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daisynik7 · 1 year ago

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Rub You the Right Way

Pairing: Choso x f!reader

Rating: Explicit – MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Word Count: ~4.1k

cw: female reader, 2nd-person POV, explicit language, explicit sexual content, smut – oral sex (cunnilingus, fellatio), hand job, face-riding, face-fucking, use and mention of sex toys, cum eating

Summary: You've always been cordial with your shy next-door neighbor Choso. One day, you receive the package you've been expecting, finding out a little too late that it isn't your package at all; it's his. What you find inside makes you wonder that maybe your sweet and quiet neighbor has wild side, one you’re curious to see for yourself.

Author’s Notes: First Choso fic! Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are not expected but always appreciated. Consider this my unofficial return from hiatus. Enjoy! Divider by the wonderful and super talented @/cafekitsune!

part 7 of to all the boys who live next door anthology series

The trek home from the office is especially grueling today. Your backpack is heavy with a clunky work laptop that’s been due for an upgrade along with a pile of documents that need to be reviewed ASAP. One hand carries the dinner you bought at the station while the other hoists a heavy bag of groceries you picked up during lunch, thinking it would be productive to get as much of your errands done today before hunkering down for the weekend to do a job that doesn’t pay you enough to work overtime.

You eventually arrive to your apartment complex, making one more necessary pit stop to the mail room. Inside, you recognize the distinct pink-hair of the boy standing in front of the lockers. He’s your next-door neighbor’s younger brother who visits from time-to-time. “Hi Yuji!” you beam at him.

He turns to face you, eyes crinkling happily as he smiles. “Hey! How’s it going?”

You drop your bags to open your own locker. “I’m alright. Got a busy weekend working. And you?”

He kneels down towards the boxes in front of him. “Same, except studying for exams.”

“Are you picking up your brother’s packages?” It’s a well-known fact by now that Choso isn’t fond of leaving his apartment or interacting with people in general. It doesn’t bother you though; he’s a great neighbor who barely makes a peep. Never has he ever rubbed you the wrong way, despite his reclusive nature. Sometimes, through his brother, he’ll give you an offering of cookies from the batch he baked that week. On the days you’re working overtime, he’ll send Yuji to check in on you, making sure you’re not too stressed or overexerted. And on the rare occasion that the two of you meet face-to-face, either entering or leaving the apartment at the same time, your heart skips just the tiniest beat at how his face softens when you greet him with a smile. From these tiny gestures alone, you’ve determined that Choso Kamo is a sweetheart. Quiet, but most importantly, a sweetheart.

Yuji slides the stack out from Choso’s locker, answering you. “Yup. I also had some stuff delivered here, so I figured I’d just grab everything.”

You stare at the small package in your own locker, evaluating how you’re going to carry it to your room in one trip. There’s no space in any of the bags and you’re almost convinced that you can balance it on top of your head as if you actually possess the proper skills to do so (you don’t). “Need help?” Yuji chuckles. Before you answer, he grabs it, placing it on top of a box similar in size on his stack.

“Thank you so much!”

As the elevator rides to the third floor, you continue to chat casually with Yuji. The two of you walk to your neighboring rooms and when he reaches for his keys, the stack topples over, the boxes now strewn across on the hallway floor. He blushes, collecting them hastily back into a neat pile. “I’m sorry, I hope there isn’t anything fragile in there.” He quickly slides you a box, avoiding your gaze to hide his embarrassment.

It's new office supplies you ordered for your workstation at home, so you hardly care even if there is a bit of damage done. “Don’t worry about it, it’s all good,” you assure him, using your foot to push it towards your front door. “Thank you for your help, Yuji. Tell your brother I say hi.”

“Will do. Have a good night.”

Finally home, you drop all your belongings, letting out a relieved sigh. One-by-one, you put everything away: the groceries in their appropriate places, your lukewarm dinner in the microwave, and all your work junk on the dining table, where you’ll be sat at for most of this weekend starting tomorrow. You save the package for later, planning to refill your supplies tonight so you don’t have to worry about it the next morning.

You soon find out that something even better is waiting for you inside.

~~~

Choso is sprawled on the couch, too lazy to cook dinner. He ordered delivery from Yuji’s favorite pizza joint a few blocks away, which should be arriving any minute now, according to his calculations. When he hears the door open, he sits up, watching his brother enter with a tower of boxes in his hands. “I don’t remember ordering that much stuff,” he grumbles, standing up to help him.

“Most of these are mine. I think only this one is yours.” Yuji passes him a small box, which Choso quickly grabs to toss into his room, hoping to avoiding any questions about it. Truth be told, the contents of that box is way too embarrassing to explain to his precious baby brother. Inside is the sex toy he recently purchased online. It’s essentially a silicone cock sleeve, open on both ends for simple clean-up, made entirely of pliable material for ease and comfort. To put it simply, it’s a fleshlight. A state-of-the-art, new and improved fleshlight, he would like to emphasize. He’s been looking forward to using it all week and once Yuji leaves tonight, he’s going to give it a proper test run until he’s a puddle in the sheets.

It’s been a while since Choso’s been intimate with someone other than himself. A few bad breakups and past betrayals have led him to distrust most people outside of his intimate circle. The unpredictable nature of people, strangers, is frightening to him, so it’s better to avoid them completely. He has the luxury of working a job that’s fully remote, and aside from his brothers and the few colleagues he is forced to converse with periodically, it’s easy for him to remain a recluse, and he’s perfectly content with that. As for his sexual needs, he’s managed to make it this far in this drought thanks to sex toys and pornography. And while he’s aware that it’s not the most glamorous lifestyle, it works for him.

“By the way, your neighbor says hi,” Yuji mentions, opening his packages one-by-one. “She came into the mailroom.”

Choso says your name in the form of a question to clarify, though he’s certain of the answer. The only other human contact he has outside his circle is with you, his next-door neighbor. He doesn’t leave the house much, but on the occasion he does, he always hopes it’s you he runs into. He often worries that one day, you’ll realize what a pathetic loner he is and stop showing him that gorgeous smile of yours. So far, that hasn’t happened yet, so he cherishes those tiny moments every chance he gets. Something about that smile, something about you, makes him feel good. Safe.

“Yup,” Yuji confirms. “She had her hands full, so I helped her carry a package.”

Before Choso can inquire any further, there’s a knock on the door, signaling the arrival of their pizza. After thanking the delivery man, the two gather at the dining table, ready to dig into their dinner. Choso listens intently as Yuji laments on his weekly occurring university woes with a mouth full of pepperoni and sausage. As much as he adores his younger brother, he’s eager for his departure so he can have alone time to break in his new toy.

At eleven, without a crumb left of the pizza and the recycling bin filled with flattened cardboard boxes, Yuji finally announces that he’s leaving. He stuffs his newly delivered items, which includes textbooks, notepads, and a bunch of miscellaneous items, in his bag. “I’ll see you next week, bro. Take care of yourself,” he says, squeezing his big brother into a warm embrace. There’s always the smallest hint of concern in his voice whenever he leaves like this. Does he worry about him? For living a life of seclusion, constantly in fear of the outside world? Sure, it may sound lonely. In fact, it is lonely. But it’s easier to stay safe in the comfort of his own home than risk being hurt from the unknown. It’s better this way…isn’t it?

Choso muses on his brother’s parting words in the silence of his apartment for much longer than he intends to. He decides that the best way to keep him from spiraling further is a distraction, and that means fucking himself silly into temporary bliss until he knocks out for the night. Hidden away in various drawers of his bedroom are a plethora of options to choose from: vibrators, masturbators, cock rings, even the sex doll tucked deep in his closet. Tonight, however, is all about his shiny new toy. Pristine and untouched for him to ruin as much as he wants. He picks it up from the floor, ripping the tape off quickly, too impatient to inspect the exterior for any potential damage. When a stapler drops, almost hitting his feet, he stares down at it, confused. Thinking it’s a weird bonus item the sex shop has sent him, he chuckles nervously, still searching. Each item he uncovers leaves him more and more baffled: a container of paper clips, a wad of sticky notes, bundles of red pens, another fucking stapler. Finally, he checks the shipping label ripped partially from his haste, whatever color remaining on his face draining completely.

This isn’t his. It’s yours.

Which means…

By the way, your neighbor says hi. She came into the mailroom.

She had her hands full, so I helped her carry a package.

Oh fuck.

~~~

It’s near midnight when you’re ready to turn in for the night. You almost forget about the box sitting idly on the floor by your shoes, exactly where you left it a few hours ago. With your computer all set up for work tomorrow, you think it’s best to organize your new supplies before you actually do forget. At your desk, you open the package with a pair of scissors, excited for the new staplers you bought, a standard one and a heavy duty one. It’s surprising how neatly it’s wrapped, covered in tissue paper like some sort of gift. After removing all the extra layers, you finally get to the reveal, which renders you speechless.

Nestled neatly amongst more delicate tissue paper, the translucent material almost luminous against the dim glow from the lamplight, is a sex toy. Call it what you want: a penis stroker, a male masturbator, a pocket pussy. There’s absolutely no doubt in your mind what is before you. A fucking fleshlight.

Besides the obvious appearance, the dead giveaway is the user manual included with it, displaying in big, bold print “The Cock Stroker 3000 – New and Improved!”. Lifting the box up to inspect the shipping label, you notice that it says Choso’s name, not yours. If you weren’t so stunned by this unexpected discovery, you’d be giggling at the absurdity of it all. Instead, you’re gawking at the lewd gadget, unsure what to do next.

“Fuck!”

An intense shout from the other side of the wall snaps you out of it. That’s the loudest you’ve ever heard your neighbor, and you can only assume that he has also just realized this unfortunate mix-up. There’s no way the two of you can pretend this isn’t happening. Besides, the last thing you want is for Choso to think you have a bad impression of him after this. Because you don’t, not one bit. It’s perfectly normal for people to have sex toys. In fact, it’s healthy. Even the thought of him using it on himself intrigues you. The hungry expression on his face, tongue lolling out of his mouth, those usually pale cheeks blushing a deep red. The obscene squelch of the wet silicone surrounding his engorged cock, leaking with precum. Closer and closer to the edge, ready to burst any second with your lips near the tip, ready to swallow his load…

You almost curse out loud yourself, ashamed for having such lewd thoughts about your sweet, innocent next-door neighbor. But maybe he’s not as innocent as you think.

Ultimately, you decide the best way to move forward from this is to nip it in the bud. With the opened package in your hands, you walk over to his front door, knocking three times. You hear a faint, “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” from within, then hurried footsteps growing louder. Without removing the chain lock, he answers, peering at you through the narrow crack, not saying anything.

Nervous, you greet him with the best smile you can muster. “Hi Choso. I think there was a little mix-up.”

He clears his throat before mumbling a short, “Yeah.”

You glance away from him, staring at the floor, too embarrassed to meet his gaze for this next part. “I opened it without checking the label first. I’m so sorry.”

He shuts the door suddenly, startling you. There’s the distinct rattle of the chain being fiddled with and the door swings open fully, Choso towering over you, a serious expression on his face. He shows you a box, revealing all the office supplies you ordered earlier in the week. Without saying another word, you do the exchange, anticipating that this will be the end of it.

It surprises you when he apologizes quietly, focused on the small space separating you. “I’m sorry you had to see that.” He hides it behind his back, as if doing so will erase the image of it from your memory. “You must think I’m disgusting.”

You shake your head, ignoring the instinct to step closer and comfort him with a hug. The last thing you want to do is cross even more lines tonight. “I don’t, not even the slightest. It’s okay, Choso. This is totally normal and totally fine.”

“You don’t have to say that – ”

“But I mean it! I really do! There’s nothing wrong with it!” Desperate for him to believe you, you confess, “I have sex toys too, plenty of them!”

This time, he actually looks at you with a mixture of intrigue and skepticism. “You don’t have to lie for my sake.”

“I’m not lying!” you urge him.

He retreats inside his apartment, speaking once again through the crack. “I appreciate you trying to make this better, but I think it’s best that we never speak again. Goodnight.”

With that, he shuts the door, leaving you with a lump in your throat, devastated. In your frenzied attempt to fix this, you return to your room, searching your bedside drawer for your favorite vibrator. If words aren’t enough to convince him, then maybe actual proof will. Without taking a moment to reconsider the hole you’re digging yourself deeper and deeper into, you pound on his door, the sex toy clasped in your other hand.

When he answers, you shove it in his face, vindicated that you can prove your point with physical evidence. “See? I told you! I have toys too, so there’s nothing for you to be ashamed about.”

He squints at the vibrator squeezed in your fist as if inspecting it like a foreign object. “That’s it?”

You glare at him, offended by his response. “What do you mean?”

He tilts his head to examine it at another angle. “There’s only one button.”

“One button is all I need,” you argue, defensive about your favorite being criticized. “Sure, it’s small, but that’s what I like about it. It fits comfortably in my hand and with just a single push of the button, I can experience three different levels of intensity. What more do I need?!”

He smirks, amused at your rambling. “I just don’t see how something this simple can be useful, that’s all.” It’s the closest to a smile you’ve seen from him; it has your belly fluttering.

You hold back a laugh. “I bet it packs more of a punch than that Cock Sucker 2000 or whatever.”

“3000,” he corrects, grinning, causing your heart to race. “I haven’t tried it yet, but it’s the best on the market right now.” He hesitates, his next words coming out of his mouth slowly, testing the waters. “Maybe you can show me what your little toy can do. Prove me wrong.”

You never expected this from him, but that’s what makes this exciting. All you can think of in this moment is showing him just how wet you can get. “Fine,” you agree, stepping towards him. “But only if you show me what your little toy can do, too.”

~~~

Never in a million years did Choso predict that this would be the outcome of your bizarre mix-up. You, his next-door neighbor, on his bed, naked from the waist down. Your t-shirt riding up your stomach with your legs split apart, the cute vibrator you love so much pressed to your clit. He kneels in front of you, too transfixed at the erotic sight before him to give attention to the erection strained in his sweatpants.

“You’re next,” you say, glancing at his lap.

He nods, all the confidence he had just a few minutes ago when he initially proposed this idea thrown out the window. Now, he’s back to being his nervous self, afraid to be vulnerable with someone he barely knows.

You set the vibrator beside you, closing your legs. “Are you okay?”

He’s frozen, tempted to call the whole thing off. Go back to being neighbors and nothing more. Go back to being lonely Choso and pathetic Choso, who’s scared of everyone and everything and –

“Hey.” It’s only now he realizes that the two of you are face-to-face, foreheads pressed, noses touching. Your voice is gentle, your palms soft on his cheeks. You smile at him, full of warmth and compassion. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

“It’s been a while since I’ve been with someone,” he admits. “I’m nervous.” A myriad of what-ifs play out in his head. What if he’s bad? What if you don’t like it? What if this ruins whatever sliver of hope the two of you have at being friends? At being anything more?

“We’ll go slow then,” you assure him, brushing your lips to his. That genuine smile of yours is enough to convince him that it’s worth the risk. That, and how fucking good it feels to have your mouth on his. He closes his eyes, leaning into the kiss, relishing the warmth of your breath. He finds himself gradually losing control of his inhibitions, his carnal instincts taking over, hungry for more of you. He slips his tongue inside, swirling around yours, kisses growing frantic and sloppy. You tug at the collar of his shirt, pulling him towards you. His heart pounds in his chest as he roams your body, fingers grazing your perked nipples from outside your top. You whisper his name, so luscious and sweet in your voice. He’d be lying if he said he’s never imagined it before. How you’d sound whimpering from his touch. How you’d feel between his massive hands. How you’d look with his cock filling you up to the brim.

He can’t stand it anymore. He’s aching, begging for release from the confines of his pants. Quickly, he removes them, freeing his throbbing erection. You gasp, marveling at the size of it. “Oh fuck, Choso. You’re so big.”

“Yeah?” he breathes out, fumbling for the Cock Sucker 3000 beside him. He slathers a generous amount of lube on his shaft and inside the toy. Foreheads pressed together once more, you both focus on his lap, watching it sink smoothly down his dick. The coldness of the lube and rubbery flexibility of the silicone surrounding him is familiar, though having someone spectate makes this all the more titillating.

“Fuck,” you swear, amazed at how it covers his entire length. You ogle at him as he starts slowly, eventually increasing to a steady pace. Your pussy flutters, incredibly aroused to see this man pumping his cock in front of you. For you.

“Do it with me.” His gaze flickers to the vibrator beside you. “You should feel good too.”

You spread your legs, displaying your cunt to him, already sopping wet with arousal. His eyes follow your every move as you tease the tip slowly up and down your pussy lips. Finding the right spot on your clit, you place your finger on the button of the toy, bracing yourself for what’s to come. As soon as you press it, the vibrations from level one alone are enough to send you wild. Knees shaking, feet flexing, moans pouring out of your open mouth. He continues to watch you, restraining his grunts as he strokes himself faster. Desperate for more, you click the button twice, increasing the vibrations to the max level. Within seconds, you’re coming, back arched and head thrown into the pillows behind you. Tossing the vibrator aside, you stare up at the ceiling, dizzy and disoriented from your ecstatic high, pussy shiny with your orgasm. Choso’s voice is so faint, you don’t understand him at first. You sit up to face him, waiting for him to repeat himself.

“Can you ride my face?” he asks meekly.

More than willing to accept his request, you nod in response, grinning. His expression relaxes and when you lean nearer to him, palm pressed flat on his chest, he even cracks a smile as he’s lies down on the bed, eager to have you like this. You straddle him, facing away from the headboard while his head rests at the foot of the bed. Carefully, you lower yourself until his mouth is pressed to your pussy. His tongue circles your clit slowly and he releases his grip from his toy to hold onto your ass, squeezing the soft flesh firmly. You don’t take your eyes off each other as you rub yourself across his face, his mouth open, swallowing every drop of you. When you reach your second orgasm, you’re practically bouncing on him as he smothers himself deeper, humming in satisfaction as he sucks hard on your clit, flicking it with his tongue.

You lift yourself off him, spent and completely wrecked. Still, you want to touch him, treat him as well as he treated you, make him come as hard as you did. You position yourself between his thighs, admiring the silicone sleeve hugging his dick. “Your turn.”

Sitting up on his elbows, he watches as you grab hold of the toy, stroking him with it. He moans, tongue hanging of his mouth, drool leaking from the corners of his lips, eyes half-lidded. His moans turn into whimpers when you start cradling his balls with your other hand, his body twitching from the sensation. The tip peeks out from the other end, a thick wad of precum collecting at the slit, so enticing that you’re salivating for a taste.

“Your mouth,” he stammers, barely able to speak.

“What?” you ask breathily, inching closer and closer.

“Want your mouth.” He swallows hard, voice trembling. “Please.”

Excited, you remove the toy from him, in awe at the way his fat cock flops heavily against his abdomen. You take him in your fist, loving how hot and throbbing he is in your grip. He’s coated in lube and precum, so slippery with your fingers wrapped around his girth. Unable to resist any longer, you bow your head, licking the pearl off the tip, savoring the taste. He shudders, letting out a loud, “Fuck!”

It’s so much better than a toy. The wet heat of your mouth surrounding him is better than any masturbator, fleshlight, pocket pussy, whatever silly contraption he uses to get by. The swirl of your tongue gliding along the shaft, the vibrations of your moans as you take him all the way to the back of your throat, the view of your pretty head bobbing up and down his lap. Nothing in his collection compares to this. This is real. You are real.

He fucks your throat, unable to resist bucking his hips against you, timing his thrusts to meet yours. It doesn’t take much longer for him to be pushed over the edge. You pull off for a brief moment to smile at him, pumping him fast. “Come for me, Choso. Come in my mouth.”

At this, he completely loses himself, muffling his incessant moans into his forearm, too shy to watch you guzzle down his entire load until he’s milked of every last drop. You scatter delicate kisses along the entire length of him, even down to his balls. Too sensitive now, he pats you gently on the head, making you look up at him, a warm smile on your face. He smiles back, caressing your cheek, thumb grazing your soft skin. You lie beside him, nuzzling into his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow to a steady, relaxed pace. He slides his arm around you, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Thank you.”

This world is a terrifying place for Choso Kamo. But with you in his arms, he feels a bit braver. He’s safe with you.

#choso kamo #choso x reader #choso smut #choso x you #choso jjk #jjk x reader #jjk smut #choso kamo smut #choso kamo x reader #choso kamo x you #kamo choso x reader #kamo choso smut #kamo choso x you

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letters-to-lgbt-kids · 7 months ago

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My dear lgbt+ kids,

This is gonna be a quick one: I just want to wish a happy Selbstbestimmungsgesetz day to all my fellow trans people in Germany!

Congratulations to everyone who is positively impacted by the new law! It’s a wonderful, meaningful and important step forward. May it allow you to live your truth more freely and with the respect you deserve, and bring more ease and joy in embracing who you are every day!

And a short explanation to everyone else: Germany's new self-ID law, which came into effect today, allows trans people to update their gender and name on official documents through a simple declaration at the registry office, removing the need for medical or psychological evaluations. It replaces a lengthy, invasive process, finally allowing us to affirm our gender with dignity and autonomy.

With all my love,

Your Tumblr Dad

#lgbt #lgbt+#germany

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nikkento-writes · 10 months ago

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Rub You the Right Way - Part 1

Part 2 | Part 3

Pairing: Choso x f!reader

Rating: Explicit – MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Word Count: ~4.1k

cw: female reader, 2nd-person POV, explicit language, explicit sexual content, smut – oral sex (cunnilingus, fellatio), hand job, face-riding, face-fucking, use and mention of sex toys, cum eating

Author’s Notes: This is a repost from my old account! It's the first Choso fic I've ever written and I enjoyed it so much that I wrote a Part 2 and a Part 3 (coming soon)! Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are not expected but always appreciated. Thanks for reading! Divider credit to @/fic-dumpster.

He turns to face you, eyes crinkling happily as he smiles. “Hey! How’s it going?”

You drop your bags to open your own locker. “I’m alright. Got a busy weekend working. And you?”

He kneels down towards the boxes in front of him. “Same, except studying for exams.”

Yuji slides the stack out from Choso’s locker, answering you. “Yup. I also had some stuff delivered here, so I figured I’d just grab everything.”

“Thank you so much!”

“Will do. Have a good night.”

You soon find out that something even better is waiting for you inside.

~~~

“By the way, your neighbor says hi,” Yuji mentions, opening his packages one-by-one. “She came into the mailroom.”

“Yup,” Yuji confirms. “She had her hands full, so I helped her carry a package.”

This isn’t his. It’s yours.

Which means…

By the way, your neighbor says hi. She came into the mailroom.

She had her hands full, so I helped her carry a package.

Oh fuck.

~~~

“Fuck!”

You almost curse out loud yourself, ashamed for having such lewd thoughts about your sweet, innocent next-door neighbor. But maybe he’s not as innocent as you think.

Nervous, you greet him with the best smile you can muster. “Hi Choso. I think there was a little mix-up.”

He clears his throat before mumbling a short, “Yeah.”

You glance away from him, staring at the floor, too embarrassed to meet his gaze for this next part. “I opened it without checking the label first. I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t have to say that – ”

“But I mean it! I really do! There’s nothing wrong with it!” Desperate for him to believe you, you confess, “I have sex toys too, plenty of them!”

This time, he actually looks at you with a mixture of intrigue and skepticism. “You don’t have to lie for my sake.”

“I’m not lying!” you urge him.

He retreats inside his apartment, speaking once again through the crack. “I appreciate you trying to make this better, but I think it’s best that we never speak again. Goodnight.”

When he answers, you shove it in his face, vindicated that you can prove your point with physical evidence. “See? I told you! I have toys too, so there’s nothing for you to be ashamed about.”

He squints at the vibrator squeezed in your fist as if inspecting it like a foreign object. “That’s it?”

You glare at him, offended by his response. “What do you mean?”

He tilts his head to examine it at another angle. “There’s only one button.”

He smirks, amused at your rambling. “I just don’t see how something this simple can be useful, that’s all.” It’s the closest to a smile you’ve seen from him; it has your belly fluttering.

You hold back a laugh. “I bet it packs more of a punch than that Cock Sucker 2000 or whatever.”

~~~

“You’re next,” you say, glancing at his lap.

You set the vibrator beside you, closing your legs. “Are you okay?”

He’s frozen, tempted to call the whole thing off. Go back to being neighbors and nothing more. Go back to being lonely Choso and pathetic Choso, who’s scared of everyone and everything and –

“Do it with me.” His gaze flickers to the vibrator beside you. “You should feel good too.”

“Can you ride my face?” he asks meekly.

“Your mouth,” he stammers, barely able to speak.

“What?” you ask breathily, inching closer and closer.

“Want your mouth.” He swallows hard, voice trembling. “Please.”

This world is a terrifying place for Choso Kamo. But with you in his arms, he feels a bit braver. He’s safe with you.

#choso kamo #choso x reader #choso x you #choso smut #choso fluff #choso kamo smut #choso kamo x reader #choso kamo x you #jjk smut

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pinescent-and-gingerbread · 10 months ago

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✧Night Moths

✦ Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader ✦ Summary: Arthur has a simple task to do, searching for any lead possible at the Mayor's party. Only problem? You also have a job of your own. Based on “The Gilded Cage” ✦ Warnings/tags: guns, strangers to…sinners?, SMUT 18+, reader is part of a St Denis gang, cover names used at first, smoking, Arthur is extremely horny and a little rough with you (you pushed his limits), cursing, outdoor sex, fingering, tits play, multiple orgasms, unprotected p in v ✦ Words: 9,8k ✦ a/n: YES. I KNOW. This is super long. I have absolutely zero excuse. I feel like this is my best piece yet, but I'm so nervous about posting it! Once again, a big thank you to the incredible @zae-heeyyy, my jedi master, my confidence-booster and patience Queen, who beta-read this big baby and helped me so much with so many things, as always. (Go check her blog I'm begging you)

Glasses are twinkling and clinking all around you. Words are spoken, laughs are let out, champagne drank.

You're leaning against one of the stoned garden walls, fancy decor of the Mayor's house, the perfectly cut bushes looking just as fresh and neat as every guest at this party. You can hear the distinguished music coming from a quartet playing under a gazebo a few meters away from you, and smell the fresh air of the night blending with aromas of flowers, expensive alcohol, hint of vanilla and sweet scents hiding a stronger note of sweat and cologne. Around you, all the richest, wealthiest, and noteworthiest of people in St Denis. You can hear them talk; their conversation as dull and superficial as an empty chrysalid, an abandoned cocoon emptied from all substance, from all interest and life.

You hated those kinds of discussions. Hated those kinds of people, the ones that have the easiest and simplest life one could ever have; being fed, being cared for, even being told what to think and do. You almost envied them in a way, they didn't have to worry about a single thing apart from losing their power. It seemed comfortable somehow, worry-free. The exact opposite of what you had always known.

And yet, you had to bear with them. A very specific task had been assigned to you by your gang. A simple job, one you were often sent off to as you had grown by the years into a great thief and a terribly efficient shapeshifter; blending into any type of party, or gathering, always making a good impression, putting people at ease. You were now an expert at this little game, especially with rich men. They were all the same, always wanting more, demanding the same thing from you. You had learned how to play with their greediness and lust to turn it into your advantage, saloons becoming your jungle as you sneaked easily between your prey to rob them, a deadly and redoubtable leopard in a world of apes.

You needed to steal some important documents from the mayor's office. The main informer of your gang had specified it was a pretty strong lead, and that you could gain a lot from it; something to do with Leviticus Cornwall's dirty deeds with the mayor, a blackmail opportunity.

Your boss had decided to send you, knowing you would easily integrate the party, and even more easily steal the documents. So here you were, feline eyes looking all around you, scanning, observing, evaluating. You couldn't just come, steal the papers, and go; it would have been too suspicious. All the contrary, you needed to be seen and leave a good impression like you always did, maybe stay for a couple of hours, and then smoothly retrieve your goal before disappearing in the secrecy of the dark night. A flamboyant, harmless butterfly… on the surface.

You sighed, trying to pay attention to what was being said to you. Right in front of you, a middle-aged man was talking, explaining something about how he had acquired his incredible wealth. His speech was sadly boring, his eyes glum, his clothes basic, his face awfully bland.

The empty chrysalis in all its gloomy glory.

You forced yourself to nod and give the man a charming smile. This was your job. You had to at least do it properly. Why was tonight a lot harder than the others? Were you frightened to be right under the Mayor's nose, fooling him into his own home? Were you tired, or sick?

In a way, you were. Sick of this life, of this constant pretending, of being here listening to the literal hollow vessel bragging about himself, sick of needing to appear actually interested, charmed even.

Suddenly, the music coming from the quartet is too loud, sharp violin blending with his words, making you even less focused. You were here for too long already, you needed a break and to finish your mission.

You politely interrupted the stranger, placing a gentle hand on his forearm, a gesture that you had noticed was prompt to soften most men. Along with your most charming smile, you excused yourself from him and quickly walked to a less crowded area, praying that no one would interrupt you.

You made your way up to the exterior stairs of the luxurious mansion just before the patio door and windows, and stopped on top of them, placing your hands on the central low wall, between two Greek columns. Another fancy facade, the house itself was just an imitation from another culture. Did any of these fools have any personal identity at all?

From here, you had a good view of the whole party. Countless fake smiles, masks, a literal scene of a play that could have its place at the Théâtre Râleur. A play of pale phantom shells.

You reached for your purse, taking a cigarette out, mindlessly putting it between your lips. Maybe smoking would help. You searched for a match, silently cursing realizing you hadn't any left.

"Ya need some fire, Ma’am?"

A deep voice said behind you, making you turn, surprised. It was unusual for people to startle you, your ears had been trained to notice the faintest of footsteps in order to survive.

You got even more surprised considering who had talked. A man was standing before you. He was taller, and largely wider than you, his black suit struggling to contain what looked like a well-built body; which made you wonder how could he have been so quiet. His shoulders especially looked way broader than the men you had the habit of running into at those sorts of gatherings. A very classical white bow looked like it was strangling him. His black tailcoat and white jacket looked larger too, making you wonder how much did he had to pay for the tailor to sew them custom-made.

His hair had a soft indescribable color, somewhere between a light brown and a sandy blond. His face, the work of a brutal draftsman, rough edges and strong squared jaw gratified with some scars. One on his chin, another on his nose, nose that seemed broken now that you were thinking about it. It looked like the artist that had drawn this man had sharpened his pencils too much and traced lines in a hurry, piercing through the canvas, his features ending up rugged and scared, some trace of graphite shrapnel that would have damaged the portrait.

What disturbed you the most were his eyes. They looked out of place considering how robust his features were. One could have expected them to be dark, black even. But they were the exact opposite, their bright and soft indigo color leaving you disarmed, two sapphires locked on your own pupils.

He was handing you a match, and you slowly took it, your fingers slightly discovering how his palm felt under them. Firm, calloused. Another stone-like feature of him.

He looked like those Greek statues carved by artists. His beauty so singular and yet enticing. So different.

"Why, thank you, kind sir." You showed your gratitude to him with a grin, lighting the match by simply rubbing it against the cold stone of the fence, a little flame appearing instantly. You brought it to your mouth, the cigarette finally catching fire, and you breathed in.

"Ya don't smoke much?" He questioned, voice deep. You hadn't noticed how deep it was the first time, nor how pronounced his accent was, dragging and drawling every word, a slow melody of his own.

"Not too often, indeed." You informed him. It was the truth, you were basically just smoking during jobs to blend in more easily, most people doing it. It was an easy way to start a conversation with anyone. Just like he had done with you, you noted.

"Needed a break from high society?" He inquired, a sarcastic tone in his voice.

"I guess you could say that." You answered, exhaling a long drag of smoke.

You were now completely turned to face him, your cigarette making back and forth from your mouth to the air where you tossed the burned ashes with a little movement from your thumb to the cigarette’s end. Your motions were elegant, distinguished but looked natural. It caught his interest.

"What's your name, sir?" You spoke again, curious about this uncommon newcomer.

"Tacitus Kilgore. What is yours, Ma'am?" He asked you back before placing himself on your left, both of you leaning on the low fence of the patio.

You contained a chuckle. There was no way in the World this man was named like this. You knew something was odd about him. The scars, his knuckles redden and subtly wounded as if had fought recently. His strong stature, miles away from a lazy bourgeois being served, his wild hair longer than the actual trendy haircut, his stubble fitting more a countryman than an actual St Denis gentleman.

Years of playing with people and observing them had made your eyes alert and expert, and you could see when someone was pretending.

When someone was playing a role just like you were, not belonging into this World.

"Rose Schultz." Of course, it wasn't your real name either. You had to be a really poor thief to give him your actual one. He didn't react to it though, his face impassible just like the start of your whole conversation.

Apart from this vague feeling you had about him not being a rich gentleman, you found trouble in reading his emotions. His facial features were closed, impenetrable, mysterious. This also disturbed you as you had the habits of figuring men out right away; he on the other hand was a whole challenge by himself, his intentions hidden behind an emotionless face. This man probably was a champion at poker.

"Nice t' meet ya, Missus Schultz. Are you, erm, hidin' from someone here? Or jus' judgin' everyone from your perch?" He went on with a more amused voice.

"Just know that I'm not the type to hide from someone, Mister." You replied, a little grin curling up your lips.

"Yeah, you sure don't look like it..."

"You wanna know what I think you look like, Mister?"

"Go ahead."

"A wild horse who's trapped, and can't wait to be freed again."

Silence. His eyes stared deeply into yours, stabbing you in sharp blue flashes of Apatite, as keen as the blade of a knife. After just a few seconds, you finally see his mouth moving, his cold expression changing as a slight grin made his way between the stillness of his features.

"You sort of a witch or somethin' ?" He asked you, amused once again. His little smile is even more evident in his eyes, his lower eyelids crinkling slightly in amusement.

"Maybe." You answered cockily, feeling more at ease with him now that he was slightly more open.

Still, there was something that was making you feel weak in the knees; maybe it was his tall stature, his strong build, or the palpable tension you could feel beaming out from him, as if he was ready to jump on someone who would have crossed him at any second.

In a way, you liked it. It was almost exciting.

"I better not mess wi’chu then. Don't wanna end up cursed or somethin'." He joked, features relaxing, body leaning slightly more against the low wall in a more comfortable position.

"Oh, I wouldn't dare. You also look like the type of man you don't wanna mess with..."

"I'm surprised how well you already know me, darlin'." He admitted, internally enjoying your conversation more and more.

Your heart swelled at the surname. It felt so good in your ears, it sounded better than from any person who ever said it to you. You wanted to hear it again. You wanted to hear him say it just to you.

"I'm kinda talented at figuring people out." You simply replied, before taking another drag at your cigarette.

"I too. And I also think you're not here to jus' play nice with everyone and enjoy yourself." He suddenly confessed to you with a knowing gaze, eyebrows raising as if he was trying to make you understand something.

He knew too. You both knew you weren't from this world, like two predators from the same species, recognizing themselves, circling, judging, from one individual to another. Your breath stopped for a very short time, nobody could have noticed it, but somehow you were sure he did.

"Don't ya worry little "rose", I won't tell no one..."

You didn't miss how he was playing with your false name. On top of being astonishingly handsome, he had some spirit…

He's still looking intensely into your eyes. "In return, I expect you to do the same...", he added in a low voice, his tone firmer and even more resonant than earlier.

A threat. His presence only intimidates you, and it's working so well that you're almost sure he must be an expert in terrorizing too. He must be one hell of a weapon all by himself.

You slowly nodded your head, trying to swallow as naturally as possible to look unphased.

"Guess we have a deal here, "Tacitus"." You emphasized his name, making it clear you're more than doubtful about it being real too.

It made him laugh, and you almost lost it at the sound of it. It was as deep, raw, and genuine as his entire being seemed to be. You loved it. You loved it too much.

Exhaling some smoke, you noticed he had pulled out a cigarette too and had joined your smoking, holding it between his thumb and index finger. You had mixed feelings for this man. He was just as intimidating as he was enticing, and you let your curiosity win the best of you as you carried on your conversation with him.

"I hate it here." You suddenly confessed.

There was no point in playing anymore, and even if you didn’t really know why you had told him that, a part of you felt like maybe, just maybe, he could have understood you.

"Yeah, I get what ya mean. Sometimes I think that those people are jus'… reptiles in fancy clothin'."

You had seen right. Your chest felt light, as if he had lifted a weight in you with just those simple words.

"I just want to be anywhere else but here. Somewhere nicer, more authentic. Like in Big Valley..." You went on with your regrets.

"You too know about this place uh? Yeah, I can picture ya picking flowers in Lil’ Creek..."

This time it was your turn to chuckle, your laugh creating a little puff of smoke in the air. Was he being serious or just teasing you? You didn’t really care. Now, you felt like something special was linking you both as you knew exactly where this spot was, a happy memory brought back in your mind thanks to his words. The wild and fresh river, the meadows covered in thousands of violet flowers, the snowy mountains in the background.

Your cristal-clear laugh made him smile back at you.

"So... What does a woman like you is actually doing here, then?" He asked you, his eyes roaming all along your body while he did.

You were glad you had put on the prettiest dress you had, its dark burgundy color matching perfectly the tone of your skin, and its generous cleavage showing a delicious amount of your chest, underlined by a black translucent shawl covering your shoulders and twirling around your arms. You were offering a tempting sight for every man. You knew he had looked at it, his eyes lingering there had almost burned your skin, sent a warm feeling between your tights, and made your hand hold your cigarette tighter.

"You really thought it would be that easy, Mister?" You answered with another cheeky grin, looking at him with a sensual gaze, your words let out in a languorous whisper, knowing damn well he was trying to gain information, probably to probe if he could get something out of it for himself. "You really thought I would just confess everything to you about myself and what I'm doing here, just because you've got a firm tone and pretty face?"

He let out a dry single chuckle, his cigarette hanging in the air, smirking some more. This damn smirk, it was making you have more and more inappropriate thoughts about this man. The wildness, the dangerousness he was emitting should have made every girl flee, but you, all the contrary, were attracted by it like a moth to a flame.

Or maybe he was the Moth. Maybe he was the beautiful, singular, and ephemeral Moth in the world of chrysalides you were searching for all along.

"Oh trust me, I could make you spit out everythin' I want, Miss." He replied to your taunting words with the serious threatening tone he had used before. "Could make this pretty mouth behave..." He added, looking right into your soul, bending slightly towards you.

You felt like the tension was about to make your whole body burst. There was something between you two, you were sure he could feel it too. A sinuous, dark creature swimming and circling incessantly under the surface of a frozen lake; waiting, craving to be unleashed, to break the thin layer of ice that was keeping it caged.

He was inviting you to measure yourself to him. Bent towards you, wanting you to close the other half of the space between you both. A challenge, or a mark of respect, the case you didn’t want to venture into this territory.

But truth was, you wanted to. You wanted to break the ice yourself, you wanted to just kiss him, right here, right now.

Of course, it was a bad idea. And you were a professional, on a mission.

Instead, you put your hand on his bicep and brought your head inches away from his, not closing the space between your mouths. You’re accepting this silent fight, excited to show him what you’re capable of. You’re enveloped by his strong scent; your lips so close to his. You can see by his widening smirk how delighted he is you didn’t change your mind nor lost your guts. Responding to your bold move, he slowly snaked an arm around your waist. His hand landed on your lower back, just on the verge of being offensive.

Both of you stayed like this for a moment, your breath mixing, merging in a dangerous and exciting cocktail, but neither of you actually crossing the limit.

He could sense just how close he was to though, his muscles were tensed under your fingers, his forehead almost resting on yours with a light frown on it. You could see in his impassive handsome face a whole new emotion.

Pure, raw lust.

"You're such a temptatious, thorny rose..." He mumbled in a hot whisper against your lips, the warmth between your legs now burning like a wildfire. Your pussy was aching for him, and you couldn't hold it anymore.

You felt his body twitching as he was going to finally do it, finally break the ice of the frozen lake, finally let his impulses and needs break free, his unholy, deep, atrociously torturous desires-

"Ah, Arthur !" A relieved voice interrupted both of you and he immediately let go of you, his head snapping to look at the man who had talked, eyes widening.

A tall gentleman with a perfectly cut mustache as black as his long curly hair and hat was looking at your companion with a contained, amused smile.

"Will you excuse us, Miss?" He said unctuously to you, his voice polite and charming.

It was more of a statement than a question. He quickly took one of your hands and put a polite kiss on it before bending slightly towards you, as a gentleman would, and looked at your opponent with an insistent gaze.

Arthur was fulminating. He wasn't actually showing it, his face had come back to its usual cold, emotionless expression. But you could feel from where you were the unbearable tension and frustration that was dripping from his body language, almost as a halo of warmth you could physically touch with your hands. He took a last look at you, eyes expressing a mix of regret and bitterness.

"Goodnight, Miss." He coldly greeted you, walking next to you to follow his friend and go down the stairs, his shoulder brushing against yours while doing it.

"Goodnight, Arthur..." You answered him emphasizing his name once again, making it really clear that you remembered it was not the one he had given you and that you were pretty proud you had seen right. A playful, teasing grin on your face, you look one last time at him before he vanished in the ocean of guests.

Your Butterfly had disappeared just as quickly as he had materialized; leaving you alone with the empty cocoons once more. It was more than time for you to do your job and get out of here. Your cigarette finished, now feeling cold between your fingers, you tossed it away and headed into the mansion, feeling just as frustrated as so-called Arthur.

Arthur was pissed. He had never felt so frustrated in ages, and it was making his thoughts even less easy to discipline. His cigarette was on the verge of being smoked all at once from how intense he was getting and how heavy his breath had turned, the end of it constantly burning in a red shining little point as he was walking.

This whole year he had felt like he didn't have any control over anything anymore and he hated it.

He was already feeling embittered in his everyday life, Dutch listening less and less to his opinion, Micah sneaking around him more and more, Mary coming back to him just to ask him to help her goddamn father who had always treated him like shit.

On top of that, Dutch had made him look like an idiot using his actual name in front of you, making him wonder what was even the whole point of having a cover if he wasn't capable of sticking to it; which he had bitterly pointed out to him, but his superior had shrugged it off, seemingly happy to be here amongst the important people, looking as careless as ever.

Yes, Arthur was feeling frustrated, frustrated and tired of this. Tonight, instead of giving of himself, he wanted to take, for once. He needed to, even. He was about to before being interrupted, and this thought was gnawing at him from the inside.

He was barely paying attention to what Dutch was saying to him and the others once Hosea and Bill had joined them. All he could see was your insanely beautiful face, your inviting lips, the perfect outline of your breasts from your cleavage, like engraved into his pupils.

The way you were talking, charming and teasing, the way you were smoking, all of this dreadfully turning him on during all your conversation. He had made an enormous amount of effort in order not to just kiss you.

He had joked about you being a witch, but it was the only explanation: you had bewitched him, threw your darkest, most sinful curse on him. Never in his life he had felt so attracted to someone after having talked with them for only such a short amount of time. What an insane fool he was.

On top of it, he was raging about the fact he probably wouldn't have the occasion to see you ever again. He had understood you clearly weren't just another rich man's wife, and he was certain you had given him a false name. His cock was throbbing terribly hurtfully in his pants, making his jaw clench, his brows frowning even more than usual. It was begging to be buried in you, between your legs, in your mouth, or your hands, even your breasts or your ass, anything but the cold feeling of nothingness he was feeling right now around it.

The sudden explosive sound and colorful lighting of fireworks had pulled him out of his blasphemous thoughts.

He understood Dutch was ordering him something about following one of the Mayor's domestic, and gladly obliged, relieved to have another thing to focus on. Something about Cornwall sending an important letter to Lemieux, which he had to steal. Nothing difficult, he had done those sorts of things countless times.

Nothing new.

Nothing puzzling, like you had been.

As he followed the man, eyes locked on his white suit from afar, he quickly took a glance at the patio to see if you were still there. You weren't. His dick ached as he let out a deep exhale. Damn it.

Arthur rapidly found himself inside the Mayor's house. His servant had entered what looked like an office. He waited a few seconds after the room had felt silent, behind the corner of the walls, just to be sure, and entered it.

The room was indeed an office, a little desk with an armchair on his left, bookcases covering every wall, simply illuminated by a flickering orange lamp. Everything looked normal, except for the dark figure of a person in the middle of the place.

You.

He recognized your sensual dress immediately and witnessed you shoving some papers in what looked like a leathered little pocket held around your right thigh by leathered straps, just like a holster would be. His mind raced, a million reflections flying under his eyes.

You were some sort of professional thief. And he didn’t have to be a genius to understand you had just taken the precise thing he was there for.

"That's why you were here, lil' rose?!" He asked you almost in disbelief, closing the door behind him.

You looked at him with a bold grin, looking almost amused by the situation. He, on the other hand, felt nothing but amusement. Anger, to have been fooled so easily, and that you had got ahead of him, losing the quiet game that had been played out between you. Envy, as you were now possessing two things he wanted to take away from you. Arousal, as his eyes were glued to the thigh that was now visible to his greedy eyes as you had pulled up your dress to put the sheets in your hidden pocket. Need, as his member felt hard again just by the sight of you doing it.

"Yeah, and you can only dream for me to give them to you if those papers were your target too, Arthur."

Damn, that teasing, cheeky mouth of yours. His fantasies came back in full force, and his gaze darkened. As temptatious as you were, he needed those documents. And he would do anything he had to to have them back.

"Give ‘em to me." He lowly ordered you, voice so severe you could have melted right into the carpeted floor of this damn office. But you didn't.

"Hell no."

"Give ‘em t’me, woman. I won't ask nicely a third time."

"If you want them, you'll have to catch me, pretty boy."

Lord, why was everyone so prompt to call him this way lately? He almost grunted at the way you had said it, and he would have lied if this time he didn't like it when it fell from your lips. He wanted to reply with something witty and even more threatening, but in a flash, you had opened the window, and easily jumped outside.

This Goddamn woman. What was she exactly? Some sort of feline? Yeah, probably a panther, agile, impressive, dangerous like one.

He instantly ran after you, jumping through the window too, landing in a loud thud. He quickly spotted your dress running away, escaping by the entry’s portal, then in the nearest street, disappearing behind St Denis's myriad of flashing lights.

How could he had missed it? His mind was filled with images of it.

He had the common decency of grabbing back his gun from the butler at the party's entry, making him almost fall on the ground as he hadn't slowed but had grabbed them while running, the poor man wondering what the Hell made both of these people in such a hurry.

He was now flying at full speed around the luxurious streets, following the faint glimpse of your dress's color at the corner of every turn. He felt like he could follow your scent like a hunting dog, your sweet and peachy perfume confirming him you had passed there before.

He had enough, feeling his restrain and manners crackling more and more into little pieces. You were making him feel like a damn animal, reducing his whole being to primal needs and functions. He should have been disgusted with himself for that. But all he could do right now was thinking about the damn documents hidden against your damn alluring thigh.

"Stop now, you Goddamn... Evil woman!" He tried to call you out, but you just wouldn't stop. He started firing at you, getting angrier and more fed up by the second, a bullet exploding a piece of the bricked wall right next to your head, some splinters cutting slightly the top of your ear.

You bent over to dodge his bullets one more time and you heard him cursing again loudly behind you. On top of being big, strong and clever, he was fast. In a quick movement of your feet, shaking them, you removed your shoes, unable to run at your fastest speed with heels. You continued your frenzied course, way more at ease.

Arthur rushed in where you were just mere seconds after you, noticing the shoes abandoned on the floor. What the Hell was even this woman, he asked himself for the second time this evening. Some sort of temptatious, dark retelling of Cinderella?

He almost made himself laugh at the thought, understanding your move because his own polished shoes were frankly a pain to run with, making him slip with every shift as if he was walking on soap and regret his good old boots, before acknowledging he had lost your trace.

Shit!

He looked all around him, his eyes scanning every inch, his breath rapid and sharp, his forehead and neck a pool of sweat. No signs of you, unless...

Something fell right on his face, but gently, as a caress from a fresh breeze. Your perfume filled up his nostrils and lungs and it made his heart race. He took it in his hands, the sensations pleasant under his fingerprints.

It was your black shawl.

Tilting his head up, he found you.

You were making your way up to the roof of the town by climbing on a thin ladder.

Arthur exhaled deeply through his nose like a buffalo. He was used to this kind of high-speed chase, but this was a whole new thing, which made him regret his lasso too, his hand searching for it on his belt out of habit but closing on nothing.

Damned party, damned suit, damned you.

He climbed after you, refusing to give up, enraged like a wild beast.

He would catch you, dead or alive.

In a way, this was making him even more aroused than any work-girl show he had ever seen.

"I'm going to kill ya, that's a promise!"

You could hear just how furious his voice was now, and you were starting to pray you would flee successfully from him, cause you knew he would eat you alive if he could get his hands on you.

Arriving on top of the building, you caught your breath for a microsecond, before searching for a way out, gaze frantic, heart beating out of your chest. You were considering climbing to another roof, but the deep, breathless sounds of your pursuer prevented you from doing more thinking.

Arthur had reached the top of the roof too, and was already aiming his gun at you. This time he didn't even bother to say anything, shooting at you again while getting up. He was so seething you wouldn’t have been surprised to see saliva bubbling from his mouth.

By divine intervention, you dodged again, and without any thinking, you ran all the way to the edge of the roof, and jumped.

You stayed in the air for a few seconds.

You felt like time had stopped, the air brushing against your skin, your heart hanging somewhere between the sky and the total void.

You landed on a fancy and illuminated balcony a few meters away. You hurt your feet and legs with the shock, but smiled proudly to yourself. You were out of reach, he was way bigger and way heavier than you, there was no way he coul-

A gigantic mass fell on you, as Arthur had proved you wrong and jumped from the roof you had just left and was crashing directly into you.

Both of you fell on the ground and struggled for a few seconds; you tried to resist him but it was a fight already lost, this literal force of nature easily handling you like he wanted.

You ended up lying on your back, Arthur sitting on you, towering over you with all his might, quickly grabbing your wrists to prevent you from fighting, his legs parted around your hips stopping you from escaping. You were trapped.

"You're a pain in the ass girl, you know that?!" He shouted at you, breathless, raging mad. You were both panting, sweating heavily. His face was entirely red, and your cheeks even more crimson.

You both looked at each other, eyes locked, and you stayed silent. The dark creature prowling under the thin floe had returned and it was getting bigger, stronger, out of control with each passing second. There was something extremely erotic in the way he was almost lying on top of you, both of you out of breath, sweaty, and burning red, both your hearts beating at full speed in the same erratic rhythm.

Just like before at the reception, you knew he could feel it too. You knew it from the dark gaze he was looking at you with, the shady swirls of the murky leviathan reflecting in the depths of his pupils, from the deepest well of his urges, forbidden territory to which no man ever had access.

A simple touch of his hand, that's all it took.

He put both of your hands into a single one of his, using his other one to pull up your dress, fingers roaming on your thigh.

You couldn't hold it anymore, you bent toward him and slammed your lips against his in the most powerful and decadent kiss you had ever shared with someone, almost biting him.

The moment you did, Arthur's mind exploded, and every poor drop of restrain he had evaporated as quickly as if it was on the Sun's surface. The beast had won, finally shattering the weak layer of ice into a million pieces; your two souls blending in what could have felt like a fevered dream.

The grunt he let out onto your kiss was animalistic, and the tension in his body just as powerful as a waterfall with a brutal, unstoppable current. The hand that was holding your wrist let go of it and slipped under your head, fingers in your hair, as his tongue licked against your lips, searching for a way in. You let him in, eagerly, wondering if he would have forced the way if you didn’t.

He tasted strong, as if to match his whole being, a powerful flavor of tobacco, merged with a faint trace of sweetness and bitterness from the champagne he had drank. Like if you were smoking the finest and strongest of cigars. It made you love it even more.

Abandoning all your restraints too, your hands wrapped around his neck and your hips started pushing up against his, even if you couldn't move much, his two muscular thighs keeping you grounded to the balcony's paved floor. It felt so cold against your back, contrasting with the heat Arthur was burning with, consuming, devastating, raging.

He growled again when he felt your movement under him. He needed more of you, right now. This whole seduction game, the adrenaline rose by the chase, your bold charming attitude, your insanely insolent beauty, it was making him insane. He roughly ripped off his bowtie with one hand, needing some air; it felt like you two were under the desert’s scorching sun, stifling, dazing.

The right hand he had on your thigh traveled even higher under your dress, devouring every inch of flesh it could, and his appetite was only getting worse the more he discovered you. He smoothly moved his legs from around yours to put himself between them, and you instantly, almost from instinct, hooked them around his hips.

The sudden contact of your blazing core against his equally hot bulge made you sigh in pleasure, and he loved it. Breaking your kiss for the first time since you had initiated it, he pulled back to look at you, his deep gaze devouring you, undressing you just by its stare.

“What’s your real name?” He asked you, voice hoarser than ever, demanding it from you.

You told him your name, limbs feeling like mush under his intense eyes. He repeated it quietly, like a prayer he would recite on his own. You felt less and less like the panther you thought you were, and more and more like he was the predator alone. In a shaking tone, you questioned back to know his full, real name, needing to know what words you’d have to whisper in gratitude when he would finally take what he wanted from you. To whisper, or shout to the Heavens.

“Arthur Morgan.” He let out, his lips quickly returning to their current addiction, your skin. The way they were attacking your neck didn’t have an ounce of control now, his mouth opening widely to almost take a whole bite of your flesh there, letting kisses everywhere it could.

“Tell me if you don’t want this.” He added against your skin, between two greedy open-mouth kisses.

A way to escape. The predator stilling, letting a way out. But you didn't wanted it. Not at all. Not now that he had surrendered to you, trusting you with the intimacy of his real name, that would be stuck in your mind for God knows how long.

“I want it.” You asserted, voice almost cracking with the weight of your need.

He moaned a relieved sound in answer, his nose exhaling some air that tickled your neck.

You weren’t even sure he could stop himself if you had said no. He was consuming you, and he felt completely drunk, as if you were coated with a powerful whiskey. Strong alcohol that his tongue was now licking all the way from your shoulder, up to your ear.

You moaned, the feeling of his hungriness so good and perfect on you.

"Gonna take care of ya now." He growled in a rumbling whisper, making your legs feel weak. Another one of his promises, but this one was going to give you salvation, and you were thanking him for keeping it.

The bold hand he had under your dress took another step towards insanity by landing on your undergarments, his thick fingers searching for a way in. You were trembling with anticipation. You couldn't even register the fact that you were really doing this, right now, with a complete stranger you had met only a few hours ago, and who wanted to kill you minutes before, on the balcony of what looked like a habited place.

The obscenity, the depravation, the boldness of it was only matched by his relentless thirst for you.

His fingers had finally pulled your underwear to the side, and you sighed seeing him on top of you, eyes drawn to your bare pussy, carnal features empathized by the obscurity of the night. The tip of his fingers traveled amongst your folds, wolves into the forest, a territory they were now claiming as theirs.

You almost begged for him, for the wolves to eat you up all and let nothing behind them, please Arthur, and he offered you this damnation, the desperate call of his name igniting another fire in his already infernal mind. A single, calloused finger pushed into your folds, making you spread your legs even more to grant it better access. It was stretching you pleasantly, his skin rough and firm inside. You started letting out sweet, quiet moans, showing him just how much you were enjoying this.

Your two hands now gripping his back, holding on for something, anything, his dark jacket suddenly feeling way too smooth to grab onto; you were wondering how touching his naked back could feel.

Arthur was doing everything in his power not to burst once more, grunting in response to your loving sound. Slowly, he pushed another one, thriving in how wet and hot your cunt felt around his fingers, craving for the moment he would finally be able to feel this downright perfection around his cock. He felt like he was ruining you, throwing you to these wolves, and you were thanking him for it.

For now, he focused on you, blue eyes glued on your face when he started curling his digits inside of you, searching for this so special, so delightful spot within your walls. He was observant, noticing every sound you were making, every muscle tensing, to know if it was the place you liked that he was brushing right now. Wanting it to be the place you liked most.

By adding his thumb on your clit and pushing a little deeper his index and middle finger in your desperate pussy, he realized he finally had found the Graill as your back arched against the ground, your own hands gripping harder on him, eyes shutting in pure pleasure.

"Oh, God! Yes, right there..." You rewarded him, voice high-pitched and filled with delight, a tingling sensation spreading on your legs and shoulders.

He exhaled deeply, your words making his own member gorging, pressing against the fabric of his suit that felt too small to contain him. He started pushing in and out, pulling a whine out of your throat with every movement, as the thick tip of his fingers rubbed against your sweet spot every time, wolves once again in a world of sweetness and honey, lapping your delight, feasting on your pleasure.

“Told ya I would make this pretty mouth behave…” He said cockily after one of your moans. He was enjoying this all too much, finally feeling in control again, being the one and only responsible for your ecstasy.

The distance between his mouth and you seemed to be unacceptable for him as he had succumbed once more to his needs, his lips finding your skin again, tongue tasting, teasing your chest this time, everywhere he could on the cleavage he had desired since the first time he had laid eyes on you tonight. Bent over to you, looking like a curved beast feasting on its prey.

You were feeling your pleasure building, Arthur’s face hungrily searching for one of your nipples under the neckline of your dress, and sucking it once he had finally found it. His teeth and nose had pulled your dress, freeing your entire left breast, bare, defenseless in front of him.

Maybe he was the wolf himself. He sure looked like it, his face a maw fed by your soft flesh.

Every nerve of your pussy screamed for deliverance, this familiar sensation taking form in your lower stomach. Your moans were becoming even more high-pitched, breathless, almost obscene, much to the outlaw's delight.

You had thought of him before being a terribly efficient and multi-functional weapon. You couldn’t have known just how right you had been, your hardening nipple still chewed by his mouth while his right hand was sending you to your edge, thumb skillfully circling on your clit faster and faster, the two other fingers tearing apart your sweet spot, in and out, in and out, again and again, until…

“A-Arthur, don’t stop, please!” Your voice slit the night open, tone pleading as if you were begging for your life.

“I won’t girl, it’s all okay… Give it t’me…” He encouraged you, even his breath feeling rough against the skin of your chest before he sucked hard on the skin of one of your breasts, accompanying you to your salvation.

It was enough to send you over your limit, your pussy clenching, throbbing, entirely consumed. You moaned so loudly it could have turned into a scream, hips jerking against his palm, his other hand quickly grabbing your hip to steady you and carry you through it as his fingers were dragging every last drop of your pleasure out of you.

“Yeahhh, that’s it gorgeous, just like that…”

He was frowning, the sinful sensations of your wet cunt coating his fingers in a warm slick and tensing around them making his eyebrow and jaw just as tensed, his face just a hint of how fucking riled up he was because of it.

Your head was still spinning and your breath uneven when he finally pulled his digits out of your walls, the fresh air replacing them. Lost in your haze, you weren't capable of doing anything else but looking at him through lidded, heavy eyes.

He was absolutely beautiful, even more than at the start of the night. His true nature out at last, his white fancy shirt disheveled now that he had removed his bowtie and soaked from efforts. Cheeks and throat as red as a sanguine sunset. Pearls of sweat sparkling on his burning skin with the Ocean of street lights of St Denis, reminding you of a night sky, making his sandy hair stick to his forehead in the hottest way possible.

You didn't knew how could all this had escalated so quickly, but at that moment, you felt like this man before you was your whole universe, his deep ultramarine eyes completing the stellar work of art he was, shining, shimmering, more than any star in the sky, as if the Gods had capture the entire Milky Way and imprisoned it in his being.

Arthur had ultimately pulled his cock out of his black suit pants, only piece of flesh out of his clothes, and your thoughts were immediately contradicted; there was no way any virtuous God could have made a man so depraved. He was the work of the Other Side, Lust and Temptation personified. King of the wolves, he could have had all the Hounds of Hell kneeling before him.

He pumped himself a few times, unable to resist the call his member had been screaming for hours, reinforced by the way his fingers had tasted your wet cavern. Some precum had already leaked from his big pinkish head when he was fingering you and was now glistening in the night, making you think about the stars again. Your breath got caught at this sight and you couldn't stop yourself from letting out a praise.

"Perfect..." You simply stated in a whisper, eyes glued to his throbbing, veiny member, relieved he had already pulled an orgasm out of you because there was no way he could have fit in you otherwise. Your eyes followed the dark path of his hair, from the glimpse you had on his chest between the open collar of his shirt, all the way down to his pelvis and at the base of his shaft.

You could only imagine what it looked like without any clothes on, and you were dying to know.

"Trust me, you're the perfect one, darlin'." He asserted, firm tone leaving little to contradiction.

He positioned himself in front of your entrance.

You weren't even completely back from the world your first relief had brought you to, and he was already at your door again. But this time, Arthur couldn’t stop himself.

He had given once again, just like always. Now he wanted to take. He needed to take. The starving, depraved wolf. Slowly pushing, teasing himself, making his cock’s head sink into your dripping territory, creating wet and soggy sounds, a hardened spear into honey.

He couldn't hold back a baritone moan, the feeling was even better than what he remembered. He hadn't taken the time or allowed himself to lay with a woman in ages, and God, what a return to this primal bliss.

He slowly moved some more, his hands spreading your legs a bit wider from around his waist to allow him to penetrate you more easily. Once you had entirely enveloped him, his tip deep inside, he let out another deep throaty grunt, the feeling making it hard for him to keep his thoughts clear.

"Ahh... Shit, darlin’... So tight…"

Considering how his length was stretching you, you bet he felt your pussy tight. The first word that came into your mind was “complete”. So complete with his huge cock inside of you; you felt like you could have died happily like this. One of your hands slipped from the top of his back to the lower part of it, just above his ass, pressing there, showing him just how much you wanted him to move, to let go.

Arthur didn't need much more as he pulled back slowly only to snap his hips back against yours, his cock pushing again all the way through your cunt in one hard single time, giving you another wave of pleasure as you both moaned together, unable to resist the intense sensation he was creating for both of you.

Hearing you whine, finally feeling your perfectly tight and warm pussy around him, it was making him lose all sense of restraint, and as your other hand ran through his hair, your angelic voice whispering his name as if he was your Lord and savior, he lost it.

He started to pull in and out of you faster, harder, your bodies colliding in a delicious way, obscene noises echoing through the silence of the darkness. His increase in pace made your body scream in pleasure and you buried your face into the crook of his neck under the collar of his shirt, biting his skin there.

It made him grunt loudly, and one of his hands roamed from your hips to your rear, grabbing a fistful of your ass in an instinctive response. His other hand was on the ground next to you, keeping him from crushing you against it. It made your head blank with pleasure.

"Shit, Arthur! M-more!" You begged, feeling like you could die if he stopped, your voice turning into high squeals.

"Anhh- God... More? Don’t worry girl, I'll g-give you more...-Mmh!"

His voice was heavy with pleasure, words cut off by moans and grunts you were delighted to hear, the most unholy and arousing music you had ever had the honor to listen to.

True to his words, he obliged, hips thrusting endlessly, member empaling you with each move. You could feel the flesh of his pelvis against yours with how deep he dived into you, and around it the stiffness of his suit, rubbing again the breast he had pulled out of your dress before, nipple sensitive after his previous treatment.

If what was between you was once a frozen lake, it had now turned into an Ocean of lava, magma exploding, engulfing both of you in the most burning and devastating passion you'd ever experienced, a volcanic explosion of desires.

The hand he had on your asscheek reluctantly let go of it, but you ended up thanking him for it, cause he was now using it to put your left leg above his shoulder, grabbing under your knee, allowing him to fuck you in an even better angle than before. He was ruining you once again, but this time felt like the pack of starving enraged wolves had taken him with you to consume him entirely.

You leaned against the floor, back of your head feeling the paved coldness, only hint that everything was actually real. Arthur's eyes locked with yours as he kept on fucking you hard and fast, this intimate contact making his member twitch.

You felt so goddamn good around him, and looked so goddamn gorgeous like this, your cheeky grin long gone, replaced by a delightful frown of pleasure, mouth open in a quiet scream. Arthur felt his peak coming dangerously close, but his pace hadn't slowed, his fat cock thrusting in and out of you. In and out, like a furious, sacred metronome. In an out, like a blessed psalm you'd both be reciting together.

“Come on girl, I know you have another, -Damn it!-, another one in ya. Give it to me, come on, jus’ for me…”

Words and voice drowned in a flood of pleasure and curses, of deep grunts and growls, his possessiveness sending you over the edge once again, your inside closing its trap around him, squeezing just how he needed to.

His eyes shut close, eyebrows furrowing in utter pleasure as he sank so hard and deeply you could have felt him splitting your guts in half, his dick throbbing and harder than ever. It reached a spot so deep and good inside of you, burning it, your pleasure bursting as you felt your orgasm coming for the second time.

"A-Arthur!" You cried out as you came around him, creaming him, walls clenching in a delicious sensation that made him reach the stars.

"God, damn it!" He shouted, voice deeper and rougher on the curse word before quickly removing himself from you in a flash of lucidity, finishing messily, cum spilling from his red sensitive member in white spurts that ended up right on your belly as a feral, powerful growl escaped his chest and his head tilted backward, letting you see his throat covered in sweat and veins.

For a moment, both of you had turned into beasts, shattered all the limits, broke all the shackles, diminishing you into your more primitive instincts. The Wolves of Lust had devoured your being into the very last delicious bone.

And that’s how you felt. Boneless.

Now, stillness. A cold breeze enveloped the pair of you, the only sounds now being the distant agitation of the city and your pantless breaths. He slowly brought his chin back down and opened his eyes, mesmerized by the sight of you returning from the realm of pure pleasure he had provided for you for the second time.

He felt powerful. He felt good. Better than he had for months, finally satisfied. Like a God, a King. King of all the Wolves, Cerberus, the only guardian of your unholy realm.

He wanted to do this again with you, as soon as possible.

He carefully put his softening dick back in its clothed cage, fingers fumbling with the buttons of his pants as he felt completely spent, his hands shaking slightly. He wanted to help you get cleaned up, but you had already brushed what you could of his release off your dress.

It would probably leave stains on your clothing nevertheless.

A twisted, dark part of him, the part that came from the same pit as the dark creature and the Wolves, felt almost aroused and proud at the thought you would keep an imprint of him on it. This part was relishing noticing the big ruby mark it had left on your breast as you were putting it back under your neckline; he grinned to himself knowing it would make your memories of him more difficult to forget.

He didn't want you to forget.

He slowly got up, offering you his hand to help you stand. You quickly put back your dress in its usual state, and wiped the sweat off your forehead. A silence settled between you two, thousands of questions floating in the air, but none of you ready to ask them out loud yet.

Finally, as you started shivering, only realizing now how cold this night was without Arthur's burning hot body on top of you, he spoke, voice even hoarser from having pushed on it too much, accent making every world sound heavy when they fell from his mouth.

"When can I see you again?" More than a demand, a promise. An order even. Cerberus needs his territory.

You already knew he kept them; his promises. Except for the one he had made to kill you. But in a way, he did, because you felt like you wouldn’t be able to ever feel so alive again without him.

Like a condemnation.

"You won't."

Certainty in your voice. But he didn't mind it. He had already broken you before.

"Oh, but I think I will, darlin'." Was all he said before stepping over the fence of the balcony, ready to jump off it. Before doing it, he pulled something out of his jacket and waved it at you.

The fucking papers.

A lightning of understanding and panic struck you; what you had thought was a lustful touch on your thigh, the one that had set everything on fire between the both of you, that had unleashed the Wolves, was in reality his sneaky hand retrieving the document from your hidden pocket.

Shit!

He gave you his cocky grin, blue gaze sparkling with mischief, greeting you with a two finger’s salute then jumped, disappearing in the night, away from you once again. You could have gone after him, as much as your weak and spent body would have allowed you to, but somehow, after all that he had done to you tonight, you felt like he had well deserved those damned letters.

tagging: @a-court-of-valkyries credits: Arthur's pic is not mine, belongs to fv8tt on Pinterest. Dividers and little moths doodle by me.

I reall hope you liked this one! I'm thinking about writing another part where the reader could confront Arthur again... Tell me if you'd like that! -Pine 🌱

#arthur morgan #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #rdr2 arthur #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan rdr2 #rdr2 fanfiction #pinefic #arthur morgan fanfic

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ginnsbaker · 6 months ago

Text

All Of Your Pieces (5 - The Truth)

Chapter Summary: A nuisance at your workplace forces you to re-evaluate your entire existence in Westview—and Wanda's hand, too. Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader Chapter word count: 3.8k+ | Chapter Tags/Warnings: Gaslighting

A/N: Thank you to everyone who's commented on the story so far. Please, bear with me! // More author's notes here.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

It doesn’t make any sense.

Geraldine had just stepped out to grab lunch for both of you. “Back in a jiffy!” she'd chirped before leaving. Now, an email sits in your inbox, unread, but the subject tells you everything you need to know.

Resignation letter, it says, effective immediately.

You stare at the screen, stunned. Geraldine loved her job. If something was wrong, she would’ve said something—wouldn’t she?

You try calling her number, but it goes straight to voicemail. Growing uneasy, you decide to ask around the office.

“Hey guys, have you seen Geraldine?” you ask a group of your coworkers near the copier.

They shrug. “Last I saw, she was heading out for lunch,” one of them offers.

Frowning, you make your way to the lobby. Maybe the receptionist noticed something.

“Did Geraldine pass by here recently?” you ask.

She looks up. “Yeah, about an hour ago.”

“Was she with anyone?”

“I didn't notice, sorry.”

“Sure, no worries.” You head to the security desk next. The guard gives you a smile and a warm greeting before noticing the crease on your brows.

“Everything okay?” he asks.

“Hey, Norm. I’m looking for Geraldine. She went out for lunch and then sent in her resignation. Did you see her leave?”

Norm rubs his chin thoughtfully. “Now that you mention it, I did see her talking to someone outside earlier.”

“Who?”

“A woman. Late twenties, about 5'7". Red hair, pretty. Looked like they knew each other.”

Redheads around that age aren’t exactly common in town—certainly not ones who could be mistaken for your wife.

“Did you catch her name?” you ask.

He shakes his head. “No, sorry.”

“Thanks,” you mutter, stepping away from the desk.

Even if it is Wanda, it’s hard to connect her directly to Geraldine’s sudden resignation. Wanda has her moments of jealousy—which has been frequent as of late—but would she really go as far as to push someone out of their job over it?

Back in your office, you open Geraldine’s resignation email again, scanning for any hint you might have missed. That’s when you notice an attachment you hadn’t seen before. Curious, you click it.

An official-looking document appears on your screen, bearing a logo you don’t recognize: a circle with a sword piercing through it.

At the top, bold letters read: S.W.O.R.D. Alert: Westview Anomaly

Your eyes skim down the page.

*"To all Westview residents,

This is an urgent notice from the Sentient Weapon Observation and Response Division (S.W.O.R.D.).

An anomaly has been detected in your area. For your safety and the safety of those around you, please remain indoors and avoid any attempts to leave town until further notice.

We are working diligently to resolve the situation.

Thank you for your cooperation."*

You lean back in your chair, your mouth twisted into a humorless smile. Is this some kind of joke?

“What’s that?” a voice asks from behind you.

Before you can close the window, Alex, your co-worker is already bent over, eyes scanning the message. As he reads, his face pales, eyes widening with something between fear and recognition.

“Alex?”

He stumbles back, his movements jittery, like a cornered animal. “No… I-I can’t. Please, no more,” he mutters under his breath.

“W-What's wrong?” You take a cautious step forward, reaching out, but he jerks away from your hand like it burns.

Suddenly, he seizes the lapels of your jacket, gripping them so tightly his knuckles blanch.

“Please, I beg you,” he implores. “Make her stop.”

“Stop who? What are you talking about?”

His eyes dart around, wild and frantic. “She’s doing this. Controlling everything.”

“Alex, you're not making any sense.”

He grabs your arm, eyes pleading. “Please, you have to make her stop!”

“Who? Who am I supposed to stop?” you ask weakly. Deep down, you have a sinking feeling about who he's referring to, but you can't—or won't—acknowledge it.

Wanda is a good person.

She wouldn’t—couldn’t—do this.

If this is some kind of elaborate prank the entire office has set up for you, you swear you'll be the next one handing in your resignation first thing tomorrow.

But instead of the charade ending or Alex cracking a grin, he becomes even more hysterical.

“You have to help us! She’ll only listen to you. I can’t take this anymore—I feel everything she feels—”

You whip your head around and shout, “Are you guys seeing this?!”

No one—not a single soul—acknowledges you. They go about their business like you and Alex don’t even exist. Alex’s hands move from your jacket to your shoulders until he's gripping them hard, pushing you with surprising strength, his eyes panicked and unblinking as he begs you over and over for help.

When he shoves you again, something in you snaps. You push back, hard.

Perhaps, too hard.

Alex stumbles, losing his grip. He crashes to the floor, the back of his head colliding with the armrest of a nearby chair with a sickening whack.

“Oh my god! Alex, I’m sorry!”

You drop to your knees beside him, helping him sit up and checking for any sign of injury. He groans, rubbing the back of his head where it hit the chair, then turns to you with a dazed expression.

“What happened?” he asks, wincing slightly. “Why am I on the floor?”

You stare at him in disbelief. “You... you don't remember?”

He blinks, confusion clouding his eyes. “Remember what? Did I miss something?”

“You—” you start, then stop yourself. The frantic look in his eyes from moments ago, his desperate pleas—it’s like it never happened. “Y-You lost your balance,” you say carefully, watching him for any sign of recognition. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

He laughs nervously. “Oh, great. That’s embarrassing.”

You nod, forcing a smile. It doesn’t sit right with you—lying to him—but the thought of him slipping back into that earlier state terrifies you. Part of you is relieved to see him acting normal again, yet you can’t shake the feeling that something is seriously wrong.

You help him to his feet, though your own legs feel wobbly. “Maybe you should sit down for a bit,” you suggest.

“Nah, I’m good,” he says, brushing himself off. “Actually, I could go for a coffee and a bagel. Want to join me?”

You glance quickly at the monitor of your computer. The message from S.W.O.R.D. is still there, glaring proof that the last two minutes weren’t just in your head. Right?

“I—uh, sure,” you stammer. Maybe a walk will help clear your head—or at least help you figure out how to deal with this. “Let me grab my wallet.”

–

Monica Rambeau is back in the real world, but reality feels no less surreal.

She spends half her day in a makeshift clinic just outside the nightmare she barely escaped, repeatedly telling Hayward she’s fine—ready to work, even—but her clearance is being held off for some reason.

Perched on a flimsy cot, Monica fiddles with the hospital bracelet still looped around her wrist. How could she even begin to explain what it was like? Being trapped in that town, her thoughts—no, her very self—locked away in some distant corner of her mind. She’d been a prisoner, forced to watch herself perform a role she couldn’t control.

Worse, she hadn’t just been aware of Wanda’s grief, guilt, anger, and longing—she’d felt them. They’d coursed through her like her own emotions, impossible to separate, impossible to ignore.

“How are you feeling? Any dizziness? Headaches?” The doctor asks her.

Monica musters a tight smile. “I'm fine, really.” But it's not entirely true. Her head throbs—not from any physical pain, but from the collision of two conflicting realities vying for space in her mind: the life she knows as Monica, and the fabricated existence of Geraldine—no matter how fleeting that life had been.

“So, am I cleared?” Monica asks.

“We need to review all your lab results first.”

“And my uniform?”

“It’s still in analysis.”

“I need to get back out there,” Monica murmurs. The doctor says nothing, retreating to her charts.

Jimmy steps into the tent, catching the tail end of the conversation. “Mighty glad to have you back, Captain. How are you feeling?”

“Like myself,” Monica answers, though she’s not entirely sure she believes it.

“Thank heavens for that.”

Monica’s notices a woman standing beside Jimmy, someone she hasn’t seen before.

“Uh, what’s the latest?” she asks, eyeing the bundle in the woman’s arms—clothes, from the look of it. Something other than another hospital gown, hopefully.

The woman answers, “There’s a briefing in ten. Pants are encouraged.” She hands Monica the aforementioned pants and Monica sighs in relief. Finally, some proper clothes.

“This is Dr. Darcy Lewis,” Jimmy says. “She’s the one who discovered the broadcast.”

Monica’s about to introduce herself when Darcy beats her to it, adding that she’s a huge fan of hers.

Before Monica can comment on that, the doctor approaches, holding a tablet. “We need to take these again,” she says, showing Monica the imaging results.

“Those are blank,” Darcy points out with a curious tilt of her head. The doctor explains the need for another blood draw and more tests, but Monica refuses.

“No, no, no. We’re done here,” she says with finality, before sliding off the gurney and heading toward her new uniform.

—

Nothing unusual happens for the rest of the day. Wanda is in the kitchen, as always—just like every other time you come home. She spends her days cooking, cleaning, keeping everything perfect. Not that you’re complaining, but there was a time when Wanda had hobbies. She used to keep a guitar in her room back at the Avengers compound—

Avengers?

What the hell is an ‘Avengers’?

And, more importantly, where did that thought come from?

“You're home early!” Wanda says, waltzing into the living room, an apron tied around her waist—exactly as you’d expected.

“Yeah, I wasn't feeling well,” you say, your eyes tracking her carefully.

She crosses over to you in concern. “Oh no, what's wrong?”

“Just a rough day,” you murmur. “Where are the boys?”

“They’re at Agnes’s,” she says with a small smile. “I thought we could have a nice dinner—just the two of us. It’s been a while since we had a proper date.”

You nod slowly. “That sounds nice.”

“Perfect!” Wanda beams. “I’ll just finish up in the kitchen. It’ll only take a few more minutes.”

As she turns away, you’re unable to stop yourself from dragging this out any longer.

“Wanda, wait.”

She stops, glancing back at you. “Yes?”

You take a deep breath. “We need to talk.”

“About what?”

Rubbing your temples, the frustrations of the past week crash down all at once. “Can we sit down? Please, just come here.”

She obediently takes a seat beside you, her expression unreadable.

“Wanda, something strange is happening,” you say, having a hard time meeting her eyes as you say this.

“Like what?” You hear Wanda ask beside you, her voice surprisingly even.

“Alex had some kind of breakdown. He was begging me to 'stop her.' When I asked who he meant, he wouldn't say. And Geraldine—she just up and quit without a word.”

“That sounds serious. Maybe he should see someone,” Wanda says.

“I think that…” You trail off, gathering courage before turning to face her.

Wanda’s still smiling like nothing’s wrong, her features so exquisitely composed that it's hard to tell whether she has anything to do with this or if you've been unfairly suspicious of her.

But her eyes tell you something else. All you see is a storm brewing. She has never been able to hide her emotions from you, no matter how hard she tries. Wanda’s eyes have always given her away.

“I think that he was talking about you,” you say slowly, testing the waters. Wanda’s temper isn’t something you shy away from—it’s part of who she is—but right now, you’re treading lightly.

She laughs nervously. “Me? That's ridiculous.”

“Wanda,” you say softly. “I love you. But I need to know the truth.”

She stands abruptly, turning her back to you. “I think you're exhausted. You should go ahead and take a shower—”

You get to your feet as well. “Don't dismiss me! I feel like I'm losing my mind.”

She whirls around, eyes glistening. “What do you want me to say?”

“The fucking truth!”

Wanda flinches, and you freeze, immediately covering your mouth. You’ve never sworn in front of her before—not even during your worst arguments. Which, strangely, you can’t quite recall right now. You know you’ve had fights. Wanda’s had hobbies. You’ve traveled beyond Westview. These memories feel real, even as the details slip through your grasp like water.

She studies you for a long, silent moment, something clearly churning behind her eyes. Once you've simmered down, you know you should probably say sorry for lashing out like that.

“Wanda, I didn’t mean to—”

“The truth,” she cuts in sharply, “is that you're overworked and stressed. You've been distant, imagining things that aren't real.”

“Don't turn this around on me,” you retort, feeling your anger rising again. “Ever since the Harvest Festival, you know things have been off. When Agnes asked me about places I've been outside of Westview, I realized—I couldn't remember anything. It's like my life started the day we moved here.”

She forces a laugh, brittle and unnatural. “That's absurd. We've been here for years. Memories fade. It's normal.”

“No, Wanda, it's not normal,” you say through gritted teeth. “I can't recall our wedding, our honeymoon, the day the twins were born. It's all—”

“The albums are downstairs, Y/N, but we’ll get to them once you’re feeling better. Stress can do strange things to the mind, and—”

“Stop deflecting!” you snarl, your fists clenching at your sides. “It’s not just Alex, or Geraldine. People are acting weird, Wanda. And I think you know why.”

Her arms fold tightly across her chest, a wall going up between you. “I don't have to listen to this,” she says.

“Yes, you do!” You step closer, your voice softening as you try a different approach. “Wanda, I'm scared. I feel like I'm losing my grip on reality.”

She sighs deeply. “I understand you're feeling overwhelmed. But accusing me of... what exactly? Manipulating everyone? I can’t believe you’d even consider it.”

“Should I not have?” you whisper. “I got an email from an organization called S.W.O.R.D. about a ‘Westview Anomaly’. They think something's seriously wrong here.”

Wanda scoffs, rolling her eyes. “An email? It’s probably just spam. I don’t need to be working in an office to know better than to open suspicious messages.”

Tears prick your eyes. Why is she being like this? Why does it feel like she’s making you question your own sanity?

“Wanda, please.”

She places her hands on your shoulder, giving them a gentle squeeze. “Maybe you should rest. We can talk about this later.”

“No!” You shove her hands away with more force than intended, startling her. “Why won't you talk to me?”

Wanda’s expression hardens. Without a word, she turns on her heel and starts walking away.

“Because you’re being irrational,” she finally throws over her shoulder. “You’re not yourself.”

“Maybe because I don't know who I am anymore!”

Wanda stops in her tracks, slowly turning back to face you. “What do you mean?”

“I can't remember my life before Westview,” you say, your voice trembling. “I have no memories beyond this town. Is this all real? Are the boys? Am I—”

Wanda closes the distance between you in an instant. “You’re very real.” Her hands find your face, cradling it with a tenderness that almost feels like an apology. “You’re Y/N. You’re my wife, the mother of my children. You’re my everything.”

“I…” you murmur, your gaze dropping to the floor. You wish her reassurances could sweep away all your doubts and fears, but they just don't.

They’re not enough.

“How do I fix this?” Wanda's voice cracks, her hands dropping to her sides.

You’re desperate to believe her, to feel the truth in her touch, so you reach out. Your hands find her waist, fingers gripping softly as if the contact could tether her to you. As if holding her could make her words real.

“Just tell me what’s going on,” you plead, pulling her closer to you. “Please.”

Wanda looks at you, and you can see the internal struggle play across her face. After a moment, she takes a shaky breath, exhaling like it costs her something.

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

Wanda’s always underestimated how much you get her, how deeply you care and are willing to understand whatever she’s keeping inside. You’ve been the only one who really got her, next to Pietro. But this is different.

This truth she’s holding could shatter everything. Telling you could mean losing you again—and maybe for the very last time.

Her eyes lift to meet yours again, and there’s a faint smile on her lips. For a split-second, you think she's about to give you what you’re asking, but then—

“It’s better if you don’t know,” Wanda says softly.

Before you can protest, her hands cradle your temples, and her eyes burn crimson. A warm sensation washes over you, and your vision blurs.

“Wanda?” you manage, a note of alarm creeping into your voice.

But the world is already blurring, dissolving into a haze, the memories of this conversation fading like a forgotten dream.

When you blink, she’s smiling at you from the kitchen doorway, her hair tied back and an apron dusted with flour wrapped snugly around her waist.

“You're home early!” she exclaims brightly.

“Yeah, I guess I am,” you reply, feeling a bit disoriented.

Her smile widens. “Perfect timing,” she says, turning back toward the stove. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

“Where are the boys?” you ask.

“They're at a friend's house for the evening,” she replies. “I thought we could have a nice dinner, just the two of us.”

You nod slowly. “That sounds nice.”

She returns to the kitchen, and you sink into the couch, rubbing your temples. A nagging feeling tugs at the back of your mind, like you’re forgetting something important. It’s probably nothing, you tell yourself. Just exhaustion.

In the kitchen, Wanda quickly dabs a tear from her cheek and takes a deep breath.

“Everything will be okay,” she whispers to herself, just as the oven dings to signal that dinner is ready.

—

The briefing concluded on a sour note.

Hayward has officially escalated the situation, branding Wanda a hostile entity and moving toward full confrontation. Monica, Jimmy, and Darcy protest vehemently, but their objections are dismissed without a second thought.

It’s hard to justify the reality of Wanda's influence over the town: controlling the residents like puppets, violating their rights every second—it’s not an act of benevolence.

Monica, however, knows grief intimately. She regrets opening up to Hayward about her experiences in Westview, naively believing he might empathize with Wanda’s pain. Instead, he’s weaponized it, twisting her insights to justify his growing hostility. She realizes now just how misplaced her trust was.

“By the way, there’s something we’ve been meaning to ask,” Jimmy says as they are leaving the tent. “Do you happen to know Wanda’s wife in there? Y/N?”

Monica freezes for half a beat before glancing at him. “Yeah, but I didn’t meet her until I was pulled into the Hex. Why?”

“You know she’s dead, right?” Darcy says bluntly.

“I—” Monica's expression darkens with surprise. It's been just a few weeks since she returned from the Snap, vanishing for five years, and she's still trying to catch up on who else has come back and who hasn't.

Darcy picks up the thread of conversation as they walk. “What was Y/N like? Did you get a sense of her personality inside the Hex?”

Monica takes a moment to think. To be honest, she’d worried about you ever since Wanda cast her out. Knowing now that you’re dead should bring some closure, ease her concern—but that only made her regret coming back here without solid answers.

“From what I saw, she seemed like a wonderful person—kind, gentle,” Monica says.

“And she's under Wanda's control, right?” Darcy asks.

Monica shakes her head. “I don't think so. I believe Wanda had everyone in town playing a role, but not her family. I don't have concrete proof, but I could tell they were real.”

“So, it really was Y/N in there? It wasn't someone else just wearing her face?” Darcy presses in disbelief.

The idea is staggering. Wanda is immensely powerful—everyone saw what she could do with the Hex, reshaping reality itself. But bringing someone back from the dead? That seems like a step too far, even for her. Doesn’t it?

“I honestly don’t know,” Monica sighs, feeling the fatigue settle deep in her bones. “With Wanda, it’s hard to say what’s possible anymore.”

“Do you think talking to Wanda would get her to release the town?” Jimmy wonders.

“We can’t say for certain. All I know is that Wanda had the ability to cast me out. We can’t even confirm if she’s doing it alone. Hayward’s jumped to conclusions, and I hate the direction we’re going with this,” Monica says.

Darcy arches an eyebrow. “Hold up. Are you saying you think Wanda has an accomplice in there?”

“I’m just trying to cover all bases,” Monica says. “Maybe someone else knows what’s going on here and they’re stirring the pot too. We can't rule anything out.”

She turns to Jimmy. “But maybe you’re right. Maybe we can find a way to resolve this diplomatically. I truly believe Wanda means well. She’s just... been through so much, like all of us.”

Jimmy nods in agreement while Darcy shrugs, still skeptical but on board with the plan.

“How do you suggest we do that?” Darcy asks.

“By learning more about Y/N,” Monica says. “Think about it—remember how Wanda reacted at the deli? She was worried about Y/N, right before she threw me out of the Hex. I think Y/N figuring out the truth about their life in Westview is the key to all of this.”

“Wait, what deli?” Darcy grumbles, throwing her hands up like she’s just missed the season finale of her favorite show. And in a way, she has. “That never showed up on the broadcast!”

“Maybe Wanda's editing the footage real-time?” Jimmy suggests.

Monica nods. “It’s possible.”

“Well, Jimmy and I have scoured everything on Y/N,” Darcy interjects, pulling out her pad and scrolling through her notes. “All we found was a measly file in Stark’s database—barely more than a footnote.”

Monica crosses her arms and ponders for a moment. “I think I might know someone who can help,” she finally says.

Jimmy and Darcy exchange a look before speaking in unison. “Who?”

“You’ll see,” she says cryptically, dialing a number as she walks away.

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mariacallous · 3 months ago

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Elon Musk’s so-called Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE) has spent the first six weeks of the new Trump administration turning the federal government upside down. It has moved from agency to agency, accessing sensitive data and payment systems, all on a supposed crusade to audit the government and stop fraud, waste, and abuse. DOGE has posted some of its “findings” on its website, many of which have been revealed to be errors.

But two federal auditors with years of experience, who have both worked on financial and technical audits for the government, say that DOGE’s actions are the furthest thing from what an actual audit looks like. Both asked to speak on the condition of anonymity because they weren’t permitted to speak to the press.

“Honestly, comparing real auditing to what DOGE is doing, there’s no comparison,” says one of the auditors who spoke to WIRED. “None of them are auditors.”

In September, in a speech during the presidential campaign, then candidate Donald Trump said that he would create a government efficiency task force, headed by Musk, which would do a “complete financial and performance audit of the entire federal government.” Musk initially said that he wanted to cut $2 trillion from the federal budget, more than the entire 2023 discretionary budget of $1.7 trillion. Musk has since tempered his ambitions, saying he’d aim to cut $1 trillion in government spending. Still, he has alleged that much of this money can be cut by identifying waste, fraud, and abuse, and has continued to claim DOGE’s cuts of agency staff and resources are all part of an audit.

While there are certainly instances of government money siphoned off to fraud—a Government Accountability Office study published in 2024 estimated that the government loses between $233 billion and $521 billion to fraud each year—even recovering all that spending wouldn’t amount to the $1 trillion Musk hopes to cut from the budget.

The auditors who spoke to WIRED allege that not only is Musk’s claim not true, but also that DOGE appears to have completely eschewed the existing processes for actually rooting out waste, fraud, and abuse.

“An audit that follows Generally Accepted Government Auditing Standards (GAGAS), also known as a Yellow Book audit, is conducted in accordance with the standards issued by the US Government Accountability Office,” says the first auditor. Audits can focus on the finances, compliance, or performance of an agency. “That is the gold standard for how you audit the government.”

There are generally five phases of a GAGAS audit, the auditors tell WIRED: planning, evidence gathering, evaluation, reporting, and follow up. Auditors work to define the scope of an audit, identify all the applicable laws and standards, and come up with an audit plan. Next, auditors conduct interviews with staff, review financial records, and comb through data, reports, and transactions, documenting all the way. From there, auditors will assess that information against policies or procedures to figure out if there’s been some kind of alleged waste, fraud, or abuse and issue a report detailing their findings and offering recommendations. Often, those reports are made available to the public. After an audit, the auditors can follow up with the agency to ensure changes are being made.

There are also very technical definitions for what constitutes waste, fraud, or abuse. Waste could mean that there are inefficiencies in a program that might lead to purchasing more of something that goes unused, or paying more for a service than is necessary. Fraud involves intentional deception—for instance, bribery or falsifying business records. Abuse means doing things that aren’t necessarily illegal, but that are unethical. This could look like nepotism or favoritism in hiring, or spending excessively on travel.

In a recent interview with podcaster Joe Rogan, Musk said he believed that the government was “one big pyramid scheme” and alleged that “entitlements fraud” is a “gigantic magnetic force to pull people in from all around the world and keep them here.”

The two auditors told WIRED that going through the technological and financial minutiae of even just a single project or part of an agency can take anywhere from six to 18 months.

“You can’t coherently audit something like the whole Social Security system in a week or two,” says the second auditor. It’s exactly this rush to crack systems open without full understanding, the auditors say, that has led to Elon Musk’s false claims that 150-year-olds were receiving Social Security benefits. “It could be that DOGE didn’t de-dupe the data.”

“In no uncertain terms is this an audit,” claims the second auditor. “It’s a heist, stealing a vast amount of government data.”

Federal workers who have spoken to WIRED say they are worried that their own data could be used to surveil and target them for firings based on their identities or political views. There are also concerns that DOGE could access contracts and procurement data that contain sensitive information that companies provide in order to work with the federal government. DOGE has also deployed an AI chatbot within the General Services Administration (GSA) and appears to want to expand the use of such tools, bolstered by access to government data. New court documents also indicate that Marko Elez, the former DOGE representative at the Treasury Department, shared a spreadsheet with personally identifying information outside the agency.

And without time spent for auditors to understand a new data system—like interviewing agency staff or learning the coding language—the first auditor believes it’s likely the DOGE team is flying blind. “When they collect a dataset, they don't get it with any sort of description, I imagine,” they say. “There are no terms of use for any government systems … There's no supporting testimony from data system owners, from data system experts. They don't even know the language and the database systems that they're working in. That’s why they keep messing up.”

The auditors described a lengthy vetting process that allowed them to get the permissions necessary to dive into an agency’s data and systems. In addition to going through the initial vetting process, the auditors say that they are required to engage in continuing education.

“None of them have any auditing background, none have any certifications, none have any clearances,” says the first auditor.

Federal workers who have spoken to WIRED expressed concern that DOGE’s operatives appear to have bypassed the normal security clearance protocols in order to access sensitive systems. WIRED found that many of DOGE’s youngest members, all of whom were 25 or younger, have very limited work experience, and none in the government. One, Edward Coristine, who goes by “Big Balls” online, appears to be a 19-year-old high school graduate. Despite this, they were given high-level access at places like the GSA, the Social Security Administration, and the Treasury. Others, like those at the Federal Aviation Administration, come directly from Musk’s own companies and were not fully vetted before their start dates.

The auditors also noted that even canceling contracts, as DOGE has done, can add to costs, rather than reduce them, in the long run. For instance, often the government negotiates deals on large purchases where it gets discounts for bulk purchases. Canceling a contract likely not only means the government needs to pay some kind of fee to compensate for the contract cancellation—maybe 10 to 15 percent of the contract amount—but if some or part of that purchase needs to be reinstated later, that initial bulk discount will likely be gone, making it more expensive overall. This was the case with many of the software licenses that DOGE said it wanted to cut.

Since sweeping through the government, DOGE has canceled thousands of government contracts, including 10,000 specifically for humanitarian aid. According to reporting from the Associated Press, 40 percent of those canceled contracts through late February will likely not save the government any money.

“They'll end up costing more in some way, whether it's time, inconvenience, or money,” says the second auditor.

But the auditors say that there are ways DOGE could get it right. “If DOGE wanted to be the good guys, they could,” says the first auditor. “I’d start by looking at existing Inspector General recommendations.” On the website for the Inspector General for the Department of Health and Human Services, for instance, there are more than 1,200 recommendations that have yet to be implemented that could potentially save the government hundreds of millions of dollars.

In an interview on FOX Business with Larry Kudlow, when asked about how his team was identifying what to go after in the government, Musk replied, “We look at the president's executive orders, and we also just follow the money.”

The auditors say they aren’t necessarily against bringing in people from outside the government to help streamline government processes—something that the government was already doing before Trump was sworn in for his second term. For instance, 18F, the digital services agency within the GSA’s Technology Transformation Services, was explicitly designed to serve as an in-house consultancy that would allow federal agencies to leverage private sector expertise. As part of DOGE’s sweep of the government, however, it has gutted the group, putting a pause on several ongoing projects to make government services more efficient for users.

And it’s these actions, the second auditor says, that best show that DOGE’s intentions may not be geared toward “efficiency” at all. “It’s a con,” they allege.

The White House did not immediately respond to a request for comment.

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alderaphid · 2 months ago

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Some of the more subtle things I’ve noticed in the April update:

- in “Springtime Salutations”, the narrator sounds like Sally. Previous narrators in other audios did not sound so close to the character’s voices iirc (though I may be mistaken). As well, “Sweet Briar” then has Sally narrating. There seems to be a distinction implicitly drawn here, perhaps.

Related: The Not-Sally narrators voice distorts as they go to say the authors name, and as the audio restores they cough. While the cough could imply some sort of meta element to the distortions, to me it calls attention to the fact that the author of the Looky-Loo books is still unknown. My current guess is that it’s Ronald Doloriane, and for as-of-yet unknown reasons his presence/influence is being obscured (either purposefully or not in a “cosmic censorship” sense). Especially since the distortions are really few and far between here.

- “Springtime Salutations” also denotes Frank’s home with a capital, Home. Now, afaik, the use of “Home” has been only towards the neighbourhood itself as a title, and for Wally’s home. Seems all the houses may be proper noun’d (implications, implications… all the neighbour’s homes being Home. Does Howdy’s Place and Eddie’s Post Office count? What could it mean if they don’t?).

- Franny, Bea, and Jonesy all evaluate Frank in a way that feels like family being critical of who Julie is “bringing home” (a la a romantic partner)

- In “Sweet Briar” there is no “true love’s kiss” between Frank and Julie, either in text or as part of the audio. Julie just wakes up; and it seems to be her decision to do so. There’s no deviation of Frank being the one to wake her up (as they could have made him shake her awake, or whisper, or something else to that effect if the kiss wasn’t actually scripted). She avoids the kiss herself

- All three currently available Looky-Loo books have that same dot pattern in the inside cover with no apparent changes. This could imply it’s simply a design choice, but it could also be relevant for a future puzzle instead due to the repetition

- Wally’s “Toyland” audio is gone, though the transcription for it is still up. Do not know if that is in error, though I’m pretty sure it’s purposeful. Wasn’t it the only audio of him speaking solo? A cursory search of the newly updated “Discoveries” page seems to indicate as such

- In the shorter book featuring Wally and Julie, as Julie is describing what brings her joy, one page is torn out. Every other neighbour is mentioned except Frank, her best friend. The page missing is his

- Wally’s easel is gone from his character page. Considering the other changes that involve him, I’m assuming this is because it prevents him from painting a message on it post-censorship

- Casual lore drop that Rainbow Monsters have control over the seasons/nature, appears to be a cultural/familial “business” for lack of a better term. The Joyful siblings appear to treat it as their responsibility. Woof, imagine the pressure that must put on someone (👀)

- On awayfrompryingeyes, W documents their consumption of what is likely decades-old, dubiously sealed soda in a glass bottle. Buddy.

- Jonesy sounds like John Lennon

#welcome home spoilers #wh spoilers #welcome home #welcome home arg #welcome home puppet show #welcome home speculation #welcome home theory #needed to end it on a light note cause woof. Woof man #alder ambles #these are all technically surface level (though I may do something similar when I dive beneath the website)#note: Jonsey’s voice could be inspired by anything but it sounds very Beatle-like to me (like Ringo also)#I have. So Many Thoughts about Julie and Frank. What their friendship means. What it represents not just for him #But for her

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calummss · 2 years ago

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Do You Get Déjà Vu | Thomas Shelby

masterlist

summary: thomas doesn’t come to pick up his daughter. you decide to take her home only to find a man of a table with a bullet in his chest and a lot of deja vu

pairing: fem! reader x thomas shelby

words: 1.6k

a/n: just fluff and comedy tbh… not my usual angst i promise also, this takes place in 1919 because season 1 tommy has my heart. helena is around 9/10 years :)

How you disliked summer. Sweat pearls dripping simply sitting and breathing. Delicate fabric sticking to you like a bee and its honey. It was simply too hot for a woman to be wearing layers of modest clothing but here you were, sitting in front of your desk; no countertop in sight, too many different documents sprawled across the surface, each waiting on your eyes and conscious to scan it and then evaluate whatever category it fell into.

‘Miss Verys?’ Katie’s voice pulled you out of your slump, yet your heart skipped a beat when you saw her come closer with an arm full of newer papers that acquired your attention.

‘Please tell me you are joking…’

‘I fear not, Miss,’ she pressed her lips together as she placed them onto the right corner, the surface area with less than ten documents. ‘But these are all for the week.’ She smiled.

‘Finally some good fucking news,’ you huffed, ‘Sorry,’ you tilted your head when you realised Katie was taken aback by your choice of words.

‘Also I don’t wish to add more to your plate but Helena is still present. It seems Mr. Shelby has yet to pick her up. Do you want me to stay and wait with her?’

‘Katie you are truly an angel, really, I am so grateful but you are being paid to work on from eight to three, I couldn’t let you do that. Legally and from my heart.’ You curled your lips, fingers rubbing against the sheet of paper you were waiting to flip. ‘Just tell Helena to pack her things and to come to my office. Since I will be busy reading through all of these I might end up staying for quite a while.’

‘Of course. And thank you, Miss Verys, have a good day.’

‘You too.’

Katie left and you were stuck in front of an ocean of paper. If you had known that directing a school was so strenuous you might’ve thought about inaugurating a school twice. But it was a lovely institute. A school for girls with the most brightest and innovative minds, no runner up to men but competition with finest ideas.

Momentarily Helena came through the door and patiently stood at the door frame, her bag in her grip.

‘Hello Helena,’ you smiled at her. ‘Your father is not here yet?’

‘No.’

‘That’s okay, just wait here with me. I have much work and since we’re the only ones here I thought company would be nice, no? Sit,’ you pointed to the chair, Helena still standing at the entrance barely having moved.

Helena hummed in response.

‘So,’ you grabbed one of your quills to start signing documents that needed your signature. ‘What do you like to do when you’re not at school or doing homework? I am pretty sure you like horse riding?’

‘I do.’

‘Something else perhaps?’

‘Recently we bought a family car,’ Helena had sat down in the chair, laying her bag beside her as she relaxed into the seat. ‘When we got it we drove through the countryside…it was so thrilling. The wind on my face felt different to when I am riding. Daddy looked so happy too. I like cars.’

‘My my, what a riveting experience.’ You glanced at her from your work. ‘I remember my first time in a car. Felt exactly like how you described it.’

Helena beamed back you, her bright blue eyes gleaming with excitement, ‘My uncle Finn liked the car ride at first too but we had to stop because he got sick,’

‘And did you?’

‘No, I felt great. I love cars.’

‘I too think cars are the greatest innovation since the marvellous idea to roast and ferment cocoa beans to make chocolate.’ You let out a lighthearted laugh, infecting Helena with the same giggle.

‘I like chocolate.’

‘You do?’ Your lips curled. ‘Do you want one? I might have a bit stashed somewhere between all this energy-consuming work,’

‘I’ve only had it twice,’ Helena began another story, ‘It is very expensive and my father says it is bad for your teeth and that you mustn’t eat too much of it. He said that when he was visiting London he met a man outside of the sweet shop who became so round, simply for eating a lot of chocolate.’

‘Well best you have only one piece then,’ you put a piece into your mouth before giving her her piece. ‘This is my favourite. Got it from Cornwall. They make the best sweets.’

Taking the piece you handed her, she started eating it, her eyes in awe.

‘What about your father, Helena?’

‘What about him?’

‘What does he do for work?’ You asked, amusingly raising your eyebrows before taking the second heap of documents before you.

Helena hesitated. ‘I don’t think I can say.’

‘Why not?’

‘Family business…’

‘Family business?’ You looked up, Helena nodding her head in response. ‘I’m just curious that’s all. When you speak of him, you speak endearingly. You seem to have a very good relationship.’

‘We do.’ She ate the last bite, looking around the room. ‘If he wasn’t my father he would be my best friend.’

‘How sweet.’

With an easy lead conversation, time passed quicker than expected. But an hour later and Mr. Shelby still hadn’t come to pick up Helena.

With minutes passing you realised that Mr. Shelby wouldn’t show up anytime soon. It was also way past closing time so you had to start locking up the building. You thought it best to walk Helena home to see if anyone was there and if not you’d take her back to yours so she would have a safe place to stay until anyone got in touch.

‘Hello?’ You knocked against the door, the hard wooden door aching your knuckles as you repeatedly hit against it. ‘This is Miss Verys from Small Heath Institute for Girls. I have your daughter Helena with me as she has not been picked up yet.’ Your breath ricocheted off the door.

Seconds later you could hear the lock turning and were greeted by an older woman, her hair all over the place as her dark eyes burned into yours. Feeling as if she were about to take a jape at you, you quickly jumped back into your sentence. ‘I’m so sorry to intrude but I grew worried when Helena still hadn’t been picked up yet. I hope that all is well.’

Your eyes left her frame, seeing figures surrounding a table where there seemed to be a man laying down upon, quick huffs and puffs echoing from behind.

‘Arthur, shut up and just get this out of me.’

‘Drink this, Tommy. It’ll help with the pain.’

The unravelling scene before you had your full attention, completely forgetting the woman at the door.

‘I—oh no don’t do that!’ You raised your voice, pushing past her, now standing in the living room with three men staring at you. ‘I’m sorry to intrude but I was a nurse at the front and seeing you just stick your fingers inside his wound just rang my bells.’

The man on the table had blue eyes that protruded from the dim light within the room, his chest covered in dry and fresh blood, sweat dampening his skin and clothes. You overheard that his name was Thomas Shelby, Helena’s father.

You stepped closer and examined his wound. A bullet wound. Minimal surface damage and easily removed.

‘If someone could get me some bandages, an unopened bottle of alcohol and some tweezers with a bowl of warm water.’

‘I’ll get it.’ Helena walked past you to what seemed to be the kitchen.

‘The cheap one, Hallie,’ the light haired one yelled after her, his toothpick sitting between his lips. ‘If you open that rum from the Caribbean, I swear to you that I won’t give you any more sweets.’

‘You give her sweets?’ Thomas lifted his head.

‘Sometimes.’

‘Mr. Shelby if you could just relax for a short time longer. I will get that bullet out of you as swiftly as possible.’

Further taking in his naked chest you noticed his tattoo. Similar to sun rays just above his right chest. You had seen this tattoo before…

‘Mr. Shelby, can I ask you something?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you perhaps have a scar on your lower back? On your right just above your glutes?’

‘How do you know that?’ He stared up at you, holding your gaze as Helena came back with the supplies you needed.

‘Given it was a back injury you were transported to the tent on your stomach,’ you grabbed the alcohol to clean the wound, a hiss escaping him as you grabbed the tweezers, ready to pull out the metal embedded in his flesh. ‘I was the nurse that treated you. I was covered in ugly drapes and bloods, can’t say you could recognise me,’

Thomas winced as the ends of the tweezers dug around to grab the piece of metal, a small smirk on his lips. ‘You don’t say eh?’

‘I’m sure you’ll be having a déjà vu when I pull it out,’ you grabbed it and pulled it out, a loud growl escaping his lips as air pushed past his lips.

‘Thank you again.’

‘No problem, Mr. Shelby.’ You disposed of the bullet in a dish Arthur held out to you. ‘Next time Helena is not picked up I’ll bring her home and bring my first aid kit with me.’

‘That’s actually not a bad idea,’ he pulled himself up, grabbing a cigarette and lighting it. ‘Small Heath is starting you feel like a battlefield,’

‘Then I’ll be your nurse ready to care you to health.’

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sysakiddo · 4 months ago

Text

1,2,3,4,5

To add insult to injury, 007 is already in his office when he opens the door. To his credit, Max only skips a beat before moving again.

Daniel is holding a prototype of a new grenade Max’s been working on in his hands.

“Don’t touch that,” Max barks out and Daniel smirks. “In fact, don’t touch anything in here.”

Daniel has his feet on Max’s desk, the leather of the shoes glimmering in the bright light. “I didn’t even touch anything,” he drawls, which makes Max sigh. He knows Daniel touched all of the weapons in the room the second he entered it. Agents are predictable like that.

“Who let you in?”

Daniel shrugs, tossing the grenade from one hand to another. Max is ready to fight him. It must show on his face because Daniel yields without him saying anything else. “It was the new guy.”

Max opens the door again and yells an angry “Liam!” tapping his foot impatiently. He should have already checked his messages four minutes ago.

Daniel makes a face and says under his breath, “not good, not good,” but to be completely honest, he is glad he escaped Q’s wrath. For now.

The new guy shows up and immediately gets pale when he sees the mood Max is in.

“You can’t let strangers into my office without me. That’s honestly unacceptable and if it happens again, I won’t have no choice but to report it.”

Liam gulps, trying to find a good enough excuse not to get fired. “I am sorry, I thought, well - He is your agent. He told me you were expecting him.”

Your agent. Max wills down the electricity that runs through him.

“And you trusted him? Honestly, I am disappointed. That will be everything.” He turns around and closes the door again. Daniel expected him to make him stand up from his own chair, but Max surprises him by plopping down on the chair across from him, which is meant for the visitors.

Max doesn’t say anything else, just focuses on massaging his forehead, where he has been feeling a throbbing pain since he woke up.

“That was brutal, Q.”

Max huffs. “Well, maybe his day would have been nicer if you didn’t fuck him over,”

Daniel’s smile is so sharp it looks macabre. “I want to return to the field,”

The blonde tries to calculate if he can take another pain medication so early after the previous one. “Splendid, did you just return from the centre? I haven’t received the certificate yet, that’s weird. I’ll call them,”

Daniel is quiet for a beat too long, and it makes Max look up from his phone.

“I’ve done them a week ago,”

Max has seen the results. He has barely passed the physicals, limited rotation in his wrist, it said. He completely failed his psych evaluation, post-traumatic stress disorder, major depressive disorder, insomnia. Agent referred to therapy and not allowed to carry out any tasks until further evaluation.

The note next to Daniel’s photo at the top of the document was blaring red.

“Yeah, go there again, you know the procedure,” Max rolls his eyes. Daniel is not a rookie and he is making him lose time.

He is still holding the damn grenade. “I’m not going to pass them,”

Max shrugs, “Nice, paid vacation,” he says, like he hasn’t checked if Daniel has already visited the mandatory therapy sessions. He would rather die than watch Daniel become as broken as Sebastian is. “Now, if you excuse me, but some of us don’t have that and need actually to work, so like - fuck off, yeah?”

“Q, I said I want to get back,”

The throbbing behind his eyes is slowly blinding him. He is pretty sure he tastes copper on his tongue. “And I said come back when the med teams clear you. What does that have to do with me?”

Daniel clicks his tongue, his hold on the grenade steady. “Well, for one, you are my quartermaster. You are also the only person who can fake the clearance.”

The worst thing is that Max feels like he should have predicted this. He should have known.

“I’m going to report you to your superior officer,” he says, voice like ice. Max regrets getting out of bed today.

Daniel’s right eye twitches. “I dare you to knock on M’s door right now.”

Daniel noticed Max’s contempt for the older man a long time ago. He secretly thinks it’s because M doesn’t let him test his gadgets on mice.

Truthfully, Max thinks it all started when Lewis took away his lion plushie when he was 10, claiming it was too childish.

“I want to get back,” Daniel says again. “We need to finish this,”

Max is so tired. “What’s in it for me? Why would I endanger my agent?”

“Q, you are not finding him without me,”

Max averts his gaze and huffs out a puff of air. “006 has actually done a good job-”

“It’s not good enough, we both know it.” Daniel finally puts the grenade on the table. “Meet me at nine, we have to talk this through somewhere that’s not here,”

Max did his own mandatory six-month health check-up just a few weeks ago. The psychiatrist made him do word associations at the end of the session. He did well, like always.

But then the shrink said weak and the first thing that came to his mind was me.

#bond verse #maxiel #f1 rpf #f1 fic #daniel ricciardo #max verstappen #max/daniel #my writing #my ficlets

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follow-up-news · 4 months ago

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FBI agents who participated in investigations related to President Donald Trump have sued over Justice Department efforts to develop a list of employees involved in those inquiries that they fear could be a precursor to mass firings. Two lawsuits, filed Tuesday in federal court in Washington on behalf of anonymous agents, demand an immediate halt to the collection and potential dissemination of names of investigators who participated in probes of the Jan. 6, 2021 riot at the U.S. Capitol as well as Trump’s hoarding of classified documents at his Mar-a-Lago estate in Florida. The suits mark an escalation in a high-stake dispute that burst into public view on Friday with revelations that the Justice Department had demanded from the FBI the names, offices and titles of all employees involved in Jan. 6 investigations so that officials could evaluate whether any personnel action was merited. Thousands of FBI employees were also asked over the weekend to fill out an in-depth questionnaire about their participation in those probes, a step they worry could lead to termination. Responding to the Justice Department’s request, the FBI turned over personnel details about roughly 5,000 employees but identified them only through their unique identifier code rather than by name, according to a person familiar with the matter who spoke on condition of anonymity to discuss the matter and internal communications seen by The Associated Press.

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glowettee · 5 months ago

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analyzing what went wrong (like actually wrong) - part 2/5 🎀

1st post

posted by: glowettee

hey study besties! ♡ mindy here!!!!!

welcome back to my little grade recovery series! now that we've processed our feelings and dried our tears, it's time to put on our detective hats (make it pink, obviously) and figure out exactly what happened. this is where we get super real but super helpful!

♡ the pre-test investigation

let's look at everything that happened before the test/assignment:

study method audit:

were you just reading and highlighting? (spoiler: that's not actually studying)

did you try to memorize instead of understand? (guilty of this in my first year)

were you doing practice problems or just looking at them?

did you create your own study materials or just rely on reading?

i learned this the hard way - highlighting things in pretty colors isn't the same as actually learning them. what helped me was creating my own practice questions and pretending i was teaching the material to my stuffed animals (don't judge, it works!).

♡ the time management tea (sorry for these weird titles, lol <3)

be brutally honest about your study timeline:

last-minute cramming or consistent studying?

how many actual focused study hours? (scrolling through #studytok doesn't count)

did you have a study schedule?

were you taking proper breaks?

i started tracking my actual study time using a cute timer app and realized i was only doing about 20 minutes of real studying in what i thought was a "2-hour study session." yikes!

♡ the environment check

your study space matters so much:

where were you studying? (your bed doesn't count, bestie)

how was the lighting? (dim lighting = sleepy brain)

what distractions were around?

did you have all your materials organized?

i created a dedicated study space with good lighting, my favorite scented candle, and zero phone access. it literally changed everything.

♡ the content breakdown

this is where we get super specific:

which topics gave you trouble?

what patterns do you see in wrong answers?

were there specific types of questions you missed?

did you understand the basics before moving to complex stuff?

(IMPORTANT) make a chart (make it cute but functional) listing every topic and rate your understanding from 1-5. this becomes your study guide!

♡ the test-taking trauma

let's analyze the actual test experience:

did you read all instructions carefully?

how was your time management?

did anxiety take over?

were you physically prepared? (proper sleep, food, etc.)

i started doing mock tests under real conditions and found out i was spending way too much time on early questions and rushing through the rest.

♡ the resource reality check

what help did you actually use?:

did you go to office hours? (they're literally free tutoring)

did you use study groups effectively?

were you using all available resources?

did you ask for help when needed?

confession: i used to skip office hours because they scared me. now they're my literal secret weapon for acing classes.

♡ creating your analysis document

grab your favorite notebook or digital doc and create these sections:

concept confusion list

study technique evaluation

time management analysis

resource gaps

test-taking troubles

improvement ideas

♡ the action plan prep

based on your analysis, start thinking about:

which study methods you'll keep/change

what new resources you'll use

how you'll manage time differently

what help you need to seek out

how you'll prepare differently next time

this analysis isn't about beating yourself up - it's about creating the perfect strategy for your comeback. think of it like analyzing why your skincare routine isn't working - once you know what's wrong, you can fix it!

xoxo, mindy 🎀

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destielaureversebb · 5 months ago

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Coming soon for the @destielaureversebb: “Classified Unexplained Phenomena (Type B)”

Author: allthismusic @folkbloodbaths Artist: @bucketofli

Rating: Mature Archive warnings: None Length: 13,000 words Tags: Ranger!Dean/Researcher!Cas, Sort-of Case Fic, I'm Not Saying It Was Aliens But It Was Aliens Relationships: Dean/Castiel

Summary: Dean doesn’t expect anyone to believe that he saw a UFO. Hell, he wouldn’t believe it either if he hadn’t seen one when he was just a kid. On the other hand, one not-so-close encounter with the third kind doesn’t mean he isn’t fit to do his job, so he’s not thrilled about being slapped with desk duty for it. But when it turns out there’s more to his new officemate, Castiel, than an inability to organize his filing cabinets, Dean thinks that this might be his chance to finally get some answers.

Excerpt:

“X-files,” Dean says.

“Well, we don’t call them X-files,” Cas says, “This isn’t a TV show. They’re officially categorized as ‘Classified Unexplained Phenomena, type B, documents” but—”

“Oh, well,” Dean says. Then he shakes his head. “You’re screwing with me,” he says. He kicks himself mentally for not realizing it sooner. Someone at the department’s idea of a joke. But Cas just stares at him, not like he’s been caught abetting a prank, but like he’s waiting for something to click.

Dean looks at the pile of folders on his own desk, which he could’ve just as easily spent hours sifting through in his usual office, if Bobby hadn’t insisted he do so here. He looks back at the file on Cas’s desk. Something clicks.

“Classified Unexplained…” he begins slowly.

“Phenomena, type B, documents.” Cas completes it for him. “Type A documents are connected to a crime. I don’t have access to those.”

“And type B documents are—” Dean prompts.

“Sightings, encounters,” Cas says, and waves a hand as if to demonstrate the broad range of things the designation could encompass.

“And you do, what, investigate them?”

“Evaluate them,” Cas explains. “I used to teach journalism at the college.”

“Were you interviewing aliens?” Dean asks. He shoves some papers out of the way and leans against the edge of Cas’s desk.

“My research focus was on the reliability of sources,” Cas says, looking up at Dean. “Especially sources who were making claims that were particularly out of the ordinary.”

“So, the weirdos telling the National Enquirer that they saw a lizard person in the Albertson’s dairy aisle.”

“Sometimes,” Cas agrees. “Usually they were more mundane, if still uncommon. Political conspiracy theories, things like that. But sometimes, religious devotees who claimed to have witnessed miracles. And, yes, those who thought they saw signs of the extraterrestrial. So, you see—” he picks up the file that Dean had first noticed and passes it over to him, “transferable skills.”

Posting date: February 26, 2025

#destiel au reverse big bang #promo post #destiel fic #destiel art #author: allthismusic #artist: bucketofli

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writingsoftarnishedsilver · 6 days ago

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Weaponized | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Part Six

← Previous Chapter Next Chapter →

Words: ~4,100

Series Tags/Warnings: Violence, Trauma, No Hogwarts House, Post Hogwarts, Auror!Sebastian, Auror!MC, Modern AU, Female Reader Insert, Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, Forced Proximity, Ancient Magic, Mutual Pining, Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Betrayal, Reconciliation, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Divergent

Beta: @dreamy-gal-30 <3

Auror Division Headquarters, Operations Wing – London

Sebastian stepped into the administrative wing just past nine, the air still sharp from the morning chill. He carried the satchel containing the secured artifacts and a concise mission report tucked neatly into the fold of his arm. He hadn’t slept well. Not because the mission had gone poorly—it hadn’t. If anything, it had gone too smoothly.

He blamed you. Or, more specifically, the version of you who had slid so seamlessly into the role of his wife.

Don’t think about that.

He rapped once on Hale’s office door, and when her voice called out, he stepped inside.

“Report,” he said simply, handing the folder across, along with the artifacts.

Hale didn’t look up right away, just took them with a nod. “Anything notable?”

“Contact was guarded but cooperative. Sale was clean. Warden held character.”

That earned him a glance. “I’d expect nothing less.”

Sebastian didn’t answer.

Hale’s office was messy as usual, documents scattered across the desk, memos stacked haphazardly, and a single mug of coffee half-drunk sitting precariously on the corner. But just beside her elbow, Sebastian spotted a folder. A thick one.

He didn’t mean to look, not really. But his eyes landed on the open page anyway. The heading was clear: Service Record – Canadian Magical Enforcement Division.

Sebastian blinked. “That her file?”

“Part of it. There’s more locked up. Why?”

Sebastian hesitated. Then, before he could talk himself out of it, he asked, “Can I see it?”

Hale leaned back in her chair, eyeing him. She seemed to weigh the request against some internal scale, then, with a sigh, she lifted the folder from the stack.

“I suppose it only makes sense since she’s on your squad. But keep your mouth shut and don’t remove anything. Technically this is above your clearance level, Sallow.”

He nodded. “Of course. I’ll have it back after lunch.”

“See that you do,” Hale said, already returning to her paperwork.

He stepped out into the corridor, the door swinging shut behind him, and made his way toward the shared office space at the end of the west wing.

Inside, Sebastian dropped into his chair and set the folder on his desk. For a moment, he just stared at it. Then, slowly, he opened the file.

Canadian Ministry of Magic – Division of Magical Enforcement Operative File: Major Warden [REDACTED] Security Clearance: Tier 6, Active

A photo of you on the page stared back at him, unsmiling, your short black hair even more severe than usual, and below it, the sheet was marked with numerous stamps and official seals from magical law enforcement divisions far outside Canada.

France. Germany. Argentina. Japan. South Africa. Australia. Each bore an embossed date and clearance notation, the most recent ones only months old.

Sebastian’s brow furrowed. You were rotated constantly, and from the looks of it, you hadn’t had a proper home base in over three years.

He turned the page.

Health and Wellness Protocol Blood Type: [REDACTED] Wand Hand: Ambidextrous Baseline Vitals: On file (see Medical Subfolder B) Allergies: Dragon Dander, Billywig Stings Prescriptions: Contraceptive Regimen, Iron Stabilization Potion Psych Evaluation Status: Required bi-weekly during active rotation Post-Op Debrief Compliance: Mandatory questionnaire submitted immediately after each mission

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed. He flipped through several of the attached forms which included countless physiological checkboxes, each page signed with your initials. He scanned a few at random.

Tactile Disassociation: No Auditory Hallucinations: No Hypothermia: No Head Laceration: Yes, Minor Menstrual Cramping: Yes

He paused at that one and blinked like he’d misread it. But no, there it was. A single checkmark inside the box. Matter-of-fact. Clinical.

Something about it made his throat go tight.

Some post-mission reports indicated mild bruising. Others flagged exhaustion or spells of dizziness. One from last winter even had “Localized Frostbite, Fingers” checked off.

He flipped further.

Pages and pages of mission reports followed, including redacted summaries, field evaluations, and threat assessments. Yes, there was brutality, death, and blood. Some of the operations listed over 30 hostile casualties, all by your hand. And yet... that wasn’t the pattern that emerged as he read.

Again and again, the same phrases appeared:

“Civilians prioritized.” “Engaged hostiles only after extraction secured.” “Refused to evacuate until final hostage accounted for.”

It wasn’t violence for the sake of violence. It was violence in service of something else—containment, extraction, survival.

There was one entry from a mission in Quebec where you’d been dispatched to track a colony of wendigos that abducted six children. The first time around, only four were recovered alive. But in your notes, the handwriting tight and slanted at the bottom of the page, you’d written: “Two still unaccounted for. Will revisit location post-recovery.”

On the very next page was the mission report of that return trip.

Op#403-C: Recon & Retrieval – Wendigo Colony, Quebec Status: Complete Deaths: 0 Injured: 1 (operative: moderate) Extracted Targets: 2 juvenile civilians (previously presumed deceased) Threat Level: Class IV Operative notes: Major Warden returned alone against recommendation and located secondary nest. Engaged three entities without backup. Operative sustained puncture wounds and hypothermia. Prioritized civilian retrieval over neutralization. Both children returned in stable condition.

There was a scrawl in the margin, likely from a commanding officer: “Above and beyond operational mandate. Exceptional.”

Sebastian leaned back in his chair, the folder spread open in front of him, the reports blurring slightly at the edges. You went back. No one had ordered you to. The mission was already marked complete, but you saved those kids. And all this time, he’d thought—

He shook his head. Sebastian had seen what you could do firsthand in Whitechapel: the devastation you could unleash when pressed, the way your expression didn’t change even when bodies hit the ground, and the cold, clinical detachment you seemed to wear like armor.

He’d bitched about it to Ominis. To Garreth. Hell, even to civilian friends over drinks, calling you a Ministry-controlled weapon. But your file showed a career of endurance, not apathy. A record of someone who didn’t pull back, not when it mattered. Someone who dove headfirst into fire, into frost, into hell again and again because someone needed saving and no one else would do it.

Then Sebastian glanced up at the clock.

Shit. Twelve o'clock.

Sebastian swore under his breath as he snapped the file shut. He already late for lunch at the pub.

He hesitated at the door. He was supposed to return the file. Hale had been explicit. But the idea of leaving it behind, of parting from it without finishing the last few pages…

He’d bring it back after lunch. It’s not like anyone would notice.

The Hex & Hops Tavern, Diagon Alley – London

The pub was warm compared to the wind-swept street outside. Sebastian shook off his coat just inside the door and glanced around, spotting them immediately.

Ominis and Garreth were already seated near the back, tucked into a corner booth beneath one of the frosted windows. Ominis nursed a pint while Garreth was already halfway through a basket of chips, gesturing animatedly as he spoke.

As Sebastian approached, Garreth glanced up and grinned. “Look who finally decided to join us.”

“You’re lucky I showed up at all,” Sebastian muttered, sliding into the seat across from them.

Ominis tilted his head slightly. “That sounds ominous.”

“Sorry,” Sebastian said, running a hand through his hair. “Got caught up at the office, that’s all.”

“Caught up?” Garreth echoed.

Sebastian reached for the menu even though he wasn’t planning on reading it. “Got my hands on an… interesting file.”

Garreth leaned forward with immediate interest, abandoning his chip mid-air. “Don’t tease. What kind of interesting? Scandalous? Embarrassing? Please tell me it’s Hale’s.”

Sebastian huffed a laugh, more out of exhaustion than amusement. “Not Hale’s.”

Ominis set down his pint. “The Warden.”

It wasn’t a question.

Sebastian gave a tight nod and folded the menu shut, pushing it aside.

Garreth whistled. “You stole her personnel file?”

“I didn’t steal anything,” Sebastian said. “It was just… open. Hale let me look.”

Ominis’s voice was quiet. “And?”

Sebastian’s fingers drummed on the table. “Technically, I’m not even supposed to be telling you I read it.”

Garreth grinned. “Which means, obviously, you’re absolutely going to tell us everything.”

“I’m serious,” Sebastian warned, though the corner of his mouth twitched. “Classified.”

“You’re the one who brought it up,” Garreth pointed out, waving a chip at him. “Don’t dangle a classified carrot and expect us not to bite.”

Ominis raised an eyebrow. “You brought it to the pub, didn’t you?”

Sebastian winced.

Garreth cackled. “Of course you did.”

“I just… wasn’t done reading it.” Sebastian muttered.

Ominis rolled his eyes. “You’ve already broken about 50 rules bringing it here, so are you going to show us or not, Sallow?”

Sebastian huffed a quiet breath through his nose and glanced around the pub, scanning for anyone who might be watching. Just locals, a few Ministry types he vaguely recognized—no one close enough to eavesdrop. Still, he lowered his voice.

“Fine,” he said, reaching into his satchel and drawing out the folder. He set it on the table and, with a subtle flick of his wand beneath the table’s edge, cast a charm to obscure the contents from any onlookers.

“There,” he slid it into the middle of the table. “Skim. Quickly.”

Garreth practically pounced, tugging the folder toward him like it might vanish if he hesitated. Ominis, for his part, simply leaned in, lifting his wand to read the contents.

“Sweet Merlin,” Garreth breathed as he flipped to the first page. “She’s been everywhere. Look at these stamps—Australia, Japan, France… how many departments has she worked under?”

Sebastian hummed. “She hasn’t had a home posting in years.”

Garreth turned another page, his eyes scanning a mission summary. “Says here she neutralized thirty-two hostiles in a single op. What the hell do they feed the Warden Corps?”

Sebastian pulled the folder back toward him. “That’s not the part that matters.”

“Oh?”

Sebastian tapped a page with the back of his knuckle. “That same op? She refused to leave until every civilian was safe. Put herself between a detonation curse and a hostage. Nearly lost her arm. And that’s not a one-off. It’s a pattern.”

Garreth went quiet after that. He pulled the folder even closer and began flipping through the pages in earnest now, brow furrowed, mouth slightly parted as he skimmed report after report. Every so often he’d murmur something low—“damn” or “bloody hell”—without looking up.

Ominis, meanwhile, sat with his usual quiet poise. He didn’t react much to what he read. No dramatic exclamations or slack-jawed disbelief. Just a slow unfolding quiet, like he was putting together the final pieces of a puzzle he’d already mostly solved.

Sebastian watched them both, arms crossed.

Eventually, Garreth leaned back, closing the file slowly. He blew out a breath and scratched at the back of his head. “I mean... I knew she was intense, but this is something else.”

Sebastian nodded.

Garreth looked down again, expression uneasy. “She’s still kind of terrifying, don’t get me wrong, but—” He winced. “I feel bad now for calling her a cyborg behind her back.”

Ominis snorted softly. “Good. You should.”

Garreth gave him a flat look. “Not helping.”

“I’m not trying to help,” Ominis said mildly, folding his hands. “I’m pointing out that maybe your instincts are worth questioning from time to time.”

Sebastian tilted his head. “You’re not surprised.”

“I’m not,” Ominis said simply. “She’s methodical, not cruel. Disciplined, not indifferent. People confuse the two all the time. Especially when they’re threatened.” He added pointedly.

Sebastian leaned back in the booth. “Look, I’m not saying she’s not capable. Obviously she is. That file makes that clear.” He paused, jaw tight. “But her detachment still bothers me. I mean I get that she’s been through hell, but it’s like there’s no—” He waved a hand vaguely. “No normal human baseline. And the Ministry dropping her into my squad without so much as a heads-up? That’s insulting.”

Garreth nodded, mouth twitching downward. “They're treating the Auror division like we’re kids who can’t handle our own assignments.”

Ominis looked between them with the kind of cool disdain that usually preceded a verbal scalpel. “That’s your ego talking, both of you.”

Sebastian’s jaw tightened. “Excuse me?”

“You’re insulted that someone more qualified got sent in to help with the smuggler cases.”

Garreth shifted uncomfortably in his seat, suddenly interested in the condensation on his pint glass.

“And as for her detachment?” Ominis went on. “Frankly, you should be grateful she’s not more emotional. Considering all the shit the officers put her through, I’d say she’s showing remarkable restraint.”

Sebastian narrowed his eyes. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Garreth flinched. Ominis blinked, genuine surprise flickering across his face. “You don’t know?”

Sebastian’s expression darkened. “Know what?”

Garreth cleared his throat, looking anywhere but at Sebastian. “Mate, uh… there’s been some stuff. Around the barracks. You know, stupid shit. Missing gear, cold water jinxes in the showers. I didn’t think it was serious, just some friendly… hazing.”

Sebastian turned slowly to stare at him. “Hazing?”

“It was just the usual stuff we all went through. Nobody thought it was—”

Ominis shook his head. “She’s not a recruit, Weasley. She’s a decorated operative. And you think it’s funny that the officers treat her like shit just because wasn’t born in Britain?”

“…Don’t get me wrong, alright?” Garreth said hastily. “I didn’t hex her robes or mess with her kit. I just… knew it was happening.”

Sebastian stared at him. “And you didn’t do anything about it?”

Garreth grimaced. “I thought it would blow over! She didn’t say anything, didn’t report it—hell, half the time it didn’t even seem like she noticed!”

“She noticed,” Ominis scoffed, gaze fixed on his half-finished drink.

Sebastian turned on him. “And you? You knew too?”

Ominis raised his brows like the answer should have been obvious. “Of course I did.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“I considered it,” Ominis said evenly. “But if I’d so much as suggested the officers back off, you’d have taken it as a personal attack. And more than likely you wouldn’t have given a damn what they did to her, anyway.”

Sebastian’s jaw clenched.

“You already hated that she was here,” Ominis continued, calm but pointed. “You questioned her instincts, consistently undermined her in front of the others. If I’d stood up for her you’d have assumed I was taking sides, and not yours.”

Sebastian looked away. Ominis was right, and he wasn’t proud of it—how territorial he’d been, how quickly he’d judged you, how easy it had been to pretend you were nothing more than an outsider sent to babysit his team.

“I didn’t know,” Sebastian said finally, voice low. “If I had—”

“You didn’t want to know,” Ominis said. "You only care now that you've read her file and realized she’s not someone you can write off.”

The silence that followed was long. Uncomfortable. Then Sebastian stood.

“I’ve got work.”

Garreth blinked. “What? Now? You didn’t even eat!”

“Yeah,” Sebastian muttered. “Someone’s gotta fix this shit.”

Auror Division Headquarters, Training Wing – London

The dueling ring echoed faintly with the sounds of boots on concrete, scattered laughter, and the thrum of spellfire as Sebastian stepped inside. Multiple squads of officers were already assembled, stretching or chatting while they waited for training to start.

Conversations quieted the moment he stepped into view. Sebastian was never loud when he was angry. He didn’t need to be.

He stood at the center of the room, hands behind his back, gaze sweeping across the gathered faces. “Form up.”

They did.

Sebastian let the silence drag just long enough to make their skin itch, walking between the rows, circling them like a predator sizing up its prey. His boots echoed with every step. No one dared speak.

He finally stopped near the front, hands still clasped behind him.

“So nobody was going to tell me, hm?”

The officers exchanged weary glances.

“Cold water charms. Hexed boots. Sabotaged gear. I don’t know who started it, but I know damn well none of you stopped it. And before anyone tries to give me some speech about tradition or ‘toughening up the new recruit’—she’s not new. She’s not yours to break in. She’s a decorated Warden from the Canadian Ministry with more frontline time than the lot of you combined. And you treat her like shit.”

Sebastian took a step forward, voice razor-sharp. “You lot are lucky she hasn’t filed a single report. Not one complaint. Not one request for disciplinary review. Because if she had, over half this room would already be on probation.”

He took another step. “When you humiliate your own teammate, you don’t just make yourself look incompetent, you make this entire base look incompetent. And if even one more incident happens under my watch, I swear on every curse I’ve ever broken, I will personally escort your ass out of this division. Is that fucking clear?”

The silence thickened. A few officers glanced at each other. Most looked at the floor.

“Good. Now here’s what’s going to happen,” Sebastian said coolly. “You’re going to run. Full perimeter of the base, east wall to north gate and back. And you’re going to keep running until I say stop. If you collapse, you keep crawling. If you so much as whine, I’ll have you reassigned to waste disposal duty with no field clearance for six months.” He gestured sharply. “Move.”

There was a beat of hesitation, then the squad scattered, boots thudding across stone as they poured out into the yard. You moved, too, automatically. One foot forward, then the other, your posture already shifting toward a sprint.

“Not you,” Sebastian said quietly.

You stopped, mid-step, turning slowly to face him. “Sir?”

“You’re not going with them.”

“...I can run,” you said.

“I know you can,” he said. “That’s not the point.”

The silence between you stretched.

You didn’t argue again, but you didn’t agree either. You just stood there, shoulders drawn taut like a bowstring, bracing for another judgment. Another order. Another quiet humiliation masked as discipline.

Sebasrian sighed. “Look… I didn’t know what the other officers were doing, but I should’ve seen it sooner. That’s on me.”

You didn’t respond. But your eyes flicked away, and that said enough.

“I can’t undo what’s already happened,” he added. “But I can make damn sure it doesn’t keep happening.”

Still nothing, but you were looking at him again. And for the first time, Sebastian met your eyes—not in passing, not through the cold filter of suspicion or rivalry—but directly. He’d expected them to be cold, reflective of the way you moved through the world, but they weren’t.

Not even close.

There was a depth there he hadn’t prepared for. Not warm, exactly, but… honest. And striking. Beautiful, even.

Sebastian exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “And… look, I’m sorry about how I acted.”

You stared at him, eyes narrowing. “...Which time?”

Sebastian winced.

He’d yelled at you in front of the whole squad after Whitechapel, blamed you for disobeying him even though it saved his life. He’d grilled you harder than anyone else during drills, nitpicked your tactics, doubled your sparring rounds. And the rest of the time, he ignored you entirely.

His throat tightened. “All of them.”

Your expression didn’t change but he saw the way your jaw tightened and the way your fingers flexed slightly where they hung at your sides, like you were resisting the urge to cross your arms again. Or punch him. Which he probably deserved.

“Are you apologizing because you mean it,” you said slowly, “or is there an angle I’m missing? Some Ministry directive I haven’t been briefed on? Maybe a note that says ‘build rapport with the unstable Canadian before she snaps’?”

The bitterness in your voice wasn’t loud, but it cut clean like it had been sitting there for weeks, just waiting for an opening.

Sebastian knew he deserved it.

“There’s no directive,” he said quietly. “I’m not playing politics. I just... realized I was wrong about you. I… yeah, I was pissed when they assigned you to my unit,” he admitted. “Didn’t want the interference. Didn’t want someone watching my team. I thought you were there to babysit us, or spy on us. Or me. But..." Sebastian cleared his throat. “Hale let me read your file.”

“...So you read a bunch of sanitized mission summaries and decided I was worth basic human decency?"

He flinched. “That’s not what happened.”

“No?” You finally looked at him again. And god, there was steel behind your eyes. Not anger, just a sharp, measured resolve. “Then what did happen, Sallow? You needed a dossier to tell you I wasn’t the enemy?”

He didn’t have a defense. Not one that wouldn’t make him sound worse.

You shook your head, a short exhale passing through your nose. “You know, you could've just, I don't know, asked me about myself when I got here if you were so damn curious.”

Sebastian swallowed. “I—”

“You didn’t need my file to know I was qualified,” you cut in. “You just needed to pay attention.”

He winced. “I know.”

“This happens everywhere I go,” you said flatly. “A foreign name on the roster, some fancy clearance from a different Ministry, and suddenly everyone’s territorial. Suspicious. Insecure.”

Her voice wasn’t bitter, but it wasn’t forgiving, either.

“And now that you’ve read my file,” you continued, “you know this isn’t my first rodeo. You’re not the first superior who didn’t want me on their team. Trust me, I’ve seen worse. At least this time no one hexed my mattress or tried to steal my wand.”

That landed harder than you probably intended, if the twist in Sebastian’s gut was anything to go by.

“I’ve done this song and dance before,” you said. “And I’ll do it again somewhere else when they reassign me.”

Sebastian didn’t know what to say. All he could hear was Ominis’s voice echoing in his head.

For weeks, he’d tried to tell Sebastian in that patient, exasperated way of his, that you weren’t cold, you were trained. That everything Sebastian took as detachment was just discipline, and that you didn’t have a choice in any of this either.

And that was the truth of it, wasn’t it? You’d just been doing your job. It was him who’d made it personal.

Because ever since he was a teenager—since Solomon—Sebastian had clawed his way toward competence like it was the only thing keeping him upright. He’d fought to be better. Sharper. In control. He’d built himself up as someone who knew how to run a unit, someone whose instincts could be trusted, someone who mattered.

But then you walked in.

A decorated Warden, your rank above his own yet ordered to work under him. But in his gut, it had felt like a correction. Like someone upstairs had decided he wasn’t good enough. That the squad he built wasn’t good enough.

And maybe they weren’t.

But that wasn’t your fault.

Sebastian ran a hand down his face. “You’re right,” he said softly. “You're completely right. And again, for what it’s worth, I’m… I’m sorry. I really am.”

You studied him for a beat longer, unreadable. Then your arms slowly uncrossed.

“Noted,” you said.

Not forgiven. Not forgotten. Just… noted.

Sebastian shifted his weight, glancing toward the window where the squad was still running in the yard, sweat-soaked, winded, regret etched into every heavy stride.

You followed his line of sight. “…How long you going to make them run for?”

Sebastian glanced at you, a huff of air escaping his nose—half a laugh, half sigh.

“Until I stop being angry.”

You tilted your head. “So… another hour?”

“At least.”

You nodded like that seemed fair.

“Also,” you continued, sounding somewhat hesitant. “I read your file too. On the plane here.”

Sebastian blinked. “You what?”

“It’s standard protocol when assigned to a new unit,” you explained. “Fields record. Mission logs. Including the one with the photo where your hair looks like you lost a fight with a wind charm.”

Sebastian opened his mouth, then closed it again. “Look, that mission was in Wales. The wind practically had a vendetta.”

You didn’t smile exactly, but the corner of your mouth twitched, and he couldn’t help it—his mouth curled at the edge, too.

“Alright then,” he said, crossing his arms. “What’d you think of it then?”

Your eyes cut sideways, voice dry as bone. “Your’re clever but reckless, have poor impulse control, you’re allergic to authority, and your handwriting’s shit.”

He laughed before he could stop himself. “So you think I’m smart?”

You gave him a flat look. “I think you’re a headache.”

Sebastian grinned. He didn’t know what this was—this strange, careful warmth threading between the sarcasm—but he knew better than to push it.

“Alright,” he said, tipping his head toward the ring. “Well… you’re off the hook for the run, but don’t think I’m going easy on you during drills.”

You arched a brow. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

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