figure — an old man watching from behind one of the shattered columns. His expression twisted into a sneer the moment their eyes met, his amusement thinly veiled. He didn’t speak, but the mockery in his gaze said enough.

“You thought I would remain in the dark?” He said, voice as steady as stone, yet heavy with restrained fury. “You thought, perhaps, I wouldn’t find the person who was the cause of the absolute desecration of everything I ever built?”

“What are you talking about?” she asked, her tone still confused but shifting — touched with a thread of caution.

“You set sanctuary aflame, destroyed my life’s work.” His voice didn’t rise, but each word landed like a drop of molten lead. “You chose to destroy what you never had the patience to understand.”

The girl who had blinked at him with confusion only moments ago began to fade as something in her shifted. She clicked her tongue, her eyes narrowing. The softness drained from her features, replaced by a steely indifference. Her shoulders lifted with a breathless huff, chin tipping upward.

“Ah,” she murmured, her voice now cool and unhurried. “So you did find out.”

She tilted her head toward the chains binding her. “So that’s the reason I’m here, then? You believe a cage will humble me?” She gave a half-laugh — not mocking, but disdainful. “I won’t be treated like this, Rafayel. Not by you.”

“You speak as though you still have the right to be offended,” he said. “As though betrayal gives you the high ground.”

The water between them seemed to pulse with tension. Rafayel’s face twitched, barely — just enough to betray the tempest beneath the stillness. He turned from her, walking slowly toward the crumbled remains of a podium, his hands clasped behind his back like a judge before the verdict. He stood there for a breath and then turned to face her again.

“Although, you’re right,” he said, voice edged with cruel irony. “You’re my guest in the Island of Songs. I should be offering you hospitality.” He smiled, but it was simply a hollow curve of the mouth. “We’re close, aren’t we? You deserve the best.”

He paused, and the chains around her responded before he gave them voice. Her eyes widened a fraction as the bindings cinched tighter. The pressure multiplied, slamming against her skin, her bones. Mikayla hissed through her teeth, pain lancing through her limbs as the magical restraints dug deep into her.

She struggled, chest heaving, the sting of betrayal blooming sharper than any wound.

"Rafayel—"

Amund’s footsteps echoed solemnly against the sea-glass tiles of the submerged ruin as he approached Rafayel with measured grace. In his hands, he cradled something wrapped in silk — an object so sacred that even the coral seemed to lean away from it, as though aware of its resonance. With reverence, the old man drew back the translucent cloth to reveal a ceremonial dagger. Its blade shimmered with an unnatural luminance, forged from a metal no surface-world forge had ever touched — a sleek, obsidian-sheened platinum veined with veins of soft violet glow, like lightning locked in ice. The hilt curved like the spine of a mythical sea-serpent, etched in Lemurian runes that pulsed faintly as if they were breathing.

Rafayel stood silently, hands open and steady, accepting the dagger with both palms outstretched. The moment it touched his skin, the runes began to burn brighter, their glow syncing with the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Amund muttered in Lemurian, each syllable stirring unseen forces in the depths around them.

Rafayel turned, his gaze settled once more on Mikayla.

She hung suspended in the enchanted chains, arms spread slightly from her sides, her body bowed by the pressure of their grip. The kelp-like bonds writhed faintly, as though aware of their victim’s pain and drawing nourishment from it. Her breaths came shallow and uneven, each one a ragged effort. Her eyes, though glassy with strain, still held defiance — but it was a dying flame.

“How does it feel?” he asked, his voice velvet-wrapped iron. He let his lips curl into a smile that bore no warmth, only satisfaction. “Come on, Mikayla. Tolerate it. So much worse is still to come.”

The chains pulsed tighter in response and she hissed, blood blooming like scarlet ink in the water, curling in gentle spirals as if even her agony had been choreographed. Her voice broke as she choked out, “What do you want?”

Rafayel didn’t answer immediately. He began to walk toward her, stopping only inches from her, crouching slightly so that their eyes met. He lifted the dagger between them, tilting it gently so the gleam of its edge traced the outline of her cheek. The blade didn’t touch her, but it sang — a high, aching frequency that made her teeth ache.

“I want your heart,” he said softly. Then he chuckled, dry and unkind, before letting the hilt fall into a loose grip. He drew his free hand across his face in mock frustration, as though catching himself in a minor social faux pas.

“Oh — sorry,” he said with mocking sweetness. “My heart, actually.”

Mikayla’s face contorted with disbelief, color rising high on her cheeks even as the cold currents tried to drain the warmth from her skin. Her voice cracked as it rose into a scream, her words laced with venom and heartbreak.

“All this — all this — for a woman you don’t even know. A woman who doesn’t exist, Rafayel!”

Rafayel didn’t flinch. Instead, he chuckled mirthlessly, his eyes, still pulsing with that ultramarine glow, glinted with something unrecognizable to the man she once knew.

“Oh, but I do know her,” he stated, voice silked with certainty. “And she’s not just any woman, believe me.”

He tapped his chin thoughtfully with the tip of the ceremonial dagger, an idle gesture made cruel by the context — as if he were pondering nothing more serious than a piece of music or a half-finished poem. Mikayla’s breath caught as she watched him. She’s not real, her mind screamed. But he wasn’t hearing that now. He wasn’t hearing her at all.

He continued, voice almost pleasant: “And you don’t have to worry about whether I’ll meet her or not. After today,” — his smile widened, predatory — “you can be most certain that I will.”

“Although…” He tilted his head, feigning regret. “I can’t guarantee you’ll live to witness that.”

Her lips parted, but no sound came. For the first time, real fear bloomed in her chest. Not the fear of pain — no, she had endured that and more — but the fear of being forgotten. Of being eclipsed in the heart of a man who had once refused to stop seeing her, even when she pushed him away again and again. The man who once poured himself into painting her shadows now looked through her as though she were just another ruin left behind.

And this — this — over a fantasy? A woman who lived only in his brushstrokes and canvases?

Her eyes burned as angry, spiteful tears spilled into the water, turning her vision into a blur of motion and light. Her heart screamed against itself — against the punishment now being dealt by her own hands, from choices she had long buried beneath indifference and superiority.

But there was still one card left to play.

With trembling strength, she raised her chin. Her jaw was set, her voice breathy but resolute. She summoned power from the marrow of her bones, from the bond he had made with her long ago beneath moonlit tides.

Her voice struck through the water like a divine command:

“With the authority granted to me by the Ocean’s Covenant,” she began, gritting her teeth, “I order you to erase that wo—”

She never finished.

Rafayel spun. In an instant, the casual cruelty was gone — replaced by a sharp, ruthless urgency. The blade flashed through the water like a bolt of light summoned from the seabed, and in a single fluid motion, he swung the dagger toward her with terrifying precision. Her eyes widened and the words on her tongue dissolved like salt. A current followed in the weapon’s wake, rippling out like a shockwave.

The dagger sang through the water as it arced downward, and in a blink — before Mikayla could finish her forbidden command — the blade severed her tongue.

A rush of crimson bloomed, then disappeared into the depths in whorls of blood-tinged silence. No scream followed. There was only the choked gasp of a body shocked beyond endurance, and the widening of her eyes — first in disbelief, then in searing agony.

Her voice, the very instrument of her power, was gone.

Forever.

Rafayel stood over her, breathing slowly as the runes along the dagger’s hilt pulsed brighter, feeding on the severed command, on the fractured spell still echoing in the current like a fading heartbeat. The silence that followed was immense — not merely the absence of sound, but the suppression of something sacred. Mikayla’s breath trembled in short, helpless bursts as her blood mingled with the salt of the sea, her limbs twitching against the binds that refused to release her.

Rafayel’s face twisted, not in anger — but in disgust.

“Had I known you’d fall to this level…” he murmured, his voice a low thunder, rumbling with grief barely leashed beneath the fury. “Compelling me to forget something I held dear… to erase her from my soul…”

He stepped closer, the dagger still glowing faintly, its edge now marked with the remnants of her blood. His voice grew colder, more distant, as though each word was dragged from the bones of a long-dead truth.

“I should’ve never given you my heart. And to think—” he stopped, the weight of it pressing on him. His jaw clenched. “To think I sacrificed Lemuria for you.”

Mikayla's breath hitched as her eyes locked on him, still burning with a thousand unsaid pleas — for mercy, for reason, for some last tether to the man she once knew. But he no longer saw her as Mikayla. Not truly. She was just a traitor now, not his bride.

Rafayel raised the dagger high once more, but this time it was not meant to cut flesh. He brought it down slowly, deliberately, to the center of her chest — and instead of slicing skin, the blade carved through the metaphysical boundary of her being, opening a cavity not of blood and bone, but of essence.

A jagged rift shimmered into being — pulsing with threads of glowing blue, violet, and red, flickering like an aurora within her sternum. From this impossible wound, an orb of soft, flickering flame revealed itself — no larger than a closed fist, yet radiating with the terrible and beautiful force of something eternal.

It floated from her chest as if it knew its path.

Rafayel’s eyes reflected its light as he reached out, hands no longer trembling. The orb hovered above his palms for a heartbeat — two — as if weighing the soul of the man who dared claim it.

And then, with silent understanding, it sank into him.

The moment it touched his chest, it melted through flesh and fabric, embedding itself into the very core of his being. The reaction was instant. His body arched as the energy surged through him like a storm birthed in the marrow of the world. His spine illuminated with runic fire, fins along his ears flared wide and crystalline, and the scales along his neck shimmered into new patterns — no longer muted blue, but radiant indigo marked with gold.

A shockwave burst outward, distorting the water around them, shaking the coral, and splitting the stone at the base of the ruined altar behind them. Even Amund, watching from the shadows, took an instinctive step back, eyes narrowed as he whispered, “He’s ascended…”

Raw power now pulsed from Rafayel’s core, and the ruins seemed to hum in reverence. Mikayla sagged in her binds, eyes fluttering weakly. The mythical process that severed the eternal flame from its host was not instantaneous — nor painless. It gave her a few more moments. Just enough to feel what she had lost.

Rafayel approached her one last time, his steps leaving trails of light in the water. He crouched before her, calm now — like the sea after the storm, deceptively quiet.

His hand reached forward and gripped her chin, lifting her face gently but with finality.

“Time for you to pay fairly,” he said, his voice a cold psalm, spoken not out of hatred, but of necessity. “For what you’ve done.”

Her form, once sharp with pride, now trembled — not because she feared death, but because, in the final throes of her fading consciousness, she finally understood the cost of betrayal. Mikayla’s body convulsed as the last vestiges of her strength failed her. The chains no longer bound her in struggle, but in surrender. Her hollow eyes — drenched in unshed agony — met Rafayel’s one final time, pleading not for mercy, but for comprehension. But none was offered.

Tears welled and broke like bubbles drifting upward through the water as flames, unnatural and divine, began to kindle across Rafayel’s fingertips. He had no need to speak. The flames leapt from his hands like serpents of gold and blue, wrapping around Mikayla’s form in elegant cruelty. No ordinary fire could ignite beneath the ocean, but this was no earthly blaze. It was born of soul and sanctity — the wrath of Lemuria made manifest. It embraced her not with warmth, but with righteous fury, consuming the very foundation of what she was.

Mikayla did not scream. She could not. She simply wept as her form disintegrated into ash — ash that refused to scatter, instead crumbling downward like dust returning to the bones of the drowned.

And then there was silence. A silence so full it seemed even the water paused in reverence.

Amund stepped forward from the shadows, his expression unreadable, though his gaze lingered on the scorched shimmer that marked the spot where she had perished. He placed a hand on Rafayel’s shoulder without speaking, a gesture that acknowledged both the weight of what had been done — and the necessity of it.

Together, they turned from the ruins, leaving behind the last stain of Lemuria’s greatest betrayer.

The journey back to Whalefall City was quiet. But the city… was no longer what it once was. As they approached the oceanic capital of his kingdom, Rafayel saw it — the rebirth of Lemuria.

The shattered temples, once drowned and crumbling, were reforming. Coral wrapped around fractured columns, singing in strange frequencies, pulling ancient stones into place. Obelisks that had stood silent for centuries now hummed with light, their glyphs blazing once more with Lemurian. Schools of ethereal fish circled upward like garlands, drawn like celebrants in a holy procession.

The Temple, the very core of Lemuria, awaited them. Its ruined spires rose, healed, and reached like arms toward the surface, weeping with moss and gold. As they arrived at the gates, Amund — his weathered face now alight with reverence — bowed deeply and stepped aside, his voice barely a whisper: "Only Your Quintessence may enter now. This miracle… it belongs to you.”

Rafayel nodded once and crossed the threshold.

The inside was luminous and still. Water hung like silk, unmoving, as if the temple had claimed time itself and refused to let it pass. He followed the central aisle — flanked by statues of his predecessors, their eyes shut in peaceful slumber — until he reached the alcove at the altar’s heart.

From within his hands, he drew the eternal flame — now diminished to the size of a small ember, flickering softly in his palm. He crouched, bowed his head, and placed it upon the pedestal.

For a breath, nothing happened.

Then — the ember pulsed. Once. Twice. And with the third pulse, the entire temple came alive.

Light exploded outward in waves, weaving through the chamber like ink dropped in still water. The runes ignited along the floors and walls, and the Deep Sea responded with a low, harmonious thrum, a sound not heard since eons.

Outside, the ocean itself shifted. Not with violence — but with serenity. A warmth, impossible in these depths, spread through the waters like a returning soul. Lemuria had awakened. Its people would no longer wander as ghosts.

Rafayel turned to the temple doors, where he saw them — the last of Lemuria’s kin, drawn by instinct and magic. Faces he had long forgotten. Elders, children, warriors, lost souls. They were all there.

Some knelt. Others reached toward the light in awe, tears cutting silent trails through the saltwater. And then came the music — sung by the entirety of them in Lemurian, the underwater hymn rising from the marrow of the city itself. They rejoiced in their own way of the return of the God of the Seas.

Rafayel watched, standing still among their joy. And though his face held the composure of a guardian, his heart wavered. He glanced to his side, to the place where he would’ve made you stand.

You were the thread that bound him to his purpose — his muse, his savior, his epiphany. And now, with Lemuria’s resurrection and unlocking his true potential, he would find you. Beyond time and dimension, beyond even mortality if he must.

He would bring you here — beside him — to see the joy you inspired. And for the first time in centuries, Rafayel smiled — not with burden, nor sorrow, but hope.

Check out my other works if you liked this ♥

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joocomics · 4 months ago

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1k followers celebration event — ⌞⌗ p1h drabble⌝

𓂃⠀𓈒 bsf!jiung x fem!reader

genre: smut ( 18+ ) ── 0.7 words

request: “you have no idea how long i've wanted this” + dacryphilia

✎… best friends to lovers trope, soft!dom!jiung, dacryphilia, un/protected sex (not specified), pet names, missionary w/ face grabbing and forehead kisses

( event masterlist | p1h masterlist )

Without planning, without thinking twice, you kiss Jiung - your best friend.

It’s very sudden and brief; the second your lips press against his, they retrieve in panick just as quickly. But it’s something you’ve been craving to do for so long…

You watch his eyes widen, mirroring your own as heavy silence follows. Your heart pounds so loudly; each beat is banging with anticipation as you search for any sign that can show you that you haven't just ruined everything.

However, he remains silent, sending a knot of worry in the pit of your stomach.

“Oh my God,” you whisper, looking away.

At the exact same moment, Jiung grabs your hand, stealing your chance to leave the room.

“Did we just,” his sentence fades into the space between you, making your heart clench even more.

“We did.”

You swallow thickly, simultaneously brainstorming ways to laugh it off, to sweep it under the rug, but before you manage to do any of that, Jiung cups your face and kisses you back. Slow, gentle, but deliberately - assured of his actions.

He holds your warm face in his hands, grounding himself in the thrill of your soft lips, moving cautiously against his own.

There’s no panick this time; and there’s no hesitation as you undress yourself before his eyes, submitting to his touch that feels familiar and new all at once.

You're still settled on the couch where you were watching a movie earlier, but now - naked and flushed against each other. Connected.

Jiung's face is scrunched in a mixture of pleasure and concentration, but you cannot look away from his eyes. You’ve known them for so long, but tonight they seem darker and slightly… fragile; as though what you’re in the middle of doing is weakening something inside him. The rest of him is composed, measured in strict attempts at hiding it, but his eyes tell you all about what’s actually happening beneath the surface.

Maybe it’s because you’re feeling the exact same weakness right now too. Especially as he keeps your knees bend to your chest, bringing you a type of satisfaction you’ve never known before, whispering words you couldn’t even dare to imagine you’d hear from him outside of your dreams.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he murmurs near your parted lips.

His gaze drops to look at them as he anticipates a response, or at least a sound, that would let him have a small hint of the thoughts running in your head.

“I’ve been wanting this so bad too,” you whisper, burying fingers into his hair and gently pulling him closer till your foreheads rest against one another. “Don’t stop, please…”

You’re almost out of breath, turning woozy as his length glides in quick, strong motions - a sensual, but also demanding rhythm.

“I won’t,” Jiung grunts in a rush, fixating on keeping his hips moving, “not until you cum around me.”

The intense sounds of his body crashing into you fill the room, mixing with your whimpers caused by the scorching sensation; the same one causing your eyes to glimmer with tears.

“You can cum around me, baby, okay?”

You nod, gripping on his hair to control the tears, to stop them from escaping, but you can’t. It feels too… euphoric, too warm.

“Sweetheart, please,” Jiung murmurs, unsure of what exactly he’s asking from you; for a moment, he’s puzzled with the sight of those tears running down your cheeks, “don’t…”

Until he realises the truth.

“I—“ You barely manage to say from how much your voice shakes, “it feels too good… Jiung—“

“Yeah?” A hitched breath drops from his tongue, half-chuckle, half-sigh of relief. He speeds up; sweat trickling down the sides of his face. “Should I keep going? Just like that?”

“Yeah, just like that, please!”

Jiung places one palm on your stained cheek as his other arm, tense and flexing, keeps him steady on top of you. At this moment, he’s enticed by you in a way he’s never been before. Wanting to feel your silent tears, his thumb brushes against your skin gently - somehow, they make you look even more beautiful; more delicate.

More his.

“… gonna make me c-cum,” you mumble in a rush, holding onto the intimate eye contact between you.

In the heat of the moment, Jiung applies light pressure on both sides of your face; the tips of his fingers sink into your cheeks, shifting the sounds of your whimpers as your lips pucker up.

“That’s all I want, baby,” he mutters, pressing his own lips against your forehead. “I got you.”

And like that, you give in to the high sensation.

! please do not repost, copy or translate my works

! please keep in mind that english is not my first language. i apologise for any mistakes i’ve might missed

#joocomics.p1h #dinna’s 1k followers celebration #p1harmony smut #p1h x reader #p1harmony x reader #jiung x reader #choi jiung smut #piwon smut #piwon x reader

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pringle-slut · 6 months ago

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charles, figuring it out, gets stuck on the thought of holding edwin's hand. it's not an uncommon occurance, usually when one is pulling in any given direction it's about a 50/50 shot they'll grab a wrist or a hand. but that never lasts very long once they're on the move, so charles hasn't ever actually held hands with edwin, which for some reason, really bothers charles. he does not like it. when he has this realization he almost reaches out to snatch edwin's hand in his own, but he pauses, wondering vaguely where the desire came from. he must have some look or another on his face, because edwin asks him if everything is all right and crystal is frowning at him. he smiles reassuringly and tells them he's trying to remember a rhyme he'd heard in passing (he's found that neither edwin nor crystal will accept "yeah i'm fine!" anymore, but sometimes he can get away with pretending to puzzle something out) and tries to zone back into the conversation. they're discussing a case that involves a supernatural orchestra conductor who (so she claims) accidentally beheaded her first chair violinist with a burst of force magic. edwin is running through the motions that she'd shown them, big sweeping motions and small flicks of the wrist, and charles is staring so fucking hard at his hands he can feel his own ears burning. why does he want to hold them so bad?? is it just the whole "being starved of physical affection" thing that he and crystal talked about? he's always kinda liked when they end up holding hands for that split second, does that mean anything? how is he supposed to know the difference between "this is my favorite person in all of creation and i never want to be without them" and "this is the boy i am in love with" if he's never had truly good friends OR an actual romantic connection before?? could he just... try holding edwin's hand and see what happens? he doesn't hear any of the rest of crystal and edwin brainstorming

for additional angst, maybe he wonders if the reason edwin thinks he's in love with him is because he'd never had those kinds of experiences either? edwin's time at st hilarion's was even more lonely than charles' so who's to say edwin didnt latch onto the first person to be friendly back to him? who's to say charles wasn't simply the most convenient option?

#dead boy detectives #charles rowland #edwin payne #payneland #dbda

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zevrra · 5 months ago

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[𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬.⋆˚࿔]

synop: some drabbles, first kisses & how they’d go with my fav arcane men!

ft. gn!reader, jayce, viktor, & vander

a/n: should i flesh any of these out? >:3

(this is sfw but slightly suggestive w/ a lil angst)

𝐉𝐀𝐘𝐂𝐄

— is the type that once he gets a taste, he doesn’t want to stop.

his hazel eyes glance down at your lips and they linger for a long moment, full of want and need as he debates on kissing you; can see the gears turning inside his head. until jayce realizes he’s staring for a little longer than he should and breaks out in a little embarrassed smile, flashing his fangs and that cute little gap in his teeth. “sorry…” he apologizes, ripping his eyes back up to yours.

“it’s okay.” you whisper; as if you were any better than he was, staring at his tilted lips. craving and wanting him with so much tension, it could surely be cut with a knife.

jayce chuckles nervously under his breath but leans forward despite his hesitation, pushing aside any and all of his worries, as he presses his lips gently against yours. it’s a small, soft peck of a kiss; just enough for him to get a sweet taste of you. he leans back a little then, eyes hazy as if he’s become intoxicated with just one kiss. and before either of you can voice an opinion on your first kiss, jayce is eagerly moving on.

“one more.” he mutters, seeking your lips again. he plants a firm kiss against you this time. his breathing is quickly turning into wild rasps as he presses his lips again and again into yours. his hand are roaming along every inch of your body. fingers grasping at your thighs, digging gently into your skin, smoothing across your waist, tugging you into his own lap while his lips continue to find yours.

he whispers countless of pleas and begs of just “one more” between each kiss until they’re no longer just quick pecks and evolve into fuller, far more passionate kisses. one giant hand runs up your thigh again while his other moves to hook around the back of your neck to deepen the kiss. “taste so good.” jayce whispers just as his tongue runs along your bottom lip.

“more.” he mutters across your reddening lips. “please need a little more…” he adds in a huff, waiting for you to give him the green light.

he’s got your head spinning in circles; breathless while your lips still tingle from his desperate make out. your face burns with a drunken blush from the kiss and you’re not entirely sure if you can find the right words to say, so instead you capture his lips now.

and it’s the only answer he needs before he’s desperately sweeping you back into a passionate make out session.

𝐕𝐈𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐑

— is the type who kisses you by total accident one day and then flees.

it had just been you and viktor in the lab together for days on end. the two of you had worked through countless of formula errors, spent every sleepless night together, drank enough coffee that it could replace every ounce of water in your body; and yet you two enjoyed it more than anything. you laughed, brainstormed, and have come closer than you’ve ever had before.

it was…a little obvious that you liked viktor, well to your knowledge it was but not so much to viktor; or so it seemed.

“you’ve done it!” you exclaim, excitement creeping into your voice as you stand from your chair as vik does the same. you crowd over vik’s shoulder to get a better look at the smooth, luminous glass ball, eyes wide open as you stare at the stabilized hex crystal before you. “you’ve actually done it!”

“no,” vik speaks, ripping off his goggles as he stares up at you. “i could not have done this without you. you’ve contributed so much! we did it.” he adds before tossing his goggles off to the side. he quickly tries to gather any paperwork and journal entries the two of you had written in the last few days; eager to rush off and show his work to heimerdinger and the council. and he says little else, too excited to show off his breakthrough, pocketing the hex crystal as he hurries for the lab door.

in his flurry, he forgets a very important piece of paperwork. you grab it, turning towards the door to the lab where viktor had started heading off towards to, waving it in the air before vik can get too far. “viktor! you forgot something!”

vik stops just at the door and spins on his heel to come hurriedly back to you. but instead of taking the note and continuing on his journey to the council room, he’s instead closing the distance between you and him very quickly; quick enough you don’t have time to think, let alone react as vik is sweeping forward to press his lips fully into yours.

he kisses you then, passionate and full of just pure excitement for the things you two have managed to do. and the kiss is far more amazing than anything you could have imagined but it’s cut entirely too short when vik is suddenly realizing all too fast exactly what he’s done and breaking away. he backs up, damn near tripping over his own cane in his hurry, as he takes the paper right out of your hand. he mutters a goodbye and nothing else before he’s gone; just as quickly as he had kissed you.

you stand frozen, in humbled shock, debating if that had actually happened or not. but the warmth blooming across your lips and face is a dead giveaway that yes, it did in fact happen.

and you smile with the thought that this could be the start of something wonderful…and yet it’s only the start of viktor avoiding you at any cost.

𝐕𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑

— is the type to be a little embarrassed because of his age but really he’s been holding back for too long.

“you don’t really want this, do ya? i’m practically an old man now.” vander laughs from behind his bar top. he sips on the cheap whiskey he’s been drinking the entire night, glancing at you over the rim.

everyone else from the bar had gone home for the night but you had decided to stick around for a little bit longer; just for this. for him. you swirl your drink around inside your cup, glancing between the moving liquid and vander’s handsome face. you had been dropping hints for, god knows how long, that you wanted him, and now that it was just the two of you…you were willing to push your luck a little to get exactly what you wanted.

“mmm i know.” you respond, taking a sip off your own alcohol of choice that night. “that’s what i like about you though.” you add with a smirk.

your response only makes him laugh again, shaking his head. he pushes his cup out of the way and off to the side, most likely empty and definitely forgotten for the rest of the night, as he settles his hands on the edge of his bar. “that so?” he asks with a grin.

you nod, mirroring his grin right back at him. if you were given the chance sooner, you would’ve dragged him out of the bar two and a half hours ago.

“what if this old man can’t keep up with you?”

now it was your turn to chuckle as you crawl up onto the bar, sliding across the wood surface until you’re sitting pretty right between his settled hands. you move your legs to dangle on the other side of the counter, closing the gap as much as you can. “guess you’re just going to have to find out, hmm?” you respond, running a hand down the front of his broad chest.

while he’s still a little hesitant, it doesn’t take anymore convincing as soon as the distance is closed. his gaze is hungry, always has been, as he settles his eyes onto your pretty face. he’s sucking in a deep breath when the last bit of his resolve vanishes. and it’s his turn to close the gap now as he captures your lips in one swift movement. he’s feverishly kissing you, deep and full of yearning. gripping the edge of the bar like his life depends on it, keeping himself upright and from what you can only assume is to hold himself back just a tiny bit; didn’t want to scare you off with just how badly he wanted you too.

vander grunts against your lips, reaching with a large hand to caress the side of your neck, deepening the kiss with a swirl of his tongue meshing into your own before he’s huffing a deep breath and breaking off the kiss. he pants against your slowly swelling lips, still keeping himself close but far enough away you’d have to chase after his lips if you wanted anymore.

“gonna ask again, you sure about this?” vander mutters. and you can see it in his gray eyes, the want and the need he holds for you and how he’s holding himself back, just in case you may have changed your mind.

but that was impossible. you wanted him and only him. you roll your eyes at his slightly concerned tone of voice before you slide your arms up to lock around his neck. “i’m more than sure. now shut up and fucking kiss me.”

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thatdammchickennugget · 3 months ago

Note

This is such a weird question, I am sorry if it makes you uncomfortable, but do you think Mattheo Riddle get's sometimes such bad night terrors and nightmares that he can sometimes have an accident (unconsciously pee himself) during his sleep?

He always managed to handle it and no one knew until as his gf, you discover it, witnessing it when you got awaken by his tossing and yelling, wanting to wake him up and then you saw it happen, and had to reassure him it was okay and wasn't a big deal once you awakened him. He's so vulnerable with you tho. 😭

I've Got You

pairing - mattheo riddle x gn!reader

warnings - hurt/comfort, implied ptsd, post-hogwarts, insecurity and shame, bedwetting, non-sexual nudity, mention of nightmares/night terrors

a/n - heya dear anon, thanks for the request 💕 I changed some things up a little bit after me and my lovely greg had a brainstorm about it. hope that's alright and hope you like it! also big thanks to @pizzaapeteer for helping me out with ideas and proof reading 💕

wordcount - 1.6k

It starts the way it always does.

Mattheo wakes up gasping, the noise caught in his throat like smoke, hands tangled in the sheets and clawing uselessly. The dream is already slipping—flashes of green light, too-bright eyes, voices that aren’t his own yelling things his mind is already struggling to remember. His ribs ache like he’s been running. He blinks into the dark, unblinking in return, and lets the cold shiver of it settle under his skin.

You’re asleep beside him, quiet in the way he envies. He stays still for a long moment, listening to your breathing and pretending he’s not shaking. He’s used to this part. The after.

He lifts a hand to his face, wiping sweat from his brow. Only—it’s colder than sweat. His stomach clenches. Something is off.

The sheets are damp, uncomfortably so, and it takes less than a second for him to know what’s happened. The realization hits him like a slap. His breath stutters.

No.

His jaw tightens. He moves slowly, carefully, like he can make it untrue if he’s gentle enough. One of your legs is resting over his, and the guilt that surges through his chest is instant, crushing.

This hasn’t happened in years. Years.

He can barely see through the dark but he moves anyway, trying to peel the covers back just enough to assess the damage without waking you. His hands tremble. His skin feels too tight, his throat too dry. He’s thinking through a hundred different ways to fix it—how to vanish the mess, how to get to the bathroom without stirring you, how to burn the sheets and lie about it without letting the shame show.

He’s not stupid. You’re kind. You love him. But still—this? This is the kind of thing that makes people look at you differently. Like you’re broken in a way they can’t patch up. Like you’re too much.

He can’t let you see. He can’t risk it.

You shift in your sleep, murmuring something unintelligible, and it makes his heart stutter. He freezes. His knuckles are white where they grip the edge of the blanket.

The dream is slowly fading from his mind. The yelling, the darkness, the hands reaching. It’s hard to breathe. He runs a hand through his hair and it gets caught, tangled at the crown.

Fuck. Fuck, he can’t think.

He doesn’t know what part of him moves first—if it’s his foot or his elbow or just the guilt pulsing through his limbs—but he misjudges it. He knocks your knee.

You stir again, this time louder. “Mattheo?”

Your voice is sticky with sleep and something like concern. The shape of it makes him ache.

“I’m fine,” he says quickly, voice low, too fast. “Go back to sleep.”

But you’re sitting up. You’re already awake. You’re rubbing your eyes and squinting at him through the dark.

You look at him, and he knows it’s over.

You don’t say anything at first. You just look at him, and that alone is unbearable. Your eyes are still heavy with sleep, but they sweep down slowly—taking in the way he’s curled over himself, the covers bunched in his lap like he’s trying to disappear. You see too much. He knows you do.

“Mattheo?” you ask again, softer now. “What’s wrong?”

He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He doesn’t know how to say it. That something broke loose in his head while he was asleep and now he’s here, thirty feet underwater with his ears ringing and his body betraying him. That he feels disgusting. Like a child. Like someone who’s been cracked open.

He doesn’t answer. He just looks away, jaw clenched hard, chest rising too quickly. His hands are fists in the sheets.

You move before he can stop you—scooting closer, reaching to touch his arm. Your fingers are so gentle. “Sweetheart,” you murmur. “You’re okay.”

“I’m not,” he says. It comes out raw. “I’m not okay.”

Your hand pauses, like it’s waiting for him. “Did you have a nightmare?”

He nods, but that’s not the worst of it and you both know it.

You wait again. When he still doesn’t say anything, you shift your weight and reach for the blankets. He grabs your wrist.

“Don’t.” His voice is sharp. Not angry—panicked. “Please. Don’t look at me.”

“Heym it’s okay,” you say, patient, quiet. “I just want to help.”

He lets go, but the shame is burning through his skin. When you lift the blanket, he closes his eyes. The silence that follows is thick.

You don’t say anything cruel. You don’t gasp or pull away or look disgusted. You just set the blanket down and rub your hand up and down his back, featherlight.

“Oh, baby,” you whisper. “It’s okay.”

“I didn’t even know,” he says, still not looking at you. His voice wobbles and he bites the inside of his cheek to stop it. “I thought it was just… I thought I’d just been sweating, I—fuck, I didn’t—”

“It’s okay,” you say again, cupping the back of his neck. “I promise, it’s okay.”

“I’m not a kid,” he says. “I’m not—I’m not supposed to—”

“You’re not,” you interrupt gently. “You’re just tired. Your body’s exhausted. You had a nightmare and your nervous system panicked. It happens.”

He finally looks at you, and it’s like looking through glass. His eyes are dark and fogged, unfocused. He’s still in it, lost somewhere between sleep and memory, half-sunk. You reach up to smooth his damp hair back from his forehead.

“You’re safe,” you say. “Let me run you a bath?”

He nods slowly, like the idea doesn’t quite register, but he’s too tired to fight it.

You help him up, steadying his arms as he stands, careful not to make him feel exposed. “Sit on the edge of the tub for me, alright? Just for a minute.”

He nods again, mute, and perches on the rim of the bathtub while you turn the taps on. The water rushes to fill the silence.

You press a kiss to his temple and disappear for a moment to strip the bed. You move fast, stuffing the wet sheets into the laundry and replacing them with fresh ones, fluffing the pillows like it matters. You pretend not to notice how your hands shake a little. You pretend this doesn’t hurt you, too, seeing him like this.

By the time you return, the tub is full and steam curls up into the air in delicate wisps. Mattheo hasn’t moved, still sitting exactly where you left him, staring at the floor. His hands are in his lap, fingers twisting together.

“Come here,” you say, kneeling in front of him. “Let’s get you undressed.”

He lets you. You’re slow with him, gentle, peeling his clothes off one piece at a time like he’s made of porcelain. He won’t meet your eyes, and he doesn’t say anything, not even when you help him step into the bath. He sinks down with a quiet hiss of breath and shuts his eyes.

You undress too, quickly, and slip into the bath behind him, legs on either side of his hips. Your arms wrap around his chest and you press yourself to his back, nose in his hair.

You just hold him for a long while.

Your hands rub his arms softly, making small circles. The water laps against your skin, warm and quiet. You whisper things in his ear every few minutes—not too much, just enough to keep him tethered. That you love him. That he’s safe. That he didn’t do anything wrong.

Eventually, when the tension has left his shoulders and his breathing’s evened out, you reach for the washcloth on the side of the tub and get it wet, lifting it to his chest.

“I’m gonna clean you up a little, alright?” you murmur. “Just relax. I’ve got you.”

He nods, just barely. His voice is hoarse when he finally speaks again, leaning back into your arms. “I’m sorry.”

You kiss the side of his neck, slow and careful. “You never have to say sorry for something you couldn’t control,” you whisper.

You move slowly, careful not to jostle the water too much. The washcloth glides over his skin in tender, rhythmic motions—across his chest, down his arms, over the curve of his shoulder. His head stays bowed, but he doesn’t flinch away from your touch.

You wring the cloth out, freshen it with warm water, then move lower—smoothing it gently down his stomach, his hips, over the parts he’s too ashamed to name right now. You don’t say anything. You’re reverent, steady. This isn’t about fixing him. It’s about letting him feel safe again.

By the time you’re done, the water has cooled slightly and his breathing’s slower. You press a kiss between his shoulder blades before reaching for a towel and helping him out of the bath.

“I’ve got you,” you murmur again, wrapping the towel around him and patting him dry. He shivers under the soft terrycloth, not from cold, but from something deeper. You take your time, never rushing him.

Once he’s dry, you lead him back to the bedroom, his hand loose in yours.

You help him into a fresh pair of sleep pants and one of his oversized t-shirts, soft from too many washes. He lets you dress him like it’s instinct, like his limbs don’t quite belong to him yet. And when you guide him to sit on the edge of the bed, he finally looks up at you—eyes glassy, ringed with exhaustion.

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#mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle fanfic #mattheo riddle imagine #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #imagine #writing #mari writes #mattheo riddle x reader

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springtyme · 9 months ago

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𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐞 ♡

Emily Prentiss x BAU!Reader || Main masterlist || Spotify

summary: You and Emily takes a break from the case you're working on together.

word count: 875

𝐎𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞: 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟓) 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐃𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞

The leaves crunched under the tires of the SUV as you drive down the winding road, the vibrant oranges and yellows of fall foliage creating a picturesque backdrop that contrasted with the weight of the case you were working on. It is one of those crisp autumn mornings where the air feels electric, vibrant leaves swirling like confetti in the wind, the windows rolled down and crisp autumn air is swirling through the car.

Emily sits in the passenger seat beside you, her focus directed at her notebook, scribbling down notes. Every once in a while, she will look up, scanning the tree line as if the answer to the case might materialize from the colorful landscape.

You can’t help but steal a glance at her, your heart fluttering. Something about her is just so captivating—the way she focuses with such intensity, the slight furrow in her brow as she brainstorms, and the way her dark hair falls around her face, framing her features in the golden morning light. It would probably all be easier if you weren’t colleagues, you wouldn’t feel as bad or as complicated about your attraction.

The conversation had been light so far, but a lull has settled in the cabin of the car. When you had told the others that you would go for a little drive to clear your head and contemplate the next steps in the case, you hadn’t expected for Emily to ask if she could come. As you navigate the road, you think about what to say to bridge the silence.

“Hey, Em,” you finally break the quiet, keeping your voice casual. “A penny for your thoughts?”

She tilts her head slightly, pulling her focus from the notebook to meet your gaze. The sunlight catches in her dark hair, creating a halo effect that amplifies your stirring emotions. It takes a second for her to respond, her brow relaxing as she launches into her thoughts.

“I was just going over the timeline of the events,” she says, tapping her pen against the side of her notebook. “There’s still something off about the alibis we were given. I can’t shake the feeling that someone’s hiding something.”

She looks away, eyes drawn to the swirling leaves outside. “I just wish we could find a way to crack this, you know? It feels like we’re chasing shadows.”

“Right, and there’s still so much we don’t know about our suspect.”

She nods, her eyes narrowing as she considers the situation. “I feel like we’ve overlooked something crucial. Maybe it’s in the way the incidents are connected? We should try and see if we can get an overview over everything and see if we can find a common thread.”

You lean back in your seat, contemplating her words as you keep your eyes on the winding road ahead. Emily's passion for detail and her determination to solve the case only deepen your admiration for her. “A detailed overview is a good idea,” you reply, trying to channel your thoughts into a structured response.“Let’s map it out when we get back,” you suggest. “If we can visualize everything—the timeline, the suspects, the alibis—it might give us a clearer picture.

You nod thoughtfully, but as you shift your gaze back toward the winding road, a sudden gust of wind sweeps through the open windows. The vibrant leaves from the trees dance gracefully into the air, swirling around the SUV like golden butterflies. As one particularly daring leaf flutters in through the window, it makes a delicate spin before settling on Emily’s notebook.

Startled, she looks down, her eyes widening in surprise before breaking into a radiant smile as she picks up the leaf up between her fingers. The light filters through it, revealing an intricate pattern of veins that almost resembles a work of art.

You can’t help but grin at her delight. “Well, if that isn’t a sign of inspiration, I don’t know what is,” you joke lightly, grateful for the moment of levity amidst the weight of the case.

Emily holds the leaf up to the sunlight, allowing its golden hues to shimmer in the light, her expression a mix of wonder and thoughtfulness. “Maybe it’s the universe telling us to take a break,” she suggests, her tone playful yet earnest. “I don’t know about you, but I could use some coffee and a pastry right about now,my treat.”

You chuckle, unable to suppress the warmth blooming in your chest at her offer. “I’m always down for coffee and pastries,” you respond, glancing at her with a playful smirk. “Especially when you’re the one treating.”

Emily laughs, a sound that mingles with the rustling leaves outside, bright and infectious. It feels good to share this lightness with her, especially in contrast to the heaviness of your work.

As you navigate the road that leads to the quaint little coffee shop you have in mind, the vibrant landscape outside only adds to the cozy atmosphere you’re creating in your head, intermingling with the scents of pine and damp earth that waft through the open windows. The trees close in, their leaves glowing under the sun, and for a moment, all the weight of the case seems to fade into the background.

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newkatzkafe2023 · 9 months ago

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hi again!, since the black myth wukong is now included, can you do the jessica rabbit again?, it's alright if you don't do it, if your busy or doing another request from someone! I don't mind waiting!

Part 2 of Jessica Rabbit Reader

(BMW Wukong) when he saw you his jaw was on the floor, what's an sexy and beautiful strawberry doing out here by your lonesome. He flew down from his nimbus cat calling you from the sky brainstorming ways to sweep you off your feet, but your making it so difficult! He had tried everything to win you over, but it feels like your either annoyed or not impressed It's gotta be something he's missing and it's frustrating him. Unfortunately in his frustration he forgot he was still flying on his nimbus and his dumbass flew into a tree🤣, when he fell off his cloud he was both mortified and embarrassed. Now their really was no way to court you, that was until He heard the most beautiful noise he's ever heard. Your laughter one of freedom and joy you had got up to check on him as you laughed, you told him You are stupid I like that in a man or I didn't realize how funny the great monkey king was. Now he's the one that looks like a strawberry🤣

(Destined one) The Destined one always looked like a cherry whenever you came around. He would silently listen to your various songs and would always feel relaxed around you, but he feels that he's not all that good for you. I mean, you can get any man you want, but he you are strutting over towards him with a beautiful plump smile. One time, he got distracted by your beauty and tripped and fell in a river. Now he was red with embarrassment when he heard you laugh. You pulled him out the river and gave him a big kiss for not only being so cute but making you laugh. Finally checking the box in your head🥰🥰🥰

FEEL FREE TO REBLOG🍓🍒😉💋

#monkey king netflix #monkey king reborn #monkey king x reader #nezha reborn #lmk monkey king #monkey king hero is back #x female y/n #jessica rabbit #who framed roger rabbit #black myth wukong #the destined one x reader #shy guys

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mooodyblue · 6 days ago

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euphoria (part one) benny cross x fem!reader

summary: this is not what benny wanted. this is not what you wanted. but somehow, benny surprises you every time.

warnings: angst, mentions of sex, pregnancy, subtle abortion mention

a/n: wowieee i've posted something....is this real?? are yall still here?? 😩 anyway. this is just a build up. i wanted to see who was into this before i really start getting into it and truth be told i may still write it even if 2 people read it. based on my tumblr post from a year ago. let me know what yall think! help me brainstorm? also i wrote this year ago so be nice to me ok

wc: 2524

masterlist

“i’m benny.”

and i’m fucked.

you didn’t have any intention in staying in this musty bar. the plan was to come by, bring your friend some cash, and then dip. bars weren't your thing, they never were. not to mention that it was literally filled with nothing but bikers. you didn't really understand why your friend would want anything to do with people like them. oh, but stay, have a drink or two! was this a ploy to get you out of the house? maybe it was, but god, you wanted to go home. she left you to grab a couple drinks for the two of you, leaving you sat there nervously.

your eyes drifted around to all the men hanging around. a group was playing pool, everyone else was scattered around. guessing by the back of another dude’s jacket, you assumed their club was the vandals. your boyfriend would kill you if he knew you were hanging around this sort of place.

but your eyes drifted a little too much.

he had to be a kid, good lord. his eyes were so blue, his skin tan and his arms so big that you probably couldn't even wrap your entire hand around them. christ, he was beautiful. could a man even be beautiful? damn, your lingering eyes. you couldn't look way. he looked so young compared to everyone else here, but judging by his demeanor and the way he was hovered over the pool table—he was definitely part of the club.

you looked away quickly before he could notice you staring. your eyes lingered again, looking for your friend. where the hell was she?

that same kid suddenly appeared beside you, causing you to jump slightly as he pulled up a chair, sitting on it backwards. the two of you stared for a moment before he finally spoke up, his gentle yet deep voice speaking, “i’m benny.” he said, a gentle smile on his face

you blinked at him a few times, noticing his tattoos up close. did he seriously have his own name tattooed? “okay.” you blurted out, not knowing how to respond.

“okay.” he repeated back.

“i have a boyfriend.” you added on.

“okay.” and again.

he clearly wasn't a man of many words. the two of you just stared at eachother again, not saying much. your friend was still at the bar, chatting up some guy.

benny put his hands up defensively, “you got a boyfriend.” he was about to back off, but part of you wished he wouldn't have. he stood up and went back to his pool game, lighting a cigarette and going on with his night.

you decided you needed to get out of there, this was pointless. you needed some air, real air. the walk home was nice. crickets chirping, the streetlights lighting up the way home. it was peaceful until the sound of a revving bike was slowly making its way towards you. it caught up to you, slowly moving as it followed your every move.

you turned your head to look, and there he was again. benny.

“need a ride?”

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

getting that ride from benny was probably the best and worst idea you could’ve ever agree to. he had you at the palm of his hand, sweeping you off your feet in a heartbeat. your boyfriend broke up with you the day after benny had brought you home—apparently he felt threatened despite you saying countless amount of times that benny was harmless. whatever, you weren’t feeling it anyways.

oh, but benny.

he asked you out after he invited you to their first meeting. he had you hop on his bike and took you for a long ride. being on his bike felt like magic, it was a feeling you’d never experienced before and somehow with him you always felt safe. you trusted him with everything in you, even if he really was nothing but trouble. sure, he got his ass beat every other week. hell, he threatened anyone who dared to lay a hand on you. except for that one time—but he learned his lesson.

but he was also stubborn. after he had his leg nearly broken off and after the incident that almost had your relationship in the garbage, you begged and begged for him to stop riding. something needed to change. you were so tired of almost losing him, not to mention how tired you were of him getting himself into trouble.

you knew what you were getting into when you started dating benny in the first place, but you didn’t think it’d be as bad as it actually is.

your relationship was not like a typical relationship at all. there were no cute dates, majority of your dates were at one of the vandals picnics or he was taking you out for a ride. maybe on a rare night, you’d be in front of the tv with him, curled up against each other and watching a silly movie. but really, that was all it was to it. oh, but you were having plenty of sex. he was animalistic and by god, the best you’d ever had. you loved him. you loved him so much.

the more time went by, the more down bad you were for him. the guys were practically family to you. johnny couldn’t believe benny got himself a girl and that your relationship lasted this long. benny was teased about it too. he’d gone soft for sure, even if he refused to admit it. maybe that’s why he acted out so much—he didn’t want to show that maybe he did in fact go a little bit soft. only for you, though. just you.

then you started living together and even then, you rarely saw him. sometimes he’d disappear for days on end. benny wouldn’t contact you, not a single call or text and you were just supposed to forgive him every single time. obviously, you did forgive him every time.

except the one time he did run away—you weren’t sure if you wanted to forgive him.

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

three years was a long time, but benny wasn’t quite ready to settle down just yet. you didn’t think he’d ever be ready to settle down. being part of the club and riding was such a huge part of his life, but so were you. one or the other had to come first, he just wasn’t sure which one should. the answer was easy for you.

then your period was suddenly late. it was one day, five days, suddenly a week. fuck. maybe it was stress. what were you stressed out about? maybe the future, the state of your relationship?

you’d always been careful with benny. every. single. time. he didn’t want a slip up, he’d been so strict about it every time. a baby was the last thing he needed right now. but sometimes benny wondered what it’d be like. a little..being…made of both you and him. a disaster? maybe a blessing? if he thought about it too much, he’d start to spiral and he hated thinking about the future. he wasn’t fit to be a father, maybe he didn’t want kids. yeah, thats it.

a quick trip to the drug store and three tests later in your bathroom—there it was. the pink lines on the sticks stared right at you. it was taunting you in some way. it felt like someone laughing in her face, telling her well, no shit you’re pregnant! the lines were so clear, so obvious and christ, you were so fucked.

now what? do you get this problem taken care of and not tell benny? that’d be evil. he deserved to know, he had to know. he’d be pissed if you didn’t tell him. your relationship was an odd one, sure. he wasn’t always truthful about where he was half of the time, but lying about something as big as being pregnant didn’t compare to him running off and riding to another state for three days to get some air.

the sound of boots clacking against the hardwood floor interrupted your thoughts. benny was home. you quickly discarded the boxes, wrappers, even the tests, burying them all deep in the garbage. benny wouldn’t dig in the trash, it’d be fine. you’ll just think on what to do for a little while, it wasnt time to tell him just yet.

“baby, oh–” benny stopped in his tracks, looking at you. he stood there in his boots, his vandals jacket on him to show he was obviously out riding. “you alright?” you hated when he didn’t take his boots off before coming into the house.

“i’m pregnant.” you blurted out. wow, there goes that.

he furrowed his brows at you, “what?” he had a confused look on his face, “you kiddin’, right?”

“um…” you were mentally cursing at yourself for blurting it out. you didn’t even have a second to think on it. “....yeah, no. no. i’m…” you rubbed the back of your neck, “yeah, i’m..i’m a week late. i just..” you sighed, admitting defeat and digging the tests back out of the garbage to show him.

benny took the tests into his hand, looking at them closely. “could they be faulty?” he asked. “a mistake..yea…you got another one? take another one.”

“benny, i took three tests.” you crossed your arms, “it’s practically screaming at me saying i’m preg–”

“don’t say that word.” he interrupted, shaking his head. “you’re not. no way in hell, y/n.”

the way he was suddenly speaking to you was so offputting. you knew he wouldn’t be thrilled, but he didn’t have to be so harsh about it. “benny, this is real.”

he looked down at the tests again before looking at you, a certain glare in his eyes. he didn’t say a word, but his brain was going a million miles an hour. he took in a sharp breath, shaking his head and quickly leaving the bathroom.

your eyes widened, seeing him rush out to the front door, going back to his bike. “benny!” you called out, following him outside. he revved up his bike, not saying a word to you once again. “benny, you can’t be serious!” but he was serious. so serious that he drove off quickly on his bike, leaving you alone once again.

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

you didn’t hear from benny for two weeks. this was the longest he’d been away from you. you never took benny as the type to run off in this situation, at least forever. you contacted the club, you and johnny went on a manhunt to find him. at this point, the only two people who knew you were pregnant was him and benny. you didn’t mean to tell johnny, but it slipped out.

benny was still nowhere to be found and at this point, you've accepted that he’s probably going to be one of those deadbeat fathers that run off forever and never come back. this decision was definitely up to you now and you had to make it fast.

unfortunately, you were in no position to have a baby on your own. the last thing you wanted to do was raise benny’s kid especially on your own. you scheduled an appointment at a clinic, your decision was final.

but the day before your appointment, benny showed up at your front door. he looked like he hadn't slept in days, he looked a complete mess.

you opened the door in surprise, eyes widened as you looked him up and down. do you insult him? kick him out? this was his home too. “you're an asshole.” was all you could say.

benny took in a deep breath, “let me talk to you.” he breathed out, “please, baby. lemme talk to you.”

“you left me alone for weeks, benny. are you expecting me to forgive you this time?” you asked.

“no.” he quickly replied, “no, i-i’m not. i just…let me talk to ya. please?”

you caved, opening the door more for him to wander in. his damn boots, messing up your hardwood floor again….”i’ve made up my mind.” you said, shutting the door and turning to look at him.

he looked at you, a nervous look on his face. he wasn't one to show emotion, unless it was anger. you hadn't even seen him cry except for that whole leg–almost–getting–cut–off thing. he suddenly reached into his pocket, your old pregnancy test in hand. you didn't know if you found that endearing, weird or a bit gross.

“i thought about it.” he said, “i thought long and hard and…i realize that me leaving wasn't good on my part—”

“it wasn't.” you chipped in.

“goddammit, let me—” he slammed his fist on the wall, breathed in and out, trying to control his temper. “i’m sorry.” he looked sincere for once, “i wanna do this.” he shook the stick in his hand, “with you…i wanna do this.”

that wasn’t the response you were expecting at all. you weren’t sure how to respond to him let alone tell him that you already scheduled an appointment to get it taken care of literally for tomorrow. “benny…”

“no, listen to me.” he interrupted. “i love you. i wanna do this. i-i’m not a kid no more, i know i’m all kinds of fucked up, but i love you and if i’m gonna do this with anyone it’s gotta be with you, baby. i’m ready.”

you could tell benny was serious. this whole situation was serious, this wasn’t something one could change their minds on. it was a baby, a real human being that needed to be raised the right way. you weren’t sure if benny was ready for that even if he said otherwise. there were so many questions on your mind, so many things to be concerned about. you’d seen him with johnny’s kids and god, he was painfully awkward sometimes. even johnny didn’t know if benny had what it takes.

“i have an appointment tomorrow.” you finally spoke, “i was..gonna take care of it myself.”

“what do you mean?” he asked, eventually realizing what you meant. “oh…no. no, no. baby, please.” he begged, taking ahold of your arms. “i’m serious about this, please—you can’t…”

the look in his eyes said it all, pleading with you. he looked like he was about to get on his hands and knees and beg, cry, anything to get you to change his mind. “i find it really hard to trust you, benny.”

“i’m gonna change.” he nodded, “i’m gonna…i’m gonna cut back on the ridin’...spend more time with you, talk to the club..we’ll figure this out, we always work it out.” he cupped your cheeks, gazing right into your eyes. “i won’t run out on you again. i promise, believe me.”

“why should i believe you?” you asked him.

“do you love me?” his voice was soft, his face inching closer to yours.

you breathed in a sharp breath, “yeah.” you whispered. “i do. sometimes i wish i didn’t.”

he gave you a soft smile, pressing his lips against your forehead. “then lets have a baby.”

#divider by enchanthings #austin butler x reader #benny cross x reader #austin butler #benny cross #the bikeriders

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uniquexusposts · 1 year ago

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The politician's daughter (3)

Main characters: James Beaufort x reader Genre: fanfiction, fluff, TV show Word count: 2973 Requested by: @marjoriesemente

Summary: What will happen when you put the rich against the rich and suffer the one in between?

Click here to go to part 2

“Wait!” James said when he saw a maid walking up the front door. The woman stopped walking and looked questionable at James. “I will get this. It’s okay,” he smiled and jogged to the front door. Through the glass, he saw Y/N stepping out of a car, looking bewildered as she glanced around. Her eyes met his, and she raised an eyebrow in surprise. James opened the door. “Hey, welcome,” he said and stepped inside.

“Hi,” Y/N replied and stepped inside. “Long time no see,” she smirked, looking around the hall.

“How have you been?” James went along. “We need to catch up, I suppose.” He squinted his eyes, but cheekily smiled. He invited her to the living room.

“Hmm-hmm,” she hummed and playfully gave him a nudge. She stopped walking when they stood in the living room. “Holy shi…” Y/N mumbled and turned around to have a complete look at the living room and entrance. “This is like Buckingham Palace. At least, that's what I think it looks like,” she added. “Or Windsor Castle. A royal residence.”

His eyes were resting on her face. A grin came on his face. “That is… too much?” He crossed his arms in front of his chest.

Y/N turned around and rolled her eyes. “Not everyone is that rich. It’s a compliment, though.”

James chuckled. "I'll take it as one," he said, uncrossing his arms and motioning for her to follow him. "Come on, let’s get started on that project.”James led Y/N through the grand corridors of his home, their footsteps echoing softly on the marble floors. They paused in the kitchen, where the gleam of stainless steel appliances contrasted with the warm wooden cabinetry. James grabbed a couple of bottles of sparkling water and a plate of assorted snacks.

"You have people who work here, right?" Y/N asked, her voice tinged with curiosity.

"That's right," James replied cautiously, unsure of her reaction.

An impressed look crossed her face. "Hah," she mumbled. "Just interested." They resumed their walk, heading up the sweeping staircase, Y/N's eyes darting around, taking in every detail; the intricate railings, the family portraits lining the walls, the luxurious carpet beneath their feet. "It's like walking through a museum," she remarked, her voice a mix of awe and amusement. “Sorry, I am just impressed.”

“I noticed,” he smiled.

They reached the first floor and entered a room: James’s bedroom. The room was spacious, with large windows allowing natural light to flood. Y/N placed her bag against the enormous wooden desk across from his bed. This room smelled like him. A small smile came on her face.

James set the snacks and drinks on the desk and motioned for Y/N to take a seat. "Alright, let's dive back into the project.”

They settled in, opening their laptops and notebooks. Their ideas flowed more freely as they brainstormed, the initial awkwardness dissipating. They discussed their concept for ‘Sub Coffee’ in detail, planning the marketing strategies, target demographics, and potential partnerships. At some point, they were designing the logo and deciding their corporate identity. They moved from the desk to the floor, laying out some designs and ideas. Y/N was sitting against his bed, and James was lying on his side next to her.

“I don’t see it anymore,” Y/N mumbled and threw her notebook next to her. “You picked out a logo.” She sighed and let her head lean on the bed.

James, lying on his side, propped his head up with one hand and glanced at the scattered designs. He picked up one of the logos they’d sketched. “How about this one? Simple, clean, and it gets the point across.”

Y/N lifted her head and looked at the design he was holding. “It’s decent,” she admitted, a small smile on her lips. “Maybe we could refine it and add some colour or texture.”

James nodded. “Yeah, that could work. But it’s not wow.”

“We need that wow factor.”

At that moment, there were three knocks on the door. The door flew open, and Lydia stepped into the room. “James…” She didn’t know he had someone over. Especially not the politician’s daughter. “Oh.”

He looked over his shoulder. “Lydia.”

A warm smile came on Y/N’s face. “Hey.”

Lydia’s eyes shot from James to Y/N, and back to James. It was a weird couple to see together, and she had no idea what it meant. She blinked several times, clearly trying to process the scene before her. “Hey, Y/N,” she said, her voice tinged with curiosity. “I didn’t know you were here.” It wasn’t like Lydia didn’t like Y/N, but Y/N was an attention seeker. She had a name. She was in the middle. It was kinda like there was a battle going on between them: Y/L/N versus Beaufort.

James sat up. “We’re working on a project.”

“The company project?”

“Yes.”

“The deadline was Friday evening,” Lydia mentioned.

Y/N’s smile dropped, and her eyes shot to James. James’ jaw dropped, and he looked at Y/N.

“But the presentations are tomorrow,” James said while looking at Y/N. The corners of his lips curled up, mirroring Y/N’s smile.

Lydia nodded slowly, a faint smirk playing on her lips. “Yes, but the deadline to submit everything was Friday evening. I guess you two missed it?”

The two on the floor began to laugh about their failed planning.

“Y/N is new at school. They probably will condone it this time,” James confidently said.

“Yes, but James is not new. Be prepared for the worst,” Lydia smiled. “Anyway, I am going to the golf club. See you later. And good luck,” she said and walked away.

Y/N and James exchanged a glance, their laughter subsiding as the reality of their situation set in. "We really messed up," Y/N said, a mix of amusement and frustration in her voice.

James shook his head, still smiling. "We'll figure it out. We have to.”

Just seconds after Lydia left, the door opened again. This time it was a maid. Y/N eyes shot to James, not knowing how to act. James showed an emotionless smile. It was shocking to Y/N how quickly James could switch between his own personality and a business personality. Or his act.

“Mary,” he greeted the young girl.

Y/N wondered how old she was. Maybe their age. How did she end up here?

“Mr Beaufort, Miss Y/L/N,” the girl nodded. “Mr Y/L/N has arrived and is here to pick up Miss Y/L/N.”

A thin line appeared between Y/N’s eyebrows, and she looked confused. “My father?” How did he know that she was here? She didn’t tell her mum or brother about it. “How… What… Huh?”

“He is waiting in the car for you,” the maid mentioned.

“Oh. Okay. Thank you,” Y/N politely smiled. The maid left the room. “What is my father doing here? I wasn’t supposed to see him for another week. And now he has time?” Y/N mumbled to herself and sighed. She looked at James, who didn’t answer her rhetorical questions. “I am afraid we must finish it alone, at home.”

“Sure, that’s not an issue. We’re almost done anyway. Only the corporate identity. I will work on it and send it to you,” he offered.

“Really?”

He nodded. “You were the brain behind all of this. Now it’s my turn to put it on paper.”

Was this the same James Beaufort I met last week? A grateful smile came on her face. “Thanks.” She got up and collected her own stuff. “Do you take everything with you to school tomorrow? Or do I need to bring something, too?”

“I’ve got it covered,” he said, his tone reassuring. “Just bring yourself. We’ll nail this presentation.”

Y/N nodded, her eyes reflecting a mix of gratitude and curiosity. “Okay, thanks, James. I appreciate it.”

James gave her a small smile. “No problem. See you tomorrow.”

Y/N turned to leave but hesitated momentarily, glancing back at him. “You know, you’re not as much of an asshole as I thought.”

James chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Thanks, I guess.” He was holding some papers in his hands. “You are not as much of a bitch as I thought.”

An amusing smile came on her face, and she shook her head. As Y/N went downstairs, her mind was a whirl of thoughts. She still couldn’t quite wrap her head around that her father was here, unannounced. The maid’s announcement had thrown her off balance, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right.

* * *

The following day, Y/N arrived in a sleek black car at school, and the family chauffeur opened the door for her. She stepped out with an air of confidence and a stern expression. Dressed in a tailored blazer and heels, her demeanour was unmistakably authoritative. She thanked the chauffeur with a curt nod and walked towards the school entrance.

As she moved through the hallways, students parted to make way for her, sensing the change in her presence. Her eyes were focused straight ahead, ignoring the whispers and glances that followed her. She rounded a corner and nearly bumped into James, who was on his way to class.

A soft smile came on his face. “Y/N,” he said. “Good morning. Are you ready for the presentation?”

Y/N avoided his eyes without breaking stride, but her expression was cold and distant. “Excuse me,” she said icily, not acknowledging his question. She brushed past him and continued down the hall.

James stood there, momentarily stunned by her demeanour. The warmth and fun they had shared while working on the project seemed to have changed overnight. Confused, he watched her retreating figure, trying to make sense of the sudden change. He turned to his friends, who all looked impressed and bewildered. Cyril somehow looked amused. James raised his arms and looked as confused as them.

Y/N entered the classroom, her posture straight and her face set in a mask of willpower. She sat and began setting up her materials for the presentation, her movements precise and deliberate. James entered shortly after, his expression still reflecting the shock of their brief encounter. He placed beside her, trying to focus on the task at hand.

The class settled in, and the teacher called for the presentations to begin. Y/N and James were first. They stood at the front of the class, their professional demeanour masking any personal tension. The synergy they had developed while working on the project was evident as they went through their slides. Their presentation was polished, and their ideas were well-articulated. Despite the cold shoulder, Y/N had given James earlier, their professional collaboration was flawless.

When they finished, the class erupted in applause. The teacher nodded approvingly. “Excellent work, both of you. Your proposal is innovative and well-thought-out. You’ve set a high bar for the rest of the class. However, you did not upload your documents on time. An explanation?”

“Regrettably, we experienced a delay in uploading the documents due to unforeseen challenges in delivering the results at that time,” James answered. "Y/N was unfamiliar with the process as it was her first time working on this project.”

“My apologies for that,” Y/N went along.

The teacher nodded slowly. “Since it is your first project and your third week at this school, it’s fine for now. But the next time, there will be consequences.”

Y/N and James returned to their seats, the tension between them palpable. James couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment. He had hoped that the presentation would help bridge the gap that had suddenly appeared between them.

As the class moved on to the next presentation, James leaned over to Y/N and whispered, “What happened? Why are you acting like this?”

Y/N kept looking in front of her, her expression unreadable. “It’s nothing, James. Let’s just focus on the project.”

He nodded slowly, knowing that pressing her further would be pointless. Business partners… James changed the look on his face to authoritative. She wanted to be a business partner, and then they would be business partners and nothing more.

As the day went on, James resolved to find out what had caused the shift and, if possible, to mend whatever had gone wrong. He opened up to her, and they shared some jokes and laughed a lot. She took advantage of his weakness. There was a reason why James was extremely selective about picking his friends or partners. He let go of that once, and he was shown the exact reason why he was that selective.

The day's last class ended, and Y/N was the first to leave the classroom, even leaving Amelia behind. James quickly grabbed his stuff and followed Y/N. He had to talk properly to her. He quickened his pace and grabbed her arm when he was close enough. “Don’t,” he mumbled, and she was trying to snatch her arm back. James led her to an empty classroom and closed the door behind him. “What was that?”

Y/N sighed, walked to a table, and sat down. She crossed her legs. Her face straightened, not looking forward to talking to him. “What was what?”

James took a deep breath, trying to control his frustration. “You know exactly what I mean,” he said, his voice low but firm. “Yesterday, we were working together just fine. We had a good time, even. Then today, you act like I don’t exist and give me the cold shoulder. What’s going on?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, her expression remaining impassive. “James, don’t make a big deal out of this. We finished our project. It’s done. That’s all there is to it.”

“So… You used me.”

“I did not use you.”

“Hah,” he breathed and nodded. He stepped to her, noticing she didn’t care to look him in the eyes. “Why…” The word sounded harsh between his lips because he didn’t understand her behaviour. He saw her eyes flutter because of his town. “Why are you ignoring me then? Acting like I’m your business partner that you can’t stand but must work together.” James kept looking at her; her eyes had a mixture of frustration and something else he couldn't quite place. Yet she still wouldn’t look at him.

“James, it’s not like that,” she said, her voice wavering slightly. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me,” James challenged, stepping even closer. “I want to understand.”

Y/N sighed, crossing her arms defensively. “Because it’s easier this way. It’s easier to keep you at a distance. Yesterday was… it was a mistake.”

James shook his head, a pained expression on his face. “So you’re just going to shut me out? Pretend like we didn’t connect?”

“We didn’t connect,” Y/N said sharply. “We worked on a project. That’s all it was.”

“That’s not true,” James insisted. “We talked. We laughed. I saw a side of you that you don’t show to anyone else. And now you’re acting like it never happened.”

Y/N looked away, her jaw tightening. “Because it can’t happen, James. My life is complicated. I don’t have room for...”

“For what? For friends?” James interrupted; his voice was harsh.

For a moment, she broke character. Her eyes softened, and her shoulders hung low. She looked down, hoping she could blink the forming tears away. “I am not allowed to be friends with you,” she whispered. “Not even be project partners.” She slowly looked up. And for the first time today, their gaze met.

“What do you mean?” James’ eyes shot from her right to left eye. The entire time, it was an act. And he fell for it. “How are we not allowed to be even project partners?”

She was fighting between her own emotions and her father’s values. “Because of your scandals,” she mouthed. “I can’t be seen by you because it will damage my father’s reputation.” The words rolled over her lips like her father instructed her to. It wasn’t her words.

James’ lips parted. “What?” He stepped a few steps back. “But your father literally wears our suits and compliments them during a public appearance. He is a loyal customer of Beaufort. He is literally wearing Beaufort, he is Beaufort.”

Even her father prepared her for this sentence. Her lip started to tremble, and her blood was boiling and freezing simultaneously. She sniffed. “I don’t want to do this, James,” she said, not following the script. “But I have to pick my father’s side-“

“Sure. No problem. It was a nice project, Y/N. Hopefully, we will get a good grade because I will never work with you again. Good afternoon.”

James turned on his heel and stormed out of the classroom, leaving Y/N standing there, feeling a whirlwind of emotions swirling inside her. She wanted to call out to him, explain, and apologise, but the words caught in her throat. Every word she said didn’t make sense to her, and it was a mess. She had betrayed James and herself, all to be forced to protect her father's reputation.

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as she realised the depth of the mess she had created. She had lost a friend, maybe even more than that, all because she was forced to be loyal to her father. It was either that or her life would be ruined.

Money is power, and power is ego; ego is arrogance—even when it comes to your own family.

Part 4

Taglist: @crashingwavesofeuphoria @maryvibess

#james beaufort #maxton hall #maxton hall the world between us #james beaufort fluff #james beaufort x reader #james beaufort reader fluff #james beaufort reader #james beaufort y/n fluff #maxton hall die welt zwischen uns #damian hardung #james beaufort x y/n

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frannyzooey · 2 years ago

Text

Short Days, Long Nights: 12

Joel Miller x f!reader

Series Masterlist

Rating: E (pregnancy sex, description of a panic attack)

A/N: This was a beast of a chapter, and I couldn't have done it without @the-scandalorian (who is one of the most insightful, helpful readers/brainstormers I have ever met in my life) and @the-ginger-hedge-witch (my wife, who said "this chapter was a bitch, but you made it YOUR bitch" and I fell in love with her even more) ❤ enjoy!

Joel looks down at the dead man at his feet.

Emaciated, clothes worn from the elements, hair matted and dirty. He eyes his boots, sizing them up with a narrowed gaze, and deciding they are probably too small for him, makes a mental note to grab them for you instead. The jacket he’s wearing is too threadbare to be of use, and it’s splattered in blood anyway.

A clean shot square between the man’s vacant eyes, Joel’s eyes sweep over the wound as if he doesn’t even see it, and kneeling, he starts to check his pockets. With the practiced efficiency of someone who’s been scavenging for a long time, he makes no effort to be gentle in his search.

Hands tugging the clothing aside, he strips everything he can use: the boots, his gun, a small switchblade, some rope, loose bullets in his pocket. In another pocket, he finds a thick, folded piece of paper, and tossing it into the pile before shoving him over on his stomach with a sickeningly limp roll, he finds a knife strapped to his belt and takes that too.

Satisfied he’s gotten everything of value, he stands and with a grunt, starts dragging the corpse deeper into the woods. If it were just him, he would leave it. He’s seen and handled enough dead bodies that the task doesn’t faze him, but it isn’t just him anymore. When it’s sufficiently hidden in a spot where he knows you’d have no reason to walk through, he covers the body with leaves and branches.

Still thrumming with adrenaline and on his guard, his senses are hyper alert and aware. His eyes scan everything: the crisping, brittle leaves that rustle in the wind, the phantom figures that shift between the tree trunks as shadows play between them. Checking every single trap before he came back to bury the body, Joel is satisfied the man was alone, but something still pulls at him.

Lost in what needed to be done in the moment, it finally comes to the surface.

It starts with his heart, picking up pace until it hammers in his chest and holding his rifle in a one handed grip, he rubs at his sternum with the other. The muscle tightens instead of loosens, the pain constricting his breathing, and splaying his hand in a lean against the trunk of a tree, he temporarily gives into it. A cold sweat breaks out along the nape of his neck, the sound of his ragged breathing covering the sounds of the forest.

A muffled white noise rises to overtake everything, his limbs weighted in their effort to keep him upright, and his coherent mind struggles against being pulled under into the depths. His eyes close tight and the bark of the tree scrapes the palm of his hand as he holds onto something as an anchor against the waves of panic.

Again. It almost happened again. Another person he loves dead and it would have been his fault. He’s the only one here to protect you, and he almost failed.

An image of your tear streaked face floods into his mind, and bile rises in his throat. Swallowing hard against it, he loses the battle and wretches onto the grass by his boots. The sensation burns just as much as the pressure in his chest, and lightheaded, he sways in his bend for a moment.

Slowly, the outside world comes back: the white noise receding to give way to bird song, the bark on the tree under his hand sharp in its bite where he’s scratched himself. Rising, he spits to rid his mouth of the foul taste, and gathering himself for a moment, turns to gather up the pile of loot.

–

You stay hidden for as long as your legs will allow it, cramping in their painful fold on the hard, wooden floor. Your fingers wrap around the grip of your gun just like he taught you, and you squeeze the metal tighter to stop the way your hands shake. The image of his back as he walks away from you plays on a loop in your mind, as your thumb worries a cool ridge along the barrel.

A long time since you’ve used one, the gun feels both foreign in your hands and yet familiar. Muscle memory, after ten years of using one, even though he’d always tried to shield you from having to use it if he could, both on the road and here. Tucked into the corner of the bedroom, you feel embarrassed to admit to yourself that you had actually hoped you’d never have to use a gun again.

Not on another human, anyway.

Your cheeks tight with dried tear tracks and too anxious to wait for him any longer, you eventually rise and pace the length of the room, working the feeling back into your limbs. Undecided if the lack of sound outside is a good or bad thing, you bring the gun with you when you head out into the living room to begin to clean up.

Shards of glass and couch stuffing litter the floor, fine splinters of wood everywhere. You shake the quilt on the couch out, turning your face away from the debris that flies off, and before you fold it and place it to the side, you bring the fabric to your face. The familiar scent of his skin is a reminder that this space is yours, even though it doesn’t look like it right now. The barrier that had been building during your stay has been breached, and grabbing the broom, you try to soothe yourself by setting it right again.

No concept of time to aid your waiting, it seems as though he’s been gone longer than he should be for someone just checking the perimeter of the property, and though you haven’t heard anything beyond the gentle sweep of your broom across the floorboards and the tinkling sound of glass, the silence is eerie, ominous. Unsettling, after the loud gunshots. Like it should feel like things are back to normal, but something in the space has shifted.

One man completely ripped away the safety you’ve come to take for granted, and you scold yourself on a loop for becoming too complacent, too dependent on a play-pretend peace that couldn’t ever be guaranteed, no matter how much you wanted it to be real. Your lack of awareness almost cost you everything.

Not your life, not the garden: him and the child inside you.

The stomp of his boots up the cabin stairs stops the circuit of worry, and meeting him at the front door, you take the bundle of things from his hands before pulling him in for a hug.

“What took you so long?” Your cheek is pressed against the hollow of his shoulder, and you couldn’t care less how worried you sound.

“I had to make sure there wasn’t anyone else,” he replies. He embraces you back, squeezing tight for a moment before letting you go. Holding you at an arms length, his eyes do a visual scan.

“You alright? You feel okay? You hide, like I said?” His questions are tight with worry, impressing upon you how important it is to him that you listened.

You nod, and satisfied with your answer, he does another sweep over your features before pulling you back into his arms, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

You relax into the comforting hold of his arms for a moment, leaning into his solid frame. “Was he alone?”

“Yea, seems like it,” he confirms.

“That’s…good.”

He huffs, stepping back with a shake of his head. Letting himself drop onto the couch, he places his rifle near his knee and scrubs his hand over his face. “Don’t know if I would say that.”

“You know what I mean.” You speak the words softly, coming to kneel next to him on the couch, and reaching out to brush a lock of hair from his forehead, you look at him. Worry is still etched hard into his features, the lines of his frown deep and unyielding. Dragging your nails through the hair at his temple shot through with gray, you look at him for a moment.

“Are you okay?”

He says nothing, instead letting a heavy breath out. He lets his head fall to the side, turning to face you, and you can see what he’s going to say before he even opens his mouth. His expression is apologetic yet resolute, like he’s bracing himself to say something he knows you don’t want to hear. Knowing exactly what it is, you change the subject.

“You bring me some presents?”

He gives you a look that shows he knows what you’re up to but doesn’t push it. Sitting up with a cinch, he pats your thigh.

“Yea, I did.”

Following him into the kitchen, you find the boots are a little big but otherwise a good fit, and sifting through the rest of the items, he plucks out the piece of paper. It unfolds to be larger than it looks, and spreading it out on the counter, you stand next to him and look down at it.

“Is that..?” you ask quietly, and he answers right away.

“A map.” Crudely made and hand drawn, he studies the winding trail filled with human-made landmarks and a single star labeled “Jackson”.

“Jackson….Wyoming?” you ask, puzzled.

“I guess,” he says, frowning, leaning in closer. He tilts his head, reading scrawled notes on the side, the words almost worn away. “This says it’s a settlement.”

“Like another QZ? I thought the closest one was Salt Lake City.”

“That one’s abandoned. This…” his voice drops lower as he thinks. “This looks like a real one, not run by the government. One off the grid.”

“Those exist?”

“I heard rumors before, but I…I thought they were just rumors.”

You fold your hands on top of your stomach, rubbing at a burning spot on your skin. “He must have been heading there.”

He nods absentmindedly, still looking intently at the map, and then he stands straight, his hands on his hips.

“Don’t matter where he was going,” he says with finality and a tic of his jaw. “All that matters is that he saw our place, which means other people could see it too.”

“Yea, but he’s the first in what – six months? More?”

The words make no difference to him, his face still set in a solemn frown. His stern eyes lift to yours. “It’s not safe here anymore.”

Even though you knew this conversation was coming, the words strike deep. Tangible grief stirs in your gut at the idea of having to leave it all behind.

“Joel,” you start, ready to argue with him, but he just shakes his head.

“You know it’s not, honey.”

You do know. You do. The map is clear evidence that others might follow, and you know it would probably be in your best interest to leave. You also knew for a fact he would insist on it as soon as you saw that look on his face but you can’t bring yourself to agree. This is your home. Having worked so hard for this peace, it seems wholly unfair that it would be torn from your hands by only one man.

“Where do we go?” you ask, knowing full well there isn’t any good answer.

“I don’t know,” he answers. “We can grab everything we can carry –”

“I can’t carry anything.”

“I’ll carry it then.” He’s determined, the tone of his words final as he argues more with himself than anyone. “We’ll pack up what we need, get as many seeds from the pantry as possible. Got a couple of guns and some ammo to last us awhile, and –”

“Joel,” you interrupt him softly, getting his attention. “Forget what we’re gonna carry. Where are we going to go?”

He closes his mouth and with a shift of his jaw, stares down at the floor with his hands on his hips.

“I can’t leave like this,” you press. Gesturing at your stomach, you let a hand come to rest on it. “What happens if we don’t find anything before I’m ready? Or worse, what happens if someone else finds us on the road? I can’t even defend myself. I wouldn’t even be able to help fight.”

“You don’t need to worry about that.”

“I don’t need to worry about it here. Out there, I would.”

“We do need to worry about it here. You saw –”

“I saw one man, and I saw you kill him.”

He brings his eyes to yours, and you meet his look with a fierce one of your own. “You killed him like it was nothing and I know if someone else comes, you’ll do the same.”

“You don’t know that,” he argues. “What if I’m gone? What if I’m huntin’ or somethin’, and someone else comes?”

“Then I’ll hide, just like you said.”

He gives you a look and you counter it. “I can barely even run, Joel. If we leave and something happens to you, I would never make it.”

His eyes drop to your stomach, and you come closer, reaching for his hand. “You know I’m right.”

He thinks for a moment, his expression softening and when he answers, his voice is softer too. “You think I wanna leave, honey? I don’t. You know I don’t, but we knew this would happen someday.”

“Yea, but we didn’t know this would happen.” You take his hand and place it on your stomach, and his shoulders drop in acquiescence.

“It’s not ideal, I know,” you continue. “But we can set new traps and make sure the old ones are still up. We can cover the front of the cabin with branches and try to shield it from the road. We can –”

His face shifts into something argumentative and skeptical, but yet you press on.

“We have to try Joel,” you urge him, squeezing his hand. “We can’t leave. We can’t.”

Your tearful voice brings his eyes to yours, and his expression softens around the edges.

Your garden, your cache, your warm bed with him beside you. The heat of his body felt through the flannels he wears when he sits next to you on the porch, the cool caress of the river when you bathe. The light you’ve seen grow inside him, the dimples he shows more often than not. The space in the corner of the bedroom where you had just begun to think of as the perfect place for a cradle. The peace that you’ve both found, and the happiness.

One man to take it all away?

You can’t leave. You can’t.

“We have about four months,” you say, holding his gaze. “The baby will be here by the spring, and then we can go. Okay?”

Your heart set on the knowledge that you might be able to change his mind in those four months, you shove the idea of leaving down deep and lock it away. A problem for the future, if he’ll agree to the present.

“Deal?”

Warring with himself, the turmoil clear in the depths of his brown eyes, he eventually relents.

“Deal.”

–

He starts spending the nights on the couch in the living room.

The first night, you don’t say anything. You understand his need to keep watch, and so you bring him a pillow and a blanket before turning in yourself. The next morning though, they appear untouched.

The second night, you ask him to come to bed, but he declines.

“Safer with me out here.” Consumed with defending your home, he looks tired - so tired, sleep ringing his weary eyes, and for the first time in a long time, he looks every one of his years. His hand reaches for yours, and pulling you close, he kisses the round of your stomach.

“You can’t stay awake all night again, Joel.”

Your fingers card through his curls, and for a moment, he lets his forehead rest against you, his eyes closed. He sags into your embrace, his nose nuzzling the soft fabric of your shirt and letting out a deep sigh, sits back up and avoids your scolding.

“Get some sleep, okay? I’ll be out here if you need me.”

Biting your lip, you leave him in the living room, the map laid out on the table in front of him.

It’s been there since that first day he brought it home; hours discussing the possibility of it being real. He had given you a lesson in the nearby QZ’s - Salt Lake City (abandoned), San Francisco (possibly controlled by the Fireflies), Portland (unknown, since the last communication). Only one worth heading to, the idea of entering another QZ’s walls made you queasy.

Rough, dirty, swarming with people just trying to survive a life that didn’t seem worth living anymore. Scavenging, smuggling, stealing. Working disgusting jobs to get enough rations to get you next to nothing. Shitty apartments filled with even shittier people, and the idea of bringing a baby into that world seemed abhorrent to you both after this. You could see it on his face, the clear rejection of the idea even as he argued for it, and so each time, the subject was eventually dropped; the two of you looking down at the map instead.

On the third day, you can see the lack of sleep in his movements, sluggish and slow. You urge him to take a nap, promising that you’ll wake him if anything happens, but when he passes out in the sun drenched bedroom, you try to keep the curtains closed against the bright light that pours in through the window. Not that it makes any difference, with how deeply he sleeps.

Later that night, it’s you who can’t sleep.

Tossing and turning in a bed that feels bigger than it has in months, you throw back the covers and pad out to the living room.

“Joel?” you murmur, his name coming out in a hush as not to startle him.

He turns away from the window to look at you, his rifle resting near him on the couch, and you come to stand between his knees.

“What are you doin’ up? Should be sleepin’.” The edge of his words blur, his voice husky in the darkness.

“I can’t without you. I miss you in bed with me.”

His face softens in the moonlight, the well of his brown eyes pitch black and endless. “I know, honey.” His eyes linger on your body, down and back up again. “You wear this out here to entice me in there?”

You shrug, lifting the edge of your mouth in a smile. One of his flannels on, you’ve taken to wearing them to bed as the nights get chillier. You want to ask how much longer he’s going to keep this up, but not wanting him to get a chance to voice a defensive reason, you try the new one he’s just given you.

“Is it working?” You finger a button near the top, his eyes on your hand as you undo it.

His gaze darkens, his hand curving large and warm around your hip. You think you’ve won, but then he answers.

“I can’t, honey. You know I can’t.”

His response is tinged with apology, and knowing you’re not going to win this fight, you lean forward to rest your hands on the back of the couch on either side of his head. Lifting your leg, he watches as you straddle him.

“Then I guess I’ll have to stay out here with you.”

He chuckles lowly, shifting down on the cushion to give you more room to sit on his thighs, and when settled, you lean into the broad expanse of his chest and tuck your face into the crook of his neck. Letting your mouth rest there for a moment, you press a kiss to the edge of his beard.

“You gonna sleep on my lap?” he teases.

“I didn’t say anything about sleeping,” you reply, the low tone of your voice rolling a shiver over his skin that you feel with your lips. Opening your mouth a little wider, you give him a lingering kiss on his neck. Another one lower, your bottom lip catching the edge of his collarbone.

His hands roam lazily along your curves: his fingers splayed over your back, they slide down to palm the curve of your ass, and fiddling with the leg bands of your underwear, he pushes the thin fabric to the side, searching for your plush, soft skin. When he finds it, you roll your hips over his lap, encouraging the touch.

“I do want you to get some sleep,” you say, flicking the lobe of his ear with your tongue. “But if you’re not going to, maybe we can do…something else.”

His hand glides up your back to cup the nape of your neck, and pulling you back with the hold, he guides your face to hover just in front of his. The grip itself implies possession; his mouth so close that you can feel his breath skim warm over your lips.

“Yea,” he agrees, nodding. He stares back with an intense intimacy only found in the middle of the night and his lips brush against yours in a delicate tease. “Okay.”

As soon as the word leaves his mouth, he captures your lips in a fierce kiss, one that betrays the hunger he’s felt all these days for you. You match it, your fingers twisting into the cotton that rounds his shoulders, and when he deepens the kiss to slide his tongue against your own, you widen your thighs and scoot closer, fitting your center over the crotch of his pants.

It’s rough and needy, his hand staying in place with a firm hold on the back of your neck to keep you in place as he pulls from your mouth, and when you break away with a whine and a ragged inhale, his mouth never stops. It molds tight along the curve of your jaw, his teeth scraping along your skin.

“I’ve missed you too, honey. Goddamn, I’ve missed you.” His confession is an endearment breathed into your skin between open mouth tastes, and shoving the collar of his flannel to the side, his mouth drags a wet path across the swell of your breasts. “Comin’ out here in my clothes. Sittin’ this pretty pussy on my lap. Like you’re all mine, just for me.”

He works open the next button on the flannel, gaping the fabric until he finds your bare breast and immediately covering it with his mouth, he sucks hard on your nipple with a groan.

“I am yours,” you whine, arching your back, seeking out the wet heat of his mouth.

You press yourself closer, his hand coming to push the plump of your breast into his mouth as he opens up wider, and though your belly should be crammed uncomfortably between the two of you, it makes you even wetter to think about how much you are his. Marked, in the most base way possible.

He tugs the shirt roughly to the side as he switches his attention to your other breast, the collar slipping off the round of your shoulder as he groans against your skin, and pulling him back, you guide him back up to your mouth. Your fingers thread through his curls, tightening to give them a little pull, and he responds with a lift of his hips, grinding the hard heft of his cock between your legs.

“I need to fuck you,” he rasps between harsh kisses, and your fingers drag down his torso until you find his belt, working it open.

Your thumb pops the button of his jeans, his grasp on your hair tugging your head back so he can devour your throat, and trying to get his zipper down proves a task too hard until he helps. Without looking down, his hand joins yours, and the two of you frantically work his jeans open, the back of his hand brushing heavy against the inside of your thigh as he pulls himself out and you shove the damp crotch of your underwear to the side.

Lifting just enough off his lap so he can position himself into place, it’s a delicious, filling stretch as you slowly lower yourself onto him. So thick and stiff, his cock notches satisfyingly deep as you work him all the way in, and impatient for you to do so, he keeps his eyes on your face when he flexes his hips up to force himself in, in a slick slide down to the base.

Your jaw clenches as a whine crawls out of your throat, and holding you steady with a hand braced across the middle of your back with the other one curving around your hip, he brings you closer to him. Your hips are already chasing his, already a steady rhythmic rock as you fuck yourself on his lap and burying his face between your breasts, he takes pulls of your sweet scent, his beard scraping the soft skin.

You have missed him just as much as his own need implies: missed him in your bed, missed the carefree Joel you’ve become used to, missed his presence when he left to ensure your safety. Everything since that day and before floods into your mind, coming out in a desperate need to show him just how much you appreciate it all. Appreciate him, for all he’s ever done for you, but also how lost you would be without him.

You used to need him for protection, for his skills, for his ruthlessness. Needed him for his sense of direction and experience, needed him to seek refuge in the shadow of his determination to stay alive. You do still need him for those things, but you also need him now for him.

Joel Miller, the caregiver.

Joel Miller, the provider.

Joel Miller, the one who has opened up to you and has shown you who he really is - something he’s been doing all along through his actions, only you didn’t realize it.

Joel Miller, the man.

You need him.

Your hand cups his jaw and guides his mouth to yours, and lowering your face to his, you try to convey everything you feel in a wordless, hungry kiss. He tastes so familiar, so right, his lush lips giving just enough against your own that you’re driven mad with the need to deepen the kiss, and like always, he feels your need and matches it with his own.

Your hips never stop moving, picking up speed in their roll on his lap. Your thighs burn with effort, your hips already sore from the width of him underneath you, your mouth drinking down the grunts that he lets pour into you as he bucks his hips to match your every stroke down.

Entwined and lost in each other, you keep going because you can’t stop.

—

He almost lost you.

With that thought a constant reminder that drives him to desperation, he winds his arm tight around you and uses his other hand to guide your hips harder down onto his lap: again, again, your head tipping back as you cry out for him.

Heat pools between his thighs, a heady pull that starts at the base of his spine and works its way up through his balls, and then he’s fucking up into you, clutching you tight. You’re so wet – so fucking wet – and squeezing him like a slick fist. His heart pounds just underneath yours, his eyes raking over your exposed skin where his shirt — his shirt – has slipped off your shoulder.

You smell like a mixture of himself and you, the firm swell of your belly pressing into his, and he groans, lust overtaking him.

“Fuck me, pretty girl. Fuck me.”

“I’m so close – Joel, please. I’m gonna come.” Your begging makes him thicken inside you, his hooded eyes fixed on your face.

Your beautiful face, mouth open in pleasure.

The sweet sound of your begging, just for him.

His name on your lips, in all forms: said with a teasing smile, a gentle scold, a cry for mercy.

He almost lost it all.

His hold on you tightens as his thumb finds your clit, nestled above where he’s stretching you open and he knows he's found the right spot when you clench around him, curling your body inwards.

“I’m gonna make this pretty pussy come for me. Gonna make it mine.”

“It is,” you moan, your hips working faster. “It is.”

“Just like you’re mine.”

“I am,” you confess breathlessly, looking down at his face. You close your eyes tight and chase the release he can tell is coming to a crest inside you, and the gorgeous way you let yourself fall apart on his lap with a broken cry floods his chest with the same pressure he felt in the woods, only this time it’s not dread he feels, but something else.

“I love you.”

The words come pouring out of his mouth before he can stop them, but once they’re out, he can’t stop saying them. Burying his face in your chest, he says the words directly over your pounding heart. “I love you, honey. Fuck, I love you.”

His unyielding hold keeps you pinned to his lap, and he comes inside you with a groan when you confess your own adoration into his sweat-damp curls.

“I love you too,” you say, breathless and pleading, your cheek pressed against the top of his head. “I love you.”

#joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller/you #joel miller/reader #joel miller smut

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 1 year ago

Text

This Didn't Happen

Notes: Just a silly thing; prompts 7 & 15 taken from this Morning After prompt list.

Pairing: Nathan Bateman x Reader

Rating: M

Warnings: Sexual implications; behavior expected of our fave billionaire stinky bastard man

Summary: Had you gone to the conference planning to sleep with Nathan Bateman? No.

Had you? Yes.

Were you regretting it? Absolutely.

"Stop smiling at me."

"I'm not smiling."

"Yes you are."

"How do you know? You're not even looking at me."

"I don't need to look at you, I can feel it from here." You tried to smooth your rumpled clothing before drawing in a deep breath to steady yourself, gathering your thoughts.

Had you gone to the conference planning to sleep with Nathan Bateman? No.

Had you? Yes.

Were you regretting it? Absolutely.

The sex had been (insanely, mind-bogglingly) good. You were still sensitive, still buzzing from your orgasm as you tried to plan a graceful exit. It was proving difficult, given the circumstances—but there was no smooth way to dip out of a one night stand. Almost all of the conference attendees were staying at the same hotel as you were. What if you ran into someone that you knew in the hallway? Your wrinkled clothes would give you away immediately.

You gathered your courage before you forced yourself to turn and look at him.

Nathan was smiling—lounging in the bed with a satisfied smirk as he put his glasses back on and fixed you with a knowing gaze. You wanted to slap the look off of his face, but some part of you was certain that he would enjoy it. Not only was he smiling, but he looked criminally gorgeous. His cheeks were still slightly flushed from exertion; his forehead was still dotted with sweat; you were trying to ignore the few streaks of irritated skin where your nails had dug into his shoulder.

"We're not gonna cuddle?" He teased, brows waggling. You scoffed, turning away and beginning to hunt around his hotel room for your shoes.

"Listen, Bateman—"

"You have my attention."

"Good, 'cause I'm really gonna need you to focus up right now." You faced him again, planting your hands on your hips and forcing a stern set to your brow. "This didn't happen. Got it?"

"Didn't it?"

"No."

Nathan blinked at you a couple of times, lips curling into a teasing smile as he glanced toward to marks on his shoulder.

"Huh. Then I wonder where these came from."

"The mystery may never be solved." Son of a bitch, where are you goddamn shoes—

"So if anyone asks what we got up to this evening—?"

"Make something up," You snapped.

"What's your alibi?"

"I'll figure it out when I get back to my room."

"What if you run into someone in the elevator and they ask?"

"I'll make something up."

"You oughta brainstorm now. You don't improvise well."

"Thanks for the tip."

"They're under the desk."

"What?"

"Your shoes."

You went still, slowly glancing in that direction, and wincing when you spotted them. How the hell did they get under there?

"You kicked them off," Nathan added. "Almost broke your neck. Remember?"

You ignored the goad, picking them up and hurriedly pulling them on before heading for the door. You heard the rustle of sheets as Nathan pushed them off of his lap and stood.

"Hey," He called out.

"What?"

"You sure this never happened?"

"Positive."

You reached for the doorknob, freezing as Nathan crowded up against your back. You shivered at the feeling of his body pressing against yours, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

"I hope it doesn't happen again sometime," He murmured. You began to turn to look back at him, only to spot yourself in a small mirror by the door. Your eyes narrowed as you spotted a mark blooming on your neck, and you couldn't stop yourself from whirling around to look at him.

"Did you really have to leave a giant hickey on my neck?!"

Nathan smirked, gaze sweeping over your face before he tipped his head to the side, getting a better look at the hickey.

"What makes you think I did that?"

Tag list: @missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @recklessworry ; @amneris21 ; @ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage ; @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; @millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices ; @missswriter ; @thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @buckybarneshairpullingkink ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @winchestershiresauce ; @lorecraft ; @kmc1989 ; @writefightandflightclub ; @thedukeofcaladan ; @beepboopyoda ; @foxilayde ; @rachelwritesstuff

#Nathan Bateman x Reader #Nathan Bateman x You #Nathan Bateman/Reader #Nathan Bateman/You #Nathan Bateman fic #Nathan Bateman imagine #prompts

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milliesfishes · 1 month ago

Note

Ugh! I hate when tumblr does that because now I can’t even remember what the asks were.😔

But anywho after reading “Uptown Girl” (which was PHENOMENAL btw) I was kinda thinking about the part where Billy doesn’t like her to be all alone while her fathers gone, and it made me think of like what if Billy can’t get to her for a period of time while her fathers away and something happens to her? Maybe someone from Billy’s past shows up? AND AND AND I was also thinking what would happen if readers dad were to hire someone to look after reader while he’s away. Like how would Billy take that? ALSO, what if this person isn’t really kind to reader, maybe makes some hurtful comments, how would Billy react when he hears about it?

I KNOW THAT WAS A LOT IM SORRY BUT THAT FIC WAS SOOO GOOD IT GOT ME THINKING

౨ৎ꣑ৎUptown Girl (Part Two)౨ৎ꣑ৎ

fem reader x billy the kid thank you my darling @phantomamour for both proofing and brainstorming with me <3 and much thanks to @rafesdoeeyeddoll for the request <3

Billy bounded up the porch steps, sweeping you into his arms like you weighed nothing and spinning you around, your shriek of delight pure music to his ears. Your arms slid around his neck and you flicked his hat off his head, drawing a laugh out of him. “What’d my hat ever do to you?”

“Maybe I wanna kiss you and it’s in the way,” you said lowly before nudging your lips onto his. A smile bloomed under your kiss and he adjusted you in his arms, your feet still dangling from the ground. The sky was a vibrant blue, painted with streaks of white inching across the horizon. He couldn’t have asked for a better first day alone with you if he tried.

Setting you on the porch railing, he kept his hands at your sides, not wanting to send you toppling into the daisies below. You smiled, fingers finding the sides of his face and drumming over his stubble. “I made iced tea. D’you want some?”

A brief image of sitting in the cool kitchen on one of the wooden chairs around the table with a cold glass of clinking ice cubes in one hand and you in the other, perched on his knee, was enough to make his mouth water. Billy opened his mouth to respond with a hearty yes, when he spotted something unfamiliar over your shoulder. A man- not one he recognized, which was a good sign- with his back turned to them, wide stance presumptuous to Billy. He knew the schedule inside and out and he was the only man who was supposed to be on the property at this time.

Eyes narrowing, Billy nodded in his direction. “You know him, baby?”

You tossed a look behind you, shrugging and turning back around in an instant. “His name’s Wyatt. Daddy hired him to keep an eye on me while he’s gone.” Hands drifting down, you began to play with the handkerchief around his neck.

“Huh.” Billy frowned, bringing you closer to him. His voice dropped to a whisper. “That mean we have to keep quiet about us?”

“No.” You waved a hand, the little smile on your face like a sunbeam. “He’ll be gone the second Daddy gets home and pays him. ‘Sides, his only job is to make sure I’m not in danger. And you’re not dangerous, honey.”

The pet name melted the edges of his tension. He threw away the annoyed thought that your father didn’t trust him alone to keep you safe, remembering that the man didn’t know he’d be so inclined. Billy kissed your forehead, lifting you up into him again, your legs winding around his middle. “How ‘bout that iced tea, then?”

You laughed like a church bell and hid your face in his sweaty neck as he carried you inside. In the back of his mind the annoyance of the unexpected intruder still remained though, and he eyed the man as he followed the two of you into the house.

All day, Wyatt remained, pesky as a mosquito bite. Billy wouldn’t have minded him so much if he’d kept his mouth shut, but when he’d tried to take you with him when he went to mend a fence on one side of the property, the other man had stepped in. “Don’t think she should be leavin’ the house.”

Brow furrowed adorably, you’d clung to Billy’s hand. He’d never loved the little pout you sometimes wore when you didn’t get your way more than right now. “I’ll be safe with Billy. I wanna go with him.”

“Don’t think so.” Wyatt eyed Billy, and he found himself standing up straighter, instincts telling him to rest a hand on his gun.

Your lower lip trembled. “We won’t be gone an hour.”

“You stay here if you know what’s good for you,” Wyatt said dryly, gaze boring holes into you.

“Well maybe I don’t then.” You turned your back, making to walk away with Billy, when Wyatt’s hand shot forward, yanking your wrist so your fingers let go of Billy’s.

He immediately sprang into action, taking a step forward. “I don’t care what you’re bein’ paid for. You don’t put hands on her.”

“‘S okay Billy,” you tried, wide eyes darting from him to Wyatt.

“Try it again and you’ll be missin’ a finger.” Billy ignored your protests, holding out his hand again. “C’mere, sweetheart.” You scurried over to his side, and he wound his arm around your waist. Casting one final glare at Wyatt, he began to guide you away. “Her pa won’t be too pleased to find out his help’s been hurting her.”

Your outing to the edge of the property and back was colored with your fear of the one who’d been put forth to protect you, and it only made Billy dislike the man more. He spent a good ten minutes under the shade of a tree with you, holding you and trying to quietly tell you there was no need to worry. The week that was supposed to be a glorious break from all the sneaking around the two of you had to do in order to be in love was now tainted with worry. Billy would keep you safe no matter what, and that impulse was heightened by a hundred now.

When you returned to the house together Wyatt was waiting on the porch with his arms crossed. You shrank back a little, steps becoming smaller, but Billy locked eyes with him, face hardened. Nobody would mess with his girl if he had anything to say about it.

That evening Billy was heading back toward the house, having begrudgingly left you alone with Wyatt while he went to check on the horses, when he heard a crash, the shrill sound of something shattering. His feet began to bolt him up the rest of the way, breaths heaving by the time he reached you in the kitchen. Your face was wet with tears and you were kneeling on the ground, reaching for the shattered remains of what looked to be a plate. Wyatt was standing above you, and while Billy only caught the tail end of his speech, he didn’t like what he heard.

“...spoiled goddamn brat,” Wyatt spat at you, voice jagged with something working overtime to make you hurt.

“Get out.” Billy glared at him, gesturing sharply with his head toward the door. “You’re done for the day. Go.”

Wyatt brushed past him, muttering something Billy was glad he couldn’t make out. When he looked at you, he softened, stepping over the broken china and reaching out his hands. “Don’t pick anything up, sweet girl. Can’t have you cutting your hands.”

You looked up at him with teary eyes, and when he drew you up into him you buried your face in his chest, a muffled sob vibrating into him. He’d absorb every sorrow you ever had if it meant you’d feel better in no time. When you spoke, your words stood on spindly legs. “I w-was getting out plates f-for dinner and…and he came up behind me and it s-scared me and I d-dropped Mama’s favorite china…” the rest of it trailed off into tears and Billy stroked your hair gently, kissing the top of your head.

“Shh, shh,” he muttered, taking deep breaths and hoping you’d follow accordingly. “It’s okay. You didn’t do a thing wrong, sunshine.” Billy tucked some of your hair behind your ear when you pulled back to look at him, thumbing your cheek. “I’ll get the broom and you sit down for a minute, ‘kay? You must’ve worked real hard on dinner cause it smells good.” That poked a smile through your grey clouds, and you nodded, sinking into the chair he pulled out.

With time and effort, Billy was able to coax a smile, then a laugh out of you as the two of you dished up the meat and potatoes you’d prepared. He lit a fire after dinner and sat in the cozy chair he always did when your father had him to dinner, pulling you to sit across his lap. You snuggled close, and he tucked the blanket you’d brought over around your knees. Wyatt’s comments were long forgotten, and Billy held you tight until your eyes grew heavy with sleep.

Getting ready for bed was another kind of domestic bliss he couldn’t get enough of. You pulled your pretty nightdress on sluggishly and he folded his clothes and left them on the chair by your window.

When he was lying in bed, stretching his arms out for you, you crawled into them instantly, some silent force closing the space between you. Billy pressed his nose to your hair and inhaled, the distinct scent of your perfume and your flowers and you wrapping around him like smoke. There couldn’t be a heaven because this was it, the bounds of perfection reached and exceeded with you safely tucked away in his arms.

The last thing Billy had wanted to do was leave you at the ranch with only that pathetic excuse for a man. But he had no choice. The house was out of candles and he needed to get more feed for the sheep. You assured him on the way out that you could handle yourself with Wyatt, giving Billy a kiss goodbye and sending him off with a packed lunch. Now as he licked mustard off his fingers, he prayed taking a quick break from riding home to eat hadn’t left you at the mercy of your supposed security.

Tonight he’d help you in the kitchen, stirring whatever he needed to and holding you around the waist from behind when his assistance wasn’t needed. You’d mumbled something about making a cake for dessert as you’d drifted off to sleep last night, and he’d been thrilled when he saw you collecting eggs for it that morning.

Spurring his horse on in the direction of the house, Billy slipped into a careful daydream about having you in a house of your own, living just the two of you somewhere beautiful together. Coming home…seeing you step outside to greet him, wedding ring on your finger, dress starting to get tighter as your belly grew…

He snapped out of it when he reached the house, noticing Wyatt pacing in front of it. He looked worried and Billy wondered if you’d run off after he’d said something or such. His mind darted to your favorite hiding places around the ranch.

When he got off, Wyatt rushed forward. “Your girl…she…they…”

“What?” Who was they?

“Someone showed up…an…an…they took her. Just rode off with her.” Wyatt ran a hand over his hair, his eyes wide.

Billy’s heart leapt, and as he put the pieces together he froze. “You didn’t run after her?”

“They were so fast and-”

A nearly inhumane anger pooled in Billy’s lungs and began to jolt up in spikes within him. He seized Wyatt by the shirt. “You were supposed to protect her!”

Wyatt’s eyes narrowed. “You think I didn’t try.”

Letting go of him, Billy stared at him in disgust as he stumbled to the ground. “You watched them take her and didn’t do a damn thing. You’re pathetic.”

Breathing heavy, Wyatt shot back, “If she wasn’t-” He was cut off by a cry, his hand flying to his opposite palm. Billy lowered his gun, sheathing it back in its holster.

Turning back to his horse, he quickly adjusted the saddle, not wanting to waste a single other look on him. “You’d better be gone when I come back with her or I’ll shoot somewhere else.” He didn’t wait to hear a response before he swung up onto his horse again, riding out with one objective in mind.

It had to have been someone Billy knew. Your father had few enemies, and they mostly resided in cities far away from here. None of those men would have a motive to take you like someone who hated Billy would. It was an emotion he’d hoped never to introduce you to. You deserved nothing but happy things, sunshine and fresh flowers and coffee made just the way you liked it. He’d tried so hard to give you those things that the worst thing had come to pass.

Someone who had taken you would surely want him to find you, so they could bargain. The only bargain Billy had in mind was a bullet to someone’s head. He scourged his mind for hiding spots, maybe a cave or an old military base or…

His thoughts trailed off when he saw the flash of crimson in the dirt. There it was again, not too far ahead. Billy steered his horse in that direction, hoping that he’d find another patch within not too much distance. When he did his heart soared. Had you left the trail for him or had it happened by circumstance? Either way, it meant you were hurt, and that same murderous intent arose within him.

Billy followed the trail of blood to an unsteady looking house. He couldn’t hear anything from the outside which was both a relief and a source of worry. If there was screaming he would know you were here, but he didn’t want you to be in that much pain.

Drawing his gun at the door, he was able to open it without any creaking or alert. When Billy crept into the house, keeping his footsteps light, he kept his eyes peeled for any disturbance, for anybody who dared step between his girl and him. He scoured the first floor, but only when he arrived at the back of it around a corner did he find you, not bound or gagged, just slumped into the wall, a cut on your wrist crusted over with dry blood. He could see a bruise beginning to form on your cheek.

Billy dropped to his knees in front of you, caressing your cheek with one gentle hand. He watched you stir, wince as your eyes opened but soften when you realized him. “Billy?”

“I’ve got you, sweet girl,” he promised, bringing you closer. You winced, and he felt a tear prick at his eye. Your hurt caused him more pain than he could ever say.

The clomp of boots on the wood caused Billy’s head to snap up, and he whipped his wrist into the air, firing before he could make out who it was. The man dropped to the ground like a leaf in the fall, and you let out a dry sob.

“Oh my baby…” Billy gathered you into his arms, lifting you as he stood. “C’mon. It’s okay, I’m gonna get you out.”

“W-wanna go home,” you sniffled, fingers curling around his shirt.

“We’re goin’ home,” he promised, walking carefully and making certain he wouldn’t trip over the man he’d just shot. “Sweetie just hang on for me and we’ll get on out.”

“Hurts.” He adjusted his hold on you, kissing the top of your head.

“I know, I know,” Billy soothed, and you hid your face in his neck. Good, he thought, you’d be safe there.

The journey was a blur he only remembered in your pained cries and little jolts of discomfort. Thankfully Wyatt wasn’t there when he returned- he didn’t know if he could have handled seeing him.

Billy managed to get you up the stairs and in bed, stripping off your bloody dress carefully and finding you something cozy to wear. Your bottom lip trembled like an earthquake. “That dress was new.”

“I’ll get you another,” he promised, finally deciding to take one of his own shirts and put it around you, buttoning it up in the middle. The sleeves fell over your arms, and you shivered, looking so small there sitting on your wide bed.

Sighing, he worked his boots off and kicked his trousers away, unbuttoning his shirt too. His hat was on your chair and the window was shut tight, all the doors in the house locked. Not a single other person was going to be able to break in- he wasn’t leaving you alone for a second. If any other errands needed to be run he’d take you with him. It wasn’t worth the risk-it never had been.

Billy settled in his spot next to you, holding out and arm and smiling despite himself when you burrowed into his chest, breathing finally softening. He’d stand guard while you dreamt of good things, he hoped.

As you drifted off, you reached one hand over, and he held perfectly still as if it were a butterfly finding a perch. When your fingers found a place over his heart, his hand reached up to grasp them, lifting them to his lips for a second before resting your palm back there, still joined with his.

He thought about having to tell your father what had happened, and trying to explain that it was part his fault. Maybe he’d shoulder most of the blame on Wyatt. It wasn’t like he was around to protest. Besides, had Billy been here instead of him, the only evidence would be an unmarked grave in the woods instead of your emotional and physical scars he’d give all his time to healing. You shifted comfortably and he adjusted his hand to lie flat on your back, making sure the blanket was covering you enough.

“Just rest,” he whispered, grazing his lips over your forehead in a light kiss. “Everythin’s okay. I’ve got you, baby.”

More than anything he understood now why your father had spoiled and protected you beyond belief. There was so little sunshine in this world that he’d wanted to keep his part of it safe. He wouldn’t be responsible for the light he’d been given to nurture being put out. Billy felt a surge of gratitude for it now, and he made a silent vow to keep it up as long as he could. You were an angel, so pure he was sure you’d been sent to him by his Ma, a goodness to brighten all his bad.

“Sweet dreams, angel,” he whispered, watching you dream. You were safe now, as long as you both shall live.

#billy the kid #billy the kid x reader #billy the kid fanfiction #billy the kid 2022 #billy the kid x you #billy the kid fic #billy the kid fluff #billy the kid tom blyth #william h bonney #william h bonney x reader #william h bonney imagine #billy bonney #billy the kid series #tom blyth #william h bonney fanfiction #william h bonney x you #billy bonney fic #milliesfishes billy #millie asks

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