#mauve-summary notes

[em1i2a3]

If you take requests or suggestions, i believe that you would execute a bob reynolds fic with this plot ✨perfectly✨

I literally LOVE all of your bob fics. They’re my comfort reads before i go to bed at night!

Body Paint

Pairing: Bob.Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader!

Summary: You are trying to find the best smudge proof lipstick for the upcoming gala that the team needs to attend tomorrow, and you have found the perfect test subject for the swatches.

Warnings: Pure and utter fluff, and there’s quite a bit of sexual tension. The reader and Bob both have feelings for each other and they’re both well aware of the mutual interest (secretly of course), she takes this as an opportunity to tease.

Author’s Note: I loved this request so much and I immediately started writing it because I was so excited to give it a go! So So Fun! Thank you for the submission! :) (also credit to the artist who made the drawing too because it’s fantastic)

Word Count: 3,362

You gave every drug store lipstick display a run for its money with the collection you had laid out across the bathroom sink. An entire rainbow of tubes was scattered in a controlled type of chaos–organized first by shade, then grouped meticulously by brand. Reds on the left, mauves and berries in the middle, and neutrals off to the right like a little modest army. You had even gone so far as to lay a folded white towel beneath the lineup like a staging mat, saving yourself from scrubbing stains off the marble countertop. The air smelled faintly of your makeup remover wipes–sweet and sterile–and your forearm was streaked with half-dried swatches, but it just wasn’t good enough.

This was all in the name of finding the lipstick. The one that not only matched the dress you were wearing to the PR gala tomorrow, but one that was also smudge-proof. You didn’t want feathering, or fading, and you certainly didn’t want it transferring onto napkins, glasses or people.

You wanted security.

You knew you should’ve started this task earlier in the week, but between back-to-back recon debriefs, endless intel meetings, and mediating three separate team arguments that nearly ended in Walker and Yelena actually strangling each other, the lipstick trials had fallen to the bottom of your to-do list.

Now there was less than twenty-four hours to go, and you were elbows-deep in swatches and stress.

You capped one more tube with a dissatisfied sigh and reached for the next–

Only to pause at the sound of a soft knock on the bathroom door.

“Y-Y/N?” Came Bob’s voice–muffled, hesitant and laced with that familiar nervous warmth. “I-I need to come in and get my brush. I forgot it after my s-shower…” You froze, mid-reach, one hand hovering over a berry toned satin finish tube. Your lips curled into a slow smile.

Perfect timing. For you, anyway. For Bob? That remained to be seen. You crossed the small tiled room in a few barefoot steps and swung the door open with a grin.

“Excellent! You’re just who I need.” Bob blinked at you like a deer caught in LED headlights. His shirt–black, baggy, and soft–was damp around the collar, clinging to his skin and chest in a way that made it impossible not to look. His light brown hair curled at in little waves at the ends, still damp from his shower that was still kissing the walls, and the navy sweatpants sitting low on his hips were hugging him far too well for a man who clearly didn’t see himself in the way you were seeing him in.

”…Wh-What?” He asked, brows furrowed, gaze daring from your eyes to the mess of tubes on the counter.

“Come in,” You said smoothly, reaching out and tugging him gently by the wrist, guiding him over the threshold with ease, “Sit on the toilet lid, and hurry up with the hair brushing…I need a test subject.” He obeyed-but only in the way someone might follow a siren calling them to certain doom. He moved like he wasn’t sure if he’d stepped into a trap or a daydream.

”L-Last time I heard the words ‘test s-subject’ I ended up getting injected with a sun god…” He mumbled, grabbing the brush from the hanging organizer on the shower door. You laughed, warm and low at the comment.

“Relax. I’m not injecting you with anything. You’re perfectly safe with me.” Bob sat down slowly, brush limp in his hand as his gaze swept across the counter again, scanning over the contents that you had lined up with such care.

”S-So what is all of t-this?” You turned slightly towards him, unscrewing a velvet-matte red as you spoke.

“I’m trying to find the perfect lipstick for the gala tomorrow,” You said matter-of-factly, swiping the colour gently across your bottom lip, “It has to match my dress and it has to be smudge-proof.”

Bob tilted his head, watching your quick movements intently, “Smudge-proof?”

“Yes. I don’t want to be constantly running to the bathroom to check for fading or fix transfer stains. I want to actually enjoy the night. Have a drink. Maybe dance. You know…Breathe.” He gave a thoughtful little nod, bringing the brush through his damp hair.

”D-Didn’t really think about that, a-actually…” You turned away from your reflection to look at him, a coy smile peeling onto your lips.

“Most guys don’t.” But Bob wasn’t most guys of course, and as expected, a beat later he added to the conversation again…

”…W-Wait…Why does it have to be completely smudge-proof though? I mean if you’re just–“ You shrugged, letting your gaze flick toward the mirror, while your lips pressed together, transferring the color over to the bare one above.

”You never know,” You said casually, “I might be planning on kissing someone.” Bob froze like someone had yanked all the oxygen out of the room. His cheeks–already pink from the post-shower warmth–turned a deeper, rosier red in seconds. It bloomed across his cheekbones, dusting the tips of his ears, and spread like a sunburn. His mouth opened slightly like he meant to say something, but all he managed to get out was:

”O-Oh…” He choked, swallowing the lump of nerves in his throat. The brush in his hand was still mid-motion through his damp locks, but it had stopped moving entirely. You smiled at him.

”Alright,” You started, twisting the lipstick down and putting the cap back on with a soft click, “First one. You ready?” He nodded slowly, like he couldn’t trust his voice. His eyes tracked you as you stepped forward–deliberate and unhurried–until you were standing directly between his legs.

His brush lowered slightly, and then the wave of your scent hit his nose.

Your perfume was warm, and sweet, with a hint of plum riding off of the tail end of each inhale he took. Beneath the main notes there was something tropical–maybe coconut from your makeup remover, or the vanilla-tinged balms you always wore when your lips were bare.

But now your lips weren’t bare at all. They were red, and bold, and smooth, just like fresh velvet. He looked up slowly, through his lashes, and found you were already staring down at him. You tilted your head, smiling, the curve of your mouth smug in a way that made something tighten in his chest.

You didn’t say anything as you reached forward–fingers brushing gently along the side of his jaw, your thumb just beneath the hinge of it. He let you tilt his head more toward you like he was made of clay and you were the ceramicist.

He dropped the brush into his lap, forgetting about it completely.

Your face hovered near his and he could feel his breath hitch audibly. You leaned in slow enough that he swore he could hear his own heartbeat ringing through the room.

Then your lips pressed to his cheek.

Warm, firm and lingering. It wasn’t a quick peck either. Not an innocent brush. It was a kiss.

You lingered just long enough for him to feel the curve of your mouth, and the faint stick of product with the pressure of intention behind it. He could smell the stain now–berries and heat, sharp pigment and your sweet breath that had a faint scent of strawberries from the gum you chewed on. If he was a sailor and you were the siren…He would be dead at sea.

When you pulled away, he swore the room was spinning a little. You cocked your head to the side and looked at the mark you had left just above the apple of his cheek. A bright, undeniable red, plastered on his pale tone.

“Hmm,” You said thoughtfully, “Definitely transferred.” Bob sat in stunned silence, skin still tingling from where your mouth had been–he didn’t know whether it was because he was allergic to the ingredients or because it was just him buzzing from all the adrenaline, though he would find out in due time. You dabbed at your own lips with a tissue saturated in make-up remover, wiping the colour clean.

“Not a keeper,” You mumbled, “It’s a shame–it was a really good match.” He didn’t say anything. He couldn’t find words, nor could he find a way to breathe. He didn’t even know how he was still alive at this point, all he knew was he saw you reach out again.

You selected the next shade carefully.

A sultry plum–deep, and elegant, with just enough bite to stand out. You rolled the colour across your lips in smooth, practiced strokes, then blotted once on a folded tissue before turning back to him.

Bob still hadn’t moved an inch. He was still sitting frozen on the seat, brush limp in his lap, his shimmering blue eyes flickering between your mouth and the floor. The cheek you had kissed was flushed a bit deeper now.

“Test two,” You announced gently, stepping into his space again, until the hem of your t-shirt brushed against his thigh and he had nowhere left to look that wouldn’t betray him in some way. Your hand came up to his jaw again–just two fingers this time, soft and easy, tilting his face the opposite way.

His lashes fluttered under the feeling of your breath brushing over them as you kissed him again. This time it was just below his temple, closer to the hinge of his jaw–closer to where his pulse was throbbing faintly beneath his skin. You pressed a little firmer this time, letting your breath fan against his ear.

Bob inhaled a quiet breath through his nose, attempting to keep himself calm, but in reality he was gripping the fabric of his sweatpants between his fingers like it was the only thing holding him back from collapsing. When you pulled away, you didn’t look at him, you just kept your focus on the mark.

”…Transferred,” You murmured, brushing your thumb lightly over the stain–making sure it was more of a caress than a swipe. You didn’t move back this time, you just grabbed another makeup wipe and removed the color before reaching for another.

It was a dusty rose this time, it was softer, and much more muted than any of the other colors he had seen you in.

Once you had applied it, you leaned in–closer now–and kissed the slope of his cheekbone, just beneath the curve of his eye. Your lips barely grazed the skin there–it was as if you did it to see if he would flinch or move.

Bob’s jaw tensed under your touch, and you were hyper aware of his breath hitting your skin in short, warm bursts, his chest lifting against you. He hadn’t said a word–but his hands had now left his lap and were gripping the edge of the counter, white-knuckled in anticipation.

You reached for the next tube–something far more delicate than the dusty rose before it. A pink so faint it was almost nothing at all. A whisper of colour. You applied it, blotted it, then turned again. Bob had somehow managed to get a handle on his breathing in the moments you were applying the next colour, but it was too controlled. You could practically feel the storm building beneath his skin, golden and humming, and desperate to stay still.

Your thighs brushed the inside of his knees as you tilted his head up to yours again, looking at the way his skin was flushed and warm, beneath the shades of pinks and reds…A gradient of restraint. You leaned in, and this time your kiss landed just beside the corner of his mouth, not touching it, but close enough to tease.

Bob made a sound. It was barely audible. A sof, helpless little nnnnh in the back of his throat–like a gasp that had gotten stuck on the way out. You didn’t say anything. You only bit back a knowing smile, and pretended not to hear it. You just wiped your lips again and moved on to the next shade–a creamy nude gloss, with just a hint of peach.

You came back in and kissed beneath his jaw, where the stubble was soft and patchy and tender. The spot made him twitch, his throat working under the weight of the kiss, like he was trying to swallow air.

His breathing changed then and became heavier and shallower.

And when you came close to him again, in a different shade–this time pressing your lips right onto his Adam’s apple–Bob’s head tipped back instinctively.

Like he was offering himself up to you–surrendering himself completely.

You continued to kiss him, moving progressively lower, marking him up with various shades. Then suddenly you found yourself at the hollow of his throat, just between the lines of his collarbones. His chest was rising faster now, with flush traveling beneath his shirt, like it was echoing the trail your mouth had carved against his skin.

You pulled back slowly, lips hovering about the damp collar of his shirt, bringing your hand up to brush over the fabric.

”Oops…” You murmured softly, putting on a teasing tone beneath your words, “I think I’m running out of room.” Bob looked down at you with eyes that were no longer blue. You hadn’t even noticed he had his eyes closed tightly for the majority of this until now.

There was gold flickering at the edges. Sentry was just barely cresting the surface–quiet, curious, and turned-on by the proximity. He was enamoured by what was happening, and Bob was allowing him to watch through his eyes because he was too focused on trying to keep himself together. The air around Bob was shimmering faintly, vibrating with tension like he was lighting up the room.

The sensation of your lips had done this…You had done this, and you were proud of it.

Your nails dragged gently down the front of his shirt, tracing a circle around the fabric.

”I think you may need to take this off…To give me more space of course.” You whispered, watching as his brain seemed to short-circuit. His eyes were still half-lidded, heavy with heat and something distant and flickering gold. But when they opened fully they met yours with the softest, most terrified kind of care, glancing down at your mouth just as your bottom lip slipped between your teeth…And that’s what did it for him. That was the punch of encouragement to the gut.

He gave you a small nod, then reached for the hem of his shirt. His hands trembled slightly from the kind of overstimulated shyness that lived just under the surface of his flesh, in the space between ‘I want this’ and ‘I don’t know what to do with all of it.’ He peeled the black shirt up slowly, exposing inch after inch of pale skin, dusted with freckles and pure heat. There were a few scars here and there. A mole right near the dip of his sternum. A faint sheen of sweat that bloomed across his chest and shoulders from the heat in the room–or from the heat of your lips…Possibly both.

The fabric came over his head, messing up his semi-brushed hair in the process, and he folded it carefully in his lap like he was going to get up to put it on display or something. You let yourself stare.

At the freckles on his collarbones, the ones on his biceps. The soft stretch marks that feathered under his arms and the little curve of his ribs as they flared gently with each nervous breath he took. You wanted to map everything with your mouth.

So you did.

You leaned in again, with a fresh colour on your lips–deep pink this time, and kissed just beneath his collarbone, then a little to the right, then down the slope of his chest–right over where his heart was pulsating beneath its shield of flesh.

Bob made a quiet sound, something soft and strangled that never made it fully out of his throat. His hands were still in his lap, his thumbs gripping the hem of the shirt like it was the only thing keeping him from grabbing yours. Every part of him was vibrating–his jaw clenched, chest rising, shoulders tense–and still he let you do it, staying perfectly still.

You changed shades, kissing higher, then lower.

A sheer gloss that glimmered under the light as you kissed just below the curve of his pec. A matte brick red as you moved toward the center of his chest. Then you put on something soft again, something nude and barely there, as you pressed your hands against his thighs for a bit of leverage while your lips found the inside slope of his ribcage. You could’ve sworn you felt his knees buckle under your hands.

By the time you reached the underside of his pectoral muscle, you heard the faintest breath catch in his lungs, like he couldn’t even take full breaths anymore. And then you kissed just above it.

One final, perfect kiss.

You pressed your lips down and held them there–longer, slower, firmer–fighting back the urge to mark the skin with something that wasn’t lipstick. You felt the flutter of his pulse beneath it. And when you finally pulled away, you let your lips ghost against him, your eyes trailing down to where you had kissed.

“Ooooh. This one’s good…I think we found it. No transfer!” You announced, looking up at Bob, seeing the ruined look plastered on his face.

His eyes were heavy, shot through with blue and gold. His mouth parted. His skin was flushed a deep red and marked in soft lip stains, all across his chest, neck, jaw, and face. The air shimmered around him like static clinging to the atmosphere, and he was breathless. He let out a sigh.

”P-Perfect,” He whimpered, so dazed his words barely had shape to them. His body shifted, like he was meaning to stand–maybe to retreat, maybe to run cold water over his steaming body, maybe just to breathe–

But you didn’t let him.

Before he could even try to get up, you surged forward and kissed him on the lips. Hungry, wet, and deep. You kissed him like it was the conclusion to a story you had been telling in colour across his skin. Bob let out a muffled, desperate little moan into your mouth, as his hands found your waist, then your back, then your hips–grabbing, pulling, and holding. He crushed you to him, allowing all his restraint to unravel all at once, letting what little control he had slip through his fingers.

You kissed him like you had wanted to from the very start. Like all the kisses around his whole body led to this one final one–this overwhelming, messy, and utterly perfect one.

He kissed you back with awe. With the kind of pressure that said ‘thank you, please don’t stop, I’ve been waiting.’

You pulled back just enough to breathe–barely. Your foreheads bumped, and the air between you was heat, electricity, and trembling silence.

Bob’s lips were swollen now. Kiss-bitten, and wet. But when you looked…

The colour on your lips hadn’t transferred onto his. You smirked, and reached up, gently swiping the faintest trail of spit off his swollen bottom lip with your thumb, tilting your head to the side.

”Fantastic,” You whispered, leaning forward just a bit, “It’s definitely kiss-proof.”

[brailsthesmolgurl]

PUPPY LOVE PT. 2

SUMMARY: What if you went on a school's field trip with your LADs interest (but MC is also on the trip and even worse, she was assigned to be his trip buddy)? How would it turn out?

WARNINGS: High School LADs!, Non-MC reader!, MC is a lil or big bish depending on your feels, pre-relationship crush state, cute first love angst incorporated with happy endings (because recently ive been too much on an angst roll so its time to give you all a breath of fresh air) <3, a yappa read because I can't stop gushing about how cute reader and the guys would be hehe T-T

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This could actually/potentially be an ongoing series because I really like to have a slice of life touch on these boys and I see so much potential in making them more alive and giving you lovelies more sources of delulu hehe <3

All artwork credit goes to 盐也 yannn_ye on Twitter and Weibo!

All dividers are sourced from this creator!

RAFAYEL - ART EXHIBITION

"Hey, wait up!" Just as everyone is ready to board the bus that is set to depart to the Linkon City Hall for a field trip to an art exhibition, you heard a shout from a distance, your head whipping behind you to spot the mauve haired classmate of yours rushing in to join at the end of the queue. Your teacher huffed, raising her clipboard to scribble something on the attendance list. Most likely to remark Rafayel's tardy behaviour.

"Rafayel Qi!" Your teacher called out to him, her index finger beckoning towards him. "Care to explain why you were late?" She seemed disappointed, but a hint of relief splashed across her face. Rafayel indeed, was the most wanted student to join in for this field trip given he is the art genius of the school. Whispers started drifting across the crowd of unfamiliar faces, some students watched him with curiosity while others watched him with envy. There is no denial that Rafayel is a popular kid.

You mimicked everyone's actions, tossing your bag into the storage compartment of the bus and boarded it accordingly, aiming to snatch two seats for you and your trip buddy. Earlier on, when the field trip was first announced, Rafayel had approached you asking to be your field trip companion as it is a requirement to ensure everyone's safety. Without the skip of a heartbeat, you agreed without hesitation. "Great, can't wait for the field trip with you, y/n." Rafayel winks at you and beelined to join his friends on his way out of the class, leaving you in your seat, blushing madly.

"I was up till late last night trying to draft up a mural for the school's main entrance's wall." He explained, an apologetic smile on his face. Both of his hands raised up in surrender. But the teacher only raised her eyebrows, question marks plastered all over her face. "Headmaster Zhou's orders."

Sighing, the teacher tapped her pen against the clipboard, eyeing the list of names before she spoke. "Fine, just because the headmaster asked you to do it then I shall not reprimand you. Glad you are joining us on this trip Rafayel." She briefly waved him off and Rafayel hopped onto the bus right after he placed his belongings in the storage lot.

You nervously tapped your fingers against your knee, entertaining yourself to the scattered voices in the bus. You do not know anyone in the bus as this field trip is open for anyone who is interested and given your class consist mostly of nerds, none of them even bothered to apply for this field trip, other than you and Rafayel and MC. The seat you had chosen is near the end of the bus, where chatters would be more hushed and would provide a more necessary ground for you and Rafayel to talk.

Craning your head up, you try to look over the heads of other students to try to spot Rafayel. And there he comes, with his blazer draped lazily over his wide shoulders as he boards the bus. His eyes scanned the crowd before they landed onto yours, and he smiled dashingly. Seeing his reaction, you averted your gaze, your cheeks scorching at the same time. Honestly, you have always had a crush on Rafayel, but you were not sure if he felt the same towards you.

"Hey, mind if I sit here?" You looked up, and inwardly frowned when you see a raven haired boy looking down at you, his headset swung around his neck, with an awkward smile directed at you. "The bus is full and the only spot available is this one." What? You turned your head to see where Rafayel is at only to find him already seated at the front seat, next to someone that you could not identify based on the back of their heads. You felt betrayed at that moment, your heart shrunk at the thought of him choosing to sit with someone else rather than you. You even questioned if you were hyped up for nothing, and that perhaps he was just trying to fish for attention from you but does not actually want anything to do with you.

"Yeah sure, the seat is opened." You gestured towards the currently open seat next to you and the guy sat down immediately. Once all of the students are seated, the teacher was the last one to come onto the bus, initiating the last head count before the bus departs. She did mentioned something at the end of her headcount duty but your sense of hearing was already drowned out by the constant low murmur in your conscience.

*＊✿❀○❀✿＊*

When the bus arrived at the Linkon City Hall, you witnessed the crowds that are huddled at the main entrance, entering into the art exhibition with excitement. The City Hall was decorated with large banners on its pillars, showcasing some of the main highlights of the art exhibition; abstract art, sculptures, dioramas and etc. It is called the grand art exhibition for a reason and the duration spans for a whole month, where themes would be exchanged throughout every week. "I am Dennis." The guy beside you spoke and you turned to face him, one of your eyebrows quirked up at his sudden introduction. "The teacher mentioned whoever we are sat together with, that shall be our partner for the day. Haven't you heard?"

"I see." Your reply came off to be more monotonous than what you had expected. As a courtesy, you introduced yourself to him. "I am y/n, it is nice to meet you Dennis."

The raven haired guy tucked his headsets into a gray dust bag and followed up with another question, thinking that it would not be a bother for him to get to know you more since he would be spending most of the day being your partner anyways. He may as well be on decent terms with you just so the both of you could be comfortable with one another. "You're a fan of arts?"

"You can say so." You nodded, briefly catching his appearance. Dennis does not look bad himself, with dark grey eyes mimicking nearly the same tone as his raven hair. "How about you?" You decided to return the question to him, seeing how he was trying to make conversation. It could maybe, act as a good distraction for you before your conscience starts chewing you up.

The small talk lasted till the bus was well parked and everyone stood up, waiting to get off of the bus. This is the exact moment you caught on to who your crush was sitting next to, MC. You could feel your heart getting crushed at that moment. Of course it has to be MC, the prettiest girl in class, the one that people would always list as their top favourite. When Rafayel walks next to her, it looked good. They looked good as a couple afterall and that got you to sigh, already feeling defeated to go through this exhibition for the remainder of the day.

"The ones at the back, you guys should get down first, because if I do not keep an eye on you, god knows where you guys would disappear to." True enough, the teacher's gaze was trained on the few students at the back of the bus, for they are well known for their playful attitude. "The rest from the back, go along with them." You checked onto your seat before following Dennis out onto the line. This time, you heart had seemingly slowed down its beats as you got closer to where Rafayel was seated.

"Hey." You felt a lingering touch on your pinky finger when the line halted, the teacher shouting something incoherent outside of the bus. You were so lost in your own mood that you did not realise that you are right beside Rafayel, his charming smile apparent on his face. He was indeed looking forward to this trip with you and his smile conveys it, but you did not managed to catch it. More like you did not want to. "I'll catch up to you later yeah?"

No apology, no explanation, no nothing. Your inner self just crossed her arms and huffed, chin up and is already stomping back into your heart, then slamming the gummy-organ-door behind her with a huge SPLAT! He just has that stupid smile adorned on his handsome face while MC stands beside him, her eyebrows furrowed when she scanned you from your top to your bottom, lowkey judging you. "It's okay." You took MC's dagger-like gaze as a warning, even more motivated to back off when Rafayel did not even bother explaining himself. "I am paired up with Dennis, I will just go with him." Rafayel's smile faltered, his eyes lost the spark for a short moment when you shut him down just like that. "You guys have fun."

Dennis, who heard the call of his name turned his head in response and he looked down at you, his towering height surpassing Rafayel's and he beamed at you. The small talk the both of you shared just now was enlightening. Dennis is good at cracking a joke or two and is decent enough for you to initiate conversations with him, but you did not expect what comes out of his mouth next would change the course of your trip. "Careful of the steps, y/n." That sentence irked Rafayel.

*＊✿❀○❀✿＊*

"I can't believe this is art." Dennis commented, face so close to the canvas that he could kiss it if he puffs his lips out. "What can you even derive from this?" He turns to look at you with his index pointing towards the canvas in full black, disbelief is the only look that he has been carrying the whole time the both of you are in the section for abstract modern art.

You stifle back your laughter, his company surprisingly refreshing for you. Your chest felt lighter just by basking in the moment of nonsensical commentaries. "I don't know, black is the new IT colour?" Dennis chuckled at your commentary and shake his head, his hand coming up to shield his face. A habit you had noticed throughout the one hour whenever he is genuinely amused. Dennis continues on to the next piece, eager to complete his achievement of being able to find a piece of abstract art that he could interpret.

However, from across the hall, stood Rafayel, hands in his pockets, his blazer now worn as a proper fit instead of draped over his shoulders. He was supposed to enjoy this field trip, but here he is, stuck next to MC who knows nothing nor shows any damn interest to the artworks that were on display. The least she could do was stare at it, but the only thing she could spare her attention on was that technological brick in her hands. "Rafayel, I think we should take a picture to commemorate this. What do you think?"

The same high pitched voice that stuck around from the start of the trip till now. The same voice that tricked him into thinking that you were the one who had secretly made a pact behind his back when he got onto the bus and saw Dennis beelining with a purpose towards the seat next to you. He had no idea how you knew Dennis nor did he bothered to question further when you were seemingly distant to him and seeing Dennis reminded you to watch for your steps in the bus, it got your crush equally devastated. "Rafayel." He nearly forgotten that his presence was required by MC.

"Did you not see the huge warning signs plastered all over the hall stating that no pictures were allowed?" Annoyed, Rafayel pointed towards a few of the signs he was mentioning to her and that got MC flustered, nervously tucking her stray hair behind her ears to hopefully rub off some of the awkwardness. Turning away from MC, his eyes caught sight of you and Dennis. The both of you walked in tandem, going from one artwork to the other, him making a comment and you smiling unguardedly.

The mauve haired crush of yours felt something simmering under his aloof facade. His expressions now stoic and unreadable as he continued witnessing your interactions with Dennis. Lips pressed into a near-imperceptible line, his posture has instilled an unnatural forced tension as if he was holding something back. Perhaps the primal urge to push through the crowd and landing a fist right onto Dennis' pointed cheek or the urge to play the rival love interest by snatching you by your arm and whisking you away just like those soap dramas he would watch during exam seasons to destress.

Your conscience is back, banging against the same door she had shut closed just a while ago, yelling something about a dour gaze that was trained on you behind your back. You listened and turned, and you wished you had not done it. Rafayel was there, at the end of the hall, with an expression that is close to impassive, but his eyes gave him away. The purple pink orbs of his studied you, like the marbled floor was holding him hostage, forcing him to decide if he should approach you or to just walk away.

"I need the restroom." You informed Dennis and broke the eye contact with Rafayel before he could make up his mind. Dennis responded in an instant, informing you that he would stay put and await for you. You pushed yourself through the crowds---earning yourself a few death glares from adults---trying to get to somewhere that could give you the space to breathe, or the least, to let your conscience crawl back into her bed to rest so she could stop pestering you about the only thing that could topple your mood.

*＊✿❀○❀✿＊*

After a short romance-crisis that came to no avail on the toilet seat, you washed your face and headed back out to the grand hall only to be met with Rafayel leaning against the newly restored wall, arms crossed and clearly anticipating your arrival. Catching his figure, you swiftly turned on your heel to head the opposite way. "Y/n!" He called out for you and you hated the way your feet stopped abruptly.

Wearing your best poker face, you faced him and your inner conscience fainted. Surrounded by art, Rafayel blends right in as a living statue. His hair tousled with striations of fingertips that ran through his hair one too many times as he was waiting for his crush. He was anxious. "What?" You clipped, crossing your arms.

"I did not mean to sit with MC in the bus." His gaze did not falter from your eyes. Those orbs of his had now shifted into a hue of pinkish under the sunlight's embrace. "She told me that you were sitting with Dennis. And when I looked up, he was there, standing right next to you." His gaze fell, quietly counting the fine lines on the tiles. "I thought you went behind my back to sit with him."

Listening to his explanation, you only found out that the both of you were actually in the same position the whole time. Both thinking the same exact idea of being betrayed. "Why did you not come over to ask?" Your arms dropped from it's interlinked position, your eyes softening simultaneously.

Rafayel's ears started taking on a shade of ruby, his gaze lingered on you for a bit and back to the floor they went. "That's because when I first asked you about it in class, you seemed a little reluctant to sit with me." His hand came up to rub the back of his neck as the blush spreads across his cheeks now. "I didn't want to make you uncomfortable." This guy and his antics. It made you mimicked his blush, a pinkish hue now tinting your cheeks in response.

"Why would I be uncomfortable?" You took this opportunity to dig deeper, to find out his trail of thoughts. To know if he actually reciprocates the same feelings you harbour for him. Despite many times he would do things that makes you question your dynamic with him, but given his flirtatious nature, you seemed to be standing more on the odds of him actually liking you.

Rafayel was a little taken aback by your reply. You are not the type to ask open-ended questions and hearing this from you, his lips curled up into a smile, his flirty nature kicking into drive. "You might think that I am only playing with your feelings?" You bit your lip, not knowing what he is planning to say next. You felt a warm touch against your cheek and you looked at him, one of his hand cupping your cheek and he smiled. At you. "When truthfully, I only do that to you. Despite what everyone says about me being a playboy and all, rumours stay rumours for a reason, cutie." The usage of that nickname only added more significance to you now. He only calls you that and he could not make it any clearer than ever.

Seeing your lips turning up into a smile, Rafayel leaned in at the right moment and gently pecked your lips to further prove his statement. Pulling back onto to be met with the same artwork he had saw just a while back, the one that was hung in the corner, with the ominous title of 'RED EVERYWHERE'. You are a great depiction of that artwork now. His hand that was on your cheek rubbed small circles in an attempt to soothe your redness. "Say cutie, why don't we sit together on the ride home later?"

SYLUS - ODDITY MUSEUM

"This is a big museum, so I would advice all of you to walk in small groups so you guys won't go lost alright?" The teacher pushed the glasses higher up his nose bridge after performing a headcount, an eyebrow of his raised when he realised that the list is missing one more head. Puzzlement present on his face as he had just started this job a month ago and is not familiar with any of the faces matching the names. "We are still missing one more named Sy--"

A loud roar thundered through the quiet neighbourhood. A flash of midnight racing through the bright streets till it screeched to a sudden stop at the side of the road. Conversations and chatters filled the air once the rider got off of his superbike, dressed in the mirroring uniform as everyone at the front entrance of the museum. The rider then removed his helmet and the tuff of silver hair got the chatters going on even more. It is no doubt it's the last student in the head count list. Sylus.

"And I think we are all good for the head count." The teacher announced and he stepped aside to allow entry into the infamous Oddities and Curiosity Museum in Linkon. Sylus' figure towered over most of the boys on the trip, earning him some reproachful looks from the guys while the girls find his attendance to be nurturing to their eyes. It is not that hard to earn such attention when he is a scion of a notable family; the one that helps build the school you are currently attending. With captivating features and an aura that exudes both elegance and latence strangth, Sylus holds the top one spot for your school's best looking male.

The air has changed the moment you stepped into the building. It was cooler indoors compared to the jarring heat you had to endure through the process of headcount just now. The museum reeked of aged wood, soured candle wax with hints of metal and dust. The lighting inside was provided by webbed bulbs hung from wrought-iron chandeliers, flickering slightly with every microscopic sway as if it was lit by the ancient mechanism of candlelight, even though they were clearly wired.

Sylus casually strided, gait relaxed as he widened his steps to catch up to you. "Y/n." You were so enthralled by the interior of the museum that you had nearly forgotten your crush is right behind you, his height towering over yours. If he were to grow any taller, the top of his head would have brushed the cobwebs off of the bulbs. You looked up at him and prompted for him to continue. "Are you disturbed by museums as such?" His index finger pointed behind you, eyes flitting between you to the item behind you and you turned.

A twin-headed calf, stuffed carefully into a jar the size of your palm, pickling in formaldehyde. Odd skeletal remains labeled 'unverified' strung up by fishing lines against the wallpapered walls, each of it an odd size and shape and none of it fit the profile of a human skeletal structure. Taxidermied animals posed in eerie human-like positions stood guard below those skeletal remains. A chill ran down your spine when you figured that this trip may be more alike to a haunted house adventure and you were silently hoping that there would not be any actors in costumes nor automated dolls that lunges at you through motion triggered rigs.

"No." Your voice steady and you even threw in a head shake to prove your point to your crush. One of his eyebrow was raised, questioning your confidence. Sylus knows that you are not one to enjoy horror-themed items, hence the question was asked. Knowing you for a couple of years, you could not even bear to sit through a police demonstration in school. Those annual events where they get the police to come to school, to explain crimes that are common amongst teenagers and showcase the consequences one shall face if they were to go against the law. It always ends with a good whack performed on 'cotton-stuffed criminals' as to contribute to the anti-bullying sentiment. And those were the times Sylus really enjoys watching you peeking out from the cracks in between your fingers whenever a 'thwack' sound echoes through the hall. You raised both of your hands up and waved them, smiling through thick skin. "I really am not scared Sylus."

Nodding, the man gestured towards the hallway ahead and you could feel your knees buckled subsconsciously. The path ahead is narrow and labyrinthe-coded, with velvet curtains draped along the walls, parting small gaps that reveals glass cabinets and shadow boxes filled with more things that you have to bravely scan through now that you had established your fearless attitude in front of your crush. You could not disappoint.

*＊✿❀○❀✿＊*

10 minutes into the trip, you had been unusually slow in your steps, eyes warily trying to take a glimpse into any glass cases at any angle possible so you could prepare yourself before arriving in front of it. Sylus was beside you the whole time, hand occasionally brushing against yours in the tighter corners of the walkways. You come across a cracked porcelain music box that was displayed in a case, the lack of winding key does not stop it from playing a haunting tune. And what got your goosebumps growing was the ballerina centerpiece was made out of skeletal remains. After staring at it for a good 20 seconds, you were eager to move on only to hear someone calling out to the guy next to you. "Sylus!"

The brunette long-haired classmate of yours approached, eyes beaming up at Sylus. "I was looking for you everywhere! You have to give me a tour of some of these pieces that your father had donated to this museum!" That is an interesting piece of information that you did not hear from Sylus himself. If only you were made of guts of steel, you would have told MC to back off from your field trip 'date' but clearly, reading the room is never the girl's strong suit. Even if it is, she barely cares to acknowledge it. "I want to hear everything about it!" And she slings herself around his arm casually. If she could transform into a snake, Sylus would definitely be wrapped around by her slithering figure at this pace, no doubt.

Sylus turned to you, eyes already wary of your reaction as he did look forward to this trip. Specifically, spending some alone time with you. You are quite the social butterfly in your class and Sylus rarely gets to spend some quiet time with you. "I'll be fine." You are quick to address a question he did not even plan to ask. Because the guy was not even planning to spend his precious time with anyone else, nobody else other than you. "You go ahead and tell her what she needs to know. I will meet you later okay." Your tone was reassuring but your heartbeat was quickening, your conscience already rolling up her sleeves and flossing her teeth to get ready to chomp at MC for stealing your date. But the conscious stays within her own bounds and you were glad they do not have the chance of overriding your movements.

You then continue to ascend further into the museum, his explanations conveyed in a flat tone to MC the last thing you hear as the aphotic darkness of the next exhibition room open its arms for you, floorboards creaking underneath your weight as if playing a welcoming tune to you. MC's newfound information did somewhat bothered you. Maybe that makes sense given that her father has close ties with Sylus. They might not be as close as the likelihood of being childhood friends but given the amount of information MC knows, it may suggest otherwise to a clueless y/n. Her heartstrings tugged a little, part of her wanted to believe that Sylus has his own reasons for not telling her anything about his father's contributions to this oddity museum. Yet, another part of her just wanted to lean towards the idea of biasness.

Sylus on the other hand, watched you leave out of his peripheral vision and he grunted inwardly. The reason why he did not say no to MC was because he remembered his father pestering him to introduce the items that he had donated, for he claimed that these oddities are part of his blood and sweat and tears and Sylus is only playing his part of being the good kid to his father's glory. At the back of his mind, he was a little unsettled. Maybe more than just a little. "O...M...G... Sylus, I didn't know your dad is this cool!" MC's shrill voice grounded Sylus back to land, he was barely registering whatever she was saying or asking until y/n's name was mentioned. "I don't know why y/n has that long face, all these things hold a piece of legacy and yet she seemed like she did not even want to be here. What a waste."

Sylus' eyes drifted to MC for a moment, watching her pout and he eyed her arm that was wrapped around his bicep and he sighed, using his other arm to push her grip away. "Save your compliments for the informational boards next to the exhibits, I've had enough of explanations." MC was dazed, confused as her arms dropped to her sides and she watched as the man departed from her side.

"But Sylus!" She called out to him and stumbled forward, grabbing onto the edge of his shirt for support and Sylus gritted his jaw, already getting annoyed at her. He glared down at her, crimson eyes glowed brightly in contrast to the dim lighting. His lips now are upturned, frown evident and MC gulped. She had never seen him show this sort of expression. Chuckling nervously, she released her grip on him and she tried to reason with him. "My dad actually asked me to go on this trip with you so I can get to know more about you and get closer to you. Your dad was the one who encouraged us to be closer to one another given that I had just moved here."

Sylus' austere demeanour did not falter. He may be aloof to y/n's eyes, but this guy holds more consciousness of his surroundings compared to the average guy of his age. Seeing MC standing in front of him, with puppy eyes, he sent her a look of reproach. "You already knew that you're new here. All the more reason for you to meet some new friends, MC." Casually, he adjusted the collar of his uniform. "I am already well acquainted with y/n and I do not wish to be disturbed." Then, he careened out of the room with long strides to catch up with the one he really wanted to spend time with.

*＊✿❀○❀✿＊*

Alone, you had arrived at the Paranormal Wing. The narrow hallways do not give way to other options for other exhibits and haunted items are just a natural recipe for disaster. Looking behind, your heart thumped at the lack of crowds. You happen to be the only one here and you silently cursed yourself into thinking why did you not wait for Sylus to finish his tour. Yet, you knew that seeing how close MC is with him, you would only end up gnawing at your lips and pushing through the whole exhibition by yourself anyways. Either ways, you are here now and there is no turning back.

The room was darker than the rest of the museum, the wall lamps hesitated to brighten up the corners of room. It was dead silent too---the kind of silent that one would be granted in a sepulcher, where one's breath and footsteps echoes the sign of life. Even the air does not fit right through your nostrils. You followed along the carpeted path, footsteps light and ready to sprint for your life if anything comes to life. Coming close to an antique mirror that was held up by a charred wooden frame, its aged glass reflected dully and carried weird etchings on the mirror pane. The plaque below it displays:

Mirror of Fate. A mirror that tells the present of the future, behold your greatest fears and hope as you stare into your reflection.

Curiosity nagged at you and you stared at your own reflection. At first you seemed normal, just like how you would look like in your everyday mirror but when the hairs on the back of your neck started standing it got you having second thoughts. When did your eyes started to droop?

The light behind you flickered in morse codes and through the reflection, you watched the silhoutte of an aphotic, tall, angular figure hovered behind you. Asphyxia hit you for the first time and your feet had a set navigation before your mind could make you turn. The silhouette came closer, with a pair of eyeless sockets fixed on you through the mirror and panic shot through your senses. "AHHH!" You screamed and dashed, missing the exit sign entirely and heading deeper into the exhibition in search for a place to hide. All of your hairs are on high alert now, metaphorically watching the surrounding for you as your own eyes darted for an ideal hideout spot.

You ran past more exhibits in glass cases and you did not halt until you spotted a storage-like alcove tucked behind a heavy velvet purple curtain. Your heart is banging against your chest so hard that the silence is no longer a concern. You dived right towards the alcove and curled up, tears forming around your eyes as you tried to comfort yourself, struggling to find logical reasoning from what you had just witnessed. There was no way that was an illusion---probably just holograms and your nerves playing tricks on you---it must have been something of the supernatural. In that moment, you wished that you had never strayed from Sylus.

Your crush on the other end of the museum, noticed that you had already advanced too quickly through the other rooms. His chest tightened, a subtle pang, quiet but urgent. Striding from one room to another, he searched for you. "Y/n?" Your name was like a prayer to him, on repeat and held on with hope. He certainly wished that you did not misunderstood the scenario that happened between him and MC. But even if you did, the blame is on him and he would not back down from comforting you as long as you consent him to do so. Sylus never pushes himself onto you, for he is a man of manners and that is one of the main reasons why he did not disclose the information about his father's donated oddities because he did not want to come off as to be a show off in front of you. He would eventually reveal it if there was a chance given.

"Where did you go..." He trailed off, his murmurs swallowed by the walls surrounding him till he came to the Paranormal Room and his eyes caught sight of the mirror immediately, the same haunting figure still stood there with those hollowed eye sockets. However, a line at the edge of the mirror blinked every five seconds, with the writing 'YOU HAD BEEN PRANKED! BOO!'. The dots connected in Sylus' head. You must have been scared shitless from this mirror's gimmicks. "Y/n." His eyes snapped towards the only way out and he started to trace your steps, trying to muster up an imagination on where you could have ran off to.

Turning a corner and walking past some more glass cases featuring shrunken heads, the man gruntled in annoyance when his wide shoulders could barely fit through the narrowing halls. Then he caught it, the light uneven breathings behind one of the heavy curtains. The ones that covers what seemed to be a perfect hiding spot for someone a size like yours. He slowly approached it, not wanting to startle anything behind the curtains and he drew it open. You sat there, hands cupped against your ears and you looked up in an instant when the curtains are withdrawn.

The look you bear on your face could make him burn the whole museum down. Your eyes were wide with pupils blown wide, tears brimmed around your rims while a few managed to trickle down your cheek. You were shivering in fear, hands lowering its guard when your eyes took in Sylus' figure. "Sylus..." Your meek voice got the man kneeling down right in front of you. You were really trying your best to hold your tears back, your choked sobs now changing its pace towards being relieved. "Sylus, I..."

He grabbed you by the arm and with one forceful tug, you were pulled into his chest. Your cheek landed with a thud against his chest, and he envelopes you into a hug. He was silent, his heartbeat and calm breaths formed a comforting rhythm for you to abide. You returned the hug, arms snaked around his waistline and you stayed in his arms, letting your cries take over. The whole time Sylus just held you close, head leaned against your temple and the hand behind your back rubbing up and down to soothe you. "It's okay now, I am right here y/n."

Pulling back, your eyes seek for him in a feeble attempt to determine if he was just another apparition that is part of the museum's party tricks. His gaze softened, knowing exactly what was running through your mind and he gently wrapped his big hands around your smaller ones and brought it up to the side of his face. On cue, you started tracing his jawline, as if you're trying to remember how it feels under your touch if there comes a day you ever go blind. "I should've stayed with you." He broke the silence again, the tension now building as his crimson orbs stared right into yours, acknowledging your fear. You caught on to his longing stare, where he darts in between your eyes and your lips.

You leaned up and pressed your lips against his. It was sudden, but Sylus reciprocated it like it was meant to happen. He had always wanted to taste your lips, but he could never see himself forcing something out of you and with how you took the initiative today, he was glad that you felt the same about him. The kiss ended after a minute and you pulled back, blushing furiously as you tried to hide your face against his chest. Sylus chuckled in return, hands coming up to brush your cheek and conveniently tugging a stray strand of your hair behind your ear and he whispered. "There shall not be any distractions from now on, sweetie." And in that hidden corner of the museum---surrounded by strangeness and darkness that could easily grant you a lifetime of trauma--- you felt safe in his arms.

XAVIER - SCOUTS CAMP

You fished out your ticket excitedly, staring at the wooden signboard above you, with the words 'AZURE PEAK' etched on it intricately. Verdurous greenery is a common theme here and you were glad to be able to escape the hustle and bustle of the city and to spend peace at such a refreshing camp. Other than that, getting to hang out with your crush Xavier is a plus point. Initially, your summer holiday is going to be 'eventful'; you had plans that consisted of books, naps, games and there goes the dour cycle, repeating itself till the new semester takes place. Boring of course, but it has been a common routine of yours for every year.

Walking out of your class at the last day of school before the summer break hits, your eyes caught sight of a poster on the notice board outside of your class. The lime green typography against a dark blue background caught your eye immediately. You scanned through the details on the poster, realising that it is a summer camp event that was held by your school's scouts society. "Are you interested?" A voice travelled from beside you. Turning your head, you caught sight of your classmate ---whom is also your longtime crush--- Xavier. His head cocked aside, body leaned lazily against the wall as he awaited for your response. His blond hair swayed slightly to the gentle breeze, the sunlight creating a halo effect on his head.

"I had never been to these kind of camps..." You trailed off, your finger sliding across the paper to land on a tiny fine print. "Over here it states that priorities are given to members of the scouts society." Sighing, you shook your head as if you had already decided your fate but Xavier lightly grabbed ahold of your wrists, his eyes bearing witness to your slight disappointment. Feeling such a innocent yet close contact of his, you could not help but blushed at the interaction.

"I've taken the liberty to join the scouts society this semester." He used his other hand to fish something out of his pocket and it revealed an A6 version of the poster; thinner, more rectangular and has a close resemblance to what an amusement park ticket would look like. "Here, I got one more extra." He cooed, placing the ticket in your palm and practically forcing you to take the ticket without your consent. Xavier knew your summer schedule like the back of your hand and this time, he may have found the right reason to get you out of your confined room for once.

Xavier had always wanted to spend his summer holidays with you but on multiple occasions, he was dragged on for family trips and holidays that he could not even find the time to spend it with you. At the start of this new semester, he was already told that his parents would not be around during the summer holidays due to their busy schedule and without hesitation, Xavier joined the scouts society after finding out that you never had the opportunity to join a camping trip. Yes, dough-faced bunny went through all of the trainings and marches and instruction abiding for the sake of gaining access to this exclusive scouts camp just for you.

Staring at the ticket in your palm, your jaws went slacked because you knew that these tickets are very hard to get especially when it is such a popular option for teens your age to spend the summer holidays away from home. "Thank you Xavier." You looked up at him and you grinned, corners of your lips nearly touching your ear lobes. Seeing you smiling like a Chesire Cat, his heart thumped slightly against his chest. All of the hardships he had went through during the society immediately shoved into the back of his head, locked and sealed with yellow tape. Xavier returned your smile, your radiance already outplaying the sun's rays beckoning at his back.

*＊✿❀○❀✿＊*

After submitting your ticket at the entrance, you waited patiently by a notice board that displays the map of the trail. Yesterday night through text, Xavier had asked for you to wait for him because he was afraid of you not being able to conquer the mountain trail by yourself---he was also rather keen on the idea of being able to hold your hand as he leads you up the hardest trail he could opt for. His concern---or so you had convinced yourself to believe---had left you awake in your bed, tossing and turning like you had just won the lottery. Hence, now you stood, at the foot of the mountain, with eyebags that could easily be disguised as an eye makeup gone wrong and a feeling of regret that weighs heavier than your packed bags.

"Y/n." A distant voice travelled to you and you slowly looked up from the view of the crumpled leaves beneath your feet and there he stood, right in front of you, with the signature eye smile that you are hopelessly in love with. "Oh, are you alright?" The smile dropped and he leaned down closer to analyse your face. You stood still, taking in the view of his cerulean blues as he eyed you, your heart pounding against your rib cage. A hand flew up and it landed on your head, his smile returning when he noticed your dazed state. "It's okay, I'm sure you're tired of waiting for me. Sorry for keeping you waiting."

His apology waked you from your reverie and your eyes widened, trying to figure out what he was apologising for. Playing it cool, you smiled back and shook your head. "No, Xavier, don't apologise for something you did not do wrong."

His hand on top of your head ruffled your hair slightly and he chuckled. "How is making you wait for me not a crime? You're so nice that your eyebags are the ones betraying you." Pointing out your insecurity and making it into a lighthearted joke is only something Xavier manages to do and never once were you offended by it. Before you could say something else, he carried both of your bags with ease and jerked his head towards the direction of the trail. "Shall we start our ascend now?"

The trail that Xavier had chosen features a lot of gentle slopes, decorated by moss-covered boulders and accompanied with wooden signposts to indicate the altitude and remainder time needed to reach the campsite following the trail. With a beginner like you however, the 10 minutes signpost that you had seen seemed like a total joke. This trail was supposed to only take 30 minutes and yet at the 50th minute, you are still not reaching the campsite. But neither you nor Xavier is complaining. "Let's take a small break, y/n." Xavier suggested and held his hand out to you.

You grabbed hold onto his hand, the warmth of it adding a tinge of blush to your cheeks and he hoisted you up the boulder and sat you down right next to him. The both of you were so close that the birdsongs were silenced as your shoulders touched against one another. "Thanks." You managed to muster out as you tried to catch your quick breaths and you internally frown when he withdrew his hand from yours. Sat next to him, you got to actually admire the nature enveloping you. The dappled sunlight filtered through the canopy in warm, golden slants. The forest consists of mostly pine trees, which exhaled the scent of pine needles and earth that made you wished that you could bottle up the scent in an air freshener and bring it home with you.

"Hey." His soothing voice broke through the nascent peacefulness you were experiencing. "I'm glad that you decided to come on this trip with me."

Your lips tugged into a wide smile, nodding. "Yeah, I'm glad too." And for the rest of the climb, as the trail grew steeper and the sun rises higher above your heads, you silently wished that this climb never comes to an end.

*＊✿❀○❀✿＊*

After arriving at the campsite, Xavier was practically ripped away from your side by his other scout members. He did flashed you an apologetic smile before he was dragged away but seeing him being a necessity within his society does spark a sense of curiosity in you. Xavier has always been the more reserved type in your class, always hunched at the back of the class, napping away ---while still getting to be on top of his grades---and lacks initiative to start conversations with everyone. Everyone else except you. At the camp site, you felt like an accessory now, just a potted plant amongst the scout members until a girl approached you, a clipboard against her chest and a smile on her face. "Y/n right?"

"Yeah." You chirped, finally having to be able to talk to someone who is aside from your crush. The girl slid her pen down the clipped paper on her clipboard and hummed in unison of her pen taps. Her eyes leafing through line by line until it halted. Her pearly whites naturally returning to her face when her gaze catches yours.

"I will need your help to go and get some water from the stream down that path there. Do you think you can do it?" Hesitation evident in her voice but her grin was a contrast to her worry for you. "Just two buckets full would do. We need it to put off the campfire later so it would be best to get it ready before the skies turn dark." Your nod in response reeled in a cheer from the girl with the clipboard and she gestured to the two buckets behind her.

Heaving up two empty buckets is a full routine for someone whom holds grudge against sports. Leaves piled along the narrow and bald pathway, a muddy carpet spread out ahead of you as you trudged through while being serenaded by the cicada choir. The trail leads you straight to the stream as mentioned by the girl earlier and from a distance, you caught sight of a blond mane standing by the side of the opalescent river. No doubt that is Xavier and next to him, stood MC. Her brunette locks tied up into a messy bun, sleeves pushed up on both of her arms and legs and she was gleaming at Xavier, her smile wide.

"Why are you so funny?!" Thwack. A slap landed on his shoulder and Xavier staggered backwards, nearly losing his balance on the pebbled bank. Now he figured why the scouts leader asked her to go for wood foraging with him. "I thought you were here for y/n, but I didn't know you would be here helping me! Isn't this destiny?!"

"What---" Before Xavier could utter another word, he was yanked backwards by the edge of his shirt and the muscular, tall young man staggered yet again. The sentence of his finished by y/n who stood by his side; fists balled, eyebrows furrowed, ears painted red and if she could, steam is pumping full on out of her ear canals. "Y/n?"

"So you left me all alone at the camp just so you could be here with..." Your eyes trailed off to MC, her smile had been replaced with the shape of an 'O'. "Her?"

"No, I was just asked to team up with her for wood foraging." Xavier blinks in confusion, gaze flitting between his crush and the wannabe crush of his. "I was just here to wash my hands and she caught up and started saying all of this..."

Your palm made him stopped talking, grin slowly taking place on your lips before you turned to look at MC. "You can stop trying, MC." Her hasty blinks urged you to continue on. "I saw you were waiting for me to approach from a mile away before you decided to go up to Xavier and pull whatever this stunt is called." Your hands gestured to the space in front of you.

Eyes widened, MC only bit back, metaphorical fangs baring as a defensive measure. "Well? So what if I did? What can you do about it?"

A hand slithered up the back of your neck and gripped onto your chin, guiding your face to turn. And Xavier pressed his lips to yours, his other arm safely found its spot around your waist and he pulled you back against him. The chaste kiss was not long enough for you to close your eyes but it sure as hell made a statement to MC. "You can't, because y/n's my girlfriend now." Steam started charging out of all of your orifices now as your face burnt crimson.

ZAYNE - NATIONAL ZOO

The morning sun rays gleamed across the animal themed arch of the zoo's entrance. Beside you, MC was admiring her own facial features on the small pocket mirror that she always carry around. One could easily tell with her dolled up face, she is looking forward to this zoo trip. "I wonder where is Zayne." She muttered under her breath, an impatient grunt slipped past her glossed lips and she shoved the pocket mirror back into the side pocket of her bag, casually flipping her locks only for it to land gracefully against her back. "Y/n, I'll just catch you around later. If you spot Zayne, buzz him to come to me."

Unaware of the sudden interaction initiated by the class' popular girl, your responses were not even acknowledged as she made for a beeline straight past the crowds with a destination you do not care to ask. You were never close with her anyways. In fact, you were not even close with anyo---

"Y/n." Coiffed onyx hair and hazel-green orbs occupied your field of vision. The young man adorned in the regimental inky blazer, paired with a white button up and scarlet tie turns out to be the only one you are probably close with. His index finger pushed the spectacles of his higher up the bridge of his nose, allowing the optic tool to sit on the slight hump. "Never thought you would sign up to be on this field trip."

Meeting Zayne in the library was initially a coincidence, but given your strong suit in Biology, one question from him ---while he was sat two tables away from you---turned your library sessions into an uncalled routine. Two tables away became the seat next to yours. One question eventually turned into theological debates and ardent discussions. You would always see him plopping himself next to you, books stacked, notes filled and glasses optional until discussions get serious. Just like that, you never knew crushes develop in such mundane ways.

Diffident in nature, your gaze only held on for a few seconds and it hit the ground faster than Newton's Law could apply. "I...I never thought I would see you outside of that library." Your witty retort tugged Zayne's lips into a small smile and he fell in step with yours, matching your pace. Before you could forget, you decided to relay the message to him on behalf of the queen bee's request. "MC is looking for you but I don't really know where she went."

"Oh is it?" His dull tone making it hard for you to decipher his thoughts. MC is his childhood friend afterall and there has been a well precedented connection between their friendship as it closely resembles a relationship. A few girls glanced your way as they walked past, whispering behind hands---Zayne's popularity stemming more from his looks rather than his nonchalance. Yet, you know that he is not entirely stoic, based on your several interactions with him. You genuinely find him intriguing. "I think I just caught a glimpse of her, I will head on over to see what she wants. I'll meet you at the petting zoo enclosure in a few." Okay, maybe your crush on him shall always be friend zoned.

*＊✿❀○❀✿＊*

You slowed your pace, gait similar to a wounded animal that is in quarantine. Metaphorically speaking, you are trapped within the confines of your mind. Zayne's response towards MC's request to meet him was a clear indication of where you stand in his heart. And that is nowhere. "Y/n." Your head shot up immediately, back slammed into ramrod straight posture, only to be disappointed to see Grayson in front of you. The nerd classmate of yours whom would sometimes tag along with Zayne to the library only for him to be shooed away to a whole different corner so that he would not 'disturb' the both of your heated debates. "Where's Zayne?"

Met with the question you could not even answer, you simply shrugged in return, shoulders back to its sluggish position. You adjusted the strap of your shoulder bag, the weight of your camera in it is proving to be a burden. "Here, let me help." Greyson offered when he noticed you shifting your bag, a wince painfully obvious on your face and before you could stop him, he is already tugging the strap off of your shoulder and carried it in his grip with ease.

"Thank you." You blushed, the redness creeping onto the tip of your ears and you walked next to him. Greyson although is in the same class as you, you barely get to talk to him so seeing him being so gentleman-like got you flabbergasted. "I didn't know you would come for this trip."

"Why wouldn't I?" He chuckled, left hand coming up to rub the back of his neck in hopes of rubbing off some of the nerves he is having. "I love animals. They are adorable." His eyes caught yours at the end of his sentence, slate-colored orbs shielded behind his thick round glasses. "Do you want to have a look at the capybaras?" Fishing out a map from his bagpack, he unfolded it and scanned the piece of A3, finger landing directly on the brownish creature with a tangerine sat on its head. "It should be around the east area." Figuring that there is nothing else you would like to do, you decided to head along with his suggestion, the thought of meeting Zayne at the petting zoo tossed aside for abit.

"So, Greyson." You started, the cobblestoned pathways marked with vibrant stones, the pen housing the infamous capybaras closing in on your vision. A small crowd could be seen lined against the railings of the pen, with big smiles taped on their face and a stalk of grass in their hands. "Does Zayne have a crush on MC?" Your inquisitive nature got to the best of you and asking Zayne's best pal seemed to be the most 'non-intrusive' method for you to settle on your feelings towards that crush of yours. Once and for all.

Greyson's mahogany colored eyebrow raised, followed by his eyes, pupils narrowing when it comes in contact with the sun's warmth. A slight hum from his throat suggested he is in deep rumination till he broke the silence. "I don't think so." Your heart sighed in relief. "But recently he has been meeting up with her after the library sessions." There goes the slight erratic beats again in your chest. "Not sure why but if I recalled he mentioned about something wanting to advance to second base..?"

Greyson's voice had turned into a buzz after the second base term. What kind of second base? It could only point further to the rumor in which Zayne and MC are indeed in a relationship. Or else how would one meet up with someone of their opposite gender to advance to second base? The points in your head are starting to add up now. How Zayne would come to you almost everyday with fresh new discussion topics, getting your insights and initiating conversations and constantly stating that he is asking on behalf of a friend when optimally, he is perhaps doing it for MC all these while? The cobblestones on the floor are all starting to blend into one colour and everything went black.

*＊✿❀○❀✿＊*

Fluttering your eyes opened, you heard some light clinking sounds and water dripping sounds. Your field of vision takes in the view of a sterile looking ceiling and your fingertips suggested a polyester fabric beneath you. "Y/n." The voice sounded too familiar and you turned your cheek and nearly gasped when you noticed Zayne is right next to you. Eyebrows furrowed, lips pressed tightly. "You passed out a while ago, perhaps from the heat." He explained to you and lifted both of his hands, a towel in his hand and he folded it into a neat rectangle before placing it onto your forehead to cool you down.

"Where's... Where's Greyson?" Your gaze averted from his and you tried to push yourself up but Zayne's palm was quick to land onto your shoulder, restricting your movements. Hearing another guy's name falling from your lips is not the first thing he had expected and his disappointment flashed across his features for a second.

"I was the one who carried you to the first aid room." He sighed, hand leaving your shoulder and he continued to address the 'HOW' etched on your face. "I was nearby when I saw that you were losing your balance. I managed to catch you before you could hit the ground." Seeing how reserved you are compared to this morning, Zayne felt like poking a little. "Why did you not wait for me at the petting zoo?"

"I didn't know how long you were going to take since you wanted to talk to MC." Zayne sees it. The slight tremble of your lips as you spoke, the unconscious fiddling of your hands against the hem of your vest. Something was clearly bothering you. "Greyson was the one who offered to walk with me."

A warmth enveloped you and you looked down, noticing his hand placed on your wrist, no pressure inflicted, just a reassuring touch. "There was nothing going on between me and MC." Your eyes meet his, eyelashes casting shadows and shielding your unspoken emotions. "She wanted to meet me because she wanted me to walk with her." Your eyes fell but he was quick to catch your chin. His fingertips scorching against the delicate skin on your chin. "Y/n." His tone austere, grip unmoving as he urged you silently to speak to him.

Faced with such tension, tears crowded your eyes blurring your vision. Blinking rapidly, you forced your tears to flow back into your system. "You can just go with her." Your hand slapped the one which was holding your chin and you pushed yourself up, ignoring his demands for you to stop. Getting off of the bed, you aimed towards the only set of doors ahead of you and you wobbly careened over only to trip against your feet and you fell.

You were expecting the hard thud, the thump against the back of your skull but it never came. You were cushioned when you fell and you opened your eyes to see Zayne hovering over you and you realised he cushioned your fall, again. His eyes seeked yours, glancing in a zig zag form across your features to spot any further injuries only to soften when he stares straight into you. Your heart did a somersault at that moment. "I rejected her." He cleared his throat, slowly leaning down to support himself with his forearm. His breath was so close to you that you can feel it fanning against your cheek. "I told her that I already have someone I have been wanting to pursue."

Pinpointing on what Greyson had told you earlier, you decided that now is the only time you can find out who this mysterious crush of his turns out to be. "Greyson said that you were learning to go towards second base from MC. That explains why you are constantly meeting up with her after our library sessions?" The tears pricked at the back of your eyes again when you knew that you were too much of a coward to just blurt out 'I like you' to him and instead had to result to such insinuating measures to get your answer. "Does that also explain all of the time you spent with me in the library discussing about those topics that you've got? Is it for that crush of yours?" If his answer were to be yes, you would definitely crash out.

Zayne never moved an inch from his spot. This is indeed his first time seeing you acting and speaking out of your own emotions. Even during the library discussions, you had always presented yourself with determined logic, backed with evidences on how you steer your arguments. Seeing you being so emotional, he knew that he could not hide his feelings any longer and if he were to fail to address the bothersome issue, he may lose you. "I seek for second base from MC because she is the only other female I know that I do not show interest in." A tinge of crimson dabs across his cheek when he continues, a side of him ashamed that he has to go to another girl for advice on how to treat his crush right, without actually having the courage to just ask y/n himself. "And the discussions that we had in the library. It is for me to get to know you more."

His blatant truth smacked your heart straight out of your chest. Did Zayne just confessed his true feelings to you? "For me?" That was apparently the best reaction you could muster as you stared at him in disbelief. The man finally cracked a smile on his lips and he nodded in response. So, with an intake of a breath, you blurted out something you should have done from the beginning, words all jumbled up from how anxious you are feeling. "I like you too, Zayne."

The room had shifted, the walls felt like it closed in onto the both of you, the floor beneath you vibrating to the undulating thumps of your heartbeat. Forcing the distance between the both of you becoming more and more evident. Breaths mingled, intertwining with the dust particles that floated between the crevices of your lips with his until he closed the distance. His lips pressed gently against yours in the form of a chaste kiss. Zayne knew that MC had told him that getting to second base would require his feelings to be reciprocated and hearing your true feelings was more than enough for him to lead the direction of your newfound relationship.

The kiss although chaste, it felt like it went on forever in your head. He pulled back just enough for you to open your eyes and to drink in his features. His smile is a mirror of yours but minus the bashfulness and perhaps the light spasms in your cheek muscles. Zayne pushed himself off of you and offered his hand, which you gracefully held onto and he pulled you up with barely any effort. Standing up, your eyes landed for a fleeting moment against his thin lips and you silently gasped, still unable to wrap your mind around the fact that you had just got your first kiss stolen by the lauded Zayne.

When he called your name, you looked up and realised that he had taken the liberty to close the distance again, lips lightly hovering over yours and you returned the favour, planting a light peck on his lips, allowing the feeling of your first love to plague through your system. Zayne tucked a fallen strand of your hair behind your ear and lightly whispered against your lips after you pulled back. His tone now held nothing but pure endearment for you, no hesitation, no second guesses, no more beating around the bush just to observe your reactions. "Let's get to the petting zoo now before the zoo closes. Then later, we can go and grab a dessert to commemorate our first date."

CALEB - SUMMER BEACH TRIP

The sky displayed an array of watercolours in pastel blues and pinks as seagulls take place in the beautiful nature's piece, becoming a living mimic of the clouds that hung above. Your class bus pulled up to the beach's parking lot. This being the only summer field trip available for your school, it is only natural for it to be packed with students whom are seeking for an escapade away from the city. The amount of students were so grand that two buses are hired for the sake of the trip. And that is also how you got separated from Caleb whom was supposed to be on the same bus as you but sadly your name was called for Bus A and retaliation would only risk you getting left behind. Biting down onto your tongue, you had no choice but to board the bus against your will and watch as your crush clomps onto the other vehicle.

Once the bus doors opened, anticipation buzzed through the air and you stood in line, stepping off of the bus. The scent of seawater immediately enveloped you, the sea breeze welcoming you with brash kisses against your cheeks, giving your hair a free salty blowdry service. The sound of the waves crashing softly in the distance only sets the scene more in a reverie-like quality. Looking to your left, you spotted students emptying the other bus and you caught sight of Caleb, head turned over his shoulders, laughing and chatting with someone behind him till you caught sight of her. MC. His childhood friend.

You do not hold anything against MC personally. But her passive aggression does make you uncomfortable most of the time and her friendly front is only ever exclusive for that childhood friend of hers. Yet, you did not recall Caleb mentioning anything about MC coming along for this summer trip. The fact he even got your hopes up by verbally planning all of the activities the both of you could partake during this three days camp sounded too good to be true now that you spotted the presence of MC. Your lips unconsciously formed a frown and you held your bag tighter, knuckles turning white. "Y/N!" It did not take long for Caleb to spot you amongst the crowd given his height being an added advantage.

He jogged over, hair bouncing to the rhythm and the charming smile that never seems to budge off of his lips. You looked up, ready to smile back till you noticed the brunette tagging along behind him, her steps calculated as she caught sight of you. "Hey, let me help you with that." Caleb snatched your bag out of your grip before you could even protest and his next sentence got your heart dropping to your feet before you could even speak. "You wouldn't mind if MC tags with us for a bit right?"

The girl he had mentioned came to a halt next to him, one of her corners tugged into a smirk more than a smile as her way to bid you her 'hello'. Out of courtesy---mostly out of respect for your crush--- you forced your lips into an agonising grin and nodded your head a little too vigorously to prove your contradictory point. "Yeah sure, I don't see any issues with that." That landed Caleb's arm around your shoulders and you bit your lip nervously as he started guiding you towards the small beach houses that were lined by the shoreline.

You took a slight peek behind you and you wished you never turned your head because daggers were clearly thrown from MC's eyes towards the arm that was lazily placed on your narrow set of shoulders. Skinship with Caleb is not anything out of the ordinary when it comes to y/n and him but it is a detail worth noting for MC especially when she grew up around Caleb. It certainly does not take a genius to dovetail the idea of why Caleb is suddenly so touchy with y/n and it turned out to be a lightbulb moment for MC and mind you, it was never a brilliant idea.

"Caleb~" MC's voice travelled from behind and you jumped slightly as MC forcefully slotted herself in between the both of you, now directly situating herself beneath Caleb's forearm which was supposed to be on you. "The sun today is very shiny don't ya think? Why don't you do that shielding gesture with your hands like how you've always done for me back in those days?" MC whined, battering her eyelashes in seek for pity from her best childhood friend but Caleb only took a step back from her, arms immediately dropping from her shoulder and his palm proceeded to rub the back of his neck. A habit of his whenever he is caught in an 'I don't know what to do' kinda situation.

You helped him to answer it. "I will just go in to unpack my stuffs. I will see you later Caleb." You grabbed your bags off of his grip and you swooped right past them, not sparing a single glance to your crush nor his girl best friend. Biting onto your bottom lip, you felt like slapping yourself. What do you mean by you will see him later? When will it be a right time for you to spend some time alone with him when MC is around? How could you top your importance to Caleb against his childhood friend?

Once you had settled into the beach house, you heard a slight knock on your door and you stood up, shuffling over so you can unlock it and you were lowkey wishing that it was Caleb. Yet, standing at the small wooden patio of your assigned beach house is MC instead, arms crossed and foot tapping impatiently. Thud. Thud. Thud. Her eyes looked up when the door creaked open and you leaned against the door frame, letting a smile take place on your lips as a politesse courtesy. "Yes, MC?"

"Y/n right?" The way she said your name---which is not even close to how your actual name is being pronounced--- nearly slapped that smile off of your face. Being in the same class as her for 3 years is clearly nothing but a joke to her. "What's your deal with Caleb?"

Her straightforwardness got you taken aback, your eyes blinking several times as your brain tries to conjure up the right response to that question. "We are...friends." Lies. But you do not owe his childhood friend an explanation, moreso when she has daggers for eyes. "Why?"

"I need you to back off from Caleb." Her trimmed eyebrows furrowed and she clicked her tongue, feet taps finally coming to a stop and saving herself for a more ladylike impression now. "Caleb has been my childhood friend for many many years and if you think that you're special just because he lays his arms around your shoulders every once in a while. You're wrong so don't get your hopes up girl." She brought her manicured hand up to her vision, eyeing it for a moment before she gave you a side eye. "Just so you know, we kissed before."

"Are you done?" It is your turn to have your eyebrows knitted together now, lips pressed in a thin line. You could not lie to yourself that you did felt a little hurt at the fact they had kissed before but a part of yourself still held on adamantly to the idea that you still want to continue having a crush on Caleb and nobody is going to rob you of that opportunity. MC narrowed her eyes into slits and without another word, she twirled on her heels and went off towards the pavement and you shut the door, already dreading the way your heart ached.

*＊✿❀○❀✿＊*

After changing into a beach appropriate outfit, you stepped out of the beach house and beelined straight towards the ocean waters with a small bag carrying some essentials. The skies bled through the edge of the waters and the sun's blinding rays casted iridescent sparkles across the water surface. Your feet came in contact with the sand and you gleefully shovel your feet further into the sand as if to ground you against the hectic breeze. "Y/n!" You heard someone called your name and out of instinct, you whipped your head over your shoulder and watched as Caleb was running towards you, waving excitedly.

MC's warning is practically nonexistent in your head now that Caleb has appeared in front of you and MC is nowhere to be seen within his vicinity. "Hey!" You waved back. Mauve orbs caught on to yours and he positioned himself next to you, head tilting towards the direction of the ocean to invite you to go into the waters with him. "Where is MC?" Your curiosity got the best of you after the lecture was given by MC, it is surprising to see that she is not sticking by his side.

"She went to change her clothes I think." He shrugged nonchalantly. Clad in a simple white tee and a pair of marine colored pants, he could easily pass as a model even in such a modest outfit. "I was planning to go over to your beach house to ask you to join me for the free time but I guess I don't have to given you're here." His cheeky wink got your cheeks heating up and you broke the eye contact, laying your bag onto one of the white lounge chairs by the shore. "Y/n." He continues when you looked at him. "Can I ask you to watch the sunset with me later?"

His request was so sudden it caught you off guard, your jaw slacked and your mind started running through all of the scenarios on why he had decided to ask you to watch the sunset with him. Right as you were about to answer, a shirt was thrown over your bag carelessly and MC appeared out of the thin air, in her swim wear and as usual, she budged in with her main character syndrome. "What are you guys talking about?" Giving you a slight roll of her eyes before she pressed herself against Caleb's taut arm. "Thanks for waiting for me. Let's go to the waters now!"

Caleb's eyes were already on you when you looked over to him and he cleared his throat to cut off the tension that is wedged between you and him. MC released his arm and proceeded to run towards the water, already knowing whatever she had done would be enough to remind you of your position. Spotting your face draining from its usual hues, Caleb immediately caught on to the situation and he could sense that your distance is most likely affected by his childhood friend. He approached you and placed his palm onto your head and patting gently, leaning down just enough so you can see his face. "I know you are probably uncomfortable with MC being around but it's okay, we will be fine. Meet me by the rocks later around evening and I will explain everything to you okay?"

And he left you standing there under the rainbow toned umbrella, puzzled at his usage of words just a while ago. His figure disappearing slowly into the distance as he walked towards where MC is at. Caleb took his time, feet sinking into the sand with his weight as he clomped over to his childhood friend who was already halfway into the water. Her eyes lit up at the sight of Caleb, but he did not reciprocate it. Instead, he went up to her and in a stern tone, he asked. "What did you said to y/n?"

*＊✿❀○❀✿＊*

The sun sets fast, now the skies are a blend of purple and pink, with the occasional burnt orange mixing at the seams. Clouds adrift in the skies mimicking the cotton candy that were sold by the beach side stores. You had changed into something more comfortable and sat atop of the rocks, patiently waiting for Caleb's arrival. Your noon was spent under the same stalk of umbrella that Caleb had left you until your other classmate, Gideon asked you to join in on a casual volleyball game. And that was how your time was spent during the past few hours.

You could not bring yourself to look out to the sea whenever there is a break in between your game. Part of you just did not want to know what is happening between MC and Caleb and another part of you just wanted to act like nothing is going on. You stared straight ahead, vision unfocused as you immersed yourself in the sound of the waves lapping against the beach, with the wind cooing at your heart to stay still. "Hey, you're here early." Caleb's voice grounded you back to reality and you awkwardly shifted in your seat, scooting over to give him just enough space to sit down next to you on the flat surface. "Thanks for coming, y/n."

"It's no biggie Caleb." Your voice came off to be nonchalant just as you had practiced in your head. "So what's up?" You turned your head to face him and pulled both of your legs up to your chest so you may rest your chin on top of your knees.

He is already facing you fully, brunette hair whipping gently against his forehead. "MC and I had a talk." You were silent and you felt the air shifted between the both of you, his body tensing slightly beside you. "I do not like the way she had treated you throughout this trip, I can see that it made you uncomfortable." He tilted his head slightly, angling down closer to you. "Especially when she interrupted us."

You blinked, eyes still trained on him. The warm golden light that casted on his face made your crush looked even more ethereal than the sunset view itself. A quiet smile drifted across your lips at his sentence. "It's okay, she is your childhood friend afterall. She even told me that you guys had kissed before." You uttered to him ruefully, biting your bottom lip at the end of your sentence as you pondered if it was the right thing to comment.

Caleb gulped, his Adam's Apple bobbed once and he tried to explain the situation. "Gosh, that was an accident! And it happened when we were in kindergarten!" He threw his arms up into the air, his dramatic flair got you chuckling softly. You knew it, deep inside, when MC said that, it was out of spite and seeing the way he reacted further confirmed your suspicions. "I never looked at her that way."

"What way?" You mulishly pried for the answer, wanting Caleb to iron out all of the contrary possibilities running through your thoughts.

Caleb's arms dropped when you asked and his eyes blinked a couple of times, those orbs now taking form of a darker mauve when he sensed that this may be the right moment for him to come clean to you now. The setting is right; with the sun setting in the background being the only third party to witness this canonical event. "The way I would look at you." He was gentle, the look in his eyes unmistakable for sincerity. At that moment, the ocean murmured behind you, a steady and soft rhythm as nature's background music.

"I thought you would choose her Caleb." Your red-rimmed eyes got Caleb scooting closer to you, one arm immediately wrapping over your small frame and he pulled you in against his side. "You had no idea how long I was stuck with the idea that my feelings would only be one-sided to you. Seeing the both of you together, it just makes sense." A stray tear rolled down your cheek but Caleb was quick to catch it with his thumb, the pad of his thumb glided down your chin and he held onto it, guiding your head up to meet his gaze.

"You make more sense to me y/n." His lips parted slightly, breath wavering. "I told MC that her feelings towards me will always be one-sided." Your hand automatically went up to graze his arm, heartbeat increasing as your breaths mingled. "Because I fell in love with you y/n." The both of you closed the distance, lips pressed against one another as the sunset enveloped the both of you in its arms. Warmth fraying across your body when he takes your first kiss, his arms that wrapped around your body pulled you closer to him and the hand that held your chin went to cradle your face as an affectionate gesture.

It took a good minute before the both of you pulled away, the tinge of red on both of your cheeks hidden by the orange hues of the sunset. At this point, the sunset is probably a paid actor. "I've always thought of how it feels to kiss you, do you know that?" Caleb laughed, tilting his head as you gave him a light punch against his shoulder. He landed a kiss onto the top of your head and gave your shoulder a squeeze of endearment. You leaned your head against his broad shoulder and let the sound of the waves and the grip of his quiet affection wrap around you like a soft summer blanket.

This is finally done! After writing this, I feel like the dynamic of high school couples should be studied as this is so pure and heartwarming! I really really really enjoyed writing this piece! You can definitely check out my first part for this series here!

[pedgito]

𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐋 | Joel Miller x reader

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summary | Joel's itch to hunt has became a yearly tradition between you and him.

author's note | i had a very vague outline for this weeks ago that didn't feel solid enough but then i saw some gifs and had to collect myself, a huge hug to @gracieheartspedro for beta'ing this!

content warning | 18+ MDNI, jackson!joel, sex pollen (consenting), hunter/prey OR predator/prey (whichever you prefer), knives, joel intentionally hurts reader (consenting), mentions of scars, waterboarding adjacent (again, consenting), brat!reader, gratuitous smut (unprotected piv, oral, ect), creampies <3, cum feeding, some fluff at the end.

word count — 5k

“S’bout that time, baby.”

Joel isn’t even attempting to be subtle about it.

The itch came around the time the flowers were beginning to bloom and the overgrown foliage continued to make a home on earth, woven and wrapping around the cracks that have settled. It was always calmer too, oddly. Tommy had suggested Joel could take a few shifts hunting in the nearby woods for food—you know, scratch it. But, he didn’t understand the deeper implications and desires that Joel kept hidden away. Though, not from you.

He always had a habit of sneaking up on you in your home, quiet as a mouse you were, but even the slightest creak would give you away and Joel would come swooping in, stealing your heart right out of your chest as it stilled, relaxing as his warm, sweet musk consumed your entire being. 

He always sought you out, treated you like prey.

Joel was a natural born hunter, a defender—of his territory, his things.

When you switched jobs halfway through your first year in Jackson, botany to patrol, the idea arises. And that was all it was, at first. Presenting Joel with a set of options as your connection with him grew, seeing the ease of conversation behind his hardened exterior. 

He liked that you care, that you listened to him talking about his oddball interest without the return of a retching disgust, tongue peeking out of your mouth as your face scrunches up in aversion. Ellie had done it plenty of times, so instead, you ask questions.

Jackson had domesticated Joel back to his previous state, before the outbreak, with what little he’s told you about, he sounds like he wants to leave that man in the past. You understood him, born within a world of pure rage and hostility, fighting tooth and nail from the day you were born.

You were only a small child when the world fell and you barely remember anything from before outside of what you’ve learned from the elders around Jackson and Joel, who wasn’t nearly as old, but had still managed to live a full life and then some, his time split between both versions of this lifetime.

You had patrol together tomorrow, a full undisturbed weekend away.

He clinks your beer mischievously as his eyes glint with intrigue and a small smile tugs at his lips as he hides it behind the rim of his drink—it wasn’t a reminder, rather an auspicious warning.

–

In any other situation, you would hate this patrol spot. 

It was big, too big—why Tommy insisted on keeping it within the route was beyond your understanding, but for Joel, it was perfect.

He’s already digging in your bag for the mauve-hued powder, smelling faintly of berries even with the plastic bag wrapped tightly around it. It was something you had stumbled upon with Ellie during one of your earlier patrols, always following close behind to her wandering, stumbling upon a thick brush outside a forgotten, decaying cabin. 

A small plant, completely undisturbed. 

Ellie almost consumed the plant out of curiosity, eyes growing wide as you slapped her hand away.

“You’re right—yeah, that’s…not a good idea.” She quickly corrected herself, entranced by the intoxicating smell as you carefully unroot the plant and tuck it away in your pack, hopefully that it would stay intact on the ride back or that Shimmer wouldn’t sniff through your bag before you had the chance to make it back.

“Joel would kill me if I let this kill you.”

“Ah, he’s not so bad.” Ellie excused lazily, “Give him a chance.”

That you did.

You snatch the bag from his hand and tuck it away in your pocket.

“Sign us in at least,” You reprimand him, flicking him in the chest before you direct him with a pointed finger over his shoulder. An old, weathered notebook sitting on the counter of the empty clinic, “sweep first—hunt later.”

You both check your respective sides, dead silent throughout, as most of spring usually was around Jackson. Occasionally a straggler would find a way inside, a bloater or clicker that had wandered too far from the herd, but it was completely quiet.

You had traveled all night, the auburn sky fading to blue as the sun rose in the east, the rays projecting through the large window of the second floor of the hospital, an office that was set up with two beds and a pile of supplies for whoever had patrol that month.

Joel’s stripped his jacket off already, yours following suit as you throw it over.

“You know the drill,” Joel announces, his palm curving around the back of your neck as his other hand reaches for the gun tucked into the holster at your thigh, placing it on the counter, “one knife, that’s it.”

“Same rules apply to you, big guy,” You retorted, reaching around his backside for the gun tucked into his waistband, placing it beside your own gun.

He offers over the hunting knife by the handle, his fingers pressing tight against the sharpened blade, eyebrows raised in anticipation as you look at it for a moment, a split-decision before you shake your head, pushing his hand away.

“C’mon baby, now you’re just makin’ it easy.”

You scoff lightly, leaning down to remove your shoes and socks as Joel chuckles lowly, catching onto your antics as you strip yourself down to the bare minimum clothing you needed without being entirely naked—a skin-tight tank that clung to your curves and a pair of shorts that rolled up your thighs, reducing the risk of your clothes snagging in harder to access crevices.

You reach for the treasured bag of special powder that Joel was so eager to consume.

It was an enhancement—a pollen from a special flower that you still hadn’t identified, crushed down into an herb that you traded under the table in Jackson for a high price. The first time you had introduced it to Joel, he was hesitant. But, giving it an hour or so to set in convinced him otherwise.

He could hear better, feel, sense—it was intimidating, the look in his blood-shot eyes every time he found you, teeth bared as they dug into your skin, rutting against you like he was in heat. Sex was the only thing that quelled the ache that it caused as a side effect, and Joel was insatiable.

It started slowly, the slow thump of your heart quickening as the effects settled within you. Then, the paranoia set in, the heightened state of existence, and slowly the urge of desire would settle in, growing and growing until it was nearly unbearable—eventually willing enough to claw off your own skin in an attempt to ease the ache. 

It never got that bad, Joel wouldn’t allow it.

But, something about this batch felt potent.

You felt even more mischievous this time around, your third year of this little tradition and you were determined to make him work for it, drag it out until the final second, as the drug waned as neither of you could take it any longer, wanting to beat him at his own game.

“Like a mouse,” You tease, showcasing the near silent step of your feet against the floor as you lick your pointer and middle finger before dipping them into the bag, the powder sticking to your fingers as you press them to Joel’s tongue, his lips closing around the digits with an intense determination in his eyes, “let’s test out those instincts, old man.”

He mirrors your process, but wraps his free hand around your throat, forcing your chin up and mouth open as his fingers dip into your mouth and press down on your tongue, noticing the way his eyes are already dilated under the effect of the pollen, “I’ll leave a pretty one this time.”

A scar, he means. 

Two already existing jagged lines on each side of your pelvic bone as he pressed the blade to your skin in dignification of his victory, soothing the wound with his tongue and lapping up the blood.

You hum, closing your eyes at the sweet taste as it warms your body.

“If you catch me,” You tease, a slight amusement to your tone as you toss your head back, fingers pressing harshly against the sides of your throat.

“Bold,” He compliments, “s’cute—you can’t hide from me, sweetheart. I’ll find you.”

–

He always gives you a head start, it was only fair.

The only downside to the pollen was the overstimulation of sound, paranoid with every creak of the building as the heat expanded the metal, faint footsteps without any idea where they were.

You weren’t a hunter, by any means. But, you knew how to hide.

For Joel, he enjoys the chase.

However, he likes to seek, too.

And he’s quiet, unsuspecting.

The first four hours are spent working your way through the second floor as you hide away in hidden crevices and evaded his approaching figure as he traverses from room to room, knowing he’s wandering around with only the knife you had denied yourself, twirling it in his grip as you whistled, paused for an eerily long time, then whistled again. He's had surveying from side to side, scanning.

Everything was making you jump, even the low hum of the wind outside.

There’s a brief moment as you escape to the first floor that Joel catches sight of your quickly fleeing figure, calling out your name in a voice that doesn’t sound entirely of his own. It was deep and guttural, like a growl. Animalistic and dark, stripped down to his primal instincts.

“C’mon, little mouse,” You can hear the knife pierce into the weakening drywall as you hide between a crevice underneath the stairs, moving to your stomach to crawl underneath and use the advantage of the shadows casted by the sun as he paces around the hall for a moment, “let’s see if you’ll squeal for me.”

His foot kicks through a closed door, his soft whistling continuing as he searched around and came up empty-handed, biding your time under the stairwell for an extended period of time, skin dampy and clammy as the heat crept in, clothes dirtied with dust and stained with sweat.

By the time you feel safe enough to leave, knowing how easy Joel could wait you out, it was already creeping into the evening and you had cursed yourself for being so stubborn and leaving your pack behind—hungry and thirsty, the throbbing ache at your core growing stronger as you squeezed your thighs together and escaped the hiding spot.

You stop, listening intently, the faint sound of footsteps below in the basement.

You knew better than to trap yourself down there with him, knowing how easy of a win that would be for him, hearing the faint tap of the knife as he calls for you.

“I know you’re here. I can smell ya,” You hear faintly, “Betcha she’s drippin’ wet, huh?”

You can picture the sight of him, hand grazing over the denim of his jeans as he pressed his palm against his growing erection for relief, a similar detriment to your own but with two entirely different tasks.

You’ve never tried leaving the building before, but the peak of the pollen was beginning to take hold, your mouth dry and begging, aware of the creek just a few minutes into the forest down the road—you were desperate.

So, you book it.

And as your feet hit the entrance, you hear him.

But, he’s closer now, ascending the stairs to the first floor as his eyes lock on your shadowed figure before you slam the door closed behind you, his voice booming in the distance as the twigs break underneath your feet, wincing at the sting of pain it brings.

“Bad girl,” He taunts, “Breakin’ our rules, baby!”

Outside of the strict use of one weapon, mutually agreed upon, you both promised to never leave the premises, both for safety, and fairness. But, Joel was good—too good. If anything, it would give him a challenge.

You knew there would be consequences, but you couldn’t be bothered to care.

–

You had spent twelve hours evading him, bones and muscles aching with discomfort as you tripped, falling to the bed of rocks covered in slimy moss as you stumbled on your knees toward the running stream, cupping your hands to guide the water into your mouth, instantly quenching the thirst that had festered, patting your wet hands against your clammy skin, knees bloodied and dripping against the surface of the rock as you rested for a moment, catching your breath.

You welcomed the silence, wondering if Joel had stuck on the path of the road, unsuspecting that you would veer off barefoot into the forest on your own, constantly sticking by his side, vigilant of the threats that lingered there.

You whine as your cunt throbs with need, hastily shoving your hand under the fabric of your shorts to slide your fingers against the sticky, wet fabric of your underwear, the gentle press against your clit like a shock to the system, your free hand clutching onto nothing but air as you gasped, subconsciously rocking your hips against your hand.

Your eyes had fallen shut, lost in your own pleasure that you forget how vulnerable you are, nearly naked in an open forest where anyone could sneak up on you—though, no one traveled out this far and it had been several minutes since Joel had caught sight of you, the lack of defined tracks to follow proving difficult for him, but then you hear a sigh, a tsk.

He’s on you before you have a chance to react, knife at your throat as his teeth graze against the shell of your ear and he’s wrenching your hands away from your shorts, “Found you,” He hisses through clenched teeth, feeling his cock pressed against your thigh through the denim.

He was hot, burning up—both with a want for you, but physically, like a fever had taken over.

You hadn’t realized how much time had passed until you’re forcing your eyes open, staring up at the opaline moonlight, making Joel all the more threatening as you couldn’t see him, but you could feel him, rendered immobile as he worked himself over your hips, the weight of him keeping you still. 

“S’right little mouse, ain’t got nowhere to go, do ya?” He taunts, fingers curling around your head as they dig into the root of your hair and tug, the blunt side of the knife running along your throat.

“How’d—how did—find me?” You choke out through broken, garbled gasps as the drool accumulated in your mouth at his scent, the freshness of soap from a shower the night before but a mix of his own arousal collecting in his jeans, “What gave it ‘way?”

“Can hear those perfect little whimpers from a mile away, baby,” He softens slightly, panting heavily against your skin as he belt jingles with subtle movement, slipping through the loops before he’s disposing of it to the side, “S’that why you ran? Scared I was gonna catch you playin’ with yourself in there—well, look at ya,” He taunts, “Got a special place for this one,” 

You feel the cool edge of the knife drag along the side of your neck and down your spine, ripping through the fabric like butter, aided by the gentle tug of his hands as he ripped your top into pieces, repeating the process with your shorts, his fingers curling around the lacy edge of your underwear as he tugged up, dragging the tip of the blade along your cheek.

“Considering markin’ this pretty little ass up, that what you want?”

“S’that what you want?” You retort playfully.

There’s a small prick, another, pulling your underwear between your ass until he can get the blade underneath the fabric and with a quick flick of his wrist, it was nothing but trash, stuffed between his teeth as he inhaled your intoxicating scent, forcing your thighs apart as he cut lightly into your skin at first, an initial to mark his territory.

The letter J forever engraved at the inside of your thigh, the thumb of his unoccupied hand splitting through your folds and pressing against your swollen clit, distracting you from the sharp pain with his movements.

“S’beautiful,” He tells you, admiring the mark but also the way your cunt greedily sucks his thumb inside of you, “fuckin’ beautiful.”

Your hands balled into tight fists above your head as you writhe beneath him, “M’close, Joel—s’right there,” You moan, feeling his hand squeeze at your wounded thigh, his fingers stained with blood as he moves off of you, easily manhandling you onto your back as he stares down with dark, brooding eyes, disposed panties still stuffed in his mouth.

You rise onto your elbows as his hand molds over the back of your skull, nodding toward his buttoned jeans, his opposite hand reaching for your wrist as he guides it to the button before casually yanking the cloth from his mouth and stuffing it into the pocket of his jeans.

His unoccupied hand explores the peaks of your chest, soft and supple and begging to be squeezed, bitten, pert nipple the perfect size to fit between his lips and against the flat of his tongue, finding himself drifting at the thought before your roving touch brings him back.

“You feelin’ gracious?” He asks, “Gonna suck my cock?”

You nod obediently, his hand gripping tighter in your dirtied, damp hair.

He’s waiting, quietly, ominously, only barely satisfied as you begin to pry the button apart and pull at his zipper, the heat of his cock pressing against the fabric as you rub your palm over it teasingly, earning a sharp tug in return.

“You wanna keep up the game?” Joel asks like a warning, “I’ll hunt you through these damn woods, girl. And I won’t play nice.”

There’s a rawness to his voice during times like this, during the hunt. It’s similar to how he sounds as he rouses from bed, groggy with sleep—relaxed, but resting at a deep, booming register.

You pout slightly, squeezing your hand over the damp fabric of his underwear, precum seeping through the front as you lean forward, running your tongue along the cotton before pulling with your teeth at the waistband, tucking his underwear beneath his balls as you like from base to tip in one fluid movement, intoxicated by his scent.

It was mostly clean, but earthy—a day worth of exhilarating hunt and the heat of both the day and the pollen seeping from his pores, he’s salty and sweet, your tongue sliding slowly over the slit before he’s pushing his cock beyond your lips with a solid pump of his hips, moaning at the intrusion.

He favors the soft whimpers as your eyes flutter with the press of his cock against the back of your throat, fucking himself into your mouth with a tight hand in your hair, eyes welling with tears as you gasp after a particularly deep thrust, eyes blown wide as he pulled you off of his cock suddenly, moving to match his stance as you rise unsteadily to your knees.

“Nuh uh,” He admonished, “down, turn around.”

You open your mouth to speak and Joel slaps your face once, sharp, not entirely unsuspected as there was a clear definite line of who was in charge, always testing your limits when he asserted his dominance—you knew it was coming, you wanted it.

“S’your one and only warning,” He tells you sternly, “now turn.”

In times of desperate need and insatiable desire, it was easier to be a vessel to him. Fulfilling his release of pent up aggression and carefully tucked away primal nature, he shifts quietly behind you to stand and strip himself naked, fisting his cock into his hand as he rubs it through your slick folds, puffy and swollen from how badly you needed to be filled by him, consumed.

“So fragile, little mouse,” He takes glance of the weeping wound between your thighs and the flutter of your hole as he fits the head of his cock inside of you, only an inch of his thick and swollen cock, a collective sigh of relief from you both at the connection, “Need to remind you what it means to be mine, don’t I?”

“Joel fucking get on with it alread—”

Joel quickly twists his hand into your hair and pulls your head up, gasping as the hands under your chest curls into fists, pulling you flush with his pelvis as he slips inside of you in one quick motion, feeling the sting as his fingers dig into your skin.

“Smart mouth,” He comments, “so fuckin’ dumb for this cock your forget how to behave yourself, ain’t that right?”

You groan pathetically as he yanks at your hair, “You need me to do it for you, old man?”

You wiggle your ass slightly back against his cock, a harsh huff of breath through his nose before he’s dipping your head under the water as you both teeter near the edge of the rock, with the current you could feel the faint splashes against your skin, but he takes advantage of the gap and dunks your head in the chilled water for a moment, pulling you back up as you gasp.

“You done?” He asks, earning a pitched giggle in return, airy and light as you find the effort amusing, leading him closer toward the edge of the cliff, guiding him into a space that would help him use, without guilt or remorse for his actions.

“Depends,” You challenge, your cunt clenching around his cock as he shifts his hips, one movement from exploding as your clit throbbed intensely.

As a result, he dunks your head once more, this time for a moment longer than last and you find yourself coughing, sputtering air as your wet hair drips over your face, blinking the bleariness from your eyes.

"Always forget how much you like it when I hurt you,” Joel notes with a tone of admiration.

You hum in approval, wretched back by his unyielding hand as he pulls you flush with his chest, your hand flying into his hair as the other drifts over your clit, his hips pummeling into you at furious pace, teeth digging deep into your shoulder.

“C’mon, baby,” He coos, cradling your head in his hand as it lulls back, fingers curling your clit in desperation as his groans melt into your skin, “fuck—she’s squeezin’ me tight, you feelin’ that?”

His hips slow for a moment, deep thrusts as the head of his cock rubs against that nauseatingly sweet spot inside of you, eyes rolling back at the sensation as your orgasm takes hold, pulling Joel over the edge unexpectedly with your whimpering breaths of relief, held up entirely by his own brute strength as he fucks into you lazily, pumping you full of his cum with every thrust.

There’s an immediate exhaustion as instant satisfaction fills your body and his own.

Though, you know it won’t last.

It was temporary, an ease to the ache that had a mind of its own on when it would weaken.

Joel’s fingers drifting between your legs playfully as he scoops up his own cum as it spilled out of you, dripping down the inside of your thighs before he feeds it into your mouth, resting lazily against his frame as he rest on one arm and hip, smearing the slick against your tongue before he brings your mouth to his, a greedy exchange as he licks into your mouth, chuckling as you eagerly leaned in for more, moving forward as he pulled away.

“Easy, baby,” He chastises, “I’m not goin’ anywhere. I’m right here.”

–

You can’t avoid how vulnerable it feels to trek back naked, hair mussed and your steps mimicking a drunken state as you stumble, guided upstairs and into the shower attached to the office, small and compact but at least there was running water and amenities packed away in Joel’s pack for you to use, every inch of your skin overly sensitive as you wash away the grime, feeling Joel approach from behind, careful removing the soap from your hand.

“We’re all locked up,” He informs you, doing another quick sweep as you stepped inside of the shower—he’s increasingly more relaxed now, but the heightened senses linger, his gentle touch igniting the fire in your gut as you turn on him, watching as he lathered his chest in the soap before asking, “still botherin’ ya, huh?”

You reach for him silently, pressing your lips to his tentatively, his gentleness returning with the hand that rests against your hip, slowly extending to your back as he pulls you in.

You loved him like this even more—the soft hums he released as you tilted your head to kiss him, his lips parting as you snuck your tongue into his mouth, filtering your finger through his hair and meeting him with a similar, relaxed passion.

Silently, he guides your hand to the small shelf embedded into the corner of the shower and crowds you against the tile, descending on old, aching knees despite himself. He’d pay for it later, he knows he will, but the way your leg instinctively lifts and rests over his shoulder is enough to soothe the pain for a brief time, the intensity of desire coming in waves.

He licks a long strip up the center of your folds, sucking on your clit as he eventually turns the water off entirely, your moans reverberating off the ceramic, practiced flicks of his tongue bringing you near your end quickly, sneaking two of his fingers inside of you as you come, always amazed at how greedy you pussy was to consume whatever it was he gave you.

Fingers, tongue, cock—it didn’t matter.

He peers up at you through a half-lidded gaze, your fingers running through damp hair as he slowly rises to his feet, peppering kissing up and along your body as he stands again.

“Let’s get dried off,” He tells you, “I know you’re starvin’—worked up a big appetite after today.”

Joel carefully wraps the towel around your body as he does the same, tying it around his waist as he chuckles at your smile, “Guess you could say that.”

And just as you think the pollen has finally worn off, it comes like a fever in the night.

At first, you insist it must be a dream, the way Joel is so helplessly rutting against your backside, tucked tight against his chest as you shared the singular blanket and pillow despite the other bed. He wanted you closer, he wanted you near. 

You smell like honey and home—home like Jackson, that faint hint of charred wood from the fireplace that was constantly running in your home.

He’s willing and malleable to your movements as you guide him to his back, carefully slipping your underwear to the side as you guide him inside of you, a lazy pace as your chests meet, breathing into each other’s mouths as squeezes at any available skin he can access.

“So goddamn lucky,” He murmurs, “always takin’ care of me.”

His pointed thrust drove his words home, his nails digging into your hip as he came for the second time that night, nothing in his voice left to give as his throat felt raw, grunting pathetically as his seed spilled inside of you, a warmth radiating throughout and a sudden feeling of complete relief.

“I think we’re in the clear now,” You admit tiredly, rubbing your hands gently over his flushed chest as you glance up at him, both of you sighing at the loss as you move off of him and return to your previous position, barely registering the swipe of fabric between your legs as Joel cleaned you up without acknowledgment before he’s pulling you tight into his chest.

“Need to convince Tommy into letting me take up this patrol in the winter.”

You snicker quietly at his mischievous nature.

“Is that all I’m good for?” You tease playfully, “Scratchin’ that itch?”

“A couple of ‘em,” He admits honestly, pressing a soft kiss against the spot behind your ear, “s’good idea—as long as you don’t go breakin’ the rules and runnin’ off into the forest again—”

“Alright, alright, big guy,” You admonish, patting his head blindly over your shoulder as he shakes your hand away, “it’s not like you were really complaining about it.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I knew just where to look.”

Of course he did.

You scoff lightly, “Oh, I’m sure—you got me down pat, like a damn book, don’t you?”

“Correct, baby,” He answers, “Ain’t no hiding from me.”

It’s a comfort, knowing he was always near.

Joel would always find you, no matter the situation.

[attapullman]

Bob From Pi Kapp | Robert "Bob" Floyd

While this can be enjoyed on it's own, the recommended reading on the syllabus for this class is Bob From Stats before proceeding.

Summary: First he's late to chapter, and now Bob is late to your Stats final. You saved him a seat. But should you also save one for his hobby horse?

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: 18+ ONLY as always, f!reader, no use of y/n, smuttttttt, goofy frat behavior, the other Daggers do make a brief appearance

A Note From Mo: Happy Start of the School Year! It wouldn't feel quite like autumn without checking in with our favourite frat boy-turned-cowboy and what shenanigans the Pi Kapps are getting up to. Can anyone guess what unforgettable moment in TV history inspired this second part to stats!Bob?

It’s unfair how good he looks laying between your thighs.

Sandy hair disheveled, glasses fogged at the rim. Chest heaving beneath thin cotton, catching his breath after a marathon make out session in your cramped dorm bed. There’s still three sections left in the review material, but Bob’s only now coming up for air as an alarm sounds and he reluctantly sits up.

Your hands reach out trying to pull him back into your embrace. He playfully swats them away, unwillingly having to extricate himself. Your fingers catch in the hem of his shirt, twisting in the fabric.

“I have to go!” He jovially laughs, returning your grabby hand back as he wiggles into his sweatshirt. “I have chapter - a non-negotiable, remember?” 

While you sarcastically cross your arms and hmph at him, he knows you aren’t actually angry. Disappointed, sure, but how could you be mad at those big round blue puppy eyes? Especially after he’s been attached to your lips since he swung by after lecture hours ago. You’ve started having a Pavlovian response every time he asks if you ‘want to study’.

Sitting up, you take your study buddy in, straightening his clothes before having to mad dash to Greek Row. He’s all long limbs and sturdy shoulders, the thick tendons of his fingers showing off the strength that he exhibits every time you get him into bed. That trucker hat is already back on his head and your eyes wander to his freshly shaven jaw and neck.

“Bob, you can’t go to chapter like that.”

He stops in his tracks and his brows crease in confusion, glasses highlighting his cornflower eyes. “It’s not a formal thing, jeans are fine. But I gotta go, there’s a fine if I’m late and I have perfect attendance.”

You shake your head and walk him the three steps over to the wardrobe in your tiny dorm, the full-length mirror on the side barely lit by the florescent bulb. Bob fills out the entire view, the mirror barely tall enough to capture above his torso, but just enough for you to gently hook your fingers into the soft heather collar of his sweatshirt. You don’t even have to tug for him to see the glaring concern.

Mottled along the left side of his neck are three mouth-shaped mauve bruises. They’ve only just begun to bloom, but against his creamy skin they stand out like stop signs. You didn’t think you had been sucking so hard. Or bitten so deep.

“I think they look kind of pretty.” He’s teasing, but you’re mortified.

Bob kisses your heated cheek, gathering his hood around his neck. “It’s fine, don’t worry. I’ll hunch my shoulders and no one will be the wiser.” At this point he’s used to his roommates pointing out the signs of affection you leave on him every week.

You’re still hot from embarrassment twenty minutes later, curled on your little dorm bed reading through your organic chemistry textbook. Though part of that may be from the lingering kiss he gave you before promising to text you after. It’s not your fault he’s perfectly adorable and fuckable - you’re only human. 

Beside you, a small ping interrupts your (distracted) studying. It’s a text from Bob, slightly earlier than planned.

BF: They may have noticed 😬

His Pi Kapp brothers not only noticed the arrangement of love bites along his neck - you were lying to yourself if you thought they were in any way subtle -  and the house of frat boys were now taking turns lining up to get photos with Love Bite Bob for posterity. Plus he was a minute late to chapter. 

You’re still giggling to yourself when you turn off the light for the night. The photo of your boyfriend’s cherry red face matching your indecent markings, a swarm of Pi Kapp sweatshirts and backwards baseball caps in the background, and mischievous grins filling every corner of your dreams.

Students mill past you, filing into the atrium of the lecture hall with a buzz of misery and despair around them. Finals Week. Every backpack in sight is heavy with textbooks and over a dozen weeks worth of notes. Your last neon highlighter died last night from overuse. 

Amongst the throng of students also dreading your Stats final, you have yet to see that vintage trucker hat Bob has been sporting since September. It seems off-brand that he wouldn’t be early, broad back already hunched over in that cramped seat with his calculator and an apprehensive smile. 

The last few weeks of sitting next to each other have been exquisite - elbows bumping in his new desk next to yours, thighs brushing in those impossibly close seats. It’s a part of your routine at this point. Bob still lends you a pencil, but you barely take any notes once the toe of his sneaker runs along your shin and suddenly you two are playing footsie like teenagers.

It’s been a horny remaining nine weeks of Stats. It was lucky that Bob was as studious as he was or you’d have gotten nothing done, stealing kisses between flashcards. Not to mention the glorious hour he spent with his head buried between your thighs while you memorized formulas, swearing he’d only leave your clit alone after you could recite them backwards.

And yet he was missing from your very last class together. The last chance to borrow a pencil and brush elbows for an hour like foreplay. Where was he?

Wanting to get yourself settled, you resign to entering the lecture hall and sitting beside Anna in one of the front rows. She gives you a sympathetic look at your dejected grimace. Your dorm room has been a testament to many a study night as of late, the two of you swapping sticky notes and notes like candy. The hall titters with students chatting as you not-so-subtly keep checking the door for latecomers, the seconds ticking down before those heavy doors shut.

The seat beside you is still empty when the teaching assistant shuts the oak doors, signaling the exam’s start.

Your professor stands at the front of the lecture hall holding a tall stack of booklets and gives a wicked grin. “Who’s ready to see what they actually learned about probability this semester?”

A collective groan sounds out and he sinisterly laughs before starting up the ancient projector. The bustle of pens and paper disappear when the loud thunk of the lecture hall doors slam open, bouncing off the sturdy brick walls and turning every head at the latecomer.

Giggles, snorts, and neighing all blend together as the cavernous lecture hall bustles with noise. Your head whips around to catch the commotion, eyes widening in surprise. 

Five men in auxiliary blue Pi Kapp sweatshirts and their own hobby horses (featuring a rather familiar Appaloosa) come galloping down the stairs, heading straight for the center stage. Standing front and center in beat up cowhide boots, a well-used felt Stetson, and tight jeans is none other than your favorite frat cowboy, blue-eyed Bob from Stats. 

His posse of Greek lettered faux cowboys stand around him, jostling each other’s shoulders and pretending to calm their steeds. Your professor patiently waits behind the pulpit, curious how this will play out with the exam he’s supposed to be proctoring. You’re gripping your seat in confusion and anticipation.

Once the raucous laughter has died down, Pi Kapp President Jake Seresin makes a show of steadying his hobby horse once more while three fellow cowboys spread out across the room, casually milling through the aisles with their wooden horses clanging between their jean-clad knees. Looking more like a lamb at slaughter all by himself, Bob calmly holds his own, knuckles rolling over the handles of his ��horse’. Jake grins at his Pi Kapp brother before turning to his captive audience.

“Howdy, pard’ners!” The blonde’s voice booms in the cavernous hall. Various greetings yell out from all over the rows, Anna throwing in her own Howdy.

This is crazy. Anna looks at you for answers, but you have none. Whatever is going on, Pi Kappa Phi Ranch has invaded your Stats final. 

Their president makes a show of quieting the room, hand hauntingly on his hip. “So, we’ve been traveling all over this here Wild West looking for something.”

Reuben Fitch, a Pi Kapp brother and one of Bob’s roommates, stands tall at the top of the steps and calls back to him, “And what is that something, Brother Seresin?”

“Glad you asked. We’re looking for a cowgirl.”

The name catches your attention. Your blood runs cold and by default your eyes flash to Bob, hoping to find the answers in those wide, truthful ultramarine eyes. But he continues to stare boldly ahead, letting his brothers put on their show. 

Giddily clomping around with the stick of his black mare clacking on the stairs, Mickey Garcia raucously yells out, “So let’s look for her!”

Suddenly the four men are traipsing around the spacious room pretending to ride their horses, the hundreds of seats no match for their speed as they run up and down aisles, zipping through seats and over student’s knees. 

“Not here!”

“Not here!”

“Not here!”

Heat creeps along your skin as you feel Jake’s right hand man, Javy Machado, lock in on you, the squeak of his sneakers and thwack of his horse against the ground alerting his arrival. Your eyes bore into the side of Bob’s head - spectacles still facing forward - as every classmate watches the frat boy descend. Javy stops only feet from where you’re clutching the edge of your desk.

“This one here looks like she could be a real ol’ cowgirl!” Javy’s horrible Western accent and shit eating grin are begging to be smacked off his face. He turns toward the familiar Stetson and puts both hands around his mouth as he hollers. “Hey Floyd, found a cowgirl for you!”

That sweet face finally turns to you. Adrenaline floods your nervous system as every pair of eyes in the hall watches his boots clack up the stairs and past the seats until he’s standing in the row before yours, craning over the wooden chair with delicately pink cheeks. From this angle, those cerulean eyes are level with yours. And boy, are they nervous.

His voice is wobbly, but the script is practiced. “Howdy, little lady. Hiding in plain sight, weren’t ya?”

You both know you’ve sat in the same spot since that first day he lent you a pencil.

“Didn’t realize you needed an entire fraternity to find your study buddy.” Your hand waves at the four faux cowboys standing at the end of your row, looking entirely too pleased with themselves. Despite the fact that you’re as timid as him under the stares of your fellow students, you can’t help but be a little sassy and theatrical after the production you just witnessed.

That soft grin comes out to play, always amused by your fire. “I do when I have a question for you.”

The smirk on your face wipes clean. A question? There’s a flutter in the air as students turn to each other, anxious to know what quiet little Bob Floyd has been keeping to himself. Even your professor is leant forward on his elbow patches, brow quirked in interest.

You swallow slowly before responding, barely over a whisper, “What do you want to know?”

Time and space stop as he holds your gaze. So soft and affectionate, as if you are the stars in his night sky. The same hazy look he gave you in that hall closet weeks ago that made you unable to ever look back. He licks his lips, warm hand sliding over yours on the peeling wooden desktop. His eyes are so impossibly open. 

“Will you do the honor of being my date to the Pi Kappa Phi spring formal, cowgirl?”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Relief tingles through your extremities as your brain starts up again. The pounding of your heart backs up your smart response.

“Only if you let me borrow your boots for dancing.”

Your response settles, then suddenly all around you there’s whoops and hollers. To your left, four hobby horses are whipped into the air and twirled like batons. Mickey yells out, “Yeehaw!”

And yet all you can focus on is the wide grin that’s stretched out Bob’s face, his lean body still bent over the row before yours. You know the same smile is etched on your own jaw as your fingers intertwine. He’s so utterly ridiculous and self-assured. The perfect pairing of endearing. You can’t get enough.

You really wish everyone wasn’t watching so you could kiss him.

“Alright, alright, settle down. We do have a final to get to, if Mr. Floyd would like to take his seat.”

Handing off his trusty steed to his cowboy brothers, Bob takes the hint and makes his way around the row toward you, long legs effortlessly vaulting the nailed-in desks. He stops at the knobby wooden seat next to you and gestures, as if to ask Is this free? The corners of your mouth can’t help but upturn once more as you nod, letting your handsome Bob from Pi Kapp slip into the seat and knock his knee against yours.

You lean in, letting your lips brush against the lobe of his ear. “Not that I wasn’t entertained, but what was all that?”

He shoots you the most blinding grin, the sides of his drowningly blue eyes crinkling behind perfectly straight wire frames.

“My punishment for being late to chapter - they got to choose how I asked you to spring formal.”

Your jaw slackens as your eyes trail over to where his brethren are slinking out the heavy hall doors with their wooden steeds over their shoulders. Those cruel bastards. Your hand reaches out to stroke Bob’s still pinkened cheeks, fingers resting along his jaw to imitate soothing his wounded ego.

“One last yeehaw for Cowboy Bob for the semester, huh?” He guffaws out a laugh and kisses your cheek. 

The stack of little blue booklets makes their way over again and Bob grabs one before passing your way. His eyes are glued to you, unable to stop his affectionate attention after putting himself out on the line like that. You open your mouth to say something, but stop when the significance of it hits you. It’s the last time. 

The words form out of muscle memory. “Can I borrow a pencil?”

The air between you is sickeningly sweet as he reaches down and grabs two from his bag, handing you the sharper point. You give him a gooey smile as your fingers brush. Test nerves and bittersweet affection trickle down your spine. Who would have thought your hardest class all semester would bring such joy?

For the next ninety minutes your eyes stay strictly on your own booklet, but you can’t help but feel the radiant energy off the guy in a cowboy hat and fraternity sweatshirt and his knee that somehow keeps knocking yours.

“Slow down, cowgirl! I need a minute to recover,” Bob breathily begs from beneath you, where you’re still grinding your hips into his, one arm braced on his chest and the other against your peeling dorm wall. That damn cowboy hat is somewhere on the floor and his skin has evolved into an exerted red from the two orgasms he’s already stolen from you. 

You playfully roll your eyes and mutter something about bucking broncos before stilling, still so full of him. You delicately press a kiss to his sweaty cheek, your bare chest against his, timpani heartbeats synchronized. 

“While I have you,” you start, and he booms out a laugh, his cock still nestled tightly inside you. “How were you going to ask me to spring formal before?”

He’s so cute when he plays dumb. “Before what?”

“Before the guys made you publicly humiliate yourself to the point you can never take a Stats class again.”

Bob presses his lips together, warm hand smoothing over your hips as he weighs his response. Which is hard when you smell like sex and sweat and that fragrance he can’t quite identify the undertones of but has him dizzy. It’s a miracle he can pull himself away from you sometimes.

“You can’t just be happy knowing that I can never show my face in that building again?”

You reach down to the floor and pick up the worn Stetson, plopping it on your own head. You give him a stern look, stabbing your finger into his chest. He has a hard time being intimidated when his vision is centered on your breasts pressed together so deliciously. “Tell me or I’m sending you to cowboy jail.”

He raises his neck and pecks the tops of your breasts, just how he knows you like. With a joking frown, you grab him by the nape of his neck and stare him down. 

“Fine, fine,” Bob laughs deep from his chest. He looks so joyous, the whiff of sex and amorousness coloring him so beautifully. “If you really want to know.”

As you settle in to listen, the reality is that it doesn’t really matter his original plan. It’s that he even wants to go with you, that he’s just as far gone as you’ve been the last fifteen weeks. That one silly pencil would start something worth delaying a Stats final fifteen minutes and continue to another semester.

You just hope one day he’ll get you your own hobby horse.

Massive shoutout to all the Internet besties who keep the stats!Bob brainrot fresh - wouldn't get anything done without all you amazing peeps!

taglist: @berryvanille @bobfloydsbabe @bobgasm @bradshawsbaby @cosmoeticss @creatchie8 @desert-fern @drxgxnslxyer @hangmanapologist @hiireadstuff @himbos-on-ice @jaguarthecat @jessicab1991 @just-in-case-iloveyou @kmc1989 @littlemsbumblebee @mariaenchanted @maryelizabeth13 @midnightmagpiemama @m3ndacious @nerdgirljen @nouis-bum @petersunderoos96 @roosterforme @seitmai @senawashere @smoothdogsgirl @sometimesanalice @sorchathered @spidervman @sweetwhispersofchaos @sydsommersss @tastefulregularthots @theamuz @topherwrites @xoxabs88xox @yuckosworld

[kisblle]

Vices & Virtues

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Female Reader

Word Count: 7,979 (My longest yet)

Summary: After a series of poor communications, you can't stand Arthur Morgan. Yet, with the help of forced proximity - Arthur does his best to break down your walls.

Tags: heavy angst, smut, pnv, porn with plot, high honor Arthur

18+ MDNI

Author's note: I feel like I really put my useless English degree to work here. This took MONTHS to write, and what I mean by that is it sat in my drafts since November until I finally had the will to finish it. HOWEVER, it is a lot different from I usually write. A lot of plot instead of porn (lol). I've always struggled switching between the narratives of two characters, I always tend to focus on just one - because that is how my brain works. But I really challenged myself with trying to write the thoughts and feelings of both characters - which I think worked, but trying to make a smooth transition between the two was a challenge. Also, after editing this I realized I Mr. Darcy'd the fuck out of Arthur - hence the name. Shout out Jane Austen.

A soft, balmy breeze whispers through camp, offering a brief respite from the heavy humidity of Clemens Point. Cheap whiskey flows generously around the stoic fire as young Sean Maguire tells a tasteless joke at the expense of the camp cook. In response, a thunderous eruption of deafening cackles echoes through the small peninsula. Yet, Dutch’s workhorse remains silent, a liberal blush of mauve creeping onto his cheeks without notice. Not from the heavy liquor coursing through his veins, but because of the woman staring back at him.

Across the blazing flames, you sit cross legged on a log between Karen and Javier. A bottle of French Cognac dances between your fingers and lips as you smirk, the warmth of the fire beating against your skin. You rest an elbow on your knee, gaze locked on Arthur. Taking one final sip of the bitterly sweet liquid, you let it linger, corking the bottle and settling it in your lap. Your cheeks flush with heat - not just from the fire - as you bite your lip in a slow, deliberate motion. Winking at the cowboy, you leave the crowded campfire, escaping to the nearby shoreline.

Arthur's heart pounds as his gaze follows you down to the bank, only the glow from the full moon reflecting upon your skin. Intrigued by your sudden departure, he finds himself slipping away from the commotion, following you down to the water’s edge, where - much to his delight - you’re already staring at him with a mischievous grin, the corked bottle of Cognac still swinging between your fingers.

Within moments, you dart down the lake’s bank, turning around - not once - but twice - with a hop in your step, motioning him to tag along.

With a fleeting moment of caution, Arthur glances back toward camp, scanning for any watchful eyes. To his relief, the others remain gathered around the fire, lost in their drunken revelry, oblivious to his sudden departure. His gaze finds you once more, now several yards ahead, barefoot against the cool sand and without further hesitation, he takes off after you.

Minutes later, Arthur realizes where you’ve led him - a secluded bay just east of camp, where the young Kieran Duffy had taken him fishing just days prior. The spot is a stretch of empty shoreline, close enough that the glow of the campfire still flickers in the distance, yet far enough away to ensure no one will stumble upon the two of you.

“What’re we doin’?” Arthur asks as you pop the cork of the Cognac bottle, taking a long sip before passing it to him.

“Thought we could go swimmin’,” you answer with a cheeky tone, your hands moving to the clasps of your cotton blouse, unfastening the buttons with record speed.

The Gunslinger’s eyes widen, caught completely off guard as you toss your shirt onto the grassy bank. A mischievous grin tugs at your lips as you untie your skirt, letting it slip down your legs, leaving you in nothing more than the thin fabric of your bloomers and chemise.

His lips part slightly in surprise, stunned by your sudden boldness.

You roll your eyes at the dumbfounded cowboy before turning around, your back to him as you slip out of your chemise, letting your bloomers fall - bare as the day you were born. With a slow, deliberate motion, your fingers find the singular pin holding your hair in place. As you release it, your long, silky locks cascade like a waterfall.

In one final act of seduction, you peer over your shoulder, quickly winking at the cowboy before running into the lake at full pace. When the cool water reaches hip depth, you dive down, only popping your head back up to turn toward shore. “You comin’ Mr. Morgan?” Words falling off your tongue in an impish tone.

Arthur could have sworn you were some mischievous siren, luring him to his doom. But if that meant being out there with you, he didn’t mind one bit. Tipping back the bottle of Cognac, he drains the last of it before tossing it aside, mind hazy as he fumbles with the laces of his boots. Once they’re off and safely out of reach of the waves, he unfastens his gunbelt, letting it drop.

As he undresses, a strange feeling creeps over him - like some awkward boy again. He can’t recall the last time he swam purely for the joy of it, let alone with a beautiful woman. A naked, beautiful woman at that. And he feels - giddy.

If the cowboy wasn't nearly a whole bottle of Tennessee whiskey deep, he might’ve felt embarrassed as he tore off his shirt. Littered with scars and sunspots, he knew he was no pretty boy like you deserved. Yet, his strong, bare chest gleamed under the moonlight as he took a final breath, dropping his work jeans to the ground with a light thud.

In any attempt to keep his nearly non-existent modesty, the gunslinger places his right hand over his already swollen member, swiftly entering the lake after you. He only drops his hand when he reaches hips depth, the water protecting what remained of his decency.

The outlaw spots you at chest depth, only your head breaking the lake’s surface. Your slicked back hair glistens with droplets, your lips curling into a playful smirk as you tease, “Took you long enough cowboy."

By the time he wades out to meet you, his nerves had kept him too distracted to notice the water’s cool embrace. But now, standing beside you in the gentle current, a sense of cool relief washes over him.

“Feels nice,” he replies, his voice carrying the faintest tremor. His gaze drifts downward toward you, taking you in. And with alcohol still heavily flowing through his veins, he confesses, “I ain't ever done somethin’ like this before.”

Like the hellcat you were, you bite your lip seductively, eyes locked onto him as you drift closer. You had long admired the cowboy from a distance, yearning for more, but in the sober light of day, you had always convinced yourself he was too closed off, too wrapped up in his own world to see you as anything more than a friend.

But here.

Now.

With the warmth of liquor coursing through your veins and the moon casting its glow over the rippling bay, you had convinced yourself to act on instinct.

Arthur stands nearly a foot taller than you as you push your chest to his, your hard nipples gently peaking above the waterline. “You know, Arthur,” you flirt, dragging your finger up his muscular arm. “Coming out here to cool off ain’t the only reason I dragged you out here.”

Arthur’s breath hitches, squatting deeper into the water, letting his eyeline match yours. “And why’s that?” he mutters, a small smirk falling on his lips as if he knew exactly where you were going.

“Cause,” you respond with a cheeky tone, lips curling as you move closer, pressing your mouth to his.

And there it was - the sweet, heavy scent of French Cognac lingering on your breath, a stark reminder that you weren’t entirely yourself. If Arthur weren’t inebriated himself, he wouldn’t have entertained the thought of stripping down and slipping into the water with you in the first place. Because in the sober light of day, you’d never shown him interest.

The cowboy wasn’t a stand up citizen, but he had his morals - and taking advantage of a drunken woman was where he drew the line.

“I -I can’t,” he manages, quickly pulling away as the passion of the moment already fades into regret. As much as he wanted this - wanted you - he forces himself to chalk it up to nothing more than liquor fueled impulse on your end.

And just like that, the haze of liquid courage dissipates. Awareness crashing over you like a wave. You are bare before him - completely nude. The realization jolting through you like a bolt of lightning. Your hands dart upward, desperate to shield yourself from his gaze. A sickening knot tightens in your stomach, embarrassment tearing through you like a burning fire poker. And yet, somehow, even in the relentless Lemoyne heat , you feel cold.

You wanted to disappear, to shrink into the water, to curl up and never face him again.

“I -I’m sorry,” you choke out before turning and darting to shore, tears puddling in your eyes as you wish you could forget this ever happened - forget him.

How could you be so wrong?

It was as if all your senses had given out, only basic instinct bringing you back to the grassy shore. You knew it wasn’t from the Cognac -the liquor had done nothing more than give you the confidence to do what you’d always wanted. Your sudden fit of illness came from nothing more than rejection, your ears ringing as your vision blurred with tears of regret.

You couldn’t tell if it had been seconds or minutes as you fumbled along the shoreline, hurriedly gathering the scattered pieces of your clothes and pulling them back on. You didn't care, you just wanted to be gone.

Without looking back out into Flat Iron Lake, you swiftly run back to the faint glow of the campfire without another word.

-

In the early hours of the following morning, Arthur scrunches his nose at the bitterness of his coffee, his gaze fixed on your tent.

Sure, he was a fool.

A god damn idiot at that.

But all he wanted to do was catch you early - before anyone else could hear. Before shame could build a wall between the two of you.

He needed to apoligize.

It wasn't until he heard your choked sob from ashore last night that he realized how poorly he communicated. With you running off like that, crying, he put two and two together and realized what you had thought - that he had rejected you after following you out there like an idiot. 

Which he did.

But not for the reason you believed.

Hell, on any sober night, he would have gladly pulled you into his arms, kissed you without hesitation. A silly dream he had imagined for longer than he'd like to admit. But last night wasn’t sober - for either of you. And that made all the difference.

With his head held low, just beyond the brim of his gambler's hat - he waited.

With hours slowly passing, the once quiet camp in the morning hours had turned lively by the afternoon - still no sign of you.

Like clockwork, Dutch eventually strolls up to Arthur, a familiar smirk on his face, offering a fishing trip with Hosea, for old times’ sake.

Arthur obliges, forcing a nod, but his eyes flicker toward your tent one last time, knowing that he had missed his chance. Now, with listening ears all around, his apology would have to wait.

-

The weather was far more forgiving than the day before, the air crisp and cool beneath an endless stretch of azure sky. As the three outlaws rowed back to Clemens Point - several fish in tow, the weight on Arthur’s shoulders felt a little lighter.

That morning, he had woken up uncertain. But after of adventure spent with the men he looked up to the most, his spirit had been lifted.

And yet, as the sun slowly dipped below the horizon, a knot twisted in his stomach. There was still unfinished business waiting for him back at camp.

Docking the stolen row boat, Arthur parts ways with the gang leaders. Quickly slipping by the camp cook, dropping off a rather hefty string of lake fish.

Free at last, the cowboy's eyes reluctantly prowess around camp, searching for the one woman his mind has been on all day. Only able to truly breath when he finally finds you; seated between Mary-Beth and Karen, legs crossed as you carefully sew at a torn sock. You’re as beautiful as ever , hair swept up into a loose bun, stray strands falling around your face in a way that makes his breath hitch.

And for a moment - just a moment - he forgets why he was searching for you in the first place.

But as reality kicks in, he exhales, walking up to the three of you with a kind smile. "Afternoon ladies," he greets, jutting his hip out and throwing his thumbs into the loops of his gun belt.

"Oh, Hi Arthur," Mary-Beth responds in a peachy tone.

"Arthur," Karen acknowledges.

The cowboy deliberately ignores the two women, his gaze nervously locked on you, waiting for some sign, any response. But you remain unmoved, acting as though you’re completely unaware of his presence.

"Go fishing with Dutch?" Mary-Beth asks kindly, unaware of the high strung tension lingering in the air.

His eyes never leave you as he answers the young writer, "Yeah, we bumped into Trelawney." His crystal blue eyes searching for even the slightest flicker of emotion from you, desperate to unravel what’s going on inside your head.

"Trelawney?" Karen giggles, her voice a light contrast to the heavyness that hangs in the air.

"Yeah, says he got some kind of investments in Rhodes," Arthur replies, anger silently building beneath his skin. His hands silently falling into fists in frustration, his nails digging into his palms as every second you refuse to acknowledge his presence passes by slowly.

"That Trelawney, he's a kind man-"

Arthur interrupts Mary-Beth mid-sentence, annoyance tightening in his chest as he steals one last glance at you. Your eyes still locked on to that damn sock as if you were in your own little world.

"Well, I best be going," he mutters quickly, his voice sharp and defeated. Without another word, he turns and rushes back to his tent, his face burning with the remenants of anger and irritation.

And suddenly, your once close and cherished relationship with Arthur Morgan had turned nonexistent.

...

Nearly a month later, violent rain lashes against the roads of Lemoyne. The storm fierce and unrelenting. Thunder booms across the flashing sky as Arthur's young mare shifts uneasily as the cowboy ties her to a hitching post outside the Rhodes post office. Rain reflecting off his gambler's hat as he hurries inside.

Alden Carruthers, the discouraged postal worker greets Arthur with a smile. "I forgot to give you a receipt last time, do you want me to write one up?" Alden mischevously smiles.

Arthurs huffs, snorting as he tosses a lifeless possum onto the table, causing the postal worker to nearly jump and the rather loud thud. "No, all I need today is for these to be sent to a Ms. L Hobbs out of Strawberry."

"Got it," Alden replies hastily, picking up the dead rodent up by it's tail and prepping the animal for shipment. "That storm out there is sure relentless," Alden adds as he writes the shipment tag. "Papers are saying it's gonna storm like this for two days."

The outlaw lets out a exhale, flicking droplets of water off of his gambler's hat. "I don't care how long it's supposed to be stormin', just that my shipment gets to Strawberry on time, and I get paid."

"Well," Alden says rather loudly, handing Arthur an actual recepit this time. "Us postal workers will do our best to have your package arrive as punctual as possible." Then lowering his voice, "and if you're feeling discouraged, I have a few good leads on wagons too."

Arthur steps back, shaking his head at Alden. "Not in this weather," he mutters, before turning to leave, only to freeze mid-step.

It’s you.

Oblivious to everything, you sit in the corner of the empty post office, eyes closed, your head resting against a foggy window sill. A peaceful image, almost too calm for the storm raging outside.

What are you doing here?

In town?

Alone?

The questions flood his mind, but they don’t matter as much as the pull in his chest that makes him move toward you. He doesn’t think twice - his feet carrying him in urgency.

The last time you two were alone like this was nearly a month ago, the night by the lake. That kiss, barely more than a brush of lips had raced through his mind everyday since. Yet, since then, the tension between the two of you could be cut with a dull knife as you had been avoiding him for weeks.

But now, here you are, sitting like you hadn't been occupying his thoughts every damn day. Arthur doesn't know what to make of it, but he knows one thing for sure: he's going to make the most of your forced proximity.

His brain races a mile a minute, trying to figure out the proper string of words to splice together, and as lightining strikes near the chapel outside, he is able to muster, "Better not be runnin' away on us."

Slowly, you open your eyes. Rubbing them as you shuffle in your chair. Blinking, your vision clears, and your heart sinks into your stomach as you look up at the rain soaked cowboy standing before you.

You let out a heavy sigh, your expression twisting into a deep scowl. “No,” you mumble indignantly.

Arthur exhales sharply, hooking his thumbs into his gunbelt. “You know Dutch don’t like you women comin’ into town without a chaperone. Too dangerous.”

Scoffing, you push yourself to your feet, grabbing your woven bag and slinging it over your shoulder. “You gonna take me back to camp then?” you reply, swiftly striding past the cowboy and toward the door.

Arthur had expected a cold reception - he knew better than to hope for anything else, but after weeks of you ignoring him, he’d thought he’d at least get something less hostile. His scowl deepens, frustration simmering as he reaches out, grabbing your shoulder and spinning you around.

“You see that weather out there woman?” Arthur snaps, rain hammering against the window. “Better to wait it out in the Parlour House than risk Boadicea bucking us both off.”

You glower at the cowboy, lip quivering as his hands tightly squeeze your shoulder. "Rather wait it out alone in here than wait it out anywhere with you," you spit, knowing that deep down you didn't mean a single word that left your mouth.

A flicker of something unspoken crosses Arthur’s face - hurt or dissapointment, but it vanishes just as quickly as it appeared. His jaw tightens, and he steps back, his usual gruff demeanor snapping back into place like a shield.

"Suit yourself," he mutters, his voice low and defeated. Your lips strongly pursed in a straight line.

He walks towards the door, taking a steady exhale, shaking his head back and fourth before pushing the doors open to a heavy rainfall.

Trying to hold back tears, you retreat to the bench, the bag of items you bought earlier still hanging over your shoulder.

You didn’t know why you were like this, and you hated it. Being stubborn is one thing, but what you had said to Arthur was just cruel. No matter how angry or embarrassed he made you feel, he didn’t deserve that. Tilting your head back against the window sill, you silently sob, listening to the steady pitter-patter of rain against the glass.

...

Arthur huffs as he pulls Boadicea toward the stables, rain soaking his cotton shirt. A thousand thoughts running through his mind as he reaches the wooden barn, paying the stable owner a dollar to board the mare for the night. Slinging his saddle bag across his shoulder, he tips his hat before starting his short walk to the parlour house.

But his feet don’t take him there.

Before he can stop himself, he finds himself once again trudging through the storm, back to the post office.

Back to you.

He wants to curse you to Hell and back, to call you every foul name under the sun, but deep down, he knew you were just hurt.

As his boots hit the wooden porch, he swings open the door, ignoring Alden entirely as he strides toward you.

His chest tightens as your red-rimmed eyes meet his. You’re angry, face still flushed, but he sees through all of it. Without a word, Arthur holds out his hand, offering you a chance to come with him willingly.

Yet, you remain unmoved.

But this time, Arthur doesn’t care. Coming with him was no longer a choice.

He reaches for your woven bag, slinging iit over his shoulder.

"Arthur," you pout, grabbing at it in an act of defiance. But your actions meant nothing and in one swift, deliberate motion, he lifts you over his shoulder as if you were a bounty he was hauling in.

Your stomach rests over his broad joint, his right hand holding you tightly, you're legs flailing against his chest.

"Arthur!" you yell again, slapping his back in defiance.

He strides toward the door, kicking it open and stepping back into the pouring rain, his grip firm and unwavering.

"You know you're one god-damn stubborn woman," he growls, rain soaking through your blouse and skirt as he marches up the road, through the mud. "I don’t know how you ended up alone in that post office, but whoever took you into town and left you there deserves a beatin'."

"I ain't comin' with you nowhere," You yell, thrashing your legs and arms against him. But his grip is tight, carrying you down the middle of the empty road, only seconds later dropping you to your feet infront of the parlour house.

"Now, you better behave. Dutch don't want anyone causing a scene," Arthur demands, pointing a finger in your face as you pout in retaliation.

You cross your arms and scowl, "And you picking me up like that wasn’t causing a scene-" you bark after him, only for your words to be cut off as he pulls you through the door.

No music plays, and barely any heads turn as Arthur pulls you throught the swinging doors behind him. A few patrons are scattered about, but much fewer than what the cowboy was used to - he could thank the raging storm for that.

He sits you at a small table in the corner of the room, leaving you slouched on chair with a scowl spread across your face. You cross your arms and huff as the cowboy walks up to the bar. Returning with two plates of fried catfish in hand, plopping one down in front of you along with a napkin.

"Eat," he orders, cutting himself a piece and shoveling a forkful into his mouth.

You glance down at your plate, the hot, crispy catfish making your mouth water at the mere sight. After being stuck at the post nearly the entire day you would be lying if you didn't say you were hungry - starving at that. But picking up that fork and placing a piece in your mouth meant more than just feeding yourself, it was a peace offering.

That night on Flat Iron Lake haunted you - the cool breeze against your bare skin, the moonlight dancing on the water, the way Arthur had followed behind you, chasing after you like he wanted you. Like he needed you.

Only to turn you away.

Even now, the memory made your stomach twist, your cheeks burn with embarrassment. You had stripped yourself bare - not just in body, but in heart - and he had let you. Let you believe, only to shut you down when you were already halfway there.

And that? That made you sick.

But more than that, you were furious. Furious at him for indulging your delusions, for pulling you in just to push you away. For making you feel wanted, like you were something more to him - only to leave you standing there, vulnerable and humiliated.

You had given him everything that night. And in return, he had left you with nothing but regret.

Yet, something deep down told you to take a bite.

Maybe it was your impending hunger, or maybe it was the desire for him that still burned in your bones. But he had come back for you - even after all those nasty words you had spewed at him, and that meant something.

So you take a bite.

The soft flaky forkful erupts onto your tastebuds as your stomach yearns for more. You look down at your plate, your mouth already watering for another bite as you nearly inhale the meal. Eating much faster than you ever have, yet, still finishing minutes after the cowboy.

Arthur realizes and chuckles to himself, shaking his head with an amused smile. His shirt is still clinging to his chest from trudging through the rainstorm. "Hungry?" he teases, raising a brow as he looks down at your empty plate.

You push away the cleared dish, ignoring his sly comment as he exhales, leaning back into his chair, wiping his hands on his button down.

"Thank you," you murmur, setting aside your bickering with him for the first time in what felt like forever.

Arthur rests his elbows on the table, watching you. "You gonna tell me why you were sittin' at that post office all alone? Lookin' like you were about to catch a train and run away?"

Your gaze drops to the empty dish in front of you. You sigh before speaking.

"I had some errands to run in town. Asked nearly every one of you men to take me before I finally had to ask Micah-."

"Didn't ask me," Arthur interjects, his tone cold.

Your eyes flash to his for a brief moment before dropping back to your plate. A million unsaid words lingering on his tongue.

"Micah - well he offered. Should've known better, but - but I was desperate. On the way back to camp, he told me I owed him something for taking me into town. And - and when I refused, he pushed me off Bayloch and ran off without me." Your voice wavering slightly. "I figured I'd wait at the post office, sooner or later I knew I'd run into one of you there."

Arthur jaw cocks, clutching his fork tighter than before, your words repeating in his mind over and over again, fantasizing about tearing Micah to pieces. "I don't want you ever gettin' on the back of Micah's horse again, if you need to go into town, you ask me from now on." Arthur's voice cold and demanding.

You bite you lip tenderly, his eyes flashing you an icy stare of a million unsaid words. And in that moment you knew he was serious - yet, all you could do was look back down at the empty dish in front of you, embarassed and defeated.

The cowboy's voice softens, "You know I jus' don' want you gettin' hurt."

But you already were, and it wasn't because of Micah.

You shift in your seat, eyes fixed on the worn wood grain of the table in front of you as the conversation with him plays over in your mind, only to be interrupted by the sound of the heavy front doors being pushed open.

Arthur straightens across from you, his posture sharpening just enough to tell you that he knows whoever just walked in.

"Deputy Callahan!"

A middle aged man with a rather gaudy mustache approaches, his grin wide and easy. "Good work with those moonshiners the other day. Sheriff Gray was mighty pleased to hear it had been taken care of."

Arthur's lips press into a firm line. He nods, stiff, giving away his distaste for whatever conversation this was about to turn into.

Then, the man’s eyes slide to you.

"This your lady wife?" he asks, removing his hat as he looks you up and down. His gaze lingers - too long - on the damp cloth still clinging to your skin, the remnants of the storm that rages just beyond the four walls of the parlour house.

Arthur notices.

He coughs, cutting through the growing tension, and flicks his eyes toward you with a silent warning. "Uh… yes," he croaks, the word sounding foreign on his tongue, as if the very idea were a ridiculous lie. "This is Deputy McGregor, honey."

You almost laugh. The way Arthur shifts uncomfortably, the slight scrunch of his nose - he was hating every second of this. But you? You hadn’t run a scheme in a while, but you hadn't forgotten the reason why Dutch recruited you in the first place.

You lean into the role, of Arthur's darling, little wife - flashing the deputy a warm, practiced smile. Oh how you missed the rush of a good con.

"Oh, you can call me Archibald," the man says, offering his hand to shake.

You place your hand in his, soft and delicate, allowing him to clasp it just a bit too long. "Oh, Archibald," you say, tilting your head just so, your tone dipped in the sweetest honey. "I've heard all about you from my husband."

A flush creeps up the deputy’s neck as he turns to Arthur, beaming with an almost boyish giddiness. "You sure got a pretty one, don't you?"

Arthur’s jaw tightens.

The heat of his glare could burn a hole through the man’s skull, but Archibald is oblivious, his eyes back on you, devouring every inch. "Don’t get women like your wife often here in Rhodes," he muses, that hungry stare making your skin crawl, though you keep your expression sweet.

Arthur shifts, his discomfort rolling off him in waves. Then, in a move so sudden it almost startles you, his rough hand slides across the table, closing over yours as if he was making his claim.

“Sure am a lucky bastard,” he says, voice lower now, gritted between his chipped teeth.

Archibald straightens, oblivious or choosing to ignore the sharp threatening edge in Arthur’s tone. "Well," he says, clapping his hands together. "Are you two up for a round-?"

"Sorry, we were just on our way out," Arthur cuts in, already standing up from across the table.

Archibald blinks. "You sure? The round’s on me."

Arthur grips your hand tighter, pulling you gentle but firmly to your feet, his arm sliding around your waist - just to remind Archibald that you weren't his.

"Real kind of you, Archibald," Arthur says voice tense but polite. "Maybe nextime."

Archibald shamelessly checks you out one more time before his eyes meet Arthurs, shaking his head, and returning to the bar.

Arthur shoves your chair in before pulling you toward the swinging doors. The wood creaks as they fly open, and in an instant, the warm glow of the parlour house is swallowed by the raging storm outside.

"Thought we were gonna wait the storm out - " you protest, half-shouting over the wind as he tugs you forward, rain pelting against your skin like tiny needles.

"We'll get a hotel room," Arthur grunts, barely slowing his pace. His grip on your wrist is firm but not rough, just insistent. "Storm’s supposed to last for days anyway, we can see how it is tomorrow."

You huff in protest, but deep down, you know Arthur is right. The storm is relentless, and lingering in the parlour house would have only led to more trouble. Thunder pounds overhead, shaking the very ground beneath your feet as a streak of lightning splits the sky, striking a field in the distance.

Arthur’s pace is brisk, his grip firm as he pulls you through the muddy streets. You stumble slightly, your boots sinking into the wet earth, but he doesn’t slow down. The rain lashes against your skin, soaking through your clothes as you struggle to keep up.

For a fleeting moment, you almost wish you had stayed back - kept playing the part of Arthur’s pretty wife, teasing the deputy just a little longer. You had missed the thrill of the con. But whatever rush had stirred inside of you, clearly hadn't had the same effect on Arthur.

As you near the hotel, the gunslinger finally lets go of your hand, shaking the rain from his hat before stepping inside. The lobby is dimly lit, dry compared to the wetness outside. Behind the desk sits an older woman, her gray, frizzy hair framing her sunken brown eyes. She greets you both with a thin, unfriendly smile.

"You two are lucky," she screeches, peering up at you over the rim of her wire glasses. "I was just about to close for the night."

Arthur reaches into his satchel, pulling out a fistful of bills. "Two rooms," he mutters dully.

The woman adjusts her glasses with a sigh. "Ain’t got but one left." Her gaze shifts between the two of you, judgment flickering in her tired eyes.

Arthur turns to you, his lips pressing into a thin line. He doesn't need to say anything - you already know what he's asking. With a small nod in his direction, you accept the reality of the situation.

"That’s fine," he mumbles, handing over the fistful of bills.

She plucks the last key from the wall behind her, placing it on the counter. "Upstairs. Last door on the left." Her eyes scan over your rain drenched clothes, lips pursing slightly. "For an extra five dollars, I can get you a dry chemise and a union suit for the night."

Without hesitation, Arthur hands her another handful of cash. "That’d be great. Thank you."

The woman disappears briefly, returning with neatly folded garments. As she extinguishes the oil lamp on the desk, you follow Arthur up the mahogany staircase, your fingers trailing along the ornate railing. Your gaze flickers to the paintings lining the walls. One, in particular, catches your eye - a familiar pond in New Hanover. Owanjila. A place you had spent countless summers with your family. A place that now feels like a lifetime ago.

At the end of the hall, Arthur slides the key into the lock, pushing open the heavy wooden door. The room is surprisingly spacious, dimly illuminated by the crackling fire in the hearth.

To your right, the fireplace dominates the space as it towers above a worn bear rug. A painted picture of a small cabin sits between unlit oil lanterns on the mantle and just beyond, a tall bookshelf, packed with dusty novels of all shapes and sizes leans against the wood wall. A rocking chair with a faded green cushion fashioned beside it.

On the opposite side of the room, a large bed sits against the window, overlooking the raging storm outside. The thick red quilt and mound of plush pillows looks inviting. Certainly better than the cots and hard ground you've been sleeping on for the past several years.

Arthur sets his saddlebag down near the bookcase before handing you the chemise. "This looks nice," he murmurs, more to himself than to you as his eyes steady on the bed, and then to the chair.

You nod, accepting the dry fabric. By now, you're soaked to the bone. Staying in these clothes any longer would surely invite sickness. And without a word, you turn your back to him, knowing he's doing the same.

As Arthur tugs off his boots, placing them near the fire, he speaks. "I can take the chair tonight."

It’s the gentlemanly thing to offer. And given the tension that still lingers between you, it’s probably the right thing to do. But as your eyes drift to the bed, you can’t help but think - it would feel too big just for you.

Yet, you say nothing.

With swift motions, you peel off your rain slicked shirt, the fabric clinging to your skin. Your skirt follows, pooling at your feet. It’s not the first time you’ve stripped in Arthur’s presence - but the circumstances are far different this time.

As you pull the soft chemise over your head, the fabric draping over your form, you turn slightly, just in time to catch Arthur struggling with the sleeves of the dark red union suit over his wet skin. His back muscles flex beneath the thin material, every large muscle visible in his frame.

You clear your throat, cutting through the silence like a blade.

Arthur hangs his gambler’s hat on the fireplace, watching you lay your damp clothes before the fire to dry. He does the same, moving absently, his eyes flickering toward you more than once.

Then, finally, he exhales, his hands falling to his sides as he realizes that right now is better than any to address everything that's happened.

"Y’know…" He swallows thickly, his gaze briefly dropping to where the thin fabric of your chemise barely hides the hardened peaks of your nipples. His voice lowering, "I been wantin’ to talk to you. About what happened all those nights ago."

You freeze. The air in the room shifts. Your eyes dart away, your throat tightening. "I -I don’t want to talk about it," you manage, your voice barely above a whisper. Heat rises to your cheeks, shame burning through you like wildfire.

"I just wanna say -"

"Drop it, Arthur." The words snap from your lips, sharp and final. A lump forms in your throat, vomit rising in the back of your throat. "It was a mistake. And I’m sorry."

Arthur stiffens, his jaw clenching. "It weren’t no mistake to me." His voice is firm, louder this time.

Before you can react, he takes a step forward, closing the distance between you. His brow furrows, frustration etched into his features, but when his hands reach for yours, he caresses them softly.

Your lips part, confusion flickering across your face.

He sighs, shaking his head. "That night. That night by the water…" He exhales slowly. "I been wantin’ you a long time. And I want you to know that."

Your breath catches.

Did he have any idea how badly he had hurt you? How embarrassed you had felt?

He drags a hand through his damp hair. "But I didn’t want to tell you how I felt when we’d both been drinkin’ like that. Didn’t want you to regret what may have happened when it come morning."

A lump forms in your throat, and before you can stop it, tears spill down your cheeks. You had spent so long buried in anger, in bitterness -but now, all that’s left was the dull sting of sadness.

Arthur watches you carefully. "Didn’t realize how bad I messed up till you were gone," he murmurs. "Then you wouldn’t talk to me after that. And I just-" He shakes his head, his voice breaking ever so slightly. "I can’t stand this no more. You not talkin’ to me. Not trustin’ me." His eyes wide and regrettful, a strange demeanor for a ruffened outlaw like him as his thumbs roam over the backs of your palms. "Livin' in a world where you don't talk to me."

You silently gulp, realizing that in the midst of all this wind, rain, and chaos - his icy blue stare had turned into nothing but two warm pools of water.

"Arthur," your lips finally part, dragging your fingertips against the gritty trail of his freshly cut beard. "I've been real poor to you lately, you don't deserve that."

His eyes shut as he brushes his head against your hand like a cat, revelling in your touch. "I hate not talkin' to you, I hate it," he breathes. "It breaks my heart." The once hard and distant cowboy had turned soft and gentle at your touch, the polar opposite of his usual gruff demeanor and it had warmed your soul.

Now that you knew his rejection was nothing more than a miscommunication, your stomach settled for the first time in forever and the fiery heat that once burned in your chest for him was rekindled.

Your lips moved slowly towards him, closing the distance with a kiss. This time slow, meaningful, and sober. The sour bitterness of the past evaporating off your skin, replaced by nothing but pure need.

You felt seen.

Arthur’s hands comb through your damp hair, his fingers curling around your subtle waves as his lips move over yours, as if the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders. You taste sweet, like canned strawberries - as he inhales your scent: cherry blossom and clove.

He only pulls away when he realizes he has you pressed against the bed, pausing just long enough to toss you onto the clean, red quilt before settling beside you. His lips find yours again, doing nothing more than melding with them in slow, deliberate kisses. Through heavy breaths, he manages to murmur, "You have no idea how long I've wanted this."

You grin against his mouth. "Sure, Deputy Callahan."

And there it was - that teasing banter that had drawn him to you all those years ago, making its way back into the moment. "Whatever you say, Mrs. Callahan," he playfully responds.

You gently swat his chest before he pulls you in again, this time kissing you with fire and urgency. Your lips dance against each other as your hand finds his, guiding it to your breast - a silent sign that it’s okay to touch you.

Without breaking the kiss, his fingers graze over you, his thumb flicking over your hardened nipple through the thin fabric of your chemise.

It isn't enough.

You drape your leg over his, and in one swift motion, you shift atop him, your chemise pooling at your thighs. Your long hair cascades over one shoulder as your lips stay locked with his, neither of you willing to part.

You feel him hard beneath your hips, his length poking at your core as you revel in his touch.

It was him - it had always been him.

You knew exactly what you wanted. With one swift motion, you pulled your chemise over your head, baring yourself to him once more -this time, sober, and with no doubts.

Arthur broke the kiss for a moment, just to take you in. You sat atop him, straddling his hips in nothing but your slick, damp hair. Lust and love flickering in your eyes, a sight that made his breath hitch.

"S'beautiful," he whispers before grabbing your head, pulling you into another kiss. Then, with a swift movement, he flips you onto your back, his tall, broad frame settling between your bare legs.

Your breaths come heavy, a smile playing at your lips as he practically tears off his union suit, tossing it carelessly to the floor. His gaze roaming over you - first your eyes, then your lips, then lower, taking in every inch of you. He lingers at the soft curves of your breasts, the way they spread slightly in opposite directions. Then lower still, to the thatch of hair resting just above the warmth of your heat.

His eyes feasted on you before he finally leans down, capturing your lips once more, tongue tangling with yours in desperate urgency.

It only takes seconds before you rock your hips up against his hardened length, a silent plea he couldn't ignore.

Arthur looks at you, his elbows resting above your head, his breath warm against your lips. He didn’t need words to understand what you want, but it had been so long since he’d fucked a woman who wasn’t after a few dollars from him that the feeling was almost foreign.

Slowly, he pushed into you, watching the way your lips parted, the way your brows pinched together as he filled you inch by inch.

Tight.

Just how he imagined.

Warm.

Just how he knew it would feel.

Loved.

Just how it should be.

He carved himself between your thighs, stilling for a moment as he buried himself fully inside you. He just watched you, savoring the moment, knowing that every mistake he had made in his past had led him to this - this perfect moment.

And in this moment, nothing in the world could touch the two of you.

"Arthur," you breath shakily, threading your fingers through his still dampened hair. The soft crackle of the fire filling the quiet space between your shared breaths.

"My woman," he murmurs before pulling back, only to sink into you once more.

Again and again, he moved - slow at first, savoring every sensation, then faster as his need overtook him. Your jaw slackens, your breasts moving in rhythm with each deep, deliberate thrust.

Bracing himself on one elbow, his free hand finds the sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs. He rubs slow, deliberate circles as he drives into you, each stroke deeper, heavier, until all you could do was hold onto him and let the pleasure consume you both.

"I'm gonna-" you gasp, your breath hitching as heat dances deep in your core, the ripening pleasure building under his touch. Arthur's fingers circle over your sensitive nub, pushing you closer, guiding you to the edge.

His blue eyes blur with haze, his mouth parting slightly as he watches you unravel beneath him - your legs trembling, lips quivering, your body utterly lost to the sensation. Only when he’s sure you’ve been properly worked over does he finally let go, spilling himself onto your stomach with a low, guttural moan.

Collapsing beside you, his chest rises and falls in heavy, ragged breaths, sweat glistening on his forehead as the song of flurrying rain and crackling fire play in his ears.

Arthur only pulls you into the crook of his shoulder to fall asleep after working you over three more times - once with the thrust of his hips, and twice with the flick of his tongue.

...

The next morning, you wake to a pleasant ache deep in your core, the soft patter of raindrops drumming against the roof.

You stretch, expecting to find the warmth of a certain outlaw beside you, his naked form tangled up in the sheets. But when you reach out, all you feel is cool, empty linen.

Your stomach twists. You sit up instantly.

No saddlebag. No boots. No clothes drying by the dying embers of last night’s fire. All remenates gone, as if he had faded into thin air.

Panic and sudden regret tighten in your chest - until the door swings open with a gust of cool air, and Arthur steps inside, fully clothed, a saddlebag slung over his shoulder and an apple between his teeth.

"Sorry," he mumbles through the crunch of the fruit, dropping the saddlebag onto the rocking chair. He pulls it from his mouth with a grin. "Tried to get back before you woke, but it took longer than expected for them to heat a bath."

Cheerfully, he sets a small, tied cloth in front of you. "Brought some breakfast."

You unfold the cloth, revealing fresh strawberries, a wedge of cheese, and salted beef. Reaching for a strawberry, you bite into it, its sweet juice dribbling down your chin as Arthur watches you in delight.

"Thank you," you murmur, watching as Arthur strips himself out of his clothes. You half expect him to stay in his union suit, but he shucks that off too, baring himself completely before crawling back into bed beside you, stealing a strawberry for himself.

"The storm doesn't look like it's clearing," he muses, resting his head in your lap. His eyes meeting yours, those familiar blues staring deeply into you soul.

"Went ahead and paid for another night," he adds, a slow, mischievous smile curving his lips. "And if rain means I get to lay naked in here with you all day, I hope the town floods."

[pinkaditty]

Starstruck Coral (Romeo Lucci x Reader; Tokyo Debunker)

okay so uh. i don’t really know how to explain this one. like truly i don’t. i feel like it came 2 me in a vision from a higher power or something bc this doesn’t feel like it was my own idea, much less self-indulgent, but regardless??? i actually like it!!!!

a/n: what i can say is that this was directly inspired by me buying this lip plumper tint called "Starstruck Coral" and how literally everyone around me once i put it on was like "ITS SO PRETTY!!" so yea. that's what this is. also. yea. been writing a lot of porn-free fics lately. don’t worry, im not uninspired. rather, i just wanna focus on budding feelings 4 a little while. then it’ll be back 2 porn i promise. im too insane 2 be kept from porn 4 very long i fear. 

maybe part 2? maybe? idk yet i dunno. i might. i might not. we’ll see what my brain says…

summary: romeo cannot stand your visage so he styles it to his liking. why are you suddenly the belle of the ball? (leo, rui, haru, ed, and lyca make guest appearances here lol)

cw: some sexual comments. minors dni as per usual. no smut i fear!

Looking for Part 2? Click here!

“...Why are we doing this, again?”

“Shut up.” Romeo’s voice is practically seething with barely restrained anger as you interrupt his focus for the umpteenth time. He holds up one finger in the air towards you, not even turning to look at you. He slowly puts his finger down, and his hands twitch, clearly resisting the urge to ball into fists. “Just shut up. Let me handle this.”

Romeo continues perusing the available colors. Pearlescent White, Modest Matte Mauve, Cherry Pop Red, Hot Tease Pink, Starstruck Coral, and Raven’s Wing Black. He narrows his eyes and whips his head around to your face, studying your features intensely. His eyes pause on your lips, and he frowns as you roll them between your teeth nervously. 

“Would you stop-! Urgh, nevermind.” He starts before abruptly stopping, turning fully towards you and grabbing your face, directing it in different angles in the light. He pays strong attention to your lips, noting the thickness, color, and shape of them. He grumbles to himself, looking back at the colors on the shelf. Only one seems to be a perfect match.

Starstruck Coral. That’s the one.

He plucks it off the shelf and places it in the basket before stalking off to the cash register. He knows you know to follow him, and you do, meekly following his steps, still unsure of the purpose of this outing. You shift idly from one foot to the other as he pays at the cash register, listening to the general ambiance of the store. People chattering, items being scanned, wheels of carts rolling along the tile floor. You’re idly reading the label of a pop culture magazine when Romeo appears at your side, sour expression etched into his face. It makes you jump, and he looks at you with an even sourer expression. “Let’s go,” is all he says, his voice loud and demanding, leaving little room for argument. He walks off again, casting a look over his shoulder to ensure you’re following him, which you are, confused expression still stuck on your face. 

The two of you return to the Darkwick train station through a door labeled “Employees Only”, careful not to get caught. Once you board the train, Romeo unceremoniously tosses the bag of products towards you and sits across from you. His expression is enough to broadcast that he’s more than over this, despite having spent hours meticulously scanning the available products to find the ones that best matched your skin. He studies you again as you take your seat and the train begins to move. His eyes rove over your face again, as though picking apart your appearance in search of flaws. He hardly flinches when you look up and catch his gaze, though when you nervously turn away, he sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Go on. Ask what you want to ask.” His voice comes out exactly as exasperated as he’d meant it to be. He would hope this would discourage you from asking any questions, but he knew better than that.

He watches you shift nervously before speaking up, looking down at your fingers fidgeting with the bag instead of making eye contact with him. “...What is all of this for?”

He exhales, already sick of answering your questions even though he hadn’t answered any. “That anomalous cloak does not do your makeup for you.” Part of him assumes this would be enough explanation, but at your still confused expression, he rolls his eyes and continues explaining. “I am tired of going on missions with someone as basic and unappealing as you. If you are going to be a constant, I insist you at least know how to do your makeup to fit in when we go on high-class missions.” He doesn’t bother sugarcoating anything. Instead, he leans back in his seat again, deciding this was a job well done. He hears the crinkling of the bag and pops one eye open, watching you as you study the products in the bag. You pull out the Starstruck Coral lip tint and suddenly you have his full attention. He opens both eyes and tries to discreetly lean forward, watching as you turn the box around in your hands. He was awful proud of that choice. It was the perfect ombre blend of coral and pink, not too warm and not too cool. It would match your undertone perfectly and it even had a shimmering quality to it. So long as you wore it right, he was sure it’d refine your appearance an exceptional amount. 

After finishing praising himself for his genius internally, he leans his head back onto his seat, content to just get this over with. As long as you didn’t look as constantly unappealing as you usually did on missions, it would be fine. He couldn’t get why, but it irritated him. Granted, your skin was okay at best. There were some acne scars here and there, blackheads all over your nose, and slightly puffy undereye, which he suspected was from not getting enough sleep on this accursed campus. Other than those faults, your skin was okay. No visible outbreaks or dryness. He had to applaud you for at least taking his advice to heart and moisturizing a little bit. It had done noticeable wonders, at least to him. 

He hears the unmistakable sound of plastic wrap being torn, and he perks up again, noticing you unwrapping the Starstruck Coral lip tint. He leans forward again, curiosity suddenly bubbling within him. “Put it on.” He says before he can think about it, his eyes focused on the small unwrapped box in your hands.

“...Huh?” You give him a puzzled look, tilting your head. His eyes flick towards you in annoyance and he gestures towards the box, his eyebrows furrowing in irritation.

“Don’t be dense, put it on!” 

You nod hurriedly, and he can tell from the way your eyes glimmer that you’d wanted to try it. He has to resist the urge to smile, your subtle but affirming reaction filling him with pride. He watches as you open the box and pull out the lip tint, turning it over in your hands before unscrewing it open. Romeo can already feel himself growing impatient, idly tapping his foot as he waits for you to start. “It may be a little messy because I don’t have a mirror, but I’ll do my best.” You warn him, finally unscrewing the tint, admiring the pretty ombre color. He sits up when you speak, and unbeknownst to you, a scowl crosses his face momentarily. You hear his footsteps before you see him, crossing the short distance across the train in record speed and snatching the tint away from you before you could apply it with shaky hands. 

When you look up at him questioningly, he shakes his head, holding the tint and applicator brush in his hand. “Just hold still.” 

With that, he leans over you, placing the thin tube of tint in your hands and firmly holding your chin, his eyes seemingly glued to your lips. “Open.” When you do as he says, he gently applies the tint to your bottom lip, pursing his own lightly glossed lips as he focuses. He exhales, and fails to notice the way you shiver, his breath fanning over your neck. His knuckles gently press into the soft skin of your cheek and chin as he carefully follows the border of your lips, watching as the plush skin yields to the pressure before plumping up again. Somewhat caught between a haze of his intense focus applying the tint and unexpected fascination with the buoyancy of your lips, Romeo accidentally smudges some of the tint. Despite his bubbling annoyance at his own blunder, for a moment, it’s an almost charming imperfection. The lip tint glitters against your skin, smudged just off the corner of your parted lips. If he were any more brazen, he would have given in to the odd temptation unfurling in his stomach to simply kiss it away. Fortunately for him and his own reputation, he’s far more proper than that. With a pointed glare at the corner of your lips, he wipes away the smudge with his gloved thumb. He glances at the sparkling residue left on his glove before wiping it away onto your top lip. When you flinch in response, he has to suppress a shiver down his spine. This action was inexplicably intimate, yet he didn’t understand where his flusteredness was coming from. There was no reason to act nor feel like this.

He applies the tint to your top lip in a more rushed fashion, suddenly wanting to replace the earlier distance between you two. He frowns when he finishes, nitpicking any slight smudges or missed spots, before stepping away, admiring his work. “There.” He plucks the tint from your grasp, screwing the applicator back on and tossing it into the bag. “...This might be good enough,” he says, feigning confidence, but he can hear the way his voice wavers with uncertainty, a part of him itching to do more. His gaze flickers upwards to meet yours and an idea pops into his head. He could do your lashes. They were long by itself, but some of the mascara he’d bought couldn’t hurt. Despite himself, he finds himself sitting back down in front of you, reaching for and holding your chin firmly again. He turns your head every which way, determining what else he could do to refine your appearance some. Unfortunately, he’s aware this train ride ends soon, and he feels himself getting nauseous at the idea of spending more time with you than he has to, despite the anticipation crawling up his spine. He reaches for the bag again, pulling out the mascara he’d bought earlier. When you reach out your hand to apply it yourself, he gently swats your hand away. “No. Hold still.”

He doesn’t give you much choice, still holding your chin and pulling your face closer to his. He purses his lips again, telling you not to blink as he applies your mascara. He finds himself staring at your eye color, noting the color of the mascara in comparison. Perhaps next time he ought to choose something that made your eyes stand out more, or maybe that’d be easier done with some eyeshadow in the correct shade. He decides to halt his thoughts there, scowling. He had to focus, and he was damn well sure there wouldn’t be a ‘next time’. He internally recoils at the thought of having to peruse the shelves with you over his shoulder again, constantly shifting your expressions, making it harder for him to focus. The slight furrow in your brow even now was distracting, and all he could think about was how he wanted to remind you that frowning causes wrinkles, and you would be especially susceptible to them if you didn’t keep up your skincare regime. Instead, he lets go of your chin and flicks you between your brows, frowning at you himself. When you get the message and relax your expression, he nods appreciatively and continues his task, moving to your other eye. 

Finally, the task was complete. His eyes flick back and forth between your eyes, watching as you blink at him dubiously. When satisfied, he pulls away, screwing the applicator back into the mascara and observing your face. Your eyes seemed wider and brighter, and the added mascara helped your lashes appear longer. Your lips were bright and shimmering, still covered in that Starstruck Coral color. Romeo smiles to himself, proud with how he managed to turn around your appearance with so little. He reaches for your face again, holding your cheeks with considerable tenderness, as though scared one wrong move would smudge and ruin the perfect portrait of you. He doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath as he gazes at you, checking your entire face for imperfections, glazing over the negligible or unnoticeable imperfections that couldn’t be immediately cleared. He exhales, feeling himself gleam with pride as a reluctant smile digs into his cheeks yet again. He sits down beside you, still holding your face. “Non c'è male…” He mutters to himself, finding his gaze lingering again on the pretty ombre mesh of pink and orange and red on your lips. Truly, Starstruck Coral had been the right choice. 

He’s basking in his pride more when he hears the shutter click of a camera, and a whistle in a familiar voice. “Now this will do numbers on WickHive.” The same familiar voice cackles and Romeo already knows he hadn’t moved away quickly enough to avoid the picture. One glance up and there he is, Leo, staring down smugly at his phone, where the incriminating image is probably being held. Surprisingly, hunched over Leo’s shoulder is Rui, inspecting the picture with a crease in his brow. Romeo cannot believe his lack of luck. 

Romeo catches it when Rui makes eye contact with you, and it doesn’t escape him how Rui’s eyes flicker with an emboldened interest. Stepping past Leo, Rui heads to you with an extra skip in his step, wide smile already spreading across his face. His voice is higher than usual, and Romeo wonders if mere makeup was enough to trip up the ladykiller himself. “Woooow, MC!” He stops a short distance away from you, his eyes flickering across your face as he takes in your makeup. “You look cuter than usual today. What’s brought this on, huh?” Rui’s tone is filled with mirth as he pokes your nose playfully. Romeo stiffens and has to bite back the urge to swat his hand away from your face. 

Romeo carefully watches your reaction, and is almost relieved when you don’t smile immediately. “You like it? I haven’t seen how it looks yet.” You reply to Rui, a little hesitant but clearly glad for the praise. 

Rui sticks his bottom lip out in a mock pout. “Awww, you should! You look so cute!” His face breaks out into a wide smile again, and it’s almost crushingly obvious that Rui’s a flirtier version of Kaito at this point. “I’m assuming we have you to thank for this, hm?” Romeo looks up to notice Rui’s gaze on him as Rui vaguely gestures in your direction. 

Romeo doesn’t resist the urge to puff his chest out a bit, folding his arms indignantly. “Indeed.” His terse answer doesn’t hide his swelling pride, he’s aware, but brevity is the soul of wit, which he likes to claim to possess.

“He picked out some makeup items for me.” You chime in, holding up the bag with a relaxed smile. It seems you’ve finally taken to Rui’s compliments. 

Rui shakes his head with a complicated look in his eyes, clearly picking up on the message behind the gift, but happy for you nonetheless. “Well, leave it to Romeo to pick out such a pretty color. It suits you.” Rui winks at you before finally finding a seat on the train, just across from you, taking Romeo’s former seat.

Leo, who’s clearly been either editing the picture or waiting his turn to soak up all the attention, saunters up to you, smug smile still on his face. Romeo doesn’t miss how your earlier smile seems to fade all at once. He would laugh, but it’s not that funny. 

“Gotta say, I agree with Rui. Who knew…” Leo trails off, his fingers reaching for your chin and holding it with uncharacteristic tenderness, tilting your face upwards towards him. Romeo notices how you stiffen at the contact. “...That the honor student could be—” Leo suddenly snaps his lips shut, and Romeo can tell from the way his lips purse despite being in a smug smirk that he had to bite back a compliment. Leo only falters slightly, brow creasing minutely before quickly straightening again, lips quirking back up into a teasing smile, more words as demeaning as they were saccharine sweet on the tip of his tongue. “Well, it suits you. You might even be unrecognizable enough to pass as a beauty in this picture.” Leo smirks, waving his phone in his hand. 

Romeo finds himself intervening before he can really think about it. He swats Leo’s hand away from your chin. “Stop that. You’ll smudge her foundation.” A blatant lie, but it would be sound enough to get him to back off, Romeo hopes. Something about this was fraying at his nerves. 

Leo raises a crooked brow at Romeo, a slow, shit-eating grin spreading across his face. “I don’t know, Romeo. The blackheads on her nose account for a lack of any foundation at all. Nice try, though.” Romeo should be thankful Leo lets it go, but all he can do is turn away indignantly, feeling his face burn with embarrassment. He hears a chuckle before light footsteps padding away, and gently exhales, pinching the bridge of his nose. By god, of all people to board the train at that moment… 

Rui walks at a much faster pace than you and Romeo, strained expression on his face. He’d left Lyca and Ed in charge of the bar while he was off on a short mission, as he explained earlier, and could only hope that they hadn’t mistakenly set the bar on fire. 

Romeo was headed to the bar for drinks, and as far as he was concerned, you were coming with him. The earlier incident with Leo convinced him he cannot let you out of his sight for today. Leo had cited some excuse for not coming to the bar, but Romeo could tell from the grin Leo flashed his way that he can expect that picture to be all over WickHive by evening. A drink to forget it, even temporarily, would be enough for Romeo. 

Rui heaves a sigh of relief as he steps into the bar, glad to find nothing on fire nor destroyed, but Lyca doing the work while Ed sits perched at the bar. A red shock of hair buried in a white sleeve also denotes another guest. Romeo has to grit his teeth, remembering how Haru went on and on about you after first meeting you. He can only imagine the endless waterfall of praise he’ll surely come up with on the spot seeing you even remotely dolled up. He makes a mental note to bring painkillers for the inevitable headaches he gets when he comes here and Haru happens to arrive. 

Clearly, Romeo needs to be more forthright about how he’s trying to protect his ears, because when you plop yourself down in the seat right next to Haru, all he feels is dread. He quickly slips into the seat on your other side, despite there being no remaining danger. 

Rui, finally behind the bar, gently nudges Haru. He immediately raises his head, and Romeo can’t tell if he woke up that quickly or was already awake and out of it so soon. The faint blush on his face indicates the latter. As Haru reorients himself, Romeo notices Lyca peering at you oddly. He’d never so much as heard this boy speak, but something tells him he’s going to be as much as, if not more of, a headache than Haru. 

“Oh, hi MC-! …Wait. Something’s different about you.” Haru’s voice had its classic drawl it always had when he’s getting close to being hammered. Romeo’s sure it’s loud enough to be heard from Obscuary’s entrance. He watches, jaw clenched tight as Haru inspects you. Boldly, and probably not realizing how drunk he is, Haru reaches out, his gloved fingers lightly tracing the skin above your eyebrows. Romeo notices you don’t recoil at this touch, but he doesn’t know if it’s because you know he’s drunk or if you happen to not dislike Haru. Both options are less than ideal.

Puzzled expression still stuck on his face, Haru traces his fingers downwards, caressing your cheek. “Yea…” He mutters to himself, his eyes tracing the path of his fingers. “Something’s…” his fingers reach the corner of your lips, “...Different…Oh!” His eyes widen like it’s finally occurred to him, and his gaze remains transfixed on your lips, shimmering coral color still bright and undisturbed on them. “You’re wearing makeup!” 

“Is that what that is?” Lyca cuts in, suddenly appearing behind you, craning his neck to get a good look at your face. He narrows his eyes, scrutinizing your appearance before leaning away, satisfied. He crosses his arms, a light blush dusting his face as he tries to ignore the staring he just did. “Hmph. It’s pretty.” His compliment is short and terse, but Romeo can tell from your relieved sigh that you’re happy to receive it nonetheless. However, said compliment is quickly followed up by: “...You reek of the damn blond gigolo, though.”

Rui stiffens behind the bar, cleaning a glass. “Come on, my cologne isn’t that potent.” He looks up from his task to find all five of you avoiding his gaze. 

Ignoring Rui’s distressed cry of shock, Haru turns to you again. “Lyca’s right. It is pretty. Though…” Haru leans towards you, his chin propped up in his hands, “I always thought you were quite the looker, you know.” His smile is disarmingly handsome, even to Romeo. His flushed cheeks and lovestruck gaze probably only add to it. Romeo suppresses a gag, turning away. 

Rui, having partially recovered from the prior shock, also leans towards you, resting his cheek in his palm, partially hiding a cheeky smile. He hums in agreement with Haru, nodding. “Can’t disagree with that. You’re an attractive gal.”

Romeo shivers, ready to pull you away from Haru and Rui’s gazes. When Lyca cranes his neck to gaze at you again, Romeo snaps. 

“Will you horny dogs keep your dicks in your pants and your lascivious gazes off of her?!” He knows he’s one to talk considering the way your lips simply shimmering was enough to disarm him on the train, but still. This was ridiculous. 

“Really, now…” A soft, low, velvety voice echoes through the silence following Romeo’s outburst. Ed appears behind you, gently placing his hands over your ears. He mockingly frowns disapprovingly at Romeo. “Using such vulgar language in front of a lady…” He shakes his head and tuts a few times, a smile crawling onto his face. “Surely you know your manners?”

Rui chimes in, teasing grin all over his face. “He may need a refresher on them.”

With that, Haru, Rui, and Ed dissolve into snickers, just as Romeo bursts into a blush. Lyca, off to the side, looks a little confused. 

“I don’t get it. Why not use words like that in front of her?”

Romeo’s walking you home. He insisted on it. He wasn’t about to let a repeat of him being humiliated yet again by your side, nor was he going to let some other ghoul or normal human lay his eyes on you, at that. Maybe this makeup was a bad idea. But then, he turns to sneak a quick glance at you. Your expression appears quite pleased, and your shimmering lips are curled into a small smile. 

Well. Maybe it wasn’t that bad of an idea. 

“Thank you.” Romeo’s surprised to hear you pipe up, and turns towards you questioningly. 

“For what?”

“For the makeup.” You gaze at him kindly, giving him a small smile. He’s taken aback by it. “Can’t say you were kind about it, but I appreciate it regardless.” 

Romeo hardly stiffens at the comment. He knows he wasn’t particularly kind about it, but that’s the point. How else is someone who can hardly remove their blackheads going to take proper care of their skin? He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, letting his thoughts run around his head. Part of him wondered if he had another reason for buying you makeup in the first place, and why this entire gift felt like it was only going to bite him in the ass later. Maybe it already was, what with how you’d managed to catch the attention of every single ghoul they’d encountered today. But that didn’t make sense. Why would you gaining attention bite him in the ass? He shakes his head, a blush forming on his face as though he already knows the answer. 

“Shut up. Just use it on missions.” Romeo’s response is as terse as ever, quick and to the point. He watches as you roll your eyes, and something in him twinges, partially wishing he could’ve given a nicer comment. 

When you arrive at the chapel, he watches you bound up the steps, sticking around despite himself. He musters up an obligatory “Good Night,” right before you close the door on him, and he watches as your shimmering Starstruck Coral lips pull into a grin. 

“Goodnight, Romeo.”

He turns away as you close the door, ready to fill the rest of his walk back to Sinostra with more pondering. His phone buzzing in his pocket interrupts his peace, however, and he turns it on only to find an innumerable amount of notifications from WickHive. 

“Kurosagi…” He curses his name under his breath. “When I get you…”

a/n: yippee!!!!!!! im surprised i managed to finish this. i honestly like it a lot, i think it's really cute and i like the way i wrote it. i genuinely hope you guys like it too!!!!!

shameless note that, as usual, i love likes, comments, tagged reblogs, and asks!! please feel free to let me know in any way you like just how much you loved my writing! it's what keeps me going!

until next time!!!

EDIT BC I SOMEHOW FORGOT?: a few hc's im adding 4 relevance's sake:

rui wears strong cologne and douses himself in it

haru has grey eyes

that's all yippee!!

[natewriteslol]

Rumors: pt.1

Vil Schoenheit x Reader

Enemies to Lovers

Word Count: 3.7K

Summary: Vil and you have had a semi one sided rivalry as soon as your time at NRC began. However, the feud soon has to be put aside to stop an anonymous gossip blog attempting to ruin yours and possibly other students’ reputation. Will you and Vil be able to find whoever is behind this? Or will you be a fallen victim to those who call themselves, ‘The Catacombs?’ 

Part Two Here!

══════════════════════════════

Ever since your explosive introduction at Night Raven, you always had the tendency to stick out like a sore thumb, captivating everyone with minimal effort. You didn’t belong here amongst wizards, beastmen,merfolk and royals, yet you managed to fit right in.

 I think that was what really pissed him off, especially since he had worked so hard in order to accomplish what you do, impressing others and having eyes on him. However Vil had quickly got over it, his success wasn’t measured by popularity and validation from others, and he shouldn’t worry about a measly nobody that could never hold a candle to him. Instead, the dorm leader focused on keeping peace within his life, enjoying the routine and tranquility. 

Which just wasn’t your thing.

You were clumsy, loud and did things your own way with no regard for how others felt. He did give you credit for you having the confidence to be yourself and being extremely empathetic to those who needed it. 

Maybe the tipping point was you seeing him in his most vulnerable state, watching him overblot and lose control in envy against one of the people he hated the most. You were there to solve the issue and stop him alongside your friends. And worst of all he heard you point it out to them, believing that no one could hear your whispers. 

But he heard every word. 

‘He completely lost it over Neige, I’m glad we got it under control,’ he heard you say quietly to Ace and Deuce. 

Later on, you decided to offer him a juicebox as he sat on the empty auditorium stage…

Apple flavored.

Which he swears on his unique magic  that you did that on purpose to spite him, a sick joke that only made his distaste for you stronger. It felt like you knew exactly what to do at every moment to make him lose it, like yelling “on accident” when he needs to master a potion formula, saying something crude in the lunch room, the way it seems everyone is obsessed with you.

 And of course it was extremely shocking to Rook when his dorm leader had begun re-explaining his disdain for the new kid at school. Despite laying back on the dark purple bedding that would make anyone relax and the sunset pink lighting from the lamp, Vil was far from calm. He had to recount the latest anger-inducing incident to his friend during their “sleepovers” on a Friday night, being wary of his not yet fully dried mauve nail polish as he talked with his hands. 

It was this day that really made him angry, his last straw as some would say. He held his pen as he wrote notes busily into his notebook, heavily invested in order to pass the upcoming exam. It was wonderful, as the class was quiet just as he liked it, allowing him to fully concentrate and absorb the contents of the slide show created by Professor Crewel. 

However, it was easy to hear a decrepit wooden door close in the pin-drop silent classroom. As the black and white man’s back was turned to the class, reading out the text of the slides to the class, you, Y/N L/N thought you could be slick enough to be unscathed by Crewel’s wrath

You being late was more set in stone than the heat within the land of the Scalding Sands it seems. Your satchel was barely slung on your shoulder with your weird, round cat creature barely catching up behind, and it was just Vil’s luck that he had to be the poor sap that had the only seat that was available amongst the many wooden tables. Crewel began scolding you as you fumbled in your seat, and whilst onlookers found it hilarious they wouldn’t dare look or let out a snicker at the scene. Your nervousness  made you fumble your belongings in your bag as you attempted to get out your pen and notebook, your arm would touch his. 

Making him neglect his usual manners and his side-eye of judgment fell upon you. Of course you didn’t notice as he began to study your features, the look of panic flooding your face. Although, this moment of looking at you ended up being a grave mistake.

“Mr. Schoenheit, if there is a huge problem with L/N being late to the point where your eyes can’t be bothered to take notes on the slides vital for your final then you will be delighted to join us in a discussion after class,” Crewell spat, his anger piercing the air. 

His lilac eyes quickly reverted to the projector placed in front of the usual chalkboard. He was embarrassed yet no one could judge him or usually break out in whispers, in fear that they would be included in the punishment. Vil cursed at himself internally but that damn out of season, raggedy bag you carried was enough of a distraction, not counting the person attached to it. 

All throughout the lecture, the actor had prayed that Crewell would forget about the mishap completely as there was an hour of class remaining, yet it had appeared that luck was not on his side at all.

He had tried to flee with the crowd of students rushing out the door, hoping no one would pay him any mind. But after he made one sharp movement to get out of his seat- 

“Mr. Schoenheit!”

Shit. 

Everyone had completely rushed out, with some snickering at the scene, not wanting to be there when the scolding would ensue as entertaining as it may be to see. 

“Care to join us in the conversation like I suggested earlier?” Obviously this was not a yes or no question and Vil had no choice in the matter, but nodded out of courtesy. 

“Yes, Professor,” Vil replied, coming down the short steps from his seat in the front row, not making even a hint of eye contact with you. 

“I understand that the action of lateness pesters you heavily, Mr. Schoenheit. Does it not?”

“...Well, yes it does, Mr. Crewel. However, I promise that another incident like this will never happen again and I will be sure to mind my business more when it comes to fellow students,” Vil said, wanting to spit out some words that could please his teacher into letting him go off the hook. 

“Despite being an actor, lying truly isn’t your area of expertise, young pup,” Crewel replied quickly, keeping a hand steady on the pointer he held. He then turned to you, his look softening as despite you not being an astounding student, Crewel favored you very much. Once again your formula of minimal efforts yet good results was absolutely infuriating to him. 

“I truly worry about you Y/N, as along with your grades, your attendance along with Grim’s as a default are. I will be having a meeting with Crowley about the extra work he has you doing on campus to allow you to live here as well. However, I will be suggesting a partner assignment that is extra credit for the both of you.”

“I mean no disrespect Mr. Crewel, but I personally am in need of no extra credit whatsoever. I have a 99.5 percent in this class which will obviously be rounded by the grading admin,” Vil explained with a slight laugh in his voice. You rolled your eyes as it was plain to see that the blonde was putting you down. Sure you may not have a 90 something percent, but he didn’t have gnomes gnawing on his ankles this morning that he had to take care of himself with no magic. 

But Crewel just looked at him with a concerned look, he was no stranger to shade being thrown and he was not about to tolerate that disrespect. He then explained as he moved to his desk organizing papers , “Oh dear, it looks like you have a bit of incorrect info dear pup. The grading admin stopped rounding this year due to academic dishonesty and such. Also I must add that you and Y/N had gotten the exact same test score, a C- if I remember. And with this being a huge difference from your usual scores, this will drag you down, I fear.” 

The blonde’s breath hitched, he would be fucked for this semester and although not royally, that lack of satisfaction would eat him alive. That last exam Vil had little to no time to study due to his role as a villain in “Love Conquers All” on MovieFlix but of course karma stops for no one.

“A way we could solve this though is through our extra credit tutor program. Both of you enroll, Schonheit tutors you and makes sure you get to class on time, and if there is improvement then both of you benefit. And Mr. Schonheit will get the satisfaction he craves for his grades.”

"Does that sound like a plan?" Crewel had waited for a nod from the both of you, but Vil quickly rejected that notion faster than Ruggie could snatch someone’s wallet.  

"How do I know that they will honor their promise, Professor? I am a very busy person and I do not wish to waste my time with someone who does not take things seriously,"

But you found his cocky attitude completely unbearable at this point. There was no way you were going to allow him to speak as if you weren’t standing right next to him. “I actually do take things seriously, please don't act as though you know me,” you said blankly, actually looking at Vil while talking for once.

"Excuse me?" Vil replied, he was thrown off completely due to you being completely silent this entire conversation. 

"Listen, I don't flunk because I don't want to and I don't show up late because I want to. I'm willing to fix it if Crowley changes the work schedule because it's virtually impossible to be a handyman and student all at once sometimes," you clarified. 

`

"I am an honorable person," you held out your hand to Crewel "and I swear I will change. I just need some help."

  Crewel smiled, enjoying the fire in your spirit to stand up for yourself. You then turned to Vil, holding out your hand with a stern expression and as unsettled as he was he took your hand in his gloved one and shook it.

"Good choice my pups, I know you both won't regret this."

But despite having many differences, you both thought the same thing.

‘Yeah right.’

~~~

After the dramatic retelling, the man grabbed the golden, hand held mirror on his night stand to pluck his eyebrows, carrying on his irritated commentary, “So now I have to watch over them like a babysitter. Can you believe this?” 

“Ah, Roi du Poison I do feel sorry for this causing you so much stress, but don’t you believe the little Trickster could hold their end of the bargain?” Rook questioned, as afterall, you were a good friend of his and he knew you of all people could keep a promise. It was always in your heart to get things done, regardless of how you feel about it. 

“Oh please, I will give it a week, Rook,” he replied, hyper fixated on evening the arches of his brows only for Epel with sleepiness intertwined still in his walk, wondering what the cause of the angry tone of voice from Vil was for. 

“What’s going on, you guys?” Epel questioned with a yawn. 

But Vil snapped his fingers in recall, completely ignoring the question, “Ah, Epel you just reminded me, remember when we were walking to class and L/N had come up to you, ruffled your hair and such and was very curt with me? What even was that?”

“...”

“What is it?”

“Vil, Y/N is really aware you don’t like them. They actually talked to me about it today,” Epel explained bluntly. 

Rook nodded in agreement, facing the vanity mirror as he peeled off his face mask“Oui, they try their best to not look at you even.”

Vil paused in thought, he didn’t think he made his dislike toward you so obvious but I guess it was quite the contrary.

“They don’t go spreadin’ but they told us, they’re cool about it though,” the lavender haired boy quickly added, not wanting to make anything worse for you. 

But it didn’t necessarily matter whether or not you both liked one another, what mattered is that you got the job done by solving your faulty grades and attendance. Dislike is just a small hiccup, plus there were plenty of justifiable reasons as to why Vil did not like you, despite being told otherwise from everyone. However, he didn’t face repercussions nor are there heavy consequences for an opinion after all. 

BUZZ.

The trio’s phones either vibrated or let out a cheery notification. Even from the door open ajar to the rest of the dorm, you could hear the different sound effects from student’s devices. The odd coincidence made them all look at their phones at the same time to look at what it was. 

“This just in for some hot new gossip! I heard from a little birdy that the fairest of them all is viciously bullying the new transfer from a whole new world. But…they’re being partnered up to tutor by Crewel! Looks like all beauty doesn’t come with grace :( 

-The Catacombs” 

“The hell is this?” Epel said quietly, staring at the anonymous text message. It wasn’t a registered number, instead it was an auto programming since it was only five numbers reading: 88709. 

“Oh mon dieu, Roi du poisson,” Rook uttered, unknowing of what to say, going from looking horrified at his phone to his dorm leader for any type of response. 

By then the phone notification of Vil’s was ringing out of control, and he could hear Pomefiore members’ reactions to such an appalling message. He was receiving texts non-stop from multiple people asking him all the same questions,

Is it true? 

 Why he would put someone down like that?

 Why does he have a problem with Y/N? 

But a text from one specific person ate him alive completely.  

Jack:

Hey, I don’t know if you saw the message

He quickly typed to the beastman in attempt to defend himself, knowing what they both went through together as children. Vil couldn’t let Jack of all people misinterpret him as this bully to his good friend. 

Vil:

I would never bully anyone, nor do I waste my energy on people I don’t like. The stress ages you too much 

Are you seriously going to believe this anonymous crap over me Jack?

Jack:

It’s not that I don’t believe you, but I have never heard the nicest things about you from them.

I’ll talk to you later.

Something like this absolutely could not get out to the public, bullying scandals can completely drag down a career as almost everyone goes through that traumatic experience of being casted aside because you’re different. And he would never be a monster like that toward someone, but playing villains in countless movies and tv shows would make it seem completely believable. 

It was them who most definitely put out that rumor, and Vil didn’t care whether it was late at night, or if Rook and Epel wanted him to stop.

He was paying a visit. 

~~~

With nothing planned and being extremely exhausted, this might’ve been the slowest moving Friday night you’ve ever experienced. And while you haven’t been inclined to care too much about what people say about you, to say you weren’t haunted by your encounter with Vil would be an understatement. Of course you were well aware of his distaste for you, but today it just felt as though it reached a boiling point with the way he was acting. But to take your mind off of it, you freshened up after a long day in class, slipped on something comfortable, put your phone on “Do Not Disturb” and decided to watch some movies on your laptop whilst eating snacks with Grim. After all, you deserved a reward as it would be the last day of relaxation before you had to lock down completely on your education. 

Your cat and yourself ended up nodding off to sleep on your couch easily due to the calming environment of your house, as the ghosts decided to take a hint on the mood you were in and were extremely quiet. As both of you were catching up on needed rest, you heard an excessive pounding on your door.  Whoever this was, it felt like they were about to break down your door with how aggressive they were knocking. 

Grim nearly attached to the ceiling with fear, making you yelp in fear, naturally frightened to answer the door to see who was behind that hostility. Your eyes bolted to your tall case clock, the time reading 10:32pm, the late time didn’t ease your anxiety whatsoever.

However, after adjusting to your surroundings, you decided that you needed to answer as to whoever was continuing to hammer on your door as it was giving you a headache. Neglecting your human world instincts of not opening doors to strangers, you walked up to your tall mahogany door, only to find your favorite person on the other side.  

Vil Schoenheit. 

His face was painted with true anger that you’ve only seen during his overblot, “You have some goddamn nerve writing that shit about me.”

You were absolutely frazzled and confused overall, “What even are you talking about? And why are you at my house?”

“Answer your fucking phone and you will find out,” the blonde replied noxiously, watching your every move believing that you were trying to play stupid with him. 

As you opened your phone screen, your eyes were lit up by notifications, as everyone and their mother had texted and called you in a matter of minutes. 

But one message sat completely unfamiliar coming from that fateful, 5 digit number. 

It was horrible and beyond untrue, even though he didn’t like you, you would never stretch it to bullying. Maybe as a joke amongst friends but never to be taken seriously. And as you digested that everyone had gotten this text message and with him being a celebrity this would do heavy damage. And whoever wrote this was out to get you both as many are absolutely in love with Vil, others hate bullying and hearing a glorified superstar being accused of such horrible things would make tabloids run with this story. 

This was a complete lose lose situation. 

You looked up to see Vil hovering over you, watching you like a hawk, you swore you saw his eye twitch with irritation, “I would never write something like this. And listen I am so sorry-”

“Who else would write something like this? Do you think I’m a damn fool-?” A small hand on his shoulder cut off his angry tirade progressing as he was about to move forward.

“Vil, we are going to get nowhere if you just get angry and lose control, now Y/N do you have any clue as to who would write something like this?” your friend Epel questioned kindly, juxtaposing his dorm leader completely. 

“Not exactly, I don’t hate Vil at all like that and I wouldn’t spend my Friday night making up shit like that and you can check all of my technology,” you defended, offering your phone.

His suspicion got the better of him, snatching it out of your phone Vil scrolled through your phone messaging history. And despite going against his suspicion, he didn’t have any concrete proof that you were the culprit.

So until then, he guessed that you were just as wronged as him.

~~~

You all quickly moved to the inside of your house, both to get away from the cold night air, but also to get out of sight as to anyone who could be watching all of you right now. To say that this made all of you, especially you and Vil paranoid wasn’t an over exaggeration. Beginning to theorize with your two friends as to who would write something like this about you two. But unfortunately, every possible “lead” you had was just a dead end, no clear motive, but then again who would need a motive for a stunt like this. It was obvious that attention was what they craved, to drive both of you up the wall and unfortunately they succeeded.  

“All they gave is a nickname, but any phone number could be tracked to a specific device used,” You said, as student announcements used 5 digit numbers all of the time, this person had to be skilled in tech. 

Vil leached off of your theory, “The catacombs is quite a gothic name afterall, we need to search Ignihyde or Diasomnia.” 

“Why them? That seems stereotypical” you asked, feeling argumentative on such a baseless theory. 

“Because, Ignihyde is the most technologically advanced dorm, and Diasomnia students seem like the type to enjoy playing tricks like this anyway,” Vil explained as if it were obvious, his sharp gaze never leaving yours as he spoke.

While the flames of his anger had been flamed, it seemed as though his disdain for you was more permanent than a wine stain on a wedding dress. Never fleeting even during this moment of vulnerability from both ends, but you had no energy to begin bickering about it.

“Roi du poisson et mon Trickster, if we want to find whoever is doing this cruel joke, you must put aside your differences and work together,” Rook said, cutting the tension and bringing the platinum blonde back to Earth. 

Whilst both of you didn’t want to admit it, the archer was right. If you wanted to figure this out you couldn’t be at each other's throats, fighting one another constantly. Otherwise you would accomplish little to nothing. 

And there was no way ‘The Catacombs’ could be hidden forever, and you would make sure to uncover the skeletons within it. 

Part 2...

~~~

A/N: Hi everyone! This fic takes inspo from an amazing novel that I read called "Ace of Spades" please read it its absolutely fantastic and the author is a genius. Thank you for bearing with me for the long time it takes to pump out content, you guys are amazing and it's always great to have opportunities to write.

xoxo, Nate <3

Taglist: (pls let me know if you want to be tagged in the next part!!)

[vivid-ink]

"The Love Shack" Part II - Three is a Perfect Crowd

Relationship: Neteyam(23) x fem!Omatikaya reader(21) x Lo'ak(22)

Read Part I - The Proposition HERE

Story Summary: You’d heard the whispered speculations and stifled giggles during the daytimes. You’d seen the furtive glances that the other women cast at Neteyam and Lo’ak through coquettish eyes, cheeks stained a blushing mauve as they exchanged coy smiles with the two brothers. And during the nights? Hell, you’d heard the moans and wanton cries for yourself… You were definitely curious, but did you have it in you to go through with their proposition?...

Warnings: Adult content 18+ MDNI Word count: 7.9k Content: Mentions of group sex, MMF threesome, smut, sex toy play, squirting

Author's Note: Thank you to all of you who read, commented, reblogged, liked and asked to be tagged for Part II!

@teymars @eyweveng @leaveitbythewave @luvteyams @ @akiras-key @bajbr @questioningconstellationsstuff @reggiesslut @neteluvr @savvysscandles @dasaniix @emery-333 @vintaqestar @ @live-laugh-neteyam @itssomeonereading @strawberry-vamp0 @clairevoyanceee @delacruzyari @bluecooki3 @aalex561-blog @frustrated-kitten @innercreationflower @wolf12thsworld

Here is Part II and I warn ya, it's all filth. 🤭 Grab a glass of wine, a blanket, a towel, whatever you need... and enjoy!

***~~~***

Indecision wasn’t something you were accustomed to. You’d always prided yourself on making strong decisions both personally as well as professionally. It was one of the reasons you rose through the ranks to beat out all the other warriors to become Neteyam’s second-in-command. So, the fact that you’d spent majority of today vacillating in your decision to either go or not go to the outpost was an uncomfortable anomaly.

The conclusion of last meal earlier in the evening had brought with it a burning imperative for you to make your final decision and stick with it. You were dismayed to find that the urgency of the time didn’t help you one bit.

You’d trudged on shaky legs into the woodlands in the outpost’s general direction, before being overwhelmed with a severe case of cold feet. However, instead of turning and running for home, you’d plopped yourself down on some moss and begun whittling away at your half-finished spear from yesterday while you dithered further.

That was a couple of hours ago and it was getting late now.

The present found you parked in the woodland scrub just outside the old outpost with your finished spear in hand. The hesitant side of you hoped that maybe Neteyam and Lo’ak might have abandoned their proposition after your no-show, given the late hour. However, the lambent glow of the lamps inside the outpost shelter and the muffled sound of one of them laughing told you otherwise.

The curious side of you thrilled with anticipation at the unknown…

The brothers had done well to refurbish the abandoned outpost. It had been the central gathering place for the war council during the Long War with the sky people, and it had suffered severe damage during battle. The end of the Long War had been a long-awaited blessing and the outpost had been abandoned, its function no longer necessary and the memory of what it symbolised too painful for some to bear.

But Neteyam and Lo’ak had rebuilt the damaged settlement, renewing it with new textiles, new fibres and new designs. Apart from its core structure, it hardly even resembled the old war outpost anymore.

Approaching the outpost’s entrance where a set of draping cloths served to shield its interior from outside eyes, you steeled yourself under your breath, “Come on, just go and have a look. You can leave if it’s not your thing, like Neteyam said.”

You’d come this far… one peek wouldn’t hurt? If you were honest with yourself, the taste of Neteyam’s kiss had lingered on your lips and tongue all of last night, and it was your craving to experience it again that had brought you here.

Urging your feet forward, you were in process of reaching to part the cloths when they suddenly flew apart from before you as someone made to exit. You hissed, startled in alarm, instinctively lowering yourself into a defensive position with your spear pointed frontward.

“Argh! Holy shit!” Lo’ak exclaimed, stumbling backward in the face of the sharp weapon you were wielding, “Great Mother, who do you think you’re going to be spearing with that?!”

Immediately lowering your spear when it became apparent you were in no danger, you were quick to deliver a faltering apology, “Sorry, you gave me a fright!”

“I gave you a fright? Goddamn woman, I was just going to take a leak and I nearly pissed myself!”

“Sorry!”

The other side of the entry cloths parted to reveal Neteyam who had come to investigate. There a momentary flash of surprise on his face before one side of his mouth quirked upward in a wily grin that made your ears heat.

Recovered now from the scare you’d inflicted on him, Lo’ak shot a smug smirk at Neteyam and remarked at you, “You’re very late. Don’t have too much fun without me, I’ll be back.”

Neteyam stepped aside to allow you to enter while Lo’ak left to relieve himself. You padded on tentative feet into the outpost and you were astonished to find the space quite innocuous. The interior held all the usual furnishings that you’d expect in a living space; rugs, throws, cushions and soft mats; woven decorations hung from the upper framings of the outpost and a cosy-looking fire burned in a central hearth.

Your expression must have betrayed your thoughts as Neteyam broke the silence with a chuckle, “Not what you expected?”

“I didn’t know what to expect, to be honest.” That was mostly true, you didn’t have any specific expectations or imaginings of the place, you just hadn’t expected the space to look so normal.

From the salacious gossip that had run rampant amongst the women about their experiences here, as well as from your memory of the sensual cries you’d heard that one night you’d ventured near enough, you’d projected a more sordid atmosphere than the one you currently found yourself in.

“When you didn’t show soon after last meal, I figured you weren’t coming.” Neteyam breathed.

You turned to look at him properly for the first time this evening and you noticed his relaxed attire. You were used to seeing him in full warrior regalia, but tonight he was dressed simply, without his cummerbund, arm and leg guards, and no weapons. A beaded choker necklace adorned his neck and a woven armband hugged one of his impressive biceps, but apart from this and a purple loincloth, the rest of him was bare.

You could see so much of his skin… smooth and striped, and cerulean blue all over hard muscle…

“My curiosity evidently won out in the end.” You replied, attempting to tamp down the buzzing knot of nerves in your belly with a small smile at him.

“You can put this down.” Neteyam reached for your spear, prying it gently from your grasp and moving to set it against the nearest wall. His eyes glimmered warmly in the firelight, “No one will hurt you here.”

You nodded, rubbing your empty palms together with a deep breath. You began to circle the space, noticing that it was bigger than you initially thought as there were more cloth draperies that hung to the sides of the shelter that served to partition it off into different sections. Each section held more of the same comfortable furnishings, but the drapes clearly served the purpose of privacy.

Thankfully, as your curiosity increased, your nervousness decreased and you finally felt comfortable enough to ask, “So, what? The women come here and everyone just plays?”

A husky chortle from him, “If that’s what people want to do. Sometimes everyone just relaxes over some drinks and hangs out. Things don’t necessarily always escalate into more.”

You cast him a sceptical look, continuing on your exploration of the place, “And how often is it that sex and body play doesn’t end up on the agenda?” If gossip was to be believed, then you knew it wasn’t often at all that things stayed chaste.

When Neteyam didn’t respond, you turned to face him as he followed you and the wicked grin on his face confirmed that what you’d surmised was right. You rolled your eyes and he laughed.

“And what are these tawtute (human) things that all the women rave about? These tools that supposedly bring pleasure like nothing they’ve ever experienced before?” You queried, intentionally keeping your tone flippant despite the flagrantly sexual nature of your question.

Neteyam’s hot breath ghosted the nape of your neck and you realised he had walked right up to your back, “Come, I’ll show them to you.”

A warm, large hand enveloped one of yours and he led you over to another part of the shelter where a cloth-covered shape lay. Kneeling before it, Neteyam lifted the soft cloth to reveal an intricately designed chest woven from flax and colourful fibres. Undoing the leather snap at its front, he opened it to reveal a plush-lined inner in which sat a series of instruments in of varying shapes and materials you’d never seen before.

The colours of these instruments were also bright, unnaturally so. There were a myriad of shades and tones of colour that existed on Pandora, but the pinks, purples a blues you were looking at were very artificial. A bright blue tool caught your eye and unable to resist, you slowly reached to pick it up. It was smooth and long, and you could only just wrap a hand around the width of it. Its length was also slightly curved, tapering upward at the end.

Neteyam watched quietly as you picked through the various offerings in the chest, running your fingers over the smooth silicone of the toys. He fought to keep his composure as erotic thoughts of you using them began to assault him. You appeared rather intrigued by the blue g-spot vibrator you held, though he could tell by the slight frown on your face that you weren’t really sure what it was for.

“That’s an insertion toy. It goes inside you.” He informed, “And if you turn it on. It vibrates.”

Vibrates… You’d never heard that human word before and you didn’t know what it meant. You let Neteyam take the toy from you and he fiddled with something on its length before it came to life with a buzzing hum that made you jump.

Extending cautious fingers towards the humming toy, you touched its vibrating form before withdrawing your hand, “It tickles.”

“It feels good against you when it’s in the intended place.” Neteyam’s voice was slightly rough and you could smell the familiar musk from last night emanating from him again.

“Do they all go inside?” You asked, eyeing up the other oddly shaped toys, some of which did not look particularly comfortable to insert.

“Not all. This is a wand vibrator and it’s generally only for external use.” He picked up a purple toy, which had a longer handle and a large bulbous head at the end. Switching this one on, you noted that his one hummed even more aggressively than its blue predecessor.

“Whoa, straight into the toy box, are we?” Lo’ak had returned and his voice was a teasing drawl as he joined you and Neteyam, “Getting right down to business then.”

Ears flattening a little at the jibe, you harrumphed at Lo’ak, “I’m just looking.”

The few loose braids by his temple clacked as he laughed, “Oh, they’re not made for looking at, trust me.”

The bravado you’d found waned a bit with Lo’ak’s return, the reality of the situation seeping into you. Great Mother, were you really here discussing sexual implements with two men?... Were you seriously contemplating engaging in a sexual encounter with them?...

Standing up to put some distance between you and the two brothers, you dusted your knees off lightly and suddenly felt rather out of place. You didn’t know what to do with your hands and you didn’t know where to rest your eyes either.

Sensing that his bold teasing had thrown you off kilter, Lo’ak stood to meet your eyes and his face was sincere as he spoke, “Hey, if you were curious and just wanted to see what this place was about, that’s OK. We can just hang if you want to.”

You didn’t acknowledge Lo’ak’s last statement with a definite answer. You warred within yourself. What did you want?... You were nervous, but you didn’t want to go either. The recollection of the searing but short-lived kiss you’d shared with Neteyam made an appearance again in your mind. You wanted to explore that further… By Eywa, you didn’t think you’d object to kissing Lo’ak either…

Like his older brother, Lo’ak too was dressed simply. Neteyam had risen to his feet next to him and they made an incredibly handsome pair. You could absolutely understand why the other women lusted after them. After all, you were hardly innocent of that crime. Your long-standing attraction to Neteyam had ensured that.

“No, I’ll- I’ll stay.” You resolved, “I don’t want to be the only one who’s left out of the loop.”

The two brothers shared a look that you couldn’t decipher the meaning of. It was a glance between them with fairly neutral expressions, but you did see the slight upturn of their lips.

“Where’d you even get those things anyway?” You questioned. You knew that with their mixed heritage and with Jake originating from the humans’ side, that there were many tools and instruments that the olo’eyktan had adopted for use in the clan. However, you could hardly imagine the olo’eyktan openly bringing in sex toys for the clan’s wider use.

“Spider.” Neteyam supplied with a fond laugh, “He’s got quite the knack for sourcing and supplying us with contraband under the radar from the avatar camp.”

You giggled at the thought of Spider. You liked the human. He lived majority of his life amongst the Omatikaya with the Sullys anyway, so despite his foreign form, he was very much Na’vi at heart.

There was one last set of drapes in a corner by the toy chest which caught your eye. It was the only partitioned section of the outpost that you hadn’t yet explored. Ambling towards it you murmured, “What’s behind here? More of the same?”

Neteyam and Lo’ak watched you approach the last partition, knowing full well that what was behind the draperies was not simply more of the same. The last pair of drapes led into their main play area. Quietly they awaited your reaction and sure enough it came soon after in the form of a soft gasp.

They’d built a large, raised bedframe in there and on it sat a thick bedding mat swathed in silken fabric. The bed was sizeable enough to sleep several adults and piles of plush cushions and rolls lined one end of it. The other main feature of the play area, which was also courtesy of Spider, was a large mirror that ran along one entire wall.

You’d never seen anything like it. The gigantic bed was one thing, but the strange pane of whatever it was that spanned the entirety of the opposite wall was breathtaking. You had never seen your own reflection so clearly in your life, save for the completely still water of a puddle after heavy rain, and even that was a far cry from this. Mesmerised, you approached the large pane until you were standing right before it.

“It’s called a mirror.” Lo’ak’s deep timbre sounded.

You’d been so entranced by your reflection that you hadn’t noticed the two brothers enter the space behind you. They flanked you now, one on either side.

“It’s amazing.” You breathed in astonishment. Your fingertips met its cool and solid surface and you marvelled at the clarity of it, “Everything is so clear. It’s beautiful.”

“Just like you are, paskalin.” Neteyam’s words elicited another intake of breath from you and your amber eyes met his in the reflection of the mirror.

Both brothers were standing very close to you, their bodies angled inward towards yours. They were close enough that a subtle shift on either side of you would cause your arms to brush their torsos. Your ears twitched as you perceived the quiet sound of their breaths and your skin prickled with the body heat you could feel exuding from their bodies.

The mirror’s reflection also allowed you to see yourself in-between them and it became apparent to you how much taller and bigger they were in stature compared to you. The top of your head only just skimmed past their chins and your lithe body was much willowier next to their more muscular physiques. The image was as arousing as it was intimidating…

Lo’ak was carefully scenting you now, in a very similar way to the way Neteyam had done the night before. He trailed a hand up your forearm and he pulled you against him to sniff at your hair. Lo’ak’s scent was different to Neteyam’s, but it was no less appealing to your feminine senses.

Through the reflection you saw Neteyam dip his head and you anticipated his action moments before you felt the scorching heat of an open-mouthed kiss against the other side of your neck. Your next inhale was a quivering rush of air into your lungs and your heart began to pound with want.

Leaving a trail of nips up your neck to your jaw, Neteyam paused to purr by your ear, “This is a place where people come to feel good and surrender to pleasure. Rank doesn’t matter here and you leave the outside world at the door. You set the boundaries, paskalin, but if you stay tonight then you must also promise to trust us.”

You turned your head towards him, chasing Neteyam’s lips with your own, yearning to taste him again. But he pulled away with a roguish smirk that promised your patience would be rewarded if you waited.

Your reply was a breathy whimper, “Yes.”

“Is there anywhere you don’t want to be touched?” Lo’ak murmured, the fingers of one hand tickling your hip while its twin splayed flat against the small of your back.

“No, it’s all fine.” Your chest heaved with your deepening breaths, every nerve ending hyperaware and hypersensitive in the waking dawn of your arousal.

Lo’ak’s answering grin was lascivious and the hand at your back pulled the tied knot of your chest-covering free. The garment shifted as it loosened, the beads scraping over your stiffening nipples. Neteyam was quick to undo the last tie of the garment behind your neck, and with a gentle swish it fell from your body entirely, leaving you exposed.

A harsh groan sounded from Neteyam and he cupped one of your breasts, letting his thumb flick over its hard peak, “Eywa, you don’t know how long I’ve wanted touch you like this. Every time your covering shifted at work, every little peek I was afforded when it slipped momentarily, it was torturous.”

Neteyam had been looking at your breasts?... The sentiment was an exciting surprise to you and you leaned into the agonising brush of his fingers over your nipple.

Lo’ak joined his brother, stroking and fondling your other breast, “You’ve got such pretty nipples, and Eywa, they love being touched.”

A stifled moan left you as pleasure shot straight to your core from the stimulation. Your head lolled onto Neteyam’s shoulder and he clasped your chin to angle it the right way so he could reward you with a passionate kiss. You felt him snake a hand down your front, the heat of his palm blazing past your navel to travel even lower. You jolted when he cupped your crotch, his fingers deftly finding the outline of your clitoris and rolling against it.

Neteyam broke away and the absence of his mouth allowed a desirous whine to escape you. He posed another question to you, “How much do you want from us tonight?”

You were dizzy with desire and your core pulsed with liquid heat. You gave another ragged moan when Lo’ak knelt down to capture one nipple in his mouth. Your eyes flicked forward to the wanton reflection before you; one brother suckling on your breast, the other with a hand buried between your thighs while he watched you. The press of their bodies against yours was delicious and you could see matching erections straining behind their loincloths in the reflection.

Your decision came to you undeniably, and you abandoned all your inhibitions in the heat of the pleasure you were experiencing, “I want everything. I want you both to fuck me tonight.”

Their reaction was immediate. There was a flurry of motion as both brothers moved, working in tandem to free your loincloth as well as their own. Naked now as the day you were born, every part of you screamed with want while every inch of your bare skin was pressed up and imprisoned between two aroused male bodies.

You were turned and facing Lo’ak now and you could feel his hard erection throbbing between the press of your torsos. He claimed your lips in a full but brief kiss and then said, “You know, if we’d known that all it would take to get you here was a private session with us, we would’ve done this sooner.”

“You’re incorrigible.” You retorted with a chuckle.

“Shall we move to the bed?” Neteyam suggested hoarsely, “I’m rather impatient to explore you, paskalin.”

“No wait,” You stopped him. You looked into the mirror again, rather enjoying the wide and unimpeded view it gave you of the whole space. Both Neteyam and Lo’ak were gorgeous to look upon and you wanted to enjoy the vision of their imposing frames while they were standing. “I want to enjoy looking at you both like this first.”

Facing the mirror front on with the brothers on a slight angle, your eyes tracked from the top of the pane downward. They were both panting lightly and their pupils were dilated wide with lust in their beautiful faces. Broad shoulders and muscular chests were followed by powerful abdominals that tapered to their slim hips and strong legs. But of course, the two things your attention snapped back to, once your eyes had reached their feet, were their impressive erections.

Biting your bottom lip and feeling frisky, you encircled each of their cocks in your grasp, one in each hand. They were both strapping men, so it didn’t surprise you that they were proportionate in this department too. Simultaneous grunts came from them both when you began a slow squeeze and stroke. Great Mother, they were gorgeous here too… long and girthy, hot skin over rigid hardness that made your pussy clench in yearning…

Lowering yourself to your knees, you peered up at them both while you continued your pumping rhythm over their lengths. You could see they were enjoying themselves, their abs flexing and contracting with their pleasure.

Turning your face towards Neteyam, you held his eyes as you parted your mouth and licked a slow stripe up his cock and over the head of it. His hips jerked involuntarily, a hiss whistling from between his gritted teeth. When your next move was to take his cock into your mouth and suck most of the way down, his response was a strangled cry. It took some effort and co-ordination on your part, but you conscientiously bobbed and sucked while still stroking Lo’ak as well.

“Fuck, you look and feel so good.” Neteyam droned, panting through an open mouth as his face contorted and moved through a series of expressions, all of which spoke to his immense enjoyment.

Lo’ak’s hips were thrusting lightly, pushing and pulling his hard flesh in a delicious glide through your grasp. He would let out the occasional whimper, which mingled sensually with Neteyam’s unrestrained groans. Lo’ak gave a small whine shortly after and you gently drew off Neteyam’s cock with a small pop, licking your lips.

You turned to the younger brother and grinned coyly at him, “I haven’t forgotten about you.”

Lo’ak’s deep chuckle rumbled in his chest and he cocked his head at you with a wink, “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t have let you forget about me anyway.”

The higher-pitched whine that then followed when you did take his cock into your mouth was a very stimulating contrast of sound.

Neteyam was shifting behind you and you felt him pat the inside of your leg lightly, “Part your legs a little for me.”

Still pleasuring Lo’ak, you multi-tasked and did as you were told. Out of the corner of your eye in the mirror, you saw that Neteyam had moved to lie on his back and had shimmied his head and shoulders between your knees.

Having a bird’s-eye view of the situation and understanding his brother’s intent, Lo’ak smirked and looked down to meet your eyes where you continued to suck him off, “You’re in for a treat, sweet thing.”

Neteyam’s firm hands gripped your hips to lower you slightly towards him. You could feel his breaths puffing gently against your pussy, which you knew was slick with your arousal. The rasp of his tongue against your folds and up to your clit was like a bolt of lightning to your core and you jumped, choking on Lo’ak’s cock when your body failed to co-ordinate your inhale of air with the bob of your head.

The assault that Neteyam began on your core was rapturous. He alternated between broad licks and swipes of his tongue and nose, and intent suckling on your clit. Lo’ak had withdrawn himself from your mouth, settling for stroking himself instead while he enjoyed the view of you squirming over his brother’s face. Leaning forward to place your hands on the ground, you rocked your hips, smoothing your core over Neteyam’s face. Breathy whimpers were coming from you as you neared your climax, but just as it was within your reach, his grip on your hips shifted and he lifted you upward from him to sit up.

“W-Wait no!” You squealed as your bottom plopped onto the ground beneath you, “Why’d you stop?!”

“Shh sorry, paskalin.” Neteyam soothed, cleaning his face off on the back of his wrist and swooping in to kiss you, “We’ll take care of you later, promise. We’re just building you up first. It’ll be worth it. Trust us, yeah?”

Chortling at the wounded expression of disappointment on your face, Neteyam got to his feet before reaching down to pull you up to your own. Your legs were unsteady, but it didn’t matter as he bent to scoop you into his arms next and carried you onto the large bed. Lo’ak had momentarily disappeared from view, but when he reappeared with three colourful implements in hand, you understood the reason for his disappearance. The sex toys.

You felt like you were burning up as you lay on the soft bedding. The heat was like molten pleasure through your veins. The tips of your nipples tingled and your pussy ached to be touched again. Lo’ak returned to join you on the bed and he handed the toys to Neteyam.

Coaxing you to sit up, Lo’ak moved to sit behind you with his legs spread so you could lean back against him. Pressing a kiss to the side of your face, Lo’ak whispered, “How about we give my brother a bit of a show, hmm? He likes to watch. It really gets him going for later.”

You looked at Neteyam, who had perched himself at the end of the bed facing you both. There was a mischievous glint in his eyes, almost as if he’d heard what Lo’ak had whispered to you and thoroughly agreed with the idea. You felt Lo’ak’s hands snake under your knees and he proceeded to then hitch them up towards your torso, leaving you splayed wide in exhibition before Neteyam who merely smirked.

Neteyam crawled closer, a couple of toys in hand. You recognised the blue one from before, but there was another strange gold coloured implement you didn’t recognise. You frowned at it warily and your body stiffened as you tried to sit more upright, “What does that do?”

“It’s a suction toy. It goes over your clit.” Neteyam explained while Lo’ak soothed your nerves with some gentle hushing. Stroking a hand over one of your parted thighs, Neteyam reassured you, “If you’re not enjoying it, let me know and we can stop, OK?”

Relaxing back into the position Lo’ak had put you in against him, you nodded in consent. At this moment, you really just wanted to be touched again.

As if hearing your thoughts, Lo’ak’s hands shifted to your breasts, caressing the soft flesh and toying with your nipples again. Your back arched into his hands and he chuckled by your ear. You felt Neteyam place the gold toy carefully between your legs, adjusting it so he nestled neatly against your tingling clit.

With a few clicks, the toy whirred to life and your eyes flew open wide at the new sensation. It was like a pleasant and rhythmic series of tapping against you, and as Neteyam increased the intensity of it, the taps got faster and faster until it all melded into an incredible humming sensation with a delightful suction to it.

“O-Ohhh,”You sighed, your eyes sliding shut as you concentrated on the pulsing pleasure. The pleasure settled into a delightful tempo of rhythmic contractions that made your thighs quiver in Lo’ak’s hold. It was nothing like you’d ever experienced. You’d pleasured yourself and been pleasured by men before, but this was something else…

“That’s it, paskalin, just lean into it. Feel for the rhythm of it.” Neteyam coaxed, watching keenly as the muscles in your pussy began to visibly throb and squeeze. His next words were a profane curse as he palmed his straining erection with his free hand. He badly wanted to have your pussy throbbing and squeezing around his cock like that… not yet, but soon…

Lo’ak was watching through the mirror’s reflection, thoroughly enjoying the view of you whilst also relishing the way you were writhing against him with mewls and sighs. His gaze lifted to lock with his older brother’s and he grinned when you your moans began to intensify, “Let’s see what we can make of her, bro.”

Thoroughly absorbed by the building waves of ecstasy that wracked your core, you didn’t even register that Lo’ak had said anything. The bliss was unreal. You felt the smooth blunt tip of something prod at your entrance and you cracked open a lid to see Neteyam running the blue vibrator through your folds. He was watching you carefully for any sign of objection and when you didn’t give him any, he breached you slowly but surely with it.

A hoarse groan tore from your throat at the satisfying addition that filled your pussy. The pulsing and clenching between your legs intensified and just when you thought things couldn’t feel any better, Neteyam switched the vibrator on and it began to hum inside you too. Your jaw was slack and you could feel your face was contorted into a grimace of pleasure.

Neteyam began to pump the vibrator in and out in a mimicry of thrusting, and your hands flew to clutch at Lo’ak’s thighs beside you. You were only half-aware of yourself, your body suspended in what felt like a never-ending loop of thrumming ecstasy that was speeding you towards an inevitable orgasm that would tear you apart. Something else was building too amid the throbbing of your core. There was a pressure increasing behind your pelvis with each terribly torturous thrust of the vibrator within you.

The throaty sounds you were emitting now were making it very challenging for the two brothers, whose own lust had skyrocketed in the last while as they’d watched you. Both hands occupied with pleasuring you, Neteyam was caught in a cruel contradiction between wanting to see you through and also wanting to touch himself to ease some of the pressure. Meanwhile, Lo’ak was canting his hips against your lower back to find whatever friction he could.

You were so close, teetering on the precipice of blessed oblivion, but you needed more…

You squirmed, trying to shift in Lo’ak’s hold where he had a firm grip on you behind your knees, straining to reach your climax. Your speech was a stutter, your panting breaths punctuated with by whimpers, “P-Please, I want to- I need-”

“What do you need, paskalin?” Neteyam asked, swallowing the saliva that was rapidly pooling in his cheeks at the shameless sight of you, almost completely undone under what his hands were doing to you.

“Please, one of you, just fuck me already!”

There was an immediate halt in the unforgiving pleasure that had assailed you as Neteyam haphazardly flung the toys aside, crawling on all fours to reach you. However, Lo’ak was faster.

The younger brother had shifted you to lie on your side while he stretched out alongside you with your back against his front. He’d hoisted one of your legs upward bent at the knee to splay you, his hard cock poised to enter you.

Hisses and growls filled the air suddenly, startling you somewhat out of your lust-filled haze. You peered through foggy eyes to see Neteyam knelt on your right, his nose wrinkled and teeth on display in an aggressive snarl at his brother, who you could hear hissing in return by your ear.

Lo’ak let out a glacial laugh, “Don’t be like this, bro. We’ve been through this before.”

Neteyam’s response was a harsh growl and his ears were pinned flat to his skull.

Not wanting any animosity between the two brothers, you attempted to mollify them, “Hey, don’t fight, what’s wrong-”

An unimpressed scoff sounded from Lo’ak and he tightened his hold around you, “I know my brother, sweet thing. He won’t let me have you once he’s gotten his hands on you. See, you’re not the only one here who doesn’t like to share.”

Neteyam scowled but he didn’t disprove his brother’s assessment. With a resigned growl like thunder in his chest, he appeared to acquiesce so long as Lo’ak abided by one demand, “Fine, but don’t cum inside her. She’s mine.”

You saw a gleam of possession in Neteyam’s eyes and heard the covetousness in his voice. It was such outlandish behaviour from him, considering you were so accustomed to his usually placid demeanour, but his jealousy was thrilling to you. He lowered himself onto his side in front of you, propping his head up on one elbow to watch.

A shudder rippled through you when you felt Lo’ak glide his cock against your slippery entrance. You felt him reach between you to position himself and he penetrated you with a sharp thrust. Your cry of pleasure was a croaky moan that sounded in time with Lo’ak’s guttural groan of satisfaction as your walls clenched tight around his length. Your pussy fluttered around the width of him and you revelled in the delightful stretch of the feeling. Definitely bigger than the blue vibrator that had been there before…

Lo’ak set a punishing pace of thrusts and your breaths punched out of you with each one as his hips collided with yours. Through half-lidded eyes, you noted that Neteyam was surveying the pair of you with a rather tetchy countenance. Reaching out to him with the hand you weren’t lying on, you caressed his cheek, beckoning him to kiss you. You were enjoying being railed by Lo’ak, but you still wanted Neteyam too.

Neteyam indulged you and you moaned into his mouth while his tongue and lips swept against yours. The pressure at your core was mounting rapidly again and Lo’ak’s uninhibited moans, as he took his pleasure from your body, only served to spur your pleasure onward.

Through the moist melding of your lips with Neteyam’s, you took his wrist and purred a request to him, “Touch me, Neteyam.”

His fingers found the swollen nub at the apex of your thighs and he began to press and circle it in an insistent rub. Your head flopped back against Lo’ak while you whined in bliss at the addition of Neteyam’s actions.

The nagging pressure in your pelvis returned along with the burn and pulse of your pussy. You could see your anticipated ecstasy within reach, but the pressure behind your pubic bone was increasing with each of Lo’ak’s hard thrusts. It felt like an urgent and insistent need to relieve yourself all of a sudden, and it alarmed you…

Eyes flying wide, you tried to shift in Lo’ak’s hold to stop him, ““W-Wait, I need to-”

Neteyam silenced you with a kiss and he hushed you softly, “Let go, paskalin. I know it feels strange, but just go with it.”

Frantic and feeling completely out of control as your orgasm loomed, you spluttered, “It feels like I’m going to wet myself!”

You saw Neteyam’s eyes flick to his brother behind you and they must have shared a meaningful look, for instead of slowing down or being gentler, Lo’ak added a swivel to the trajectory of his hips and Neteyam’s fingers persisted in their massage against your clit.

“Let go, trust me.” Neteyam breathed over you, “Come on, Neyomi.”

You didn’t know if it was the way he’d purred your given name, or if it was just a coincidence of timing and you couldn’t bear it any longer, but you succumbed to the tidal wave of pleasure and allowed it to consume you. A piercing scream ripped from you upon the initial wave. Your entire body went rigid and your pussy contracted intensely, pushing several spurts of fluid from between your legs. You were only dimly aware of the wetness you were emitting as you enjoyed the fleeting weightlessness of your powerful climax.

“Ah, fuck!” Lo’ak pulled free of you with a guttural shout to spill outside of you and over your taut belly and hips as your orgasm has triggered his own.

His breathing was ragged now whilst he came down from his own high and with a wary glance at Neteyam, he leaned over to steal a sloppy kiss from your parted lips, which you returned with a soft moan. He rolled away then onto his back, knowing that his brother would want his time with you now.

The keenness of your senses were slowly returning to you as you recovered from the explosive sensations you’d just experienced. All too aware now of the dampness on the bedspread beneath you, your hands flew to your face in embarrassment. What the fuck happened?... It had felt so amazing, but you’d wet yourself at the end of it…

“Great Mother, I’m sorry. I’ve made a mess.” You murmured through your fingers and you scooted up the bed into a sitting position, looking mortified at the drenched patches on the bedding.

Neteyam’s husky laugh was an unexpected reaction and your round eyes regarded him in bewilderment. Even Lo’ak was chuckling away where he lay relaxing with an arm thrown over his eyes.

Neteyam pulled gently at your hands, “Look at me. You haven’t wet yourself, alright?”

“I don’t understand.”

“What you just experienced was a squirt. It doesn’t happen all the time, but it can happen with intense orgasms from rigorous stimulation.” Neteyam explained mildly, before he graced you with a devious smirk, “It was extremely arousing to witness, paskalin.”

The deepening growl of his tone set shivers tingling down your spine again and your eyes dropped to the still prominent erection in his lap. That’s right, you asked to be fucked by two brothers tonight… one down, one more to go… and this was the one your blood seemed to sing for; that your heart leapt for whenever you saw him…

You knew your skin was already flushed from the earlier activities, but you felt renewed heat tinge your cheeks as Neteyam pushed onto his knees to shuffle closer to you again. Sitting before his kneeling form, you were just at the right height to take hold of his cock. Stroking it gingerly, you placed a shy kiss on its tip and lifted your eyes to meet Neteyam’s as he stared down at you. Great Mother, you felt your pussy squeeze again at the expression he wore, which was masculine possessiveness in the best kind of way…

“Don’t get shy on me now. I’m not done with you yet.” He hissed, grimacing as you began the luscious suck and bob of your head over his swollen length, “That all you got for me? You were choking on my brother’s cock earlier.”

Lifting your gaze to his again at his goading, you perceived a familiar warmth swirling behind the covetousness in his eyes, and something warm unfurled in your chest. Neteyam’s words had been taunting, but you could see he was just teasing you. You doubled down on your effort anyway, savouring the titillating feeling of his throbbing cock in your mouth while he groaned openly.

An unexpected click and rumbling buzz caught you unawares and you stilled. You felt the bed sink a little behind you and you realised that Lo’ak had moved to place something next to you on the bed. Drawing your lips up and off Neteyam’s length, you picked up the purple wand toy you’d seen in the chest before. It rumbled temptingly in your grip and you instinctively look at Neteyam for instruction.

“On your hands and knees, but keep facing me.” He directed, “My brother can help with this toy.”

Once again, you did as you were instructed and you redirected your attention to Neteyam’s hard flesh, returning it to the moist confines of your mouth. You’d always enjoyed giving blowjobs. Men were beautiful creatures, especially the one before you now, with all his formidable strength and taut muscle. You’d always found giving them pleasure a turn-on.

You jumped when the rumbling vibrations of the wand toy skimmed up the inside of one of your thighs, drifting dangerously close to your core before it was moved away. It repeated a similar path up the inside of your other thigh before trailing downward yet again. The vibrating tip of it began its ascent again and this time you canted your hips towards it, earning a dark chuckle from Lo’ak who was clearly enjoying teasing you.

Deciding not to be cruel, Lo’ak pressed the bulbous head of the wand against your core and began to stroke it back and forth over you. Your throaty groan of pleasure was muffled and Neteyam thought to himself how alluring you looked with your eyes rolling back while your mouth was full of him. It was an image straight out of his erotic fantasies of you…

Rocking to and fro as you sucked, the delicious rumbles of the wand were deep against your sensitive flesh and your clit was throbbing under the onslaught. You could taste Neteyam’s pre-cum on your tongue and his hands had framed your face, stroking your hollowed cheeks while he slurred pledges to you of how beautiful you looked.

Lo’ak was afford an unimpeded view of your rear and your pussy, your tail curled up and away in an erotic display. He could tell from the twitching throb and clench of your muscles that your second orgasm was not far away. “She’s close, bro.”

You whimpered as Neteyam extracted himself from your mouth at his brother’s report and he bent to whisper in your ear, “I’m going to fuck you now, paskalin. Do you want me to take you from behind or do you want me to face you?”

“I want to kiss you.” Your response was not quite a direct answer to his question, but it was telling enough for Neteyam to make his decision. Grasping you under your underarms, he hauled you upright onto your knees before he toppled you onto your back against the plush cushions.

Pinning you under the delightful heaviness of his muscular physique, you parted your thighs to cradle his slim hips as he positioned himself where he needed to be.

Neteyam’s handsome face was wicked and he paused to purr a filthy promise to you, “You’re going to remember me like this. Every day at work and every night in your dreams, you’re going to remember the feel of my cock inside you as I fuck you.”

Oh Eywa your work days… It was going to be a test of your composure not to let your very unprofessional behaviour not colour your professional conduct with him…

Like with his brother before, the burning stretch to fullness of him as Neteyam pushed inside you was incredibly satisfying, but it was more intimate face-to-face like this. You could watch his every expression like this as he began to thrust; his eyelids were heavy; his lips were parted, and a variation of higher-pitched whimpers and low groans were falling from him.

For Neteyam, your wet heat clutching at his cock was a staggering sensation. He felt his length throb in gratification as your pussy squeezed around him. After watching his brother fuck you and then having to wait his own turn, his own orgasm was racing towards him at a much quicker pace than he anticipated. He wanted to wring another climax from you first though…

Remembering that you’d expressed a desire to kiss him, Neteyam lowered himself onto his elbows so your front was flush with his and only his hips were canting back and forth. Nuzzling your cheek tenderly, he sealed his mouth over yours in a fervent kiss that stole your breath from you.

The hardness of his pubic bone rocked over your clit with each of his thrusts in this position, and each press of his body against yours brought you one step closer to ecstasy. These ‘steps’ weren’t a slow stroll either, they were more like a hurtling sprint. The familiar pressure within your pelvis started up again, but this time it didn’t alarm you. Every piston of Neteyam’s hips was hitting a pleasurable spot inside you that acted like a pump, building the pressure and winding it tighter and tighter.

Neteyam distractedly wondered to himself how Lo’ak had held out for as long as he did when he’d fucked you. Your core was a slippery vise around him, every thrust working his swollen cock from root to tip. His head was buried by the side of your face now as he groaned and panted. Your own cries were getting louder now, to his relief. He didn’t know how much longer he’d last…

“Fuck, paskalin, you’re driving me insane. I’m so close.” He grunted.

“Same. Keep going.” You kissed him again.

When the surge of ecstasy washed over you a second time, you relinquished your control and the pressure in your pelvis snapped with another orgasmic squirt. With your thighs cradling Neteyam’s hips and your arms raking his back, you felt him stiffen with his own climax, his thrusting becoming erratic as he roared his pleasure into the cushion under your head. A viscous heat seeped out from your core where you were still joined, a sensation that had been absent before with Lo’ak, which you now recognised was the evidence of Neteyam’s orgasm.

Adjusting himself so he wouldn’t crush you under his weight, Neteyam rolled onto his side. He tittered naughtily then and his grin was smug, “I told you I’d make you come. Welcome to the love shack.”

Recalling your foot-in-mouth innuendo from the previous night, you rolled your eyes and giggled, “Great Mother, who would’ve guessed that underneath the well-mannered gentleman that you’re such a wild beast.”

Warm skin enveloped your other side as Lo’ak shifted closer to join you, throwing a leg over one of yours and tangling you to him. He murmured by your temple when he placed a kiss there, “Think you’ll swing by again, sweet thing?”

Tilting your head back and craning your neck upward, you gave Lo’ak a deep kiss before turning to do the same to Neteyam, “Only if I can have you both to myself again.”

Lo’ak smirked, bending to kiss and nip at a gradually peaking nipple while Neteyam ran a hot hand down your torso to slip his fingers through your folds, slick with a combination of your own wetness and his seed. You could feel their cocks hardening again where they were pressed to either side of your hips.

By Eywa, stamina as well as skill? No wonder the women kept returning…

Neteyam eyed you and his response was a salacious murmur, “I believe that can be arranged, paskalin.”

PART III - Blurring Lines HERE

***~~~***

Author's Note: I'm quite sure this is filthiest piece I've ever written... 🫣I don't know how I pulled almost 7.5k of sexy stuff out of my brain, but I hope you all FELT this in all the right ways and all the right places... Three cheers for our two boys Neteyam & Lo'ak!! Woot woot! Thanks for reading this! Leave me a comment, I'd love to hear from you and thanks for all your likes and reblogs too! 😘

[shellyhughes]

YOUR TASTE

꒰ა vampire quinn hughes x fem!reader ໒꒱

type : oneshot , smut words : 2265 rating : explicit for sexual content SUMMARY: quinn comes to visit you late at night after smelling blood from your body.

just gonna leave a note that this isnt period sex cause someone said it kinda comes off that way. theres no period blood in this !!!!

Your eyes shoot open in a terrible panic. Another ‘bad dream’. The soft mauve floral sheets you picked out while thrifting wrap around your body whole. The sunshine lemon oil diffuser is just now slowly shutting off after being on all night, and the curtains fly up and down against the cool breeze from your open window. And he can see it all. Right now. That’s his special ability, as far as you know. All that really matters is who he chooses to watch. And you’re not trying to be a peacock or anything, but you just know he’s watching you right now. If you weren’t sort of into it, you would go to the police - but then again, what are the police supposed to do? - Quinn is a vampire super athlete. Okay, that’s an over-exaggeration. But, he is really strong.

Leaning over to your bedside table, your hands clamp around a glass of water you had placed there earlier in preparation for this exact event. Your nightgown is loose - a lilac, silky, whorish little thing you only wear to free your boobs from the expectations that the patriarchy set in place about bras - and you also feel cute as hell in it. With your free hand, you pull out the beaded scrunchie that had been in your hair practically all night, and the bouncy, clean hair falls to your shoulders quickly. You’re never going to get any sleep at this rate. Jesus, just knowing that Quinn is watching you right now. Knowing deep down that you’re only wearing this lingerie to bed and this gloss on your lips because he’s using his powers to watch you gets you so wet.

Your nipples are perking up against the thin fabric as your fingers travel down to the wetness slowly but surely beginning to pool up in your panties. You almost want to call for him, he’d definitely hear you. He’d definitely come. Even if it’s the most humiliating thing to admit - that he’s been watching you for days, probably masturbating while watching you hit your climax against one of your fluffy pillows. You flick a nail against your pink, throbbing bud and let out a breathy, wispy whimper. Your knees spread open like second nature, like you totally haven’t been pretending to have nightmares just to catch Quinn off guard while he’s watching you sleep.

Another moan drifts from your pursed lips as you continue to rub your angry clit, you want more! Now! Sliding a finger into your pulsing pussy, you bite your lip just enough to draw some blood. As soon as you do it, you realize what’s about to happen. In just one second, he’s in your room. You squeeze your legs together and lick the blood from your bottom lip quickly. Play innocent, you plan in your head.

“Wh-what are you doing here?” You yelp, pulling the blankets over your bare legs.

He stays silent. His eyes are grey and tired. He’s tired. He’s in pain, from what it looks like. You’ve never seen him so… broken down. Maybe he doesn’t show it for a reason. But, right now, he’s completely open. You don’t fully understand the relationship between you and Quinn, it’s very complicated. You two have known each other for years, when he told you he was a vampire, you didn’t judge. But, these past few months, jesus - and now he’s in your room, standing over you with such a struggle in his facial expression.

“Quinn.” You say, your voice laced with seriousness. “What are you doing in my room?”

“I…” He starts, his brows furrowing. “I smelt blood. Thought someone hurt you.”

You nod, easing back into a comfortable position. He’s not gonna hurt you. Quinn is a friend. “I-I’m fine.” you stutter out.

His eyes stay on you, intense as ever. He sits next to you, the bed creaking gently, “Your heart is racing.”

“Yeah,” you giggle weakly, “Sorry.”

“No. I like the sound. It’s my favourite sound.”

There’s a beat of silence between the two of you. His presence is cold and nerve-wracking but also… soft - in a way? He’s a protector. Even the slight drop of blood from your lips had him running.

“Speaking of…” he broke the quiet. “I am uh- a little thirsty right now - been a few days. Could I…?”

It’s out of nowhere. You’re sort of taken aback. This is either desperation or something much deeper. Either he’s just really thirsty or… or the mere scent of your blood had him so excited, he came all the way here just for a taste.

Quinn realizes what he said and almost chuckles. “You know what? - sorry I’m being weird. I’ll go.”

“No. Wait.” your cold, slender fingers wrap around his wrist. “You can.”

You feel his gaze picking you apart, probably listening to every blood vessel, every drop of sweat, every swallow that went through your body. His eyes turn dark, he sits on the bed, facing you. He begins to prepare you, running his fingers along your forearm while trying to find a decent spot to use his fangs.

“You sure?” he asks.

“Uh - yeah,” you answer, a lump in your throat, “Does it hurt?”

“Well, uh, I wouldn’t know. But, I was told that it’s tingly… and a little uncomfortable.” he tries to keep his eyes down, but then, he notices your shift on the bed. “I can just find someone else if you—”

“No, no, you’re my friend. I trust you.” You get out quickly, tugging at your forearm to refocus him.

With a tiny nod, Quinn lowers his face to your skin. Before he even thinks about putting his teeth in, he begins to lick around the spot he’s going to bite into, “Just moistening it… a little. Helps my fangs. - I might be sucking for a while so maybe j-just talk about something to occupy yourself while I… do the thing.”

He seems to know so much about this, you think, shutting your eyes and trying to ignore the terrifying flutter in your tummy, “This won't turn me, right?” you say, half-joking, but also half-curious. Like, you know that he knows what he’s doing. That he would never turn you on purpose. But, there’s a small fear that maybe this will turn you.

“No, no,” he reassures. “Not unless you want.”

“I’ll pass for now.”

That gets a smile out of him and you’re proud of yourself for getting this sad cat to smirk, “What were you doing to get that bloody lip anyways?” he asks, then, without much warning, he slides his fangs into the poor veins of your right arm.

“Uh-” You almost moan out in a strange, draining tone. Your eyes are permanently resting as he feeds on you, your breaths are slow but loud and harsh as you adjust to a feeling that you’ve never quite felt before.

There’s a clicky, little suckling sound coming from the teeth deep inside you as you try to gather your thoughts. It’s just too much. You can’t even decide if it feels bad or not—it just… feels. After some time, you feel him get stuck in a lot and you have to flex your fist to get him out of it. When it doesn’t go away, he pulls his teeth out gently and pants, looking up at you.

“You never said what you were… doing,” he pants out, licking the blood from his pink lips. “Before… I got here.”

You swallow. “You really wanna know?”

He nods.

“I think you already know.” You whisper, your face turning red as you admit it—yes, I know you’ve been watching me.

His face didn’t turn red, but it probably would have if he could create heat. Instead, Quinn just places his hands over his eyes and tries to hide from this fact. It’s kind of cute to you, that he truly had no idea that you already knew. “Did you finish?” he asks under his breath.

You try to control the heart in your chest but it drops anyways - and you know he hears it, with the way his eyes flutter. Your thighs rub together awkwardly and instead of answering, you just shake your head.

“Can I…” he starts, leaning in. He’s so fucking awkward and you love it. “Can I taste it? It smells good.”

Your breath hitches involuntarily, your legs shake and you're so embarrassed you could die. “Quinn, jeez,” you sigh bashfully, trying to escape this moment but you know that you wanna stay.

“Sorry, sorry,” he whispers, his hand finding your collarbone as he brushes your fluffy hair out of the way, “You’re just… your scent… it’s something new.”

After some time, you lay against your and very shyly open your legs back up for him to see. A pretty little stain soaks into your white panties as he takes in the sight below him. His breathing speeds up, he slides your underwear off quickly, almost primal. Like this isn’t really him anymore. Just the vampire. Either way, you feel a tight muscled tongue stroke quickly against your clit - you whine loudly, wrapping your calves around his neck, pulling him in.

His tongue slides into your pussy hole, he doesn’t stop. He’s practically making out with your pussy like it’s his one true love, maybe it is, to him. He even makes sure to continue to let his curved nose brush against your clitoris as he finds a good pace to go at to edge you just enough. He wants this done right. He wants this drawn out - but, only because he knows how good it’ll feel for you if it’s done this way. Your folds wiggle around at the pressure of his tongue moving up and down, never stopping.

Quinn releases for a moment, breathing against your bare thigh. And in this short moment, he begins to press gentle kisses to your sweaty, warm skin, watching the shaved pussy drip, “You taste like an angel...” he commented, diving back in.

Your head rolls back in euphoria. His tongue is magic and you wonder why this has never happened before. Maybe you were just always scared of him or something - scared of how violent he could get. He’s a monster, after all. But, this isn’t violent. Not even close to violent. This is gentle, this is safe, this is sensitive. Then again, Quinn could probably do anything to you right now and you’d let him.

And that is proven to be true when falls back from your pussy again and hums softly, “I’m still thirsty,” he says it like a statement, but it’s a question. And when he begins to rub his cold fingers around your bare thigh, you know what he wants.

“Take more…” you manage to get out after being quiet for far too long, pressing your soft thigh against his lips.

He presses another few kisses before digging his fangs in. It doesn’t hurt as much as it did the first time, maybe because your limb was more thick and filled here. But, he loved it. He’s not even hiding the grunts anymore. He feeds for a good minute before you pull him off by his hair, gently, of course. “I’m a little dizzy…” you say.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, going back to pleasuring you. It’s almost like you two are taking turns. But, you’re first, always.

Your head is light and you can’t tell if it’s from the loss of blood or from the tongue assaulting your pussy right now. Maybe both.

“I listen to you every night… you sound so beautiful,” Quinn says. He puckers his lips around your clit and suckles deeply.

“Ah! - oh my - ah!” If you roll your head back any more, it’s gonna snap off. It’s like you’re pulling away but not truly, you want to stay, shivering at his touch.

His tongue slides back in deep, reaching and reaching for that g-spot but it’s just not long enough. - Not like it matters, though. This is enough to send you over the edge anyways. His hands find your breasts, massaging and running over your hardened nipples before squeezing them. You then remember what he had said earlier - your heartbeat, his favourite sound. He’s also probably trying to make your heart go faster, overstimulating you to the edge. Jesus.

He buries his face deeper, muffling something, - you sort of catch it, “Cumn imn my moufth… wanna taste you…”

It gets you so fucking wet. You nod, beginning to grind your hips around his head just like you used to do to those pillows - depraved and alone. But now - free and wanted. His tongue was yours at this moment. Yours to release yourself on. And you sure did. You make a high-pitched whine as you hit your climax - white cum leaking out as you snatch his pretty, dark hair and continue to finish yourself on his lips. He sucks and swallows every little bit, he doesn’t lose a single bit. He’s addicted to you.

“Quinny ah - fuck!” you slow down.

He laps his tongue one last time for good measure and lays his head on your tummy, licking his lips lovingly. “Your taste is perfect.”

You sit up on your elbows and try to reach down for his crotch, “You wanna…?”

“No… can’t really feel it… it doesn’t feel good.” he traces circles around your tummy, “Besides, I don’t wanna feel good. I just wanna taste you for the rest of my life now.”

You feel oddly claimed. But, is that such a bad thing? “That can be arranged.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Know Your Place 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, power dynamic, age gap, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Walter Marshall, destroyer!Chris [for the purposes of this AU, I will give him the last name Jackson] (Professor AU)

Summary: after a life time of home schooling, you finally get to experience the real world in college. (petite reader)

Part of the Bad Professors AU

Note: Please leave some feedback and reblog <3 As always, I love to chat with you all. 

The noise all around has you reeling. You’re not used to so many people. So many voices and smells and sights. The frantic action of it all reminds you of a mid-00s movie about a high school. The coeds are like animals milling about in groups with the odd single body rushing between with a mission stitched between their brows. 

You sit with your thermos of tea and try to focus on your schedule. You have a campus map from the Student Support Centre next to it, trying to map out your route for each day. Momma said you should try to get ahead, figure out where you’re going. She’s always right. 

You have two classes that day. As you find the buildings on the map, planting a finger on each, you find that they are on completely different ends of the campus. Of course. Well, momma didn’t know that where they would be, did she? She said you have to balance your load; if you’re going to be an English major, make sure you take some math and science for your electives. 

You circle the two buildings and put lets beside them denoting which day you need to be there, numbering them in the order the classes occur. A burst of laughter breaks your concentration and you look around, trying to find the source. You almost miss the calm isolation of your childhood living room. 

No, you’re grown now and you begged Momma to let you go to college. Not online, but in person. You even worked all summer at the deli so you could live in a dorm. She was proud but worried. She’s never been good at letting go. She’s already called three times today and it’s not even noon. 

As the crowd blurs around you, a sudden gust blows over the table as someone sits across from you. You stare back at them with a gasp. They must’ve mistaken you for someone else. You blink as the man tugs on the front of his letterman jacket and smiles. He doesn’t seem mistaken. 

“Hey,” he leans forward on an elbow, “you waitin’ for someone? Got some cute girlfriends on their way?” 

He’s so forward, he has your brows as high as they can go and your cheeks are on fire. It’s not much of an introduction. 

“Excuse me?” You eke out. 

“Ah, I’m sorry, hon, I’m getting ahead of myself,” he smirks as he crosses both his arms on the table. “I’m Colin. You looked lonely.” 

“Oh, uh, I’m just... figuring out my schedule,” you utter dumbly. Yor brain isn’t clicking. Why is he talking to you? 

Your ears tweak and you notice a group in similar jackets, sitting just across the dining area, gabbing loudly, snickering. You wonder why he isn’t over there with them. You wiggle your pen anxiously. 

“Ah, you’re not gonna give me a name for that pretty face?” He says. 

“Huh?” Your brows drop, “what?” 

Your momma’s voice echoes in your head. ‘Be careful of those college boys. They only want one thing.’ You didn’t believe her. They don’t want that from you. You were sure once you saw the other girls in their tight leggings and short tops. 

“Your name, baby? Gotta be something sweet, huh?” 

Your face ripples as you wade through surprise, confusion, then something else. You’re almost giddy. This man, with his mussed blond hair and bright blue eyes, and his chiseled features, is asking you your name. It’s flattering. 

“Mauve,” you can’t help but smile as you answer. 

“Oh, yeah? That’s pretty, well, Mauve,” he takes out his phone, “me and my buddies are having a party tonight and we’re supposed to find a hottie to bring with us. I’m having no luck but if I show up alone, well... I might not get to stay in the frat. You get it?” 

You stare at him. You're confused. You don’t really understand frats and whatnot. They just seem like clubs people join so they can drink. 

“You wanna do me a favour? Come with me?” He asks. 

He’s bold. Bolder than any one you’ve ever met. You sputter but can’t come up with any words. 

“Please,” he pouts, “promise, I won’t try anything, I just gotta get these guys off my back.” 

He looks over his shoulder at the table of rowdy guys. You squirm in your seat, uncertain. You’ve never been to a party. Wow. 

“Here, I’ll get your number,” he taps on his phone screen, “I’ll send you the details--” 

“Leave her alone,” a grizzly voice undercuts the frat across from you. 

A thick man stands behind him. He has a cardboard cup in his hand as he glares down at the coed. His burly figure is swathed in a dark green sweater and grey slacks. He’s older and his dark curls are threaded with subtle twinkles of silver. 

“Huh? Who the hell are you?” 

“Why don’t you show her those pictures you were snapping of her? The ones you and your pals were laughing about?” The other man growls.  

You frown. What? You don’t understand what’s going on. You look from one to the other. The younger man sat across from your sighs and rolls his eyes. 

“Fuck it. Whatever. Lots of pigs to go around,” he shakes his head and stands, facing the other man. “You know, bro, just cause you’re too old to get with any ass around here, doesn’t mean you gotta ruin it for others.” 

“Get out of here,” the thicker man snarls. The other winces just slightly before puffing up his chest and stomping away. 

You remain as you are, aghast and lost. The man with the dark curls looks at you. You shrug at him. 

“I’m sorry, sir, did I do something wrong?” You ask. 

The harsh angles of his scowl ease and he lets out a long breath, “uh, no, not you. That boy, you know, any one that wears one of those jackets, they’re no good. Just some advice.” 

“Oh, right,” you look over at that guy, Colin, “sorry, I didn’t know. He just started talking to me. I was being polite.” 

“Seem like a nice girl. Just tryna look out for you.” 

“Yeah, thanks,” you chew your lip and sniff. “Are you... are you teacher?” 

“I’m a professor,” he confirms as he holds his cup close to his chest. He's one of the biggest men you’ve ever seen. And his eyes are as blue as the ocean. “Professor Marshall but unless you’re a psych student, you can call me Walter.” 

“Walter? My neighbour is Walter. At home. He’s eighty-one and he collects baseball cards,” you let yourself smile. You always felt more comfortable around older people. You never had many friends your own age. 

“Don’t mind some baseball myself,” he dips his chin. “Well, you look out for yourself and avoid the Greeks.” 

“Greeks?” You make a face. 

“Fraternities,” he says. “And sororities, if you can help it.” 

“Oh, okay. Thank you, sir,” you feel a little better. You think he’s right and he is a professor. He would know. “I’ll do that.” 

“Sir? It’s Walter,” he corrects you. 

“Oh, sorry, Walter,” you smile. “I’m Mauve.” 

He nods and shifts his cup, “Mauve,” he repeats, “well, nice to meet you.” 

“You too, sir, er, Walter. Thank you,” you say. 

He hesitates then steps back on his heel, “yeah, no problem.” 

He slowly retreats and you watch him, your heart playing like a drum. You did it. You spoke to strangers and you didn’t melt. Things are getting easier. If you could get through that, you’re sure you’ll make lots of friends in your classes. 

[monarchberrysblog]

ORAL FIXATION !!

₊˚ʚ 💉 ₊˚✧ﾟ. sweet tooth . 🦷🍨

☆ miguel o’hara x fem! reader ☆

☆ summary: a simple consult with the oral hygienist.

☆ content warning: cunnilingus, oral fixation, throat fucking, throat bulge (not mentioned but implied), choking, cum (lots, lots of cum), semi-voyeuristic behavior, latex glove kink (?), light degradation, and hair pulling.

☆ word count: 837 words

☆ author’s notes: yeah… I went to the dentist. my sick and twisted brain got to work after the consultation.

"Good girl."

".!"

Sticky as tree sap outside the bumpy bark, your saliva dripped down to the exam room's smooth grey wooden floors. A thin coating of precum and spit glistened from your chin down to your chest. A satisfied hum from the back of your throat resonates a low, lively vibration near the back of your tongue. Your knees ached from the textured wooden floor while your hands grasped his seat's sides, nails digging into the cushion.

Red knees and indented skin showed your shame. It created a sight of illusion. You only came in for a consultation, but the drool and precum in between your cleavage said otherwise. The red wine color tint on your lips contrasted your white teeth, but the color clashed so well with Miguel’s mauve tip.

"You said your jaw was hurting? Doesn't look like it now." He gently thrusts a bit of his length into your mouth, earning a gurgle-like moan.

"Shhh, I'll make it fit." Your eyes widen to the size of charger plates used during dinner time at an Olive Garden.

The bulging, misty look greets Miguel, but within your pupils, with a mere glance, anyone could have missed it.

The space is dominantly characterized by a wavering implication of ardor, which shows the intoxication behind the smudged pencil eyeliner and dilated eyes. Miguel’s gloved fingers weave into your hair, securing a hold at the back of your head. The lilac latex in his hands immediately clings to the rubber, creating more uncomfortable hair tugs. Some tugs were enough to catch a breather without his dick in your mouth.

The sight of precum decorating your lips like lipgloss churned. Then, an idea came to him, unwarranted.

The palm of his hand cups your chin, his fingers and thumb digging into the plush of your cheeks. "Open up." His words were vile, like a plague, but enticing to pursue immodest actions.

Through the grasps between his fingers and thumb, you nod, his cock near your cum-covered lips. He wears a dern expression when he sees you nod as he removes his hand from your hair and works his belt out of the belt loops of his pants instead. You open up barely enough to let the mushroom-like tip in between your lips and teeth, grazing the sensitive, taut skin. "A little more, querida."

The angry aching around your wisdom teeth knawed, a blade twisting deep into your gums, the blade's tip twirling at your nerves like cooked noodles gathered around a fork. While attempting to open, he thrusts his hips, his length choking you.

His happy trail tickles the tip of your nose, his fingers immediately weaving into your hair and keeping you there. He slowly pulls out but pulls you away from his happy trail, enough to give you more air to breathe. But the sensation of his now irritated tip found its way back in. "Let me know when you can't breathe." The muffled, wet gurgles filled the room.

The gentle humping against your throat overstimulated, but feeling lathered against the back of your throat was enough implication of what was going to happen. Miguel thrusts himself back in and doesn't allow any room for you to back down.

"Take it, sweetie." He urges, but the subtle drip of his precum landing on the floor with a 'plop' finally pushes the limit. You gurgle your words, but his length makes them inaudible. The words merge into vibrations and gnaw at the sensitive tip.

Despite him being in an uncomfortable position, his hands grasp your throat and gently squeeze your throat.

The soft thrusts evolved into harsher ones, and your nose got tickled by the sensation of his pubic hair tickling you. His fingers probed at your throat, his latex fingers feeling around until he seized and squeezed firmly. You gurgled and could feel your gag reflexes kick in. The mere panic in your eyes with your tears created a titillating sight.

Your hand continued to pat his thigh, an indirect beg for him to go easy on you.

But it only encouraged him to push down more, feeding you more nearly. "Stop it." He snaps, his hand grasping onto your wrist and pinning your hand down on the chair. "You can handle it."

"Stop squirming..." He groans and pushes himself, enough to feel the back of your throat. The soft thrusts evolved into rapid ones, feeling the mushroom-like tip bullying its way down, begging to be enveloped by your throat's warm, velvety walls.

The harsh, precise motions became sloppy, spit leaving puddles on the floor, his boxers, and chair. His low groans grew more audible, but he kept his mouth shut. He lets go of your throat and hair and seizes his movements. The warm fluid coats your aching throat, allowing it to work as aloe vera against irritated skin. The sensation overflowed, leaking out of your mouth. He pulls out his softening dick and cups your chin gently. His thumb wiped away your spit and his cum. "Doesn't seem like anything is hurting anymore."

Tag List: @cherrysxuya @awkward-platypus @pheebslu @bbb1rd

[chores4days]

unnoticed ੈ✩‧₊˚ chapt. two

benedict bridgerton x fem!reader

summary; in which the girl who’s never been noticed by anyone, not even her family, finds herself being noticed by the second son the bridgerton family—the family who is the utter opposite of her own.

notes; very quick chapter, little to no edits. beginning to notice that i switch the povs a LOT within this and i am so sorry if there is any confusion. we're also getting to the point where i am def going along with a sophie beckett vibe for y/n. OMG ALSO idk for the dress i went off of late 1700s and early 1800s fashion and i do not think i did any justice for that. for benedicts part i will say right now that i was high so if anything looks/ sounds weird that is why!

word count; 1001

warnings; maybe swearing??

join the taglist!

unnoticed masterlist.

prev. | cont.

y/n was anxiety ridden as she walked into the ball. the mauve gown she was wearing ( quite beautifully as miss miss hillner like to put it as she had finished dressing her ), was not hers. when miss hillner had left a confused y/n alone in her room, she had no idea what to think her maid was doing but after a good ten minutes alone she finally heard a door slam downstairs making her run toward her window only to see her siblings climbing on into the carriage without her.

y/n had an inkling that they didn’t like her but she didn’t think they’d leave her like that! she also knew that they wouldn’t leave her like that without a reason, and miss hillner was that reason.

after a couple more minutes of confusion, miss hillner finally came back into her room holding a dress she had never seen before. “quick, let’s put this on you!” her maid had ushered the girl up to her feet and started to help her put on the gown.

when y/n had looked into the mirror after miss hillner had finished helping put her into it, she couldn’t help but gawk at herself for a moment. “m-miss hilly, where did you find such a thing?” she asked as she gaped at herself. the dress was a beautiful mauve, it was very obviously not styled from their current fashion trends but it fit quite well enough to not say too much about it. it was a little more off the shoulder than the current trend was, but it was a respectable amount. the sleeves were slightly puffed, and had a small floral pattern you wouldn’t be able to notice unless you were staring directly at it. there was a delicate white lace that flowed beautifully upon her pushed out chest.

y/n realized the dress was beautiful, that she made this dress beautiful.

miss hillner quickly wiped her eyes before y/n could notice that she was beginning to get misty eyed, “it was your mama’s, miss y/n.” she had said to the girl making her quickly turn to look at her made with wide eyes. “it was in an old chest of hers that i knew she had. she would’ve wanted you to wear it.”

y/n was at a complete loss for words, so instead she pulled miss hillner into a hug making the maid gasp. “oh, thank you, miss hilly.” y/n said, muffled into her shoulder. “thank you, thank you, thank you.” miss hillner hugged her tighter than she probably should have but there was no reason for her not to.

after another moment, miss hillner pulled away quickly. “miss y/n, we best get you to the ball.”

and back to the present, y/n wasn’t sure what kind of reactions the dress was going to pull from the ton. she knew that she held no regrets for wearing the gown but nonetheless, she was nervous about how they’d react. how her siblings would react.

you could tell that she was nervous as she walked in but after a moment, the confidence within her changed and suddenly she didn’t care what the ton was going to think of her. maybe tomorrow she would but in this moment, right now, nothing else mattered but how she held herself up as she walked into that room.

the girl looked around the ballroom and caught the eyes of several gentlemen as she led herself down the stairs. and benedict thought to himself that she was absolutely breathtaking to those who genuinely took the time to spare a real glance at her. “i’ll be back, ant.” his brother looked at him in bewilderment as benedict pushed his away to the front of the room.

“—this dance?” benedict heard the last bit of one of the young men who decided to surround the lady. benedict coughed to grab their attention, “i apologize, sir, but the lady had promised this next dance to me.” the said lady had looked at the bridgerton shocked, not quite sure why he was lying but nonetheless was willing to go along with it. “apologies, sir beckett.” she apologized before walking over to benedict.

she grabbed onto his hand as he led her onto the dance floor, the waltz beginning to play as they got settled. what coincidence?

“so mr. bridgerton, care to inform me as to why you lied?” she asked after a moment of dancing, he looked at her surprised for a split second but quickly fixed it with a smile. “well, i couldn’t possibly let others know your name before i.” he responded smoothly with a charming smile, she gaped at him and only looked at him for another moment before responding.

“yet you still have not asked?” he stumbled over his feet a bit, she got him there. benedict bridgerton was surprised that she had even gotten him to begin with, he thought his smile would do the trick but alas-nothing.

“i-i apologize, my lady. may i have your name, miss?” he apologized once the dance had brought them close once again so he could say it softly to her. she had brought her eye’s to his and locked them together, “my, uh.. i’m y/n moorenso.”

benedict looked at her confused, how had she changed so quickly? and he could've sworn that she had gone with her brother? was that a different girl that anthony was with, but he could swear that anthony had even corrected him and said moorenso? was anthony lying abo—”mr. Bridgerton, are you doing okay? you look confused?” miss moorenso cut benedicts ranting thoughts off as he looked up at her and shook his head.

“i apologize, miss moorenso. it’s just..” he trailed, pausing for a moment, unsure whether or not to ask but when she looked up at him worried, he continued. “i was just curious, you were wearing a different dress earlier. were you not?”

taglist ( let me know if you weren’t supposed to be here | purple i couldn’t tag ); @ru-kru @bbridgertcn @yyy90210 @shadowolf993 @booknerdlife @fangirling-galore @reallysparklychaos

[dee-writes-angst]

THE DAWN COURT (Chapter Five)

FEATURING Lucien Vanserra x Reader

SUMMARY On the way through dawn, Lucien begins to open up to you and your stubborn heart can't resist falling deeper and deeper into the warmth of his beautiful smile.

CONTENT WARNINGS childhood abuse, abusive relationships, beron, Lucien is a momma's boy, brothers being pitted against each other, BERON VANSERRA, more mentions of Elain

AUTHORS NOTE I'm not sure how the Courts series became my constant proof of live update, but here we are again, and I can't say I feel bad about it.

SERIES MASTERLIST

The road to the Dawn Court stretched out before you in an endless array of soft pastel hues and rolling hills, the sky above tinged with faint lavender and gold as true dawn approached. Unlike the lush forests of the Spring Court or the frozen majesty of Winter, this land bore a gentler beauty—one that whispered of new beginnings and the quiet hush between night and morning. The air here felt lighter, as though each breath you took was suffused with the promise of a sunrise not yet fully formed. It was a place of transition, where the darkness of the night yielded gracefully to the first touch of day.

You and Lucien had ridden hard for hours, leaving the stark cold of the Winter Court behind in pursuit of the next alliance to be reestablished. Both of your horses moved with weary steps, their sides heaving gently, their coats dusted with sweat and flecks of road-grime. As you crested a gentle slope, an oasis of sorts revealed itself below—a small watering hole nestled in a shallow dip of land, surrounded by wiry shrubs and clusters of pale wildflowers swaying in the breeze. Tall, slender trees with silver-gray bark stood sentinel around the pool, their leaves rustling with the same airy hush that seemed to settle over the rest of the Dawn Court.

The sun was just starting to peek over the horizon, its rays slicing through the mauve-tinted sky in shimmering beams. A light, warm wind caressed your cheeks as you guided your mount down toward the water’s edge, relief stirring in your chest at the thought of a short rest. Lucien followed close behind, his features illuminated by the first true glow of dawn. The lines of tension you’d grown used to seeing in his face had eased somewhat during your travels, but every now and again, you caught a glimpse of the pain he tried so hard to hide.

You dismounted, carefully leading your horse to the water. Lucien did the same, quietly checking his horse’s bridle and running a soothing hand along its flank. His gaze drifted out over the pool, and for a long moment, neither of you spoke, letting the hushed magnificence of this new land envelop you. The sky above faded from lavender to rose, a gentle wave of color heralding the day’s arrival.

When Lucien finally broke the silence, his voice came out softer than usual, as if the serenity of the Dawn Court compelled him to speak more gently. “You asked me before about Beron,” he began, his tone laced with a cautious vulnerability. “About what it was really like… growing up under him.”

You looked over at him, meeting his amber gaze. There was something raw in his eyes, a memory or a series of memories too heavy to keep locked away. You approached quietly, your footsteps muted in the soft ground, and took a seat on a low rock near the water’s edge. Lucien followed suit, sinking down beside you, close enough that you could feel the warmth of him in the mild dawn chill.

“My father,” he continued, drawing a shaky breath, “wasn’t just cruel as a High Lord—he was cruel as a parent, too. Some days, it was the smallest thing that would set him off: a gesture, a slip of the tongue. Other days, it was nothing at all. He… he thrived on instilling fear, on making all of us believe we were never quite good enough.”

His words hung in the air like an echo, and you felt your heart clench at the thought of a young Lucien forced to navigate that sort of chaos. You wanted to reach out, to rest a comforting hand over his, but you kept still, sensing he needed to release these memories in his own way.

“My mother,” Lucien went on, the faintest tremor in his voice, “was the opposite. She tried her best to protect me from Beron’s temper, to shield me and my brothers from his worst impulses. It wasn’t easy, and… well, you can guess how things ended up. But she loved me fiercely, abundantly. I think it’s what saved me, that knowledge that at least one parent cared. Genuinely.” A wistful smile ghosted over his lips, gone as quickly as it came. “She was quiet about her affection when he was around, but behind closed doors, she was everything a mother should be—kind, supportive, protective.”

You exhaled a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. “She sounds incredible. I wish I could have known her.”

Lucien’s gaze flickered with gratitude. “She is. And it was she who first asked Eris to keep an eye on me. That might sound strange, I know—Eris, of all people. But he wasn’t always… well, he wasn’t always what he is now. At least, not with me.” He paused, brow furrowing slightly. “He could be cold, quick to anger, but there were times when he’d intervene if things got too bad with Beron. It’s why I can’t hate him entirely, not the way some of our other brothers do. He protected me when it truly mattered.”

A gentle hush settled between you, the soft ripple of the watering hole and the rustle of leaves in the breeze the only sounds cutting through the dawn. Your heart was pounding, heavy with empathy and unspoken understanding. Lucien had revealed so much of himself—his pain, his past, the people who shaped him.

“And the rest of your brothers?” you asked softly, aware of how fragile this moment felt. “I know there are… many.”

A humorless laugh escaped him, bitter edges clinging to the sound. “They mostly hated me. Saw me as weak because Mother favored me, or perhaps because I was the youngest. Or maybe it was just Beron’s poison that seeped into everything. He pitted us against each other. Turned us into rivals. And after I left the court for good…” He trailed off, a sorrowful light in his eyes. “I suppose they wrote me off. Or, more likely, they never think of me at all.”

Silence settled again, deeper this time, weighted by all the memories and regrets Lucien had just laid bare. Without overthinking, you reached out and rested your hand on his arm, your thumb brushing gently against the fabric of his jacket. It was a small act of comfort, but you hoped it would say what words could not—that you heard him, that you saw him, and that you cared.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “No one deserves that kind of upbringing.”

Lucien’s gaze flicked to where your hand touched his arm, and a flicker of warmth softened his expression. “It’s all right,” he said, though the catch in his throat betrayed him. “I’ve lived with it for a long time. Talking about it helps, I think.”

He set his free hand over yours, gently squeezing. A delicate beam of sunlight caught in his hair, highlighting the copper tones, and for a heartbeat, the two of you were perfectly still—two people who had traveled so many miles, endured so many struggles, and found a measure of solace in one another’s presence.

When at last Lucien drew away, a faint smile touched his lips. “Thank you. For listening.”

“Always,” you replied, your voice barely above a breath.

The horses stirred behind you, drawn to the water, and the moment shifted. But even as you both rose to tend to the animals, the Dawn Court’s sky now blazing in pink and gold overhead, you knew that something had changed between you. You’d peeled back another layer of Lucien’s guarded heart, and in doing so, had opened yourself up to the kind of bond that could either mend you both—or break you altogether. For now, you chose to let hope settle in your chest, buoyed by the promise of dawn and the faint trace of Lucien’s touch lingering on your skin.

The Dawn Court’s gentle magic seemed to cradle you both as you traveled deeper into its lands, where the sky forever hovered between the last shades of night and the earliest colors of morning. Soft lavender clouds floated overhead, their undersides brushed with gold. In the distance, pale hills rolled into the horizon, blanketed in fields of wildflowers that looked as though they had stolen the very colors of sunrise for themselves. Everything here whispered of beginnings—fresh starts, second chances—and perhaps that was why Lucien found it easier to open up in this place, where dawn’s light might cast away shadows of the past.

You had been riding for most of the morning, the conversation between you and Lucien ebbing and flowing with comfortable ease. Sometimes you talked about mundane things—the best tack for your horses, the surprising flavor of Dawn Court tea, small jokes and observations about the people you passed on the road. Other times, you fell into quieter moments, letting the hush of the open road surround you. But there was a notable shift in Lucien’s demeanor. He seemed lighter, as if the bitter memories he had shared with you at the watering hole had momentarily loosened their grip on him.

Eventually, you came upon a small village nestled at the base of a pale, sloping hill. The houses were low and built of sun-bleached stone; the roofs sparkled under the gentle daylight as though dusted with starlight. A winding stream ran through the center of the settlement, a ribbon of glittering water that reflected the pastel sky overhead. Lucien proposed you stop there for a short rest, and you readily agreed. You could use a break from the saddle, and you couldn’t deny you wanted more time in this peaceful realm—more time with him.

A local baker, cheeks ruddy from the warm ovens, directed you to a quiet courtyard where you could hitch your horses. The courtyard was bordered by slim, arching trees whose leaves were tinted with silver on the underside, rustling in the perpetual dawn breeze. Lucien handed you a small pastry—flaky, filled with a sweet fruit compote—and you laughed when he coaxed you to try it, proclaiming it a specialty of the region.

“Better than Summer Court fruit?” he teased, a playful sparkle lighting his eyes.

You took a bite, rolling your eyes in mock challenge. “You’re just trying to one-up Tarquin, aren’t you?”

His grin spread slowly, more genuine than you’d seen before. “I’d never admit to such a thing,” he said, his tone light, though the humor in it was real. The tension lines that so often pinched the corners of his eyes and mouth were markedly softer now. He looked… happy.

You leaned against the trunk of one of those silver-leafed trees, watching as he broke off a piece of the pastry for himself. That fragile warmth in your chest—something that had been growing steadily since your journey began—glowed brighter. You couldn’t help but notice the way your pulse skipped whenever he smiled at you. Or the twist of quiet anger that bubbled up when you remembered what he had told you of Elain—how she wouldn’t return his feelings, how she had turned him away time and again. It grated at you, how someone could ignore a man who had endured so much, how they could cast aside the vulnerability he offered so rarely.

It felt selfish to think like that—Elain’s story was hers, and maybe she had reasons you didn’t know. But still, you couldn’t stop the frustration from gnawing at you, at her seeming rejection of someone who was worth so much more than he gave himself credit for.

“Thinking about something?” Lucien asked, drawing you back to the present. He dusted his hands free of pastry crumbs, then stepped closer, tilting his head as he studied your face.

You realized you’d been staring at him—at the faint freckles on his nose, at the slight curve of his lips. Heat rushed to your cheeks. “Just… random thoughts,” you managed, though your voice sounded strangely breathless even to your own ears.

He nodded once, gaze flicking away as if politely choosing not to press. You respected that about him—his ability to give you space while still being open. He turned slightly, letting his attention wander over the sleepy village. Children played in the distance, their laughter weaving through the streets. A few villagers tended to gardens, brimming with soft, dawn-colored flowers that drank in the perpetual half-light. Everything felt caught in that threshold between night and day—like Lucien, in so many ways, suspended between past pain and future hope.

“It’s strange,” he said at length, slipping back into that gentle, confessional tone you had grown to treasure. “Feeling this… peace. Traveling with you, seeing these courts—helping them—it’s unlike anything I’ve done before. Maybe it’s because I never really had the chance to just… be.” He paused, as though searching for the right word. “With Elain, things are always tense, always so painfully uncertain. I don’t blame her for that, truly. She never asked for our bond, and I can’t force her to accept it. But every moment with her feels like… I’m waiting on a precipice, wondering if she’ll finally see me.”

His expression dimmed slightly, the ghost of heartbreak flickering across his features. As much as you wanted to rail at Elain for hurting him—even unintentionally—you couldn’t ignore the sincere love he still harbored for her. It both warmed and pained you in equal measure.

“Do you still hope she will?” you asked softly. Your heart squeezed painfully at your own question, but part of you needed to know.

Lucien sighed, looking down at his boots as though the dusty cobblestones held an answer. “I… don’t know. Part of me will always hope. It’s my nature, I guess—to hold onto that little spark. But lately…” His eyes lifted to yours, that flicker of warmth returning. “Lately, I’ve been wondering if there could be something else for me. Something that doesn’t revolve around a bond that might never be accepted.”

Something else. Something… or someone.

His gaze caught yours, a quiet intensity there that made your pulse pound. Did he mean you? Or was he simply speaking in generalities, about finding a purpose beyond waiting for Elain?

Your throat felt tight, but you managed a small smile. “Whatever you choose, Lucien, you deserve someone who sees you as you are. Not as a burden, or an inconvenience, or an unwanted tie, but as a man worthy of love and happiness.”

He froze for a moment, the air between you suddenly alive with unspoken sentiment. Then, that slow, genuine smile returned. “I’m starting to believe that might be possible,” he said softly, amber eyes glowing with something close to gratitude. Or perhaps hope.

You swallowed hard, your own emotions tangling up in your chest. You wanted to shake Elain for not seeing him—this Lucien who was open, kind, protective, and so very ready to give his heart. But you also recognized how deeply your own feelings were rooting themselves inside you, pulling you closer to him in ways that were both exhilarating and terrifying. You had never expected your mission—your dream of traveling Prythian—to lead to this.

“Well,” you said, voice trembling slightly, “if there’s anything I can do to help… you only have to ask.”

Lucien’s smile deepened, and you caught the faintest hint of color warming his cheeks. “I appreciate that, more than you know.”

You stayed there for a while longer, the conversation drifting in and out of serious topics. He told you more about his childhood—fond recollections of his mother reading to him by the fire, the way Eris would covertly slip him books or sweets when Beron wasn’t watching. Amid these small rays of kindness were darker tales, too—brothers who mocked him, a father who used fear as a weapon. Each new story made you both ache for him and marvel at how he had risen above it all.

Yet there was no denying the lightness that settled over him now, in the Dawn Court’s hush. His laughter came more easily, free of the ghosts that so often haunted his eyes. He teased you about your knack for stumbling into interesting situations, and you teased him right back about his tendency to hide behind wit and sarcasm. For once, he didn’t bristle at the observation, only shrugged with a lopsided grin.

When the sun climbed a little higher—though never truly reaching full day in this eternal sunrise realm—you both decided it was time to press on. With the horses rested and watered, you saddled up again, exchanging a quick, companionable glance. Something about this land, about your shared experiences, had forged a deeper bond between you. It was as if you were both stepping onto a new path, leaving old hurts and uncertainties behind in the gentle glow of dawn.

As you rode out of the village and resumed your journey, your mind wandered back to that moment—when he mentioned something else, something beyond Elain. The hope in his eyes, the quiet thanks he offered when you told him he deserved happiness. It replayed in your thoughts, making your pulse flutter each time.

And with every stolen glance and every smile he gifted you, you felt the terrifying thrill of falling deeper into something you couldn’t name. All you knew was that here, in the Dawn Court, amidst pastel skies and rolling hills forever suspended between night and day, you and Lucien seemed to be forging something new together—something that made the day brighter and the long road ahead far less lonely.

TAGLIATELLE

@littlest-w01f @rcarbo1 @mirandasidefics @thelov3lybookworm @lilah-asteria @megscabinetofcurios @thecraziestcrayon @surielstea

[huntiesworld]

How long has it been since you slept? | Matt Sturniolo

Matt Sturniolo x Reader

Summary: Y/n and Matt break up due to him being away from her. After months of not seeing each other Matt goes to see her to apologize for his mistake. 

Warning: Crying, sadness, depression. 

Requested?: Nope! 

Author's note: That is my work, Please DON’T COPY MY WORK!! Kinda based on Twilight New Moon. 

The days have blended into an unending blur of gray since Y/n and Matt Sturniolo had parted ways. Her room, once a sanctuary of warmth and light, had become a prison of sorrow. She hadn’t left her room since the breakup. The once vibrant space was now filled with an unbearable stillness, broken only by the occasional creak of the floorboards as she shifted in her chair by the window. 

Y/n sat motionless in her chair, her eyes fixed on the view outside her window. The world beyond was vibrant with spring’s awakening, but it felt distant, like a dream she couldn’t quite grasp. It had been months since she last left her room. Days blurred together, punctuated only by her sporadic tears and the deafening silence that followed. 

She was staring at the blooming cherry blossom tree, a cruel reminder of the day her world fell apart. The tree had been in full bloom that day too, as if mocking her pain. She closed her eyes and was thrust into the memory she had tried desperately to bury. 

You haven’t been good for long 

 —--The day of breakup—-----------------------------------------------------------------------

It was a bright and sunny afternoon. Y/n and Matt had been arguing more frequently, but she never thought it would lead to this. She remembered the loom in his eyes, the mix of frustration and sorrow as he spoke the words that shattered her heart.

“I can’t do this anymore, Y/n. We’re both miserable, and it's not fair to either of us,”  Matt had said, his voice barely a whisper. 

“But we can fix this, Matt, We can work it out.” she pleaded, tears streaming down her face. “I love you.” 

Is it the sound of your thoughts 

“I love you too.” he replied, his voice breaking. “But love isn't enough anymore. We need to let each other go.” 

She watched as he packed his things, every moment a dagger to her heart. When he walked out the door, it felt like he had taken a piece of her with him. 

—-End of flashback—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Y/n’s body convulsed with sobs. The pain was raw, as if it had just happened. She clutched her chest, the agony of her broken heart manifesting as a physical ache. She screamed, the sound echoing through the empty house a cry for help that no one would hear. 

Mauve it times to say goodbye 

 Matt stood at the front door, his hand poised to knock when he heard her anguished cries. His heart sank, he had been away for too long, trying to sort out his feelings, and now he realized the depth of the damage he had caused. He fumbled with his keys, finally opening the door and rushing inside. 

“Y/n?” he called out, his voice filled with worry. He followed the sound of her cries to her room and froze in the doorway. 

Y/n looked up, her eyes red and swollen, her face a mask 0f despair. “Matt?” she croaked, barely believing he was real.”

He moved toward her, his heart breaking at the sight of her broken and fragile. “I’m so sorry, Y/n. I never meant to hurt you this much.” 

Cause im getting pretty fucking tired

 She stared at him, a mix of anger and relief washing over her. “You left me, Matt. You left me alone.” 

Matt reached out, gently cupping her face in his hands. “How long has it been since you slept?” he asked, his voice breaking with emotion, “Or eaten properly?” 

She shrugged, the simple gesture feeling monumental. “I ...I don’t know.: she whispered, her voice hoarse from disuse. “Since you left …everything fell apart.” 

You haven't felt right for days

 His face crumpled with guilt and sorrow. “Y/n, I'm sorry. I thought leaving was the right thing to do, but I was wrong. I should have never left you.”  She closed her eyes, leaning into his touch. “Why now?” she asked, the question heavy with the weight of a month's worth of loneliness and heartbreak. 

“I realized I couldn’t live without you.” he said, his voice trembling. “I thought I was protecting you, but all I did was hurt you. I’ve missed you every single day, and when I heard how you were doing, I knew I had to come back.” 

A tear slipped down her cheek, and Matt gently brushed it away with his thumb. “Please, Y/n. Let me help you, Let me make it right.” 

Maybe it times to shut away

She opened her eyes, searching for any sign of insincerity, but all she saw was genuine regret and a desperate longing to heal the wounds he had caused. Slowly, she nodded. “Okay.” she whispered. “But it's going to take time.” 

”I know,” he said, pulling her into a tender embrace. “And I'll be here, every step of the way. I promise.” 

After a while, he gently pulled to her feet. “Come on,” he said softly. “Let's get you cleaned up.” 

He led her to the bathroom, turning on the shower and adjusting the temperature. He helped her undress, his touch tender and careful, and guided her under the warm spray. As the water cascaded over her, washing away the tears and the pain, Matt stayed close, his presence a steady comfort. 

Once she was clean and wrapped in a towel, he led her to the kitchen. “You need to eat something.”  he said, his voice gentle but firm. He rummaged through her fridge and cabinets, finally settling on making a simple meal of scrambled eggs and toast. She watched him, her heart aching with a mixture of love and regret. 

He placed the plate in front of her and sat down beside her. “Eat.” he urged and she took  a small bite, the food tasting like ash. But she ate, because he asked her to, because he was there. 

Cause i've been eating less all day

After she had eaten, Matt took her hand and led her to the bedroom. They lay down on the bed, and he pulled her close, his arms around her. “I’m sorry.” he whispered into her hair. 

“Me too.” she replied, her voice barely audible. 

They lay in silence, the weight of their past hanging over them. But as they held each other, the distance between them seemed to lessen, the hurt beginning to heal. Slowly, they drifted off to sleep, finding solace in each other’s arms. 

------------------------------------------------------

Heres my Monday fic!! Thank you, guys, for giving me likes on my fics. It means a lot to me!!!

[maevesheart]

FOOLS - PART III

CORIOLANUS SNOW X CAPITOL!READER

note: continuing to use the mars family name for reader, but different storyline than tolerate it. i recommend listening to troye sivan’s “fools” while reading :)

PART I // PART II / PART III

summary: only fools would fall for coriolanus snow, and you’re the biggest fool of them all.

wc: 11.2k (hehe)

tw: possessive!!jealous!!snow, violence, cursing, death, jealous!!reader

Arachne’s funeral was one for someone of high esteem, President Ravinstill himself officiating it. They had asked you to sing Gem of Panem, one final serenade to your friend before she was 6 feet under. 

But they had decided to keep the games going, much to almost everyone’s dismay. Coriolanus was still unwavering, determined to win. 

It was somewhat late, after supper, when you received the phone call. It was from Tigris, her voice strained and hushed, whispering like she might get caught. 

“Tigris, what’s the matter,” you humm, still slowly drifting away from sleep. 

“It’s Coriolanus, there… there was a horrible rebel bombing at the arena and he was there,” 

Your heart drops, immediately making you feel awake as you’ve ever been. Before she is even finishing the rest of her sentence, you are on your feet, wrapping a long mauve colored coat around your scantily clad body, and slipping on some black ballerina flats. 

You rush out of the house, everyone is dispersed around the house, likely waiting for the Tribute interviews, and you tell the butler to alert your father of your whereabouts when he asks (which he is sure to). 

The ride feels long, you tapping your fingers, bouncing your leg, anything to keep your mind busy and off the millions of thoughts of what could’ve happened to Coryo. 

Once you arrive, the nurse leads you straight to his room, and there he is, limp on the small hospital bed. Your heart tightens and your eyes drop, quickly rushing to his side. 

You are alerted of Tigris’s presence when she finally speaks, hushed words once again. 

“He was calling for you in his sleep,” she smiles, watching as you smooth his hair down away from his face. 

“What happened Tigris?” you ask. If there had been a news report, you would’ve been held up in your room, nose buried deep in a book. And if this report did happen, which it likely did, your father would have demanded your entire family not leave for the next week. He would always get paranoid when the rebels sparsely attacked, worried that it would be someone of his who was laying in that hospital bed, hooked up to an oxygen machine. 

“They think the rebels had been planning it. A few tributes ran, mine included,” Sejanus speaks, and you whip around, watching as his large figure crosses the room. 

“I’m so sorry, Sej,” you soothe, standing up from Coryo’s bedside to wrap your arms around Sejanus’s figure. He accepted your hug, practically melting into it. 

“There’s peacekeepers on every corner looking for him. But I hope he got as far away as possible, then they can’t hurt him anymore,” you rub his back, understanding his deep empathy for his once-friend. 

“Y/N?” you whip your head around, Croyo’s faint whisper falling from his lips as his fingers lightly twitch. “Been doing that every few minutes since he was brought here,” Tigris laughs. “I didn’t realize the two of you were that close,” she says, suddenly both pairs of eyes directly on you. 

“Just over the past couple of weeks. We’ve been helping each other, and he saved me from having Arachne’s same fate.” 

At the mention of Arachne’s name, the three of you fall into somber conversation, discussing small details about her life, honoring the girl you once called a friend. 

“Though she had her moments—“ 

You’re cut off by a small grunt, and then movement. Your eyes snap to Coryo, who is trying to sit up, eyes open and adjusting to the bright hospital lights. 

You jump to his side, delicately sitting down on the edge of the bed, taking his hand in yours. 

“Y/N,” he breathes out, a smile overtaking his face before he winces, sore everywhere. 

“Oh darling, I’ll get the nurse,” 

But before you can stand to alert for help, the small television in the room clicks on, a picture of Lucky Flickerman and Lucy Gray overtaking the screen. 

“She saved me,” you hear lightly behind you, Coryo’s eyes wide as he watches her every movement. 

Your heart strains, stomach twisting at his words. 

Then her voice fills the room, smooth and beautiful with every word. 

“When I was a babe, I fell down in a holler. When I was a girl, I fell into your arms,” the four of you watched with wide eyes, her words filling up all your senses. 

The donations began to pour in, Coriolanus’s mouth pulling up in the shape of a smile. This time, he doesn’t wince. 

“You say you won’t love me, I won’t love you neither, just let me remind you what I am to you,” your eyes flicker to Coryo, 

“Cause I am the one who looks out when you’re leaping, I am the one who knows how you were brave, And I am the one who heard what you said sleeping, I’ll take that and more when I go to my grave,” 

Coriolanus won’t meet your eyes, his feet reaching the ground as he pushes himself off the bed, slowly walking to the screen. 

You hold the emotion back, plastering an unassuming look on your face. 

“It’s sooner than later that I’m six feet under, it’s sooner than later that you’ll be alone, so who will you turn to, tomorrow, I wonder? For when the bell rings, lover, you’re on your own.” 

A weep falls from Tigris’s lips, and all of you turn to look, Sejanus’s pained expression briefly flashing over your face, sensing the pain. 

“Oh, Coryo, she’s amazing,” 

You sat in the living room with your family, your large television broadcasting the first day of the games. 

You had been sitting there for hours now, your father engrossed, watching children fight to the death. 

Persephone was unfazed, sipping from a China glass with some sort of pink fizzy soda inside. 

Your mother busied herself with filing her nails, looking up every few moments and asking if it was over yet. 

Some sinister part of you, deep within your core, hoped that Lucy Gray would be the first out. So you’d never have to see her face again, hear her voice again. Then you’d have Coriolanus all to yourself, no more distractions and flamboyant performances. 

There were only a few tributes left, including Lucy Gray, the boy from 11 – Reaper, little Wovey, and the pack of tributes who traveled together. 

Coral, her name, the leader — she frightened you. 

Your father had been sending in donation after donation, mostly to Reaper, the tribute from 11. If Clemmie was conscious, you would’ve told her how your whole family was rooting for him. 

The second day of the games, Coriolanus invited you and Tigris to come with him, walking in with each of you on an arm. 

You and Tigris took your seats in the first row, eyes straining to make out the small shapes of tributes as they scurried around the arena, very few left at this time. 

You wished the games would hurry up and be finished already, Lucy Gray dead and some strong tribute pronounced the winner. You were tired of Coryo’s little fascination with the delicate songbird – you didn’t even think she was that great of a singer, anyways – and once she was dead the two of you could go back to your old ways. No distractions. 

It was soon nightfall, Tigris had left to get some sleep, and you felt yourself starting to drift off, Coryo’s jacket around your shoulders, keeping you warm from the chill in the large room. 

You lightly drifted off, awakened by the loud beep as the large monitor turned off. You jumped, pulling Coryo’s jacket tighter around your body. 

When you frantically searched around for him, he was nowhere to be seen. You rushed to Festus, one of the few of your classmates still left, begging him for answers. 

“Festus? Where did Coriolanus go?” you ushered out, words spilling out of your mouth in a hurry. Festus rolled his eyes, many of the boys in your grade had become annoyed with your obsession over the Snow boy. 

“No idea, Y/N. Dr. Gaul called him over and the next second he was being escorted away by some peacekeepers, Sejanus’s name was thrown around as well,” He was preoccupied with yelling at Lucky Flickerman, demanding to know what happened with the screen that he didn’t answer more question you threw at him. 

You rushed away from him to Dean Highbottom, who laid on the couch adjacent to the 24 desks set up in front of the screen. 

“Dean!” he snapped from his slumber, rubbing sleep from his eyes. 

“What can I do for you, Miss Mars?” he asked, much nicer to you than the rest of the students. It may have had to do with your fathers large donation to the Academy. 

“Do you know where Coriolanus went?” you were calmer this time, knowing the Dean’s distaste for your beloved. Dean shrugged, taking a sip of something from a vial – morphling you assumed – before answering you. 

“Your friend has something he cares about in that arena, and he went to retrieve it.” 

Your heart dropped to the pit of your stomach. It couldn’t be, there was no way Coriolanus would risk his life for Lucy Grays… right? 

Before you could think of anything else, your feet were taking you straight home, slamming the front door to your mansion before stomping into the living room, your father laughing while shoving something blue into his mouth. 

All his friends were over, them all drinking expensive posca and eating expensive foods while relishing in the death of district children. 

“Daddy,” 

Your father’s eyes snapped to you, taking in your disheveled appearance, Coryo’s jacket now in your hand, lightly dragging on the marbled floor. 

“Yes, sweetheart?” his friends all listening in, them all curious of what could be the matter. 

“I want you to start donating to Coral, the girl from 4. From what I saw today, she has a fair chance at winning, very fierce,” it took all of you to restrain from adding, and she’ll take out his little songbird, too.

Your father nodded, grinning that you had finally wanted to make a donation. You had spent the whole past two days moping around and refusing to place any bets on the tributes. Now Mr. Mars could finally send his fortune somewhere. 

He trailed over to the superscreen, pressing a few buttons and then clicking CORAL. He sent a few thousand dollars, all his friends doing the same. 

You would never mention this to Festus, and especially not to Coriolanus. All that mattered to you was for Lucy Gray to be gone and forgotten, taking her ugly dresses and somber songs with her. You were tired of her intrusions in your life, in the people you loved.

The screen snapped back on, no longer just a black screen with the embalm of the Capitol displayed. No, it showed Sejanus, and Coriolanus, sprinting as fast as they could. The background… well the background was the arena. And there were tributes trailing them. And suddenly you felt very sick. 

You knew now why the screen went back, and why Coriolanus went into that arena. Not to save Lucy Gray, no, but to save Sejanus. And all those dollars that your father and his friends had just sent in were now in Festus Creed’s pocket, and his tribute, the girl who was hot on your friend’s trails. 

You covered your mouth, feeling like your food from earlier was about to come up. The color was drained from your father and his friends' faces, them all standing, shocked to see the wealthy Plinth boy and noble Snow in the arena housing vicious children. Who, undeniably so, wanted the two of them dead. 

Your mind flooded with thoughts, thinking that you would be the one to cause Coryo’s death, it would be your fault if Coral caught up with him, if she reached him in time. 

The cameras panned to the exit of the arena, the peacekeepers opening the gate just enough for the two Capitol boys to escape, just enough room for them to slide out. 

A breath you didn’t realize you were holding escapes your lips, and you place a hand on your large white couch, steadying yourself. 

“Was.. was that the Snow boy, darling?” your father’s voice is faint, you can barely hear it over the ringing in your ears. One of his friends answers for you, and soon another’s hands are on your back, bringing you to sit down in one of the nearby plush chairs. 

Lyssie’s dad and one of your father’s closest friends, Dr. Vickers, is soon by your side, feeling your forehead and handing you some ice to place on your face. 

All the voices are mixing, blurring together in a fury of anxiety and worry, multiple powerful men all standing around, making sure of your wellbeing. 

Finally, after what feels like long treacherous hours, you’re able to squeak out, “I’m fine.”

Your father has an Avox escort you upstairs to your room, with a glass of water and some bright orange pill that is typically used for migraines. You know Dr. Vickers prescribed it, probably the only thing he could possibly think of you having. 

You take the small pill, hoping it will give you some sort of relief from your stress. You can’t help but blame yourself, knowing that if he died in there, it would’ve been your fathers money that placed the weapon in Coral’s hands. 

You would visit him tomorrow, pretend you had no idea what happened in that arena. You’d have the Avoxe’s clean his uniform coat, and give it back to him, good as new. You would tell him you went to bed early, leaving the viewing room before the television turned off. You would give him no intell that you know he went in there, that you know how Coral got her weapons. It would be a secret, one that you hoped you’d be able to keep. 

The medication knocked you out pretty quickly, and you slept for a good 12 hours, waking up around 11 am the next day. You could hear your father downstairs, pacing the marble floors. You know he definitely only went away from the TV while Lucky Flickerman talked about the weather, likely showering or maybe taking a power nap. 

If there was one thing your father loved, it was the hunger games.

You pulled on some clean clothes, simple gray pants and a light pink blouse, and made your way downstairs, handing the closest Avox Coryo’s jacket, silently asking them to clean it. 

You had no idea how many tributes were left, hopefully only a few. And you still wished one of them wouldn’t be Lucy Gray.  

Much to your dismay, she was still very much alive and breathing. Your father stated that Jessup had died earlier that morning, as with one of the other boys, a bloody nose, your father said. What a peculiar way to die. 

That left Lucy Gray, Reaper, Wovey, Coral, and one more of her henchmen. The final five. You were nervous yet eager to get down to the Academy, to see Coriolanus and make sure he was alright. 

Cook packed you a meal, and you took Coriolanus’s now clean jacket, directing your driver to take you straight to school. 

When you arrived, you waltzed in, saying a quick hello to Tigris before rushing over to Coryo, placing his jacket over his chair, and shoving some food into his hands. 

“Coryo, eat,” you urged, trying to subtly check out his broad frame for any sort of scar or mark. You saw a large amount of gauze coming out from under his uniform, obviously wrapped around his body. 

“Coriolanus, what happened,” you whispered, fingers trailing the gauze. His eyes briefly snapped away from the screen, watching as you inspected his new attire. 

“Nothing, fell in the shower last night,” you knew it was lie, but you chose to spare him the argument, sinking back and taking a seat next to Tigris. If anyone could distract you, it would be her. 

You all sat for what felt like hours, and then came the announcement. Felix Ravinstill had succumbed to his injuries, and there would be no victor. No tribute deserved to live after the rebel’s merciless killing of the Presiden’t son. 

You and Felix weren’t the closet of friends, but you had grown up together, and your fathers had been good to each other. You remembered playing with Felix when the circus would come in town, or running around together at the zoo, faces pressed against the enclosures of various exotic animals. 

You covered your mouth with your hand, a gasp falling out, Tigris rubbed your back, her face sharing a pained expression. 

When you finally did look away from the screen, Coriolanus was gone. And you didn’t feel like trying to figure out where he went this time. 

You were sure it was to go convince Dr. Gaul or Dean Highbottom to spare his rainbow songbird, to save her life, takes his instead. 

You were tired of chasing, running down for answers, the puzzle pieces were beginning to click. 

You had too much stress already, worrying about the upcoming piano tour your father and President Ravinstill had been planning; wanting for you to tour the districts and give them a sense of national pride. To tell them: I am Panem. 

In a way, you were thankful. Your brother, Percy, would be the head peacekeeper on the tour, he’d escort you to all your shows, ride with you on the train. You’d be safe with him, not a thing in the world could touch you. 

The concerts were advertised for only the richest and of highest esteem in the districts, you doubted there would be many guests in Districts 11 and 12. Your parents were overwhelmed with pride, you were to be the symbol of the Capitol. A beautiful, talented, young girl. The future of Panem. 

You hadn’t told Coriolanus yet, you were planning on telling him once the games were over, once he had won the prize. That way the two of you could celebrate together. 

But Coriolanus was soon back, marching straight pass you and Tigris, eyes wide as he watched a tank of colorful serpents being dropped into the vast arena. 

You stood at the same time as Tigris, the two of you walking in sync to Coriolanus, both straining your necks to get a better view. 

Then the tank came crashing down, and you watched your prized tribute, Coral, go down in a sea of rainbow snakes. 

Festus was raging, turning to Coryo, wondering how his delicate little thing hadn’t gone down too. 

But she was singing. Go fucking figure. 

Murmurs were heard throughout the room, everyone with expectant eyes as you all watched the snakes curl up and around Lucy Gray, but refusing to harm her. 

Then they were chanting, calling for her release. You felt the tears spring in your eyes. There was no way she had won. You were sick of this little girl, sick of her obnoxious dresses, long songs, and sick of her hold on Coriolanus. 

When Coryo turned around, a grin adorning his face, he noticed your face, a deep frown and glossed eyes, and he knew. He knew you had given up, surrendered the war. 

Once he realized the depth of his actions, it was too late. People were being ushered out of the room by peacekeepers, one grabbed your arm, and he lunged forwards, demanding they take their hands off you. 

Your eyes stayed on him the whole time as the peacekeeper carried you away. He was left in the room, Dr. Gaul appearing from a dark corner, Dean Highbottom sitting up from the couch. 

You shook your head, once, and Coriolanus wanted to cry. Lock himself in his room and cry. He was caught, by both you and the Head Gamemaker. And that was all there was to it. He was done for.

The next thing you knew, you were being marched to a classroom in the back of the Academy, a peacekeeper on each of your sides. 

Your father had gotten word of what happened from Serbo Plinth. Coriolanus Snow, being sent to 12. No one knew why, or what prompted the sudden want to be a peacekeeper in the most frowned upon district, but you were determined to find out. 

Coryo was in the room alone, a hankerchief and silver compact sitting on the desk in front of him, his hands cuffed on his lap. 

His head lifted as you entered the room, a smile quickly onto his lips. 

“Y/N,” he breathed out, relief behind his words. He was worried it would be Highbottom again, coming back to remind him how he would never have a future. 

You were stone-faced, eyes like a robot. There was no emotion now. 

One look on the desk and you knew why he was being sent away, why his decision to leave was so sudden, so hushed. 

“You cheated?” it wasn’t a question, it was a statement. Coriolanus looked down, shame deep in his stomach, unable to look you in the eye. You had done so much for him, fed him when he was the hungriest, cleaned his clothes when he was the dirtiest, cradled him when he was the most delicate. 

“Coriolanus,” his head snapped up at your use of his full name, a slight frown tugging at his lips, threatening to give him away. “I hate you right now, I really do. But my father can get you out of this, he can… he can do something. I don’t know what, but better than 12,” and at the end of the day, you still couldn’t keep yourself from wanting to help him, wanting to ease his pain in any way possible. 

“No, Y/N, I can’t–” 

“Coryo, he can help you! Somewhere better, nicer conditions–”

“Will you please stop,” he interrupts you, a little more harshly than you liked. 

You took an instinctive step back, shaking your head from confusion. 

“But you cheated because you needed to win. You seriously don't want to go to 12, do you?” 

He left your question sitting uncomfortably in the air. The tension was so thick, it could’ve been cut by a knife. 

It dawned on you then, all your previous fears proving truer by the minute. 

“You seriously don’t want to go to 12, do you, Coriolanus?” you urged on, almost on the brink of tears. But you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry. 

When he didn’t answer, you took that as all the confirmation you needed, turning on your heel and stomping to the door. 

You cleared your throat, slightly turning around, Coryo’s head turning as well. 

You made the strongest eye-contact you could muster, narrowing your eyes. 

He flinched under your harsh gaze, and you gave him one last look up and down before spitting venom at him. 

“I hope she’s dead once you get there.”

Coriolanus couldn’t stop himself from thinking about the last words you said to him. He knew the power your family held, the immense amounts of influence. 

Just the snap of your father’s fingers would send Lucy Gray six feet under in seconds. 

It was the only thing on his mind when he traveled to the train station. 

Would you take it that far? Did your hatred for her — hatred that he had brewed — really settled that far deep in your soul? 

He thought he knew you well, but with this, he just couldn’t read you. 

The walk to the train station was short. He had one trunk, scarcely filled with various items. A t-shirt, extra pair of pants. A few photos, that was really all. 

Dean Highbottom had assured him that the peacekeeper base in 12 would have everything he needed, there was no reason to fret over forgetting something. 

So, as he sat inside the train, looking outside the window to the mostly empty platform, the only thing he could worry about was what he would find in 12. 

Would she be alive? Or would you have reached her first? 

His thoughts weren’t all in vain, no. He heard a loud, “wait!” 

Your voice. He could recognize it anywhere. 

He stood up, hands pressed to the glass, searching for where you were coming from. 

Who were you yelling for? Him? You had been stern with your words, he was sure you’d never want to see him again. 

But then he saw him. Sejanus. 

Sejanus turned at the sound of your voice, first a perplexed look on his face, and then a smile. 

Then Coryo saw you, running, your long yellow dress following you, a blur of hair and white heels as you moved as quickly as you could. 

You were holding something, a necklace? A bracelet, maybe? He couldn’t tell, but he could see it swinging in your palm. 

You finally reached Sejanus, a peacekeeper on your trail, telling you that you must leave, now. 

You ignored him, brushing off his hand that settled on your shoulder. 

Coryo heard you hiss at him, “get off me!” 

He smiled, there was your feistiness that he began to miss. 

“Y/N,” Sejanus breathed out, eyes soft and a big smile on his face. 

You felt a twinge of guilt in your stomach for what you were about to do, but Sejanus had always been a close friend. You knew that he would make a fine man, he was sweet, empathetic, and caring. 

He would do just fine. 

One look to your left, you saw Coriolanus’s face in a train window not too far from where you stood. He was staring straight at your face, mouth slightly agape, and curiosity in his eyes. 

You reminded yourself, he deserved this. You deserved it as well, someone better. 

The two of you held eye-contact for a brief moment before you turned back to Sejanus, and launched yourself at him. 

Your hungry lips met his, and you were up on your tiptoes, arms wrapping around his neck. 

Sejanus was taken aback, but soon his hands were resting on your hips, and he was kissing you back. 

It was gentle, slow. Nothing like kissing Coryo, but you pushed all those memories to the back of your mind, knowing if you thought about it too long you’d cry. 

You opened your eyes, Sejanus’s still closed, and made direct eye contact with Coriolanus. 

He was seething, you could tell. His mouth downturned in a scowl as you continued to move your lips against Sejanus’s. 

Finally, after what you decided was enough torture, you pulled back, and placed the necklace you had been holding in his hand. 

He looked down, wondering, creasing his eyebrows together. 

“A token. To remember me by,” you smiled, closing his palm around the chain. 

It was a long gold chain, one that likely cost a fortune, with a small gold plate, your initial carved into it. A small ruby stone sat at the top, one to match the ring you never took off. 

You knew Sejanus would wear it everyday, never taking it off. And that’s all you needed. For Coriolanus to see the token every day, to see your initial, your stone. To know that wherever he went, you’d be following. 

Sejanus thanked you, left a kiss to your cheek, and placed the chain around his neck, waving to you as he boarded the train, a grin never leaving his features. 

You began to feel bad, but you knew you could form feelings for him. They’d never be as strong as your feelings for Coryo, but they’d do. Sejanus had a fortune at his feet, he would be able to give you the life you deserved, even if it wasn’t the one you wanted. 

When Sejanus took a seat across from Coryo, a grin was wide across his features, and Coryo wanted to reach across the seat and smack it off his face. 

He had watched you place a chain in Sejanus’s hands, but it was now that he could finally get a look. 

The ruby left a raging feeling in his gut, remembering the words he had spoken to you in times of intimacy. 

“…a new ruby ring every birthday. Darling, it’s all for you,” 

He watched with envy as Sejanus traced his finger along the carving of your initial, hand balled in a fist under the table. 

Sejanus had surprised him, unwilling for him to travel to 12 alone. “That’s what friends do,” he had said. 

But Coriolanus knew that a friend wouldn’t be dreaming about ripping the others' head off. 

And that’s when he knew he had to take Sejanus out. One way or another. 

Your tour around the districts had been going magnificently. Better than you ever could have hoped. Persephone insisted on coming with you, declaring you needed support after everything that happened with Coryo. 

Somehow, the situation had brought the two of you together, forming a sister-bond that you had never experienced before. 

Percy was your personal peacekeeper, his room always connected to yours, his body always hovering slightly behind as you walked around the districts, meeting various people and sightseeing around. 

The three of you stayed in the Crane’s various hotels, given the nicest rooms, and best service. After all, you were Panem’s Princess. 

But once you reached District 11, it all started to go down. 

President Ravinstill insisted you do the districts in order, starting with One and ending with Twelve. “Give them something to look forward to,” he had said. 

You were worried for the poorer districts, you couldn’t lie. The people were more violent, dirtier. They would risk their lives to try and kill you, the precious gem of the Capitol. 

Connection was compliance, and you knew these people hated anyone having to do with President Ravinstill. He had punished them tirelessly after the war, and didn’t seem to be letting up any time soon. 

You were scared someone would throw themselves up onto the stage as you played, maybe charge into your dressing room with a knife after the show. You had no idea what to expect. You hadn’t seen these districts apart from their features once a year at the reapings. 

You had vacationed to Districts One and Two before the war, when your family would parade around with the Cranes to their various homes. But now, you were in the last two districts, and though all your other shows had gone marvelously, you were sure they wouldn’t all be good. One had to be an outlier. 

District 11 was kind to you when you first arrived, a little girl had walked up to you at the station, holding a small pink flower. Percy stood straight next to you, guarding you from any potential danger this flower could harm. 

“It’s alright, Perse,” you assured him, taking the flower from the little girl’s hands. 

“You look like a princess,” she had spoken, big eyes raking up and down your travel outfit, which was likely more expensive than all the money she would ever make. 

You giggled at her compliment, gracefully accepting it, and holding the flower close to your heart. 

Just as you were about to compliment her little dress, Percy pushed you backwards, yelling for you and Persephone to get back onto the train. 

You looked around in confusion, Percy’s backup peacekeepers coming out and grabbing your arms, pulling you back into the comforts of the bullet-proof train, one especially made for Capitol citizens. 

Your eyes darted around as they continued to pull you, the sound of gunshots being the only thing you could hear. You were suddenly hyper-aware, realizing that Percy had just raced after whatever was posing the threat. 

You thrashed against the peacekeeper's hard grip, trying to get back to the little girl, watching as people ran across the station; she was likely to get trampled. 

“Help her!” you screamed, motioning for the multiple peacekeepers surrounding you to go help the frightened little girl. 

She was looking around, shaking profusely. No one knew what was happening, only that there had been rebels waiting outside the underground station, wanting to get their hands on the three holders of the Mars fortune. 

The loud boom of the bombs then began to fall, and you fell to the ground, Persephone coming down next to you. She grabbed you, pulling you into her lap, and the two of you covered your heads with your arms, like you had been trained to do during the war. 

A peacekeeper was on top of you two, gun positioned up as more went out to shoot at the innocent civilians who were just trying to escape. 

You felt sick, like you were going to throw up. So this was how President Ravinstill was punishing the districts? By shooting them at random and trampling them in public spaces? 

You resonated with his loss of Felix, his only child, but to you, this seemed extreme. You suddenly realized that Sejanus had been right the whole time; the government was meant to protect its people, not kill them. 

Finally, the shaking and sounds stopped, and a peacekeeper took your hand to help you stand, legs wobbly from the fear still coursing throughout your body. 

When he placed his hands on your hips to ensure you could stand, it reminded you too much of Coriolanus, and you broke, “get your hands off me!” 

He was taken aback, hands immediately leaving your body, and giving you a bewildered look. You realized he was only trying to help, and apologized, smoothing down your long dress. 

Percy finally returned, engulfed you into his arms, and you began your trek to the Peacekeeper barracks, where the President now wished for you to stay. 

You hated the idea of living among hundreds of men, but there was nowhere else you’d be safer. Percy assured you that he’d sleep in the bunk next to yours, it would just be you and your siblings in the room, no one else. You finally agreed, realizing you really didn’t want to sleep alone after that rebel scare. 

Percy explained it all to you on the ride to the barracks. Some rebels knew when your train was arriving, and they had planned to grab you and run, from what he saw, there were a lot of them, definitely enough to take you if they hadn’t last-minute called for extra peacekeepers. They had feared something like this would happen, especially after Reaper’s public humiliation of the Capitol in the games. 

They got a few of the rebels, and they were currently being sent to the Capitol for interrogation. Percy said they would have more information in a few hours, once Dr. Gaul had received the men. 

Your mind was going a mile a minute, trying to comprehend all the information you just received. Someone was trying to kill you? To take you and run, then kill you later, broadcasting all around the districts? Showing the Capitol that they can kill, but the districts can too? 

Your stomach began to turn. You were absolutely dreading your performance that night. Originally, it had been planned that you would do two shows in each district, except 12. But you had managed to pull a few strings, and now had one night in 11 and two nights in 12. 

You wanted to see Sejanus. To kiss him again, dance with him. You knew deep down that you really longed to see Coriolanus, to see if Lucy Gray was still alive. You had been writing to Sejanus, and he had been sending you updates. 

He claimed it was so dark and dreary there, everyone was poor, dirty. He wanted to help them but he didn’t know how. The last thing you wanted was Sejanus to be killed for being an accomplice to some rebels, so you reminded him to just lay low. Do his duties, and then come home as soon as possible. 

The only thing on your mind the entire time you performed in 11, went to bed, and then boarded the train the next morning was seeing him again. Coriolanus. You had pushed him to the back of your head, trying your hardest to forget about him and all his stolen promises. But as you came closer and closer to seeing him again, you couldn’t keep the thoughts contained anymore. 

And as the train zoomed past the break in the gate that read “District Twelve”, your stomach began to twist. 

Sejanus had bought tickets for your show tonight, three, enough for him, Coriolanus, and Lucy Gray to all attend. 

Coriolanus didn’t think it was right for Lucy Gray to go. After all, she was the reason that you kissed Sejanus, the reason that he was now stuck in District 12, when he should really be in the Capitol, with you. 

He was excited for the performance, he couldn’t lie. He had told Lucy Gray not to come, that she would hate it. Besides, Lucy Gray had her own show that night. She was not happy that Coriolanus was skipping it to see you, but nothing had progressed between the two of them. They hadn’t kissed, they had barely spoken. But she didn’t know of your history with Coriolanus, all she knew was that she had once persuaded him to profess his love for you, and now, there she was, the man she loved skipping her performance for his ex-lovers.

Sejanus didn’t know, nobody did. No one knew of the nights the two of you spent, the moment in the coat closet, the whispered promises in moments of passion. 

Coriolanus still hoped that you were holding out for him, despite your goodbye kiss with Sejanus. He had wanted to strangle Sejanus on the spot, but he knew something would arise, something that he could turn him in for. Sejanus could never stay away from a “good cause”, and Coriolanus had finally caught him. He had given some rebels money, and Coriolanus fully planned on turning him in. 

The two of them took their seats in the small amphitheater. It was the only one that Twelve had, and it could fit maybe 100 people. That meant only the richest in all of Twelve. You doubted all the seats would fill, but you really just wanted to finish the show and see the boys. That’s all you wanted. 

So when you walked out on stage, wearing a camel-colored dress and a big black bow in your hair, Coriolanus thought he was going to faint. 

He was curious about which songs you would choose to play. You hadn’t played A Snow Waltz since your very first performance, and Coriolanys doubted you would play it tonight. But each night, without fail, you sang. And the songs were usually from the old world, each one somehow resonating with the District you were in. It was your touch. You got to pick what you performed, the one thing that the President gave you freewill over. 

Tonight, you had chosen A Snow Waltz. You had changed the name on the program, therefore no one would be able to predict it. But as soon as your fingers began to dance along the keys, Coriolanus began to melt, immediately recognizing the piece. 

You knew he would recognize it, that was the whole reason you chose it. It was for him, everything always was. And so, when you sang the same song that you had played the very first time, the very first song you had sang to the people of Panem, Coriolanus knew. He knew that he had to win you back, no matter what it took. 

You were showered with praise, bowing before the people of Twelve. You had to admit, they had been a better audience than you expected. 

And when a white rose fell at your feet, you looked up, eyes meeting those cold ones that belonged to Coriolanus. 

He offered you a slight smile, which turned to a grin when you smiled back. 

After the show, Sejanus had been escorted back to your dressing room, swooping you into his arms and kissing all over your face, begging you to join him at the bar. 

“I don’t know if that is really my scene, Sej,” you rubbed your arm awkwardly, looking up at him with big doe eyes. 

“Oh, c’mon, Y/N/N, I promise, I’ll make it worth your while!” 

You dressed in the most normal outfit you had packed, a short white dress with bell sleeves, lace trimming the neckline and sleeves. 

It was a dress you picked up in District One, Persephone commenting how it went great with your hair and eyes. 

You put on your tan boots, and tied them up. You looked like someone from the districts, and if it weren’t for the big ruby ring on your middle finger, and perfectly done makeup upon your face, you could’ve possibly passed for a district girl. 

You left the big black bow in your hair, wanting to keep a piece of your distinct style with you, despite all your clothing being picked up on your journey around Panem. 

You saw your necklace still around Sejanus’s neck, and it gave you a sense of pride, knowing Coriolanus definitely had spotted it too, probably grinding his teeth to keep himself from launching at Sejanus from across the room. 

So finally, when you had convinced Percy that you’d be safe with Sejanus and all the other peacekeepers who were going, you linked arms with Sejanus and let him lead you away.

But when you walked into the club with Sejanus, and there was an old-feeling country song on, you pulled him into the middle of the dancefloor and demonstrated the moves you had danced to alone in your bedroom, for many, many years. Dancing like this would have never been allowed in the Capitol. If your father saw you flipping your hair around and jumping with a bunch of strangers, he’d probably have dropped dead. 

You didn’t even realize it was Lucy Gray performing until you spinned in Sejanus’s arms, eyes meeting hers. You froze, watching her mouth move to the lyrics of the song she sang at the reaping. 

You watched her eyes slightly narrow before she smiled at you, and before you could stop yourself, you were smiling back, continuing to spin in Sej’s arms. 

Coriolanus watched from a corner deep in the bar, eyes on you and your tiny dress, when they really should’ve been on Lucy Gray. But he couldn’t look away. Not from the beaming smile upon your lips, or the way your hair flew as Sejanus spinned you to the beat of the song. 

When Lucy Gray finished her song, she announced your presence, and all the blood suddenly drained from your face. You had no idea what she was doing, but the whoops from the people throughout the small place assured you that your presence was welcomed. 

“Come up and sing us a song, Y/N!” Lucy Gray reached out for your hand, tugging you up onto the stage. Coriolanus wondered what game she was playing at, eyes narrowing as you walked up the steps to the stage, a light blush dotting your cheeks. 

You walked up to the microphone, pushing the hair out of your face. Sejanus was right below you, and you knew that if anything were to happen, he would be the first to you, pulling you away from the danger. 

“Hi everyone, I’m Y/N,” you speak into the microphone, giggling as the whole bar begins to cheer, begging you to sing them a song. You didn’t realize people enjoyed your music so much. 

“I don’t have my piano! What am I supposed to perform?” you asked them, various people shouting at you to just sing instead. 

“Alright, I guess I will. This song I wrote myself, to help me cope with a particularly hard situation. I hope you all like it.” 

Coriolanus wondered what you could’ve been talking about, but then your voice invaded his senses and he brought the bottle of alcohol to his lips, taking a long sip. His eyes never once left your body, his gaze making you feel hot. 

“I’m tired of this place, I hope people change,” you smiled to the crowd, this song was more upbeat than any of the others you had ever sang. 

“I need time to replace what I gave away, and my hopes they are high, I must keep them small,” the crowd swayed along to your mesmerizing voice, Lucy Gray suddenly feeling very jealous of the way you commanded attention. 

“Though I try to resist, I still want it all! I see swimming pools, and living rooms, and aeroplanes, I see a little house on a hill and children’s names,” you began to move as you sang, the microphone in your hand. Even Lucy Gray and the Covey began to dance, your words getting faster by the second. 

“But everything shattered and it’s my mistake, only fools fall for you, only fools fall,” Coriolanus was suddenly hyperaware. Every song you had performed that night was because of him. He didn’t know if he should feel great shame or great pride. 

“Only fools do what I do, only fools fall,” 

And suddenly the Covey was grabbing their instruments, forging a beat to go along with the song. You smiled over your shoulder, the few members giving you encouraging nods. 

People started to cheer, obviously liking the way you demanded their attention. 

“Oh, our lives don’t collide, I’m aware of this, we’ve got differences, and impulses,” 

Your eyes met Coriolanus’s, and you grinned, his face soon matching the giddy expression. 

“And your obsession with the little things. I don’t care at all, I’m not giving up!” 

People cheered again, and you watched as Coryo slowly made his way through the crowd, trying to get a better view of you performing. 

“I still want it all!” 

You giggled as you twirled around the stage, lyrics continuing to pour from your mouth. You thought you made your message pretty clear, but when you watched both Coryo and Sejanus disappear down a hall, you briefly lost your liveliness and wrapped up the song with a loud, “Thank you all!”

You rushed down the side-stairs, and went straight down the hallway that your two boys disappeared down. You could hear raised voices, though the words were muffled through the thick walls. 

You pushed open the door, a gun immediately being pointed in your face. 

“Spruce, it’s alright,” Sejanus assured, but Coryo was first to you, his hands pushing you behind him. 

A girl with red hair was eyeing you from across the room, her eyes raking over your expensive jewelry and pretty clothing. 

“And who’s this?” the man – Spruce, you assumed – asked, motioning his gun to your body hidden behind Coriolanus. 

“You don’t look at her,” Coryo seethed out, one hand snaking behind him to hold your waist against his body, and another out in front of him, keeping Spruce and the two other strangers at bay. 

Sejanus mistook his possessiveness for just wanting to protect an old friend, but you and Coriolanus both knew that the protection meant something else. 

So Coryo still wanted you as badly as you wanted him? Did he regret going to Twelve? You supposed there was no bad blood with Lucy Gray after she brought you up onto her stage, so clearly nothing had happened in the few weeks the boys had been in Twelve. 

Your hands balled in the back of Coryo’s shirt, the harsh fabric being the only thing grounding you right then. 

You closed your eyes, reminding yourself to breathe, but your eyes snapped open as the red-haired girl began to cackle. You peeked your head out from behind Coryo, trying to get a better look. 

Her head was thrown back in mock-amusement, another man, Billy (maybe?), trying to calm her down, a hand on her shoulder. 

She saw you peeking around, and as she took in your hair, your eyes, and your figure, realization dawned on her. There was no one as pretty as you in Twelve. Probably in all of the districts! You weren’t a district girl, no way. 

“Oh! It’s the Capitol Princess! I should’ve known! Billy, why don’t you try to bed that songbird too, huh? Or I can just tell my Daddy about –” she shut up at the sound of a gunshot, Spruce had shot at the ceiling, causing you to jump and shriek. You hated the violence. 

“Spruce!” the other man yelled at him, back to the other girl. There was fire burning behind her eyes, and you finally recognized her as the girl that Lucy Gray had attacked with a snake at the reaping. You understood now. She really was insufferable. 

“Control your woman, Billy Taupe.” 

With that, Billy turned around, reaching out for the girl. “Mayfair, just settle down. The girl ain’t gonna say a thing…” you had no idea what was going on, your vision still slightly blocked. 

“Sejanus, what were you thinking?” Coryo roars, the anger in his voice would’ve made you cower if you were on the receiving end. 

You slowly began to peek out from Coryo, hand on his lower back as you tucked yourself into his side, his hand instinctively wrapping around you. 

“They told me it was for supplies! Not guns! I didn’t know, I swear–” 

“And you trusted them?” 

Coryo sounds the angriest you’ve ever heard him. You look up at his face, eyes softening as you read it as fear. He was scared. 

“Coryo,” you coo, hand rubbing his hip. The second his eyes locked down on you, he was calm, trying to steady his breathing. 

“Sejanus,” your voice was soft, cutting through the thick tension in the room. Sej looked at you, and you saw how upset he was. 

“We’ll go to Percy. He can fix this, I promise,” 

But you spoke too soon, because Mayfair was now yelling again, this time straight in your direction. And then you realized your mistake.

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re related to Major Percy Mars too? Oh this will be so good. Just wait until my daddy hears that a Capitol Mars girl is an accomplice! You’re all–” her words were cut off when Coryo lunged for one of the guns sitting in the middle table, lifting it up and firing it directly into the middle of Mayfair’s chest. You yelped, jumping backwards into Coryo’s open arms, him bringing your face into his chest, shielding you from the blood pouring onto the floor. 

You heard screams, likely from the Billy boy, and then Spruce trying to resonate with him. Sejanus’s laboring breathing was loud, and you tried to focus on your own as you heard the men around you fight. 

“You killed her,” Billy spoke, and you finally looked up, tear brimmed eyes meeting Coryo’s. He placed his hands on either side of your face, crouching so your noses were touching. 

“Hey, listen to me. We’re gonna be fine, alright. I’m not gonna let anyone touch you,” 

His words settled you, and you nodded, turning your head slightly to the sound of Billy’s raised voice. 

“You think you’re gonna walk away free from this? I don’t think so, Capitol Pretty Boy. If I swing, you’re swinging with me,” 

Another gunshot, you covered your ears, watching Billy Taupe fall to the floor next to his Mayfair. 

“I didn’t trust him anyways,” Spruce shrugged, slinging the gun over his shoulder. 

Coryo was moving fast, wrapping the guns that Sejanus paid for into a large duffle bag, and shoved it into Spruce’s arms. 

“Get rid of these, Spruce, go!” and Spruce was running out the room, disappearing into the darkness outside. 

You were shaking, staring at the two dead bodies on the floor, blood pouring out in what seemed never-ending quantities. 

Coryo’s hands were on your shoulders, leading you out of the room. He was shouting things at Sejanus over his shoulder, but the ringing in your ears wouldn’t let you focus on what he was saying.  

When you re-entered the bar, Lucy Gray watched with confused eyes as Coryo lead you away, a shaken Sejanus following. Coryo’s protective grip was the only thing you could focus on the entire walk back to the Peacekeeper barracks. 

Finally when you returned, Coryo sent Sejanus straight to their bunks and walked you to your shared room with your siblings. 

“Don’t tell them anything,” Coryo whispered, frantic eyes searching your features for a sign of distress. You nodded, swallowing down the lump in your throat. 

“I wasn’t gonna let them hurt you, Y/N.” 

You looked up at him, wide and glossy eyes meeting his stern ones. Ice cold but softening when they saw your fear. 

“I love you. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he left a haste kiss to your lips, which you barely had time to process before Percy was opening the door, saying goodnight to Coryo, and pulling you into the room. 

He hadn’t liked the idea of you going out in the first place, so there was no way you were going to tell him what happened in the small back room of the dreary bar you were in. 

They could tell something was wrong, but they didn’t push it. Persephone took Coryo’s presence as more than an answer and helped you undress and get into bed.

You kept Coryo’s secret and screwed your mouth shut, answering their surface-level question with one-word, assuring them you were fine, just tired. 

They finally left you alone and you rolled onto your side, facing the wall. You didn’t sleep a second that night. 

The next morning you awoke from loud yelling outside your door, Percy quick to his feet to examine what was the matter. 

He was out there for a few moments before rushing back in, words spilling from his mouth, “Dress quickly, they’ve found rebels and we all must attend.” 

You got out of bed, fearing that they had found out about Coriolanus and Sejanus. You pulled on a white skirt and light pink blouse, slipped into the boots you wore last night, and didn't bother to do your hair or makeup. 

Percy had a protective hand on your shoulder as the three of you made your way to the District Square, you couldn’t help but think the worst. You knew they had done something punishable by death, but was it possible that Spruce had been caught immediately? It was the Peacekeeper’s night off, there were none on duty. How could they have found the guns that quickly? 

Peacekeepers situated the three of you in the front, your hand intwined with Persephone’s. You spotted Coryo in front of the stage and you smiled, a relieved laugh falling from your lips. Percy looked down at you, bewildered, and you managed to squeak out an excuse. The last thing you needed was to involve your Major brother. 

Coryo’s face was stiff, but he met your eye and nodded to you, acknowledging that everything would be okay. You strained your neck looking for Sejanus, wanting to make sure he was alright too. But he was nowhere in sight. 

Commander Hoff took the stage, and you saw Spruce standing on his other side, your entire face dropping. “No..” you whispered out, Percy’s harsh gaze shutting you up. 

“Three years, I fought for the Capitol during the war. I’ve been angry, but this is the first time I’ve felt ashamed…Get the other one up here!” and then you knew. You knew that Sejanus had been caught. 

Two Peacekeepers pushed their way through the audience, Sejanus’s beat up body being held up in between them. 

“No!” you shrieked as he passed you, Percy’s arms wrapping around your waist to keep you from chasing after him. 

Everyone turned to look. The Capitol Princess throwing a fit over a Peacekeeper being a traitor. They wondered why you weren’t shot on sight for thrashing in the arms of another Peacekeeper. 

“Let him go! Let him go!” you wailed and kicked Percy with your legs as he held you back into his chest, Persephone’s hand slapping over your mouth to keep you quiet. 

You reached out your hands to grab Sejanus, but then moved them down to Percy’s arms to unravel them from your body. 

Coryo winced as your sobs echoed from the mouths of the mockingjays, large tears spilling from your eyes and falling to the ground. 

You heard as Sejanus called out for Coryo while he was being pulled up the stairs, and then onto the stage as the noose was wrapped around his neck. 

Persephone instinctively removed her hand when you bit down on it, once again screaming for your friend. 

“Please, Sejanus! No!” Everyone ignored you, heads hung low as your blood-curdling weeps were heard for miles. 

“He didn’t do anything wrong!” you insisted, another Peacekeeper coming to help Percy keep you restrained. You knew this would make its way back to the Capitol somehow, but you didn’t care. Your father and President Ravinstill would excuse it for the sympathy of a dear friend, and pardon you. But as you watched Sejanus struggle for his life, you wished you could do something greater to help. 

“The Capitol has received word via jabberjay that these two men conspired to break into our base’s jail and flee north. To release this terrorist from captivity,” the Commander motioned behind him to a woman, one you didn’t recognize. 

You looked around, everyone stone-faced and silent. You didn’t understand how they could all be bystanders, but then understood that their death’s meant much less than yours did. In the eyes of the President and Capitol anyways. 

“I’d expect this from a rebel, but not from one of our own. This is treason, plain and simple!” 

Then, a loud recording sounded out, Sejanus’s voice filled your senses. For the first time in what felt like eternity, you looked at Coryo, tears slightly overlapping your vision. He was breathing heavily, slightly shaking. Sejanus began to scream for Coryo again, and you had to turn away, face in Percy’s chest. 

He wrapped his arms around your back, pulling you closer. Then the stage gave, and you heard the loud cracks as the three of their neck’s gave out. You shuddered and felt Percy pick you up into his arms and push through the crowd, heading back for the base. 

He’d probably scold you for making such a scene, but you didn’t care. All that mattered was that Sejanus was dead, and it was likely your fault. 

When you finally got back to the room, Percy laid you on your bed, silent as he paced the room, tugging at his hair. The Plinth’s were your closest family friends. Sejanus’s death hit the three of you hard. Persephone immediately went to the phone, dialing your mother, small whimpers falling from her lips. 

You cried into your pillow, soaking it with salty tears. You heard ruffling around, assuming Percy was packing up all your bags, not wanting to disturb your mourning. 

You had eventually dozed off, but were woken by Persephone lightly shaking you awake. “Coriolanus Snow is at the door for you,” she lightly smiled, no anger or annoyance dripped in her words. You supposed she was being kind about Coryo due to the day’s earlier events. 

You nodded, pushing up off the bed, and made your way to the door. 

And there Coryo was, stoic as ever. He immediately pulled you into his arms, stroking your hair with his hand while the other was tight around your waist. 

“I’m sorry, my love,” he murmured, letting you whimper into his chest. He would never tell you that he sent the mockingjay, that Sejanus’s blood was on his hands. You would never forgive him. 

When you pulled back, you spotted the necklace that you had given Sejanus hanging around Coryo’s neck, where it should be. You had originally bought it for him, but felt it shouldn’t go to waste. 

Coryo watched as you ran your fingers over the solid gold, tracing the red ruby. 

“He gave it to me, last night,” Coryo whispered. 

“He saw the way you clung to me, and knew, I guess. Said it should belong to me. And I couldn’t argue with him there.” 

“He was right,” you whispered, finally cracking a smile. 

He let you relish in the happiness for a moment, before lightly crouching to be at your level. 

“Lucy Gray found out where the gun is. The one used on Mayfair. I’m going with her to get rid of it, and then I’ll be back. No loose ends.” You nodded at his words, but extremely afraid. 

“Does that mean Lucy Gray too?” you held the cold gold in your hands, the refreshing chill calming your senses. 

“I…I haven’t decided yet. I don’t think she’s a threat, but you never know, I suppose.” 

You didn’t think Lucy Gray should die, not anymore. She hadn’t really done anything wrong, just survived. You felt bad for her more than anything. 

“Don’t hurt her unless you have to, Coryo. All she’s done is survive.” Coryo nodded at your words and pulled you into his chest, your lips connecting. 

An unspoken goodbye, in case he didn’t return. 

“I love you,” you pulled away from him, hand running through his buzzed hair. 

“I love you more,”

You’d find out later that night that Lucy Gray had been “taken care of” in Coryo’s words, and soon you were sitting next to him on the train home, fingers playing with his as you neared the Capitol entrance.

10 years later…

Lucky Flickerman stood atop the glimmering stage, Coriolanus on his left side, and Festus Creed on his other. 

You and Tigris sat in the front row, hands enclosed around each other. Yours and Coryo’s four-year-old son is on your other side, he is dressed in a sharp deep blue suit and his blond hair slicked back. He looks just like Coriolanus, holding your hand and swaying his feet out of impatience in his seat. 

His name is Apollo Crassus Snow, and his name precedes him. He is like a ball of sunshine, always smiley and begging you to sing for him. He reminded you just of his father when he was that age.

“And now I am pleased to announce the final round of votes is in!” Lucky exclaims, looking over to Coryo who offers him a charming smile, eyes flickering down to you in the audience. You offer him a beaming smile, assuring him that you’ll be with him, no matter what happens. 

What feels like a torturously long few minutes as Lucky asks Coryo and Festus each their last few questions, he finally turns to the audience, and announces what everyone has been waiting for. 

“I am proud to announce the President-Elect for Panem is… Coriolanus Snow!” 

Clapping breaks out in the large amphitheater, and a grin takes over your features, watching as Coriolanus waves out to the crowd, a broad smile upon his lips. 

“As my first duty as president of Panem, I’d like to invite my magnificent wife and son up on stage,” he is as charming as ever, extending his hand to where you and Apollo sit in the front row. 

Apollo is up immediately, holding his little hand out for you to take. The audience oohs-and-awes as you take his hand, laughing as your little boy leads you up the stairs. 

Your white dress trails along the ground. It was an exact replica of the dress you wore for your first ever performance, just colored as white as snow, as Coriolanus had stated. 

The two of you make it up the stairs, and Coriolanus scoops Apollo up into his arms, setting him onto his hip, and pulling you tight against his other side, a hand wrapping around your waist. 

His deep-scarlet colored three-piece suit mixes perfectly with yours and Apollo’s outfits, the Snow family looking like perfect Panem royalty.

You beam and wave out to the crowd, acting like the perfect First Lady. 

Apollo waves as well, his hand going wild. You and Coriolanus giggle at your son, the perfect first-child of Panem. He was beautiful, like a little model, and his spirit made him magnetic. 

You were so lucky. 

Coriolanus then slightly leans forward to once again speak into the microphone, thanking the crowd for believing in him from the beginning and giving him the prestigious responsibility of ruling the ever-flourishing Panem. 

When he leans back, the crowd erupts into the loudest applause you’ve ever heard, and you all wave goodbye before being escorted off the stage and into the banquet hall, where the Presidential Gala would now be held. 

That night, after you and Coriolanus tucked Apollo into his new majestic room, the two of you curled into your new bedroom, a large four-poster bed with golden tapestries around each side. 

The walls were tall and painted a dark red, gold piping along the many walls. Different portraits hung around the room, but the one above your bed, that Coriolanus had made sure was the first installed, included the portrait he commissioned after Apollo’s birth. 

You sat in the middle, a long silk dress hanging off your immaculate figure. Coriolanus stood behind you, a hand pressed to your shoulder, and the other supporting the child you cradled in your arms. It was his favorite, showcasing the most important things in his life. 

You laid against his chest, playing with the gold embalm that laid against his heart, your initial traced into it. 

“Darling,” his voice cuts you out out your trance, and you look up, meeting his eyes. 

“I have something for you,” he smiles, reaching over to his nightstand. 

“Oh, Coriolanus, it’s your day, you don’t need to give me anything..” your words trail off as he opens the small black velvet case, revealing the most ornate and beautiful ruby ring you had ever seen. 

Coryo had stuck to his promise, gifting you a new, and more expensive, ruby ring for every one of your birthdays. They gained size each year, and began to be cut into more complex shapes and sizes. 

This one was huge, shimmering from the moonlight streaming in. A halo of diamonds surrounded the large oval-shaped stone, with another halo of sapphires behind the small diamonds. 

You were speechless, mouth agape as you stared at the ring. The last piece of jewelry you had received that even compared to this one was your engagement ring, which was the biggest diamond ever crafted in Panem’s history. 

Coryo wiped the stray tear that slipped from your eye, and then took your hand, slipping the heavy ring onto your middle finger. 

“It’s beautiful, Coryo,” you smiled, admiring the beautiful creation. 

“This is all for you, my love. And I never want you to forget it.” 

*

tagged

@snowsgames @mrsjobarnes

[ieatangstforbreakfast]

Pairing ೃ⁀➷ 𝐄𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝟒𝟐! 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 x Fem! Reader

Summary ೃ⁀➷ Lovers have secrets of their own, no matter how much they come to trust each other, whether it be a past mistake or an unspoken trauma. For you and Miles, however, your secrets came in the form of hidden identities— one being a masked vigilante, and the other a mastermind.

Genre ೃ⁀➷ Forbidden love, mutual pining, angst♡

Tags ೃ⁀➷ Both are artists, reader is from a very wealthy family, both are living double lives, underaged smoking, reader is female and uses she/her pronouns, forbidden love (ish?), swearing, daddy issues, mommy issues, reader is unhinged, both are mentally unstable, lots of flirting.

Author's Note ೃ⁀➷ THIS CHAPTER SO LONG 😭

Tag list ೃ⁀➷ @sakura-onesan @coffeeandtealol @luvjunie @noetophat @proudgojofucker @adorefavv @depresssedcowboy

Chapter summary ೃ⁀➷ Aaron’s hesitation sparks suspicion in Miles as he begins to ponder about your real identity. You struggle with the new changes, and you finally meet the new being that’s become a tenant to your body.

FIC MASTERLIST

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

Aaron knew you.

Not as Antonne, even. But as [Y/n].

Little, nine-year-old [Y/n].

“You’re to watch over them,” He recalls Mr. Fisk’s words. “Especially the girl— how useful she might be, if she’s anything like her father, that is.“

Aaron grimaces behind his mask, quite on edge with the request to investigate a little girl. As his gauntlet unfolds, Aaron reached out a single hand for the manila folder laid before him, flipping a page. There, he spots the image of a little you, dressed in a mauve dress paired along with a bored expression atop your downcast eyes. You were sitting by yourself in your classroom, your chin resting atop your tiny hand.

That was the first time he caught a glimpse of your name.

[Y/n].

“What if she’s more like her mother, Sir?” He halfheartedly asks, unsure if Fisk would take it as a joke. Wilson drew a long breath from his half-burnt cigar, leaning back into his chair with a lopsided grin.

“Even better.”

And then, he remembers. Remembers the day you first entered his life.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Before you, there was your mother. The woman Rio praised, idolized, adored. He’s watched her gleam too many times at the sight of her simply gliding across the silver screen. Something about her tantalizing allure, or something like that. Aaron, being the guard he was, only witnessed this interaction from afar. He figured to get her autograph right after the mission when he’s maskless and unsuspicious.

Fisk’s wife, Vanessa, gestured the woman to sit next to her. Your mother gracefully accepts the invitation, and upon moving away, it was only then you popped out of nowhere— your mother’s skirt being the curtain that unveiled you.

“You must be [Y/n]!” Vanessa cooed. “My, aren’t you a pretty little girl? Aren’t I right, Richard?”

And there marked your first meeting with the boy. Wilson Fisk’s only son— Richard Fisk. A pale brunet with large black eyes that seemed to follow your every move. The boy inched a little too close when your mother commanded you to sit next to him.

“Your hair is so.. Weird.” Richard piqued as he reached out a clammy hand to pull at one of your strands. “Is it real?—“

One glare from you alone made him retract his approach.

Oh. You weren’t as frail as he first thought.

“Richard, don’t go touching people’s hair. I taught you better than that.” Vanessa scolded of the boy. He sheepishly nodded, easing away from your presence.

It was mostly Wilson’s idea to get Richard close to you under the guise of a playmate— in hopes the two of you would one day grow up to be romantically involved. Though your mother and Vanessa’s meeting initiated the beginning of a close friendship, it only began a bloody game of hot and cold between you and Richard.

But Aaron eventually came to the conclusion that the reason you never spoke to Richard wasn’t because of shyness, rather, like the kind of girl who rightfully prided herself in her surname, you felt superior over this little boy.

And the thing is about children— they weren’t born to hate. They were raised to specifically act that way, and he learned to understand your complexities after working for your father every now and then, and he came to an eventual realization that you weren’t anything all too heartless like your parents.

“Aren’t you thirsty?”

That was the first time you’d spoken to him. It was a hot summer July day, and Aaron had been momentarily left alone by the Fisks to fetch for something. In the midst of the garden, Aaron was stationed by the pavilion to look after you. He’d been a sweating mess in his mask and suit, and your eleven-year-old self seemed to notice it quickly.

“Here,” You handed him a glass of orange juice. “This can freshen you up.”

And even after your offer, he stares vacantly at the gleaming cup, somewhat lost in the heat to acknowledge it. Seeing his hesitation, you grumbled and held his hand up to stuff the glass between his fingers. “I’m not an otherworldly being. You can talk to me normally, you know.”

And in that tone was a desperation for casualty.

“Thank you.” Was his only reply.

And after then, little you started fostering this sort of strange fascination towards him.

“Mr. Prowler!”

Tiny little legs, swift steps. You often greeted him that way, along with a large wave your mother always scolded you for. You endowed a strange sort of liking towards him, even when he was only silent in your presence. It was safe to say you were probably only visiting the Fisks’ just to see him. Aaron never knew the reason why you’d grown to like him so much, but he always assumed it was because of curiosity.

You liked to endlessly babble beside him, talking about the randomest of things. Something about school, or a book you’ve read, or how you wanted to grow up and run the hotel. You were tiny, then. Like a little mouse running around, chasing after him. In a way, you reminded him of Miles. So talkative. So curious about many things.

Every after mission, Aaron accompanied you everywhere, even behind a mask. And strangely, you never really requested him to take it off despite your stubbornness. The more he got involved into your family’s household, the more he came to learn about your personality.

You were a lively kid— talkative, playful, and wild like hell. You were a walking disaster too. Montrell and Antonne often had to watch out for your shenanigans, as you were too unpredictable for anyone to handle.

You liked sneaking into the kitchen before midnight just to steal some sweets, tossing your siblings’ stuff into the private pool, and stealing your mother’s makeup while lying that you didn’t. You were a kid. A little girl, a giggly one at that.

Until you weren’t.

ＲＥＪＥＣＴＥＤ.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

ＲＥＪＥＣＴＥＤ.

"None of them want to accept the damn drive.” Miles mumbled, shoving himself away from the table out of frustration. “Why the hell are they so scared? This will rip apart the election once this gets out. The media would be a shitshow with these!” He places his hands over his face, his icy touch meeting the warmth of his freckled cheeks.

For the last few hours, Miles had taken the day off and had instead been deliberately emailing various networks regarding the obscenities and anti-human practices they’ve found in the warehouse— only to find that each and every network’s rejected the information. Miles had gone as far as to personally email bloggers, journalists, even conspiracy theorists just for the sake of publicizing their crimes, only to meet the same rejection from everyone else he’s ever reached out to.

Behind him was his ever-so-weary Uncle Aaron restlessly pacing back and forth about the room while cleaning the gauntlet with a damp rag. “So long as the oligarchs remain in charge, no one will be brave enough to publish those, Miles.” He mumbles, a sort of dread lingering inside him.

“Ion get it,” Miles sighs. “At least one outlet talking about the damn issue can literally change the world!”

“Fear is a catalyst for many of us.” Aaron sets the gauntlet aside. “The rich control the systems, and they can either starve us or feed us. Hell, they can even kill us. The media outlets are run by people— people with families to feed, to protect. Not many of us can afford to look out for others when we can’t even look out for ourselves.”

“But that’s exactly the reason why nobody ain’t gonna be free.” The boy contends. “All of us are scared— and the rich will continue to take advantage of that until we all learn to stand our ground. If we don’t, they’re going to continue playing God, deciding who lives and who won’t, and until then it’s only up to us.”

“We can’t be heroes to everyone, Miles.”

He nods. “I know,” With a hand over the mouse, he shifts. “We can only be heroes if it benefits the government, but the moment we recognize them as the villains, we’re vigilantes.. But then again, as they say.

No answer will be heard to the question no one asks.”

Aaron gained a sort of pride hearing those words from his nephew, but it didn’t change the fact that Miles was rapidly gaining a thorough understanding of things he shouldn’t actually be involved in at his delicate age of fifteen. He was a child, and no matter how great his mind was, he should’ve been using it on acing science fair projects or starting witty banter with his friends— not to gain justice for his father’s death.

Aaron initially never wanted Miles to enter the world he’s grown absolutely sick of. He wanted to let Miles live in a world away from the mercenary act he had to keep up for the sake of money, but even then, Miles was sucked into it like a black hole.

And he remembers you.

How everything ruined you.

‘Is your sister also a piece of shit like you?’

The way he spoke stemmed from a fit of anger.

What the hell were you doing with Miles? What exactly brought you to interact with his only nephew?

He wanted to know just how much of a monster you’ve become after he left. When Antonne spoke about you being more of a pacifist, he wanted to believe in those words. He wanted to believe you grew up to be a kinder, healthier version of yourself despite the conditions of your family— and when he saw you again in those photos with Miles, looking like every other teenager, he felt… Relieved.

Along with it came a sense of guilt, bearing a sort of news he couldn’t stomach. It sprouted like a vine in his throat, words crawling up his esophagus as he chokes out.

“Your girlfriend, Miles. How’s she been?”

And the tension eases. Miles is suddenly lighter at the mention of you. “It’s our first date tomorrow,” He pridefully bragged. “Trick or treating. She’s gonna be the bubonic plague.”

“.. What?”

“It’s an inside joke.” He grins, leaning back into the chair at the thought of you. “I’m gonna be a plague doctor, and she’s gonna a medieval patient dying of the bubonic plague.”

“What the hell..?” Aaron shook his head in confusion. “Kids these days got too much shit going on in y’all’s heads.”

Miles mulls the headset off his ears. “She’s never done trick-or-treating— I saw it in her eyes, her mama prolly kept talkin’ shit ‘bout the holiday like how my mama talks shit ‘bout Tiya Rosa’s tamales. Like, poison inside the damn food or sum.”

“Yeah, well, that woman’s always..” Always, restricted her daughter.

“Always what?”

“.. Your Tiya Rosa’s tamales got too much spice all the damn time.”

“.. Tiya Rosa, huh?”

And in the height of his emotions, Aaron’s words sparked suspicion in Miles.

The boy then fidgets with the hem of his sleeve, a habit he probably learnt from you. He takes the second to stand up, brushing his dampened hands down the polyester of his jogging pants. “Now, I didn’t skip school just to help you email the press or to hear you ask about [Y/n] like she’s some project I’m working on. I skipped school because you mentioned something about her, and I wanted to know what you meant by her being connected to the Primos.”

Aaron took a sharp, deep breath. “.. Right, that.”

“Do you know her?”

“Not anymore.”

“Wha— How does that even work?”

Aaron gestured Miles to sit next to him, straightening his back with his head held low. The anxiety that lingered in his throat had his foot tapping against the wooden planks. Had him biting the inner of his cheek.

“Before we get to it, can you first tell me how the first two of you met?” Aaron starts. “Full detail. Not a single thing missed. From there, go on about how the two of you happened.”

And it takes Miles back to that rainy night again.

“.. Three months ago, during the Aureum collapse anniversary, one of my friends sent me a link to a secret forum.”

Miles eased his shoulders, laying his head above the cushion as he stared at the ceiling. “There was this group of people, consisted of close relatives of the victims— sisters, wives, husbands— who were planning on vandalizing a mural at the hotel before the day of the annual mourning. I joined the plan, but when we got there, we barely began the work but we were already being apprehended.”

And in vivid remembrance, Miles pictures the entire memory recreating itself from dust right in front of him. He remembers the loud patters of the rain, the loud screams and curses of his fellow vandals. When another officer attempts to near him, he grabs the nearest paint bottle and sprays it directly into his eyes— running off into the distance with heavy steps.

“I got away. As much as I wanted to save everyone, I couldn’t fight all the security there, so I hid somewhere in the garden.”

Gripping the bottle, Miles headed straight into the pastures of the greeneries and flowers, losing himself in the tall maze. He could still hear the angered officers’ yells, warning him to return. With jagged breaths, he makes the choice to take every sharp turn in an attempt to thwart their chase— eventually running into a dead end.

“I really thought I was gonna get arrested that night.”

With a broken sigh, he crouches behind one of the hedges, placing a hand over his mouth to cover his loud heaving.

“.. They never came, though. And I got lost in the damn thing.”

With a blur over his vision, Miles pulls a hand over his brows, coughing at the icy ache that knocked up his lungs. For a while, he grips the red can harder just to prepare himself for any threat— when he suddenly hears the sound of heavy footsteps thundering across the maze. He whips his head, searching for where it all came from.

“But then she got to me.”

And the haze of his exhaustion, a swift figure dressed in black takes him by the hand, running off into the distance. Lost in confusion, Miles lifts the can to attack but his instinct tells him not to, simply running along with the figure. “Are you stupid?” They breathily asked. “You could’ve went anywhere else. You’re going to get yourself arrested!”

At that time, Miles couldn’t tell if you were a frequenter of the hotel or a person with just some really good sense of direction, but you did manage to easily take him out the maze after three wrong turns. With shifting looks, you checked everywhere except his disposition, dragging him like a toy to privacy— which was a smoking area with closed off windows.

“.. Who the fuck are you?” He managed to finally ask after catching up with his breath.

“That’s some language considering I saved your ass.”

“I didn’t need your help.”

“Alright,” You snicker. “Go out and face them yourself, then.” You pointed at the door. “Since you’re so brave and so smart.”

Miles was irked by your sarcastic, upbeat tone. But even then, when he saw your hand shivering, he couldn’t help but ease down his words. “… Don’t go too close to the door, they’ll see you.” As he brought up his hand to touch your shoulder, you turned around and looked at him with wide eyes.

“.. When I saw her, I thought to myself, oh fuck, I am so doomed.”

And how doomed he was. You thought Miles couldn’t see you crying then, but he was so lost with every detail of your face that it felt like he’d known you his whole life.

If only he knew the roles assigned to the both of you in this world.

Miles was no stranger to the world. He struggled to make do along with his mother, and he was a boy of no significant background. He was smart, for sure, and that aided him in his façade as the second Prowler.

He thought you’d be more similar, despite this sort of oddness you endowed. You seemed sheltered, but smart enough to question the cage that harbored you.

The two of you were faced with harsh realities stemming from two sides of a system that oppressed you both. Miles never knew about it: your wealth, but the outcomes of how the system ruined the both of you were so similar. It fooled him into thinking you were just like him.

“But Miles,” Aaron shifts closer. “Did she ask anything about our family?”

Miles stared in confusion. “For what?”

“Anything— about your father, your mother, me. Where you live, what we do. Miles, did you tell her that you’re the Prowler?”

“No! I wouldn’t tell her a damn thing, she could get hurt.” He lied, only thoroughly thinking about the idea as soon as Aaron mentioned it. “But why are you asking me this?”

“.. How far can an excuse go, Miles?.. Tell me, how far are you willing to defend your ideals? Would you pay the price to defend what you’re fighting for?”

“.. I’m willing to pay any price,” Just as Aaron’s about to concede, Miles adds. “For the sake of creating a world where she can paint skies and sunsets in cafes and not run businesses at the age of sixteen.”

“Alright,” Aaron huffs. “Let me tell you something about your girlfriend, Miles.”

Screech.

You grimaced at the sound of the fork scraping against your plate, taking a while to rest the side of your hand awkwardly beside the tableware. You take the moment to flit your eyes open, finally able to take your first look at your family meal— with Montrell and your father discussing heartily about his adventures in London, while you, Antonne, and Malachi were left to bask in the conversation in silence.

You felt heavy. Everywhere. Like there was this weight you were shouldering that you couldn’t fathom.

It had your finger wringing against the string of your pearl necklace, had your damp palm digging into the champagne silk of your dress. You didn’t want to be here— not after all that’s happened. Not after Montrell’s taken your job, and definitely not after you’ve disappointed your father.

You felt like choking on your steak, but gruesomely starving at the same time.

“Which brings me to the topic, [Y/n], how have you been?”

Oh, God, you fucking HATED that question.

For a moment, you finally look at Montrell, now you’re able to scrutinize how much he’s changed in the last few years you’ve spent apart. Broad-shouldered, charming— princely, as most would claim. A sort of doe-like endowment in his eyes, unlike yours and Antonne’s, which were unreasonably fiery in the way you’d both stare.

“I’ve been alright,” You began. “Haven’t been much busy these days, just working on school projects and all of those things.” You could sense your father’s growing indifference to your statement, bearing the knowledge that you’ve been running the hotel for almost half a decade. Montrell similarly notices the family’s shared looks of restlessness and tension, but is unable to understand why the air’s transitioned into something so dim.

“I heard you’re performing tango next week for the fundraiser.“ He tries to strike up a brighter topic, to which you blandly smile and nod. “Yes. I’ve been.. Practicing a lot. Since it’s to fund Senator Barlowe’s project, I can’t leave room for any mistakes.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself,” Montrell smiled. “I bet you’ll do great. Good luck.”

Internally, you admitted that optimism only sounded believable if it came from Miles’ mouth.

“Thank you.” You take a sip off of your water. “I might as well have to say the same thing to you, with all your upcoming responsibilities.”

Your father angrily sets his utensils down with a small bam. “[Y/n].” He calls out like a warning. You lift the brim off your lips, marking the glass with your lipstick. “What? I’m being polite.” You watch as he scowled at your reply. “… Has no one told him yet?”

“Told me what?” Montrell piqued, bringing a spoon up to his mouth but never feeding on the meal.

Immediately, the bomb slips your tongue with a boom despite the way Antonne cleared his throat.

“You’re going to be running the hotel.”

“[Y/n]!”

“What?” You answered with a heightened voice, but it wasn’t loud enough to be considered a yell. “With how much you were rushing the process, I thought you’d have told him by now.”

“It’s an unofficial decision that we haven’t discussed with the staff yet. Since Antonne’s too busy with other matters in regards to college and other things, we were going to discuss if you could run the hotel in his place.”

Hearing this only urged the confusion to tangle even more.

“Why can’t [Y/n] run the hotel?”

You almost choke on your food.

“[Y/n]’s also considerably intelligent. It’d be nice for her to practice running a business even if it’s just upkeep. She should at least be familiar with the family businesses before she goes overseas to study.”

The idea seemed plausible— had it been an idea that hasn’t happened before.

“.. Are you unable to do it yourself, Mon?” You asked.

He shook his head. “No, it’s not that. I simply think that since my little sister’s also a smart girl, it’d be only fair for her to be given a chance.”

Oh. Montrell cared.

Even in the sort of way that was subtle. It wasn’t like Antonne’s— whose ‘care’ was a rarity to be paraded.

You hated that word. Smart. The term seemed so shallow, even if it was meant to be a compliment. You never saw yourself as smart, or naturally gifted. You studied, a lot, but you never took in the meaning of so many things. You liked to think you were talented in memorization, but even after any exam or challenge, you were often quick to drop the lessons that came along with it.

You were too burdened with academic validation that your grades mattered to you more than the meaning of any lesson.

Were you even learning anymore?

You didn’t know.

Your father placed a hand over his chin, fiddling with the hairs of his beard. “Your sister.. Is too young.”

“I’m sixteen.”

“As I said.”

“You made Antonne run the hotel when he was fifteen!”

“That’s because Antonne’s the heir.”

“Well, who else is going to run the hotel? Malachi?” Your sarcasm was slipping through your teeth so explicitly that you were unable to hide your bitterness. “I mean he is ten-years-old, and dad doesn’t seem all mindful about wagering minors.”

Your little brother shifts uncomfortably. He averts everyone else’s gaze, and you only then admit that you’ve crossed the line mentioning little Malachi.

“[Y/n], you’re being immature.” Antonne finally spoke, with a furrowed brow scribbled across his poor attempt of a calm expression.

Picking up a knife, you begin to saw through your steak. “To be fair, Antonne, there are many things sixteen-year-old me can’t do. Like being mature,” As you cut a piece, you snicker. “Or running a hotel.”

“Can you just— stop it?” Antonne huffs. “You’re being unreasonably upset. As father says, you’re too young. If you’ve already forgotten, my age was the reason why many lives were lost.”

“Sure, and your current age is the reason why you’ve accepted responsibility over those deaths.”

“STOP IT!”

The table shakes upon the bellow of your father’s voice. And in the fire of his anger, you stood without another word, and the scrape of your chair against the floor marked the beginning of your defiance. As you pulled the napkin off your lap, you folded the damn thing and placed it beside the plate.

With the click of your heels, you head for the exit when you suddenly hear your father mumble.

“Tsk. So emotional.”

And this struck something inside you. For a moment, you pause, and a bold voice echoed inside your mind.

Kill them.

「You got a message from Miles♡」

「You got a message from Miles♡」

「You got a message from Miles♡」

You nearly unhinge the door from a slam. You trudge over to the vanity, gripping over the corners of the table in anger.

It’s unfair.

It was so unfair for you to lose everything you’ve worked so hard for in a span of a week. All of what you prided yourself in: Being better than Antonne, having control over the hotel, being your father’s most trusted aide, and having a sense of control over your own future— it all vanished in a week.

You felt conned. Betrayed. Like you’ve wasted so much of your youth for an unattainable ideal.

You wanted to shatter everything within the room. Wreck all of what’s left of everything. Maybe even burn down the hotel.

ＷＨＹ ＮＯＴ？

The voice rang.

Your eyes flit open, looking into the mirror in disbelief, only to find a dark being stare right back at you. Grimy, slimy—

ＤＯＮ’Ｔ ＢＥ ＲＵＤＥ.

A shrill scream exits your lips as you stumble back, falling on your behind as you struggled to get away. You looked at your hands, praying they’d remain as they were— clean, prim, and groomed. It felt like there were bugs crawling up your back. Suddenly, a dark matter carried you back to the vanity, forcing you to look at the creature that was supposed to be your reflection.

It smiled with its sharp teeth.

“Don’t be scared.”

“You’re as commanding as my father, fuck damn it.” You squirmed, quivering in a sort of unadulterated fear you couldn’t understand. “I’m not your father, [Y/n]. Though I don’t think that lowly creature that sat across you in that dining table’s anything deserving of that title.” It spoke in a low, gravel-like voice. “He’s hurt you, little girl. But you hurt yourself the most.”

You ease a little, the same sort of shamelessness you always endowed now kicking back into your senses.

“… You know nothing about me.”

“I know everything about you. I am within the confines of your mind.” A slimy tentacle of black tar creeps out from your back, pulling you closer to the mirror. It eventually creeps up on your face, squeezing your cheeks. “You’re a riot of a girl, but you have your weaknesses. You’re a great planner, but not a great executor. You tend to underestimate the capabilities of those around you because you look up to yourself too much— but at the same time, there is no one within this world who hates you more than you do.

I can fix those broken parts of you. I can help you in ways you’ll forever be grateful for.”

In the middle of his long speech, you frowned. “... Why is your way of talking so refined? I thought you were an alien being, how the hell do you speak English?”

“Would you rather I be sarcastic or truthful?”

“Anything.”

“I’m not Barbie, child.”

You grimaced at the horrible joke. “Truthful, of course.”

“I take hold of your subconscious, so we share the same memories, the same talents, the same thoughts. I know all about the first time you scraped your knee, how you like doing your hair, how you’ve lived, and the first time you met that boy,” It grinned. “Miles Morales.”

“… What of him?”

“It is of my knowledge that he’s your greatest weakness, yes?”

“Would you consider liking a boy a weakness?”

“For someone like you?” You hear it snicker. “Largely.”

It was like you were being tossed from one scrutinizing dinner to another. You pinched the bridge of your nose, turning your head to avoid staring at this questionable creature. Suddenly, one of the tentacles grab your phone, tossing it over to you.

“It doesn’t mean I’m not supportive of your little romance.”

You scrolled through the screen. “It doesn’t matter if you support my romance or not, I decide for myself.”

Miles♡ || Three minutes ago

Hey I’m at spirit halloween rn

do you wanna uh

buy halloween costumes for tomorrow?

“You’re deciding for two now, [Y/n].” The being growled. “Eating for two, acting for two.”

You clicked your tongue and hushed the damn thing. “If someone were to overhear us, they’re going to think I’m pregnant.” You stand up, heading over to unveil one of your windows. You look out into the scarlet afternoon, unlatching the locks as you slid the glass open. The cold wind blew at you like a harsh greeting, making you curse. “.. Fuck, can you morph into like a hoodie or something? I can’t go out dressed like this.”

“I’m an alien being, mademoiselle, not your personal tailor.”

“You presented yourself like you’re the best thing to ever happen in my life, but you can’t even morph into a goddamn jacket?”

“I am— how dare you!”

“.. Guess you got that narcissism from me too, huh?”

“[Y/n]?”

You slammed your window shut upon hearing the voice. A bated sigh ran past your parted lips, your nails marking a scratch over the sill as you took your hands away from the window.

“Montrell.” You greeted him. “… What brings you here?”

Your brother leaned against the door frame with his arms crossed before his chest, head nearly grazing the top rail. “.. Were you talking to someone?”

You take a few steps away from the window. “I was talking to myself. I’m quite imaginative, you see. Sometimes delusion is the solution.”

“I—“ He shook his head in confusion, stifling a short laugh before stepping right inside. “That’s.. Good for you, [Y/n]. But.. Were you just about to jump out the window?”

Your mouth hung open. “Me? Jump out the window? Psh,” You nervously giggled. “I-I was just checking how cold it was outside because I was contemplating on.. Going outside.” You looked at the window and shut the curtains. “Indeed, it’s very cold so I can’t do that.”

You’re a horrible liar.

Shut the fuck up.

The door clicks behind Montrell as he approaches you, gaze lingering on the interior of your room. The place was dim, yet organized in a way. You had kept a lot of your plushies despite the childlike air it kept— those were likely the last toys you’ve ever considered keeping.

“You still kept Miss Lisbon.” He plucked one of the plushies out from the pile, particularly a pink fluffy rabbit with a giant lace ribbon placed on one of its ears. He brings it closer to his nose, earning a whiff of its strawberry-scented perfume, a sign that you’ve been taking care of her rather well. “I got you this when you were eight.”

“Miss Lisbon’s my best friend.” You reach for the fluffy toy, easing it out of his grasps. “I can’t possibly let her go, not when she knows about every war crime I’ve committed.”

“Miss Lisbon’s a great listener, which was why I gave her to you.”

The silence that followed made you uneasy. You wanted to talk and fill in the room with nonsensical talk of whatever, but you could tell even Montrell’s struggling to speak. When you do managed to finally part your lips, the both of you coincidentally began at the same time, which led to him excusing himself so you can speak first— to which you ushered him to speak first, and so on and so forth.

But it was after that awkward moment that you’ve grown quite comfortable with his presence.

“… [Y/n], I’m not going to force you to open up about.. Whatever happened in the dining room.” Montrell starts. “I know I haven’t been here for a long, long time, and it’ll only make you uneasy if I forced details out of you. I came here to check on you, and solely for that reason alone. Since we’re family, I just wanted to let you know that if you need someone– anyone– to talk to, I’m right here.”

You stood there, grasping Miss Lisbon with a frown.

Family. Really, to say it’s because you’re family that he’s willing to do such things— it seemed a little too naïve. After all, you were disappointed by the very people who were supposed to love and care for you since the very beginning.

With a soft touch, Montrell takes the hands you were holding Miss Lisbon with, placing the plushie over his face.

“Just think of me as Miss Lisbon.”

You squeeze the toy a little.

“Let me listen to your every war crime.”

When you lower your hands, you see your older brother, smiling at you sweetly. He was like a softer version of your father. A little more smiley, with dimples marked into the corner of his every smile. When your phone buzzes again, a request slips out your mouth.

“Can you drive me somewhere?”