#I am not celebrating your weight loss

[theboggskids]

As funny as it is to imagine Randall teasing Johnny about his weight gain since college, I imagine that on the offhand Johnny actually cares about it (monster beauty standards implies that’s not likely), Randall would be more than happy to express how much more attractive he finds Johnny being so much bigger. If Johnny were smaller than Randall, that’d be the issue.

[livwritessometimes]

Where's the Trophy? He Just Comes Running Over to Me

: Max Verstappen, Lando Norris, and Lewis Hamilton

: Part 2

: Main Masterlist

: Author's Note - Let me know if you guys want a part 2 with other drivers.

...

Lando Norris

Shirts off, and your friends lift you up over their heads

(Miami Grand Prix, 2024)

He did it! Lando finally got his first win. 

Years of doubt, years of criticism it didn't matter now. He finally was able to win for him and McLaren. As soon as he got out of the car, he was greeted by loud cheers from everyone there. On his way back to the team, he saw almost every single driver in the grid waiting there to congratulate him. 

"I'm so happy for you, Lando," said Carlos as he pulled in Lando for a hug. 

"Bout time, huh," said Max bumping into Lando as soon as he was done getting his weight measured. 

"I am so happy for you, mate," said Charles as he passed by Lando.

"You did great, man," said Oscar, who saw Lando enter the area where the team was eagerly waiting for him behind the barricade. 

Upon seeing the entire team waiting for him, Lando could not help it; he immediately took off to where they were standing. As soon as he reached them, Lando dove right in. 

The entire area was filled with the team cheering and chanting 'Let's Go, Lando' while carrying him over their shoulders. During that time, Lando's eyes landed on Y/n.

He immediately started to wiggle out of the team's grip. Everyone was confused as to what he was doing, but as they put him down, they got their answer. Lando sprinted towards Y/n and lifted her off the ground. 

"What are you doing?" Y/n shrieked as she felt Lando's body slam against her.

"Celebrating what else," Lando said as he pulled her even closer. 

"What about the team?" Y/n asked as she let her hands run through his hair.

"They can wait! I wanna celebrate it with you first," Lando said.

"You've been there through all my podiums, all my losses; you bet your ass you'll be there right front and centre through my wins too," he finished as he set her down on the ground.

"You truly are amazing; you know that, Mr. Norris, Grand Prix Winner," Y/n said, smiling up at Lando.

...

Max Verstappen

Cause the sign on your heart Said it's still reserved for me

(Dutch Grand Prix, 2024)

Y/n was nervously waiting as she watched the race.

4 more laps. 3 more laps. 2 more laps.

That's what she kept telling herself as she watched the bull maintain the lead.

*flashback*

Max and Y/n had spent the majority of their day lying on the couch with Jimmy and Sassy. It was the last day before the race season began for the year.

"I love this," Max stated.

"Love what?" Y/n asked.

"These days," he said. "Where we spend all our time together," he continued.

"And why is that?" Y/n asked as she looked at Max from her spot, careful not to disturb the cat sleeping on her chest.

"It's nice; we are together, and I don't have to worry about anything," Max said. He continued, "I always feel like when I am away for so long, you'll realize that I'm just a loser who is not worth being with, and you'd break up with me."

The sincerity with which Max had said that made her feel bad. Reaching out to caress his cheek, Y/n said, "I'll never leave you, Maxie. No matter what." She added, "Even if we break up, I'd never leave your side. I'll always be the one that cheers the loudest for all your wins."

*present*

True to her words, Y/n was there at every race. Even though Max and her had broken up, Y/n just couldn't break the promise she had made.

The distance this time had really tested their relationship. All the stupid fights finally built up to something that the both of them could no longer ignore.

The past few races had not been good for Max. No matter what he did, he was not winning, and Y/n knew it was getting to him.

Despite the breakup, the two still remained friends; she constantly checked up on him, and she knew that he needed that win. He needed to win.

Finally, as the final lap began, everyone in the Red Bull garage was holding each other's hands for support. It was Max and Lando battling for first place. With each corner they passed, the team grew more and more anxious. Nearing the final corner, Max gave all that he had left to cover the few meters that were left. The car had not been the best; the team knew that; Y/n knew that; Max knew that. So it truly was Max that was making the car special, and he wanted to prove that he still could do it.

With a final push, Max crossed the finish line. Everyone in the garage went crazy. They all started running towards the barricade, waiting for Max.

The moment the car stopped, Max ran. He ran like he had never before. He didn't even bother taking off his helmet. All he could think of was one thing and one thing only.

As soon as the team saw Max running towards them, they started to cheer even louder. Ignoring them, Max ran straight towards Y/n, who was standing amongst the team, and pulled her in for a hug.

"I hate it," he said.

"I hate not being able to spend my time with you. I hate that we fought. And what I hate the most is the fact that no matter what happened, you're still here, and I can't call you mine," he finished.

"Max," Y/n said as she felt her eyes tearing up.

"It was a stupid decision to break up. I want you. Please give me a chance to make things right again," Max said as he pulled away.

"I hated the way things ended, and I want nothing more than getting back together, Maxie," Y/n said, smiling as she kissed Max's helmet.

...

Lewis Hamilton

I haven't come around in so long But I'm making a comeback to where I belong

(British Grand Prix, 2024)

Lewis could not contain his happiness. It was his first win of the season. It was his home race, and man did it feel amazing.

Looking at the crowd gathered around, he could not help but get emotional. Ever since 2021, Lewis has not been the same. He no longer was leading every race, he no longer won, and he no longer was the world champion. He was happy for Max, but it still burdened him. 

These few years had been a tough journey for Lewis. Everywhere he looked, he felt like it was a reminder to him that maybe it's time he quit racing. And usually he doesn't let this get to him; he has Y/n there to always pull him out of his thoughts. But as of late, no matter what she did or what his friends did, Lewis couldn't help but think that his age has finally caught up to him.

This seed of self-doubt had blossomed into a full-grown tree of trust issues and self-criticism. Lewis kept on thinking about how if he can't even keep winning, something he has known for almost half his life, then how can he even be called a husband to Y/n? 

At night when the two would be cuddling, Lewis' mind often drifted to a world where he was still winning, where he could have won his 10th championship by now. Where he and Y/n would have a really happy life—not that it isn't now, but somehow it is better. Where he was a better father to his son.

All those doubts were now forgotten, for a while at least.

"OH MY GOD! I AM SO PROUD OF YOU!" Y/n screamed as she ran up to Lewis and tackled him. 

The two fell over laughing as Y/n peppered Lewis' face with kisses. "I am so glad you were here to witness this," Lewis said as he wrapped his hand around Y/n.

"Are you kidding me? I wouldn't miss it for the world. I am so happy for you, Lew," Y/n said. "I know, no matter how much you try and hide it, I can see this has been troubling you. My love, promise me no matter what, you never let these doubts consume you," Y/n continued.

Lewis nodded at her, smiling softly. Of course she noticed; she always knew what he was thinking about.

"I mean it. I am always, ALWAYS here for you. So don't you dare lock yourself up in there every again," she said while pointing towards Lewis' temple.

Suddenly a new weight was added on top of them, and as the two turned, they saw their son had decided to join them on the ground. He wrapped his arms around Lewis and Y/n, "I'm so proud of you, dad," your little 6-year-old said as he pulled you both closer.

It was finally time for the national anthem. Lewis was standing at the top of the podium, looking down at his team and loved ones. He made eye contact with Y/n and his son and sent a flying kiss towards them. He smiled when he saw his son trying to catch the kiss. 

It felt right; standing at the top felt good, and Lewis swore to himself that this wouldn't be the last time.

...

Tags: @wobblymug | @evasmlp

[mononijikayu]

marutsuke — gojo satoru.

You smiled back, though it was small and fleeting. "You could start now, you know." Satoru let out a soft laugh, the sound almost bitter, but there was a hint of something lighter underneath it. He took another sip of his drink, shaking his head slightly. "You’re asking a lot of me right now, Gen–senpai. You know that?" "I’m just asking you to be human, Gojo–kun." you replied softly. “Just be yourself.”

WARNING/S: post-hidden inventory (2006-onwards), domesticity, fluff, angst, trauma, implied death, violence, romance, hurt/comfort, character death depiction of death, depictions of loss and depression, depiction of blood, depiction of killing, depiction of suffering, depiction of anxiety, mention of death, mention of grief, profanity, family drama;

WORDS: 5.3k words.

NOTE: i wrote this a long long while ago and to celebrate jjk ending, i would like to give this as a humble offering. i've been a fan of jjk since 2019, when my friend introduced it to me. jjk means the world to me. it was there for me as much as bts was in my harsh and painful years. i am most grateful to share and continue to share the joy of it here in my little corner of the world. thank you guys for sharing the love of jjk with me. you guys are amazing. i love you guys so much. let's continue to be fans together for a long time!!! also the song is from given. its a lovely song <3

masterlist

u s and t h e m

if you want to, tip! <3

YOU HATED THIS FEELING, YOU HATED REPETITION LIKE THIS. You stood in the dimly lit hallway, fists clenched, your eyes burning with fury as you learned what had happened to the first years. The mission had gone horribly wrong, and Haibara—kind, hopeful Haibara—was dead. Nanami barely made it back. You trembled with rage, unable to process the incompetence that had led to this.

It was just like this when it was Namie.

Your mind flashed back to the past, to the same helplessness, the same sickening weight that had crushed your chest when Namie, your dear friend, had been sent out on a mission with faulty intelligence. They hadn’t even gotten her body back. You remembered the emptiness, the cold fury that took root inside you ever since.

And then there was Amanai Riko. Another loss, another innocent life extinguished because of their arrogance, their reckless disregard for the lives they swore to protect. Your nails bit into your palms as you fought back the wave of grief and anger.

And now... now Haibara.

Another young life, snuffed out before it could even truly begin. Your breath came in short, ragged bursts as the memories collided with the present, your fury building to a boiling point. You had warned them. You had fought, had demanded better, and yet nothing had changed.

"How many more?" you whispered to yourself, your voice trembling with fury. "How many more have to die before they open their eyes?"

"They had faulty intelligence," you spat, your voice laced with venom. "Faulty intelligence, and they sent them in blind. Blind!"

Your words echoed down the empty corridor, but it wasn’t enough to release the fury simmering inside you. You stormed forward, your footsteps heavy with the weight of your anger, the hallway dim and suffocating as you advanced. The rage that coursed through your veins was more than just anger—it was righteous fury, the kind that demanded answers, demanded justice for those who had fallen.

You didn’t care about decorum or procedure. Not now. Not when another life had been so carelessly thrown away.

The sight of the mission manager at the end of the hall, sitting casually at his desk, only fueled the fire inside you. He looked up, his expression one of mild surprise as you approached—indifferent, as if the death of a student was nothing more than an inconvenience, a casualty of duty.

Indifference. That look—the one that dismissed Haibara as just another statistic, another name on a growing list of losses. It ignited something in you that was barely contained.

"You!" you hissed, your voice trembling with the intensity of your rage. The air around you seemed to crackle with tension as you marched up to the manager’s desk, eyes blazing. "You sent them in blind! Faulty intelligence, and you signed off on it like it didn’t matter! Haibara is dead because of you!"

The manager blinked, clearly taken aback by your outburst, but his calm exterior didn’t waver. He leaned back in his chair, hands folded calmly in his lap, as if he was used to this—used to the accusations, used to the aftermath. He probably expected you to eventually calm down, to accept that this was just the way things were.

But you weren’t going to calm down. Not this time.

“You think this is acceptable?" you seethed, leaning over his desk. "You think sending kids in with faulty information is just part of the job? You didn’t care about what would happen to them—you cared about following protocol, making sure you checked off the boxes so you could wipe your hands clean when it went wrong."

The manager gave a slight sigh, adjusting his glasses as if the whole situation was an inconvenience. "These missions come with risks, you know that. It’s unfortunate, but we—"

"Unfortunate?" your voice rose, fury spilling over. "You think this is just 'unfortunate'? Haibara’s dead because of your incompetence, and all you can say is that it’s unfortunate?"

The manager’s lips thinned, his calm demeanor wavering for just a moment. "We did the best we could with the information we had. It’s not always perfect—"

You slammed your hands down on the desk, silencing him immediately. Your face was inches from his now, your voice low and lethal. "No. You didn’t do the best you could. You cut corners, and you sent them in knowing it wasn’t safe. You sat behind this desk while they went out there, while they—" Your voice caught for a moment, thinking of Haibara, of Namie, of Riko. "You have no idea what it’s like to lose someone because of your arrogance."

The manager didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. His silence was answer enough.

Your fists clenched again, your whole body trembling with the effort to contain your rage. You wanted to scream, to tear this entire building apart, but all you could do was stare at the man who had signed Haibara’s death warrant with his negligence. The worst part was you knew it would happen again. As long as people like him kept making decisions, more lives would be lost.

“That’s enough.” That familiar voice. You stopped.

“You piece of shit!” you snarled, your energy crackling dangerously. You lunged, but before you could strike, Yaga intervened, gripping your arms to hold you back.

You whipped around, your rage now directed at Yaga. “You! I warned you. I fucking warned you! But you listened to those old farts, didn’t you? You think it’s okay to send them in, even blindly.” Your voice cracked with fury, your eyes burning into Yaga’s. “And now, you’re stuck having to explain to Haibara’s parents why their son isn’t alive! That blood is on your hands!”

Yaga’s grip remained firm, but his expression darkened as you pressed on.

“My father would be ashamed of you,” you said, your voice low, bitter. “You’ve become exactly what he stood against.”

Yaga’s eyes hardened at your words, but he didn’t let go. He knew your anger wasn’t just at him—it was at the system, at the higher-ups, at the entire broken system that cost Haibara his life. But your words cut deep. Mentioning your father, a man Yaga once respected, felt like a blade twisted into his gut.

"Genmei," Yaga said, his voice steady but tense, "I didn't want this. You think I don’t care? You think I don’t feel the weight of it? I never wanted to send them in like that."

"Then why did you?" you snapped, stepping closer, your face inches from his, rage seething in every word. "You could’ve stopped it. You had the authority! Instead, you caved to those senile cowards who sit behind desks, making decisions they’ll never face the consequences of."

Yaga's jaw clenched, his voice growing colder. "You think I had a choice? You think I didn’t fight back? The orders came from the top, Genmei! From people I can’t defy."

You shook your head, trembling with disbelief. "So that’s it? You just roll over and let it happen? You tell them it’s fine to send kids like Haibara to their deaths? You and those spineless managers let them go out there—for nothing."

Yaga's grip on your arms tightened slightly, but his voice remained calm. "I know you’re angry. I know this isn’t fair. But it wasn’t blind. They were prepared."

“Prepared?!” Your laughter was bitter and sharp. “You call this prepared? Haibara is dead! Nanami is broken. And now you have to look those parents in the eye and tell them their son is never coming home."

Yaga’s silence spoke louder than anything. The weight of what you said settled in, his posture stiffening with the responsibility he bore. He hadn’t spoken to Haibara’s parents yet, but he would have to. And the thought of it, the unbearable weight of it, gnawed at him.

"Every single student is my responsibility, you know that." Yaga finally said, his voice quieter now, though no less strained. "I carry that burden every day. You think I don’t feel it? That it doesn’t tear me apart? But I don’t have the luxury of rage. I have to keep moving, keep fighting—for the ones who are still here."

Your hands fell to your sides, anger simmering down to a bitter ache. You looked at Yaga, your voice softer but no less furious. "They trusted you. We trusted you. And now we’re left with nothing but grief. Don’t you dare try to justify this."

Yaga looked away, his jaw clenched. "I’m not trying to justify it. There’s no justification for it. But you think I haven’t warned them, too? We both know how they operate. But my hands—"

"Don’t tell me about your hands being tied." you interrupted, your voice sharp. "You had more than just orders. You had a choice. And Haibara Yu’s blood is on all of us for not stopping it. And I'm sure....too sure. That there will be many more. All because you can't fight against those old farts."

Silence hung between you, heavy and suffocating. Yaga’s grip on your arms loosened, his expression still hardened by guilt and responsibility. He knew it too well, he knew that it was also his fault. And perhaps, in truth, you didn't blame him that much. You knew there was nothing a teacher can do against the whole of Jujutsu society. But you can't help but be angry. Just like at your father's funeral. And that too, Yaga blames himself.

“I’m going to make them pay for this.” you said in a low, deadly voice, your anger no longer explosive but cold and resolute. “The ones responsible, the ones who allowed this to happen—they’ll know exactly what they’ve one.”

Yaga met your eyes, his voice quiet but firm. "Don’t let your anger consume you. Your father would say the same thing. This world is already full of enough darkness."

Your expression didn’t change, unfazed. "Maybe it needs a little more darkness before it can see the light. My father also knew about that."

YOU WANTED TO HAVE A SMOKE. But you were sure that the sprinklers would alert people. So you went against it. You stormed out of the manager’s office, your fury barely contained as you made your way down the empty corridor.

The cold, sterile walls felt suffocating, your mind clouded with the weight of it all—Haibara’s death, Nanami’s devastation, the recklessness of the higher-ups. You needed to see him, to confront the harsh reality of what their negligence had wrought.

The morgue was dimly lit, its stillness heavy with the presence of death. You moved quietly, but your footsteps faltered as you approached. Standing just outside, you heard voices—low, tense. You stopped.

"Why not let Gojo take care of everything?" a bitter voice sneered. It was Nanami Kento.

Your breath caught in your throat as you recognized that tone. Nanami’s words were sharp, laced with exhaustion and frustration, and just as the retort began to form on your lips, another voice cut through—calm, but strained.

"Nanami, that’s enough," Geto Suguru’s voice was tired, a weariness that weighed down each syllable. "This isn’t about Satoru. Don’t take your anger out on him just because you feel helpless. We all do."

Helpless.

The word hit you like a punch to the gut. Your body froze as Nanami’s bitter words echoed in your ears, triggering a flood of memories you had buried deep. You could still see the way Kaiko had looked at you after Namie’s death, the sharp, accusatory words that came spilling out, venomous and cruel.

"Why not let Genmei take care of everything, huh? She’s always so sure of herself, isn’t she?" Kamo Kaiko had sneered, the pain of loss warping into something uglier, something that wanted to hurt others. The same helplessness Nanami was drowning in now.

You had seen the look in Kaiko’s eyes—the same bitterness, the same exhaustion, the same desperation to place the blame somewhere, anywhere, other than the black void of grief you were all struggling to survive. And you had tried to calm Kaiko down, tried to reason with her, but the pain had been too raw, too fresh. It had escalated. Words had become fists, and by the time it was over, you were both broken in different ways. You never spoke again after that fight.

Now, hearing Nanami’s voice, the echoes of Kaiko’s bitterness in every word, your heart clenched. You couldn’t let this spiral the same way.

You stepped forward, your presence quiet but commanding. The shadows shifted as you moved, your eyes falling on Nanami, who stood rigid, his face a mask of exhaustion and grief. Geto Suguru leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his own weariness mirrored in his posture. He looked over Haibara’s body, as though he was in a trance. He was shell–shocked, you think.

"That’s enough." you said, your voice calm but firm, the weight of your past mixing with the present. You couldn’t watch this play out the same way it had before. "This isn’t about blame. None of this is about whose responsibility it is to fix things."

Nanami flinched slightly at the sound of your voice, his jaw tightening as he avoided your gaze. But you knew what he was feeling because you had been there. You had stood in his shoes, grappling with the same rage, the same helplessness, when you lost Namie.

"It’s not Gojo–kun’s fault, you know that." you continued, stepping closer, your voice softer now. "And it’s not yours. Haibara’s death wasn’t something you could have prevented. Not under these circumstances."

Nanami's fists clenched at his sides, the tension in his body radiating outwards. "I could have, senpai." he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "I should have."

"No." you said firmly, your voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "This wasn’t on you. Don’t let the guilt consume you, Nanami. I’ve seen it before, and I know where it leads."

The memories of Kaiko haunted you, the way grief had hollowed her out, leaving her with nothing but resentment and bitterness. You couldn’t let that happen to Nanami. Not again. This doesn’t have to continue. No one else has to suffer.

"Listen to Geto–kun, okay?" you added, your gaze softening as you looked at him. "We all feel helpless. But turning against each other won’t bring Haibara back."

Nanami’s shoulders slumped slightly, the tension in his body giving way to something closer to defeat. He didn’t respond, but you knew your words had reached him. Turning away from them, you took a breath and steel yourself. You still had one last thing to do, no matter how much it hurt.

You had to say goodbye to Haibara.

You walked out of the room, the heaviness of the conversation weighing on your shoulders. You pushed open the door and stepped into the hallway, your emotions a turbulent storm beneath the surface. Your eyes immediately caught sight of Satoru, leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed.

You knew, just by the way he stood, that he had heard everything. There was no need for words. His expression wasn’t the usual carefree mask he wore—it was more serious, though his eyes were still bright behind his dark shades, silently watching you.

You sighed, your frustration and exhaustion bubbling up. Without a word, you stepped closer to him and gently placed your hands over his ears, your palms lightly cupping the sides of his head. The sudden movement caught him off guard, and his eyes widened, blinking in surprise. He tilted his head slightly, as if trying to understand what you were doing.

Don’t listen, you mouthed, your lips forming the words slowly and deliberately, knowing he would understand.

For a moment, Satoru just stared at you, his gaze flickering between confusion and something softer, almost curious. His lips pressed into a flat line, and after a heartbeat of silence, he nodded, an unspoken agreement passing between you.

He wasn’t going to argue. Not this time.

You let your hands fall from his ears, giving him a weary look. There was nothing more to say. You both knew the weight of everything that had happened, and for once, Satoru didn’t push. He just stood there, understanding what you couldn’t put into words. The hallway stretched ahead of you, quiet and still, but the heaviness lingered in the air.

You let your hands fall from Satoru's ears, giving him a weary look. There was nothing more to say. You both knew the weight of everything that had happened, and for once, Satoru didn’t push. He just stood there, understanding what you couldn’t put into words. The hallway stretched ahead, quiet and still, but the heaviness lingered in the air.

The two of you wandered outside in silence, the weight of recent events hanging heavily between you. The cold night air bit at your skin, a stark contrast to the suffocating heat of the emotions you both carried. You led the way toward the vending machines just outside the building, the quiet hum of them the only sound in the stillness.

You didn’t need to look at Satoru to know he was thinking about everything that had happened. It was rare for him to be this quiet, this subdued. You pressed the buttons on the machine without a word, watching the drinks tumble down with a soft thud. You handed one to him, the cold condensation clinging to your fingers as you took your own.

Satoru cracked open the can, the fizz breaking the silence between you. You took a slow sip of your drink before finally speaking.

“It’s not your fault, you know.” you said quietly, your voice steady but carrying the weight of someone who had seen this all before. "You can’t blame yourself for what happened."

Satoru didn’t respond right away. He took a long drink, his gaze fixed on the horizon, the usual brightness in his eyes dimmed by something heavier, more complex. He leaned against the vending machine, one hand loosely holding the can, the other shoved in his pocket. His shades were off now, dangling from his collar.

“I think it is, Genmei–senpai.” he finally said, his voice low, almost resigned. His gaze drifted down to the ground. “If I were just a little stronger, a little faster... if I had trained them better, maybe… maybe they wouldn’t be dead.”

Your chest tightened. You had heard these words before, a thousand times in different voices. From yourself, from others who had lost people they cared about. It was the familiar cycle of grief and guilt. Gojo Satoru doesn’t easily fuss over his feelings. This was the first time truly, you think, that he’d willingly told you what he felt. Without you having to ask. In a way, you think that has reminded you of yourself, even for a little bit.

"You can't control everything, Gojo–kun." you replied softly, stepping beside him. "Not even you. It wasn’t your decision to send them on that mission. You weren’t the one who messed up the intel. And you’re not the one who could have stopped it from going wrong."

He clenched his jaw, clearly wrestling with the weight of his own thoughts. Gojo Satoru—the strongest sorcerer alive, the one who always acted like nothing could touch him—was grappling with the very human feeling of failure. It was a rare sight, one that he kept hidden behind his usual bravado. But here, in the quiet, there was no mask to hide behind.

"Being strong doesn’t mean being able to protect everyone. That’s impossible." you added, your voice quiet but firm. "Trust me, I know. We all do."

Satoru stared at his drink, the carbonation slowly rising to the surface. He let out a long breath, his fingers tightening around the can as if holding on to something he couldn’t quite grasp.

"I don’t know if I can ever believe that, you know?" he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "If I’m not strong enough to protect them, then what’s the point of being the strongest?"

You didn’t answer right away. You let his words hang in the air, knowing that there was no simple reply that could ease his burden. The truth was, you understood. You had felt the same way when your precious Namie died, when Amanai Riko  was killed. The strength to protect felt meaningless when it failed you.

But you also knew that blaming yourself for every loss would only eat away at you, piece by piece. And you knew better than to wallow in it all. You wouldn’t be able to get up from your bed if it's all that consumes you. You didn’t want your dreams. You wanted to be awake. In your dreams, it was regret. In your reality, it was moving forward. And you’d choose a thousand cigarettes then see Namie’s eyes look at you like that again. You’d choose days awake rather than seeing Kaiko take her last breaths right in front of you again.

"The point, Gojo–kun," you finally said, your voice softer now, "is that you’re human. No matter how strong you are, no matter what kind of power you have, you’re still human, Gojo–kun. And that means sometimes... you’ll fail. It doesn’t make you any less strong. It just makes you... you."

He looked at you then, his expression unreadable, but there was something in his bright cerulean eyes—an acknowledgment, maybe. He didn’t argue, didn’t dismiss your words like he normally would. Instead, he just took another sip of his drink and nodded slightly.

“Maybe……” he muttered, though his voice lacked conviction.

You stood there in the quiet, the weight of your conversation lingering in the cold night air. For once, there were no easy answers, no quick fixes. Just two people, sharing a drink, carrying the same burden of loss.

You tilted your head back slightly, looking up at the night sky. The stars were faint tonight, dimmed by the city lights, much like how everything felt dulled in the aftermath of grief. You took another sip from your drink, letting the cool liquid ground you in the present, away from the spiraling thoughts of what could have been.

After a long silence, you spoke again, your tone quieter, almost contemplative. "You know, you don’t always have to carry everything by yourself, Gojo–kun."

He glanced at you, but didn’t respond immediately, his eyes still clouded with that familiar weight.

"I know you feel like it’s all on you, Gojo–kun." you continued, turning your gaze to him. "Like you're responsible for every life, every outcome. But you're not. And it’s okay to feel... this way. To feel like you’ve failed. But that doesn’t mean you have."

Satoru stared at the ground, the quiet stretching on for a few heartbeats. Then, without looking at you, he spoke, his voice softer than before. “You say that like you don’t carry it, too.”

Your grip on the can tightened slightly. You felt the truth of his words settle uncomfortably in your chest. You did carry it—always had. The weight of those you couldn’t save, the memories of missions gone wrong, the faces of the dead. You carried them all, and sometimes it felt like too much. But that wasn’t something you would admit to easily.

"You’re right. Your senpai’s a hypocrite." you said after a pause, your voice barely above a whisper. A weary smile on your lips. "I do, don’t I? But I’m learning how to let some of it go. To not let it destroy me…..I have to learn, as you do.”

Satoru finally looked at you, his gaze searching, as if he was trying to understand something he couldn’t quite grasp. There was a vulnerability in his expression, one that he rarely let show. You know that you knew the answer. And so does he. But it was easy to ignore, when you’re given the world to carry.

"How?" he asked, his voice quiet, almost hesitant.

You looked away, your eyes drifting back up to the sky. "By realizing that it’s not all on me. That I’m not the only one who’s hurting. And by letting people in, even when I don’t want to. It’s not easy, and I’m still figuring it out... but I’m trying."

Satoru was silent, processing your words. You knew how hard it was for him to let people in, to show any weakness. He had built walls so high that even those closest to him struggled to see through them. But here, in this quiet moment, you could feel those walls cracking, if only just a little.

“I guess I’ll have to try that sometime.” he muttered, his lips curling into a faint, tired smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You smiled back, though it was small and fleeting. "You could start now, you know."

Satoru let out a soft laugh, the sound almost bitter, but there was a hint of something lighter underneath it. He took another sip of his drink, shaking his head slightly. "You’re asking a lot of me right now, Gen–senpai. You know that?"

"I’m just asking you to be human, Gojo–kun." you replied softly. “Just be yourself.”

The silence that followed wasn’t as heavy as before. It was the kind of quiet that settled between people who understood each other, who didn’t need to fill the space with empty words.

After a while, Gojo Satoru straightened up, his usual mask of nonchalance slipping back into place. But something had changed, even if just a little. He glanced at you, a glimmer of his old self returning to his eyes.

"Alright." he said, pushing off from the vending machine. "I’ll try not to carry everything on my back... but don’t expect me to go soft, okay? Can’t have everyone thinking I’m losing my touch."

You rolled your eyes, but there was a small smile tugging at your lips. "Wouldn’t dream of it, Gojo–kun."

He chuckled, tossing his empty can into the recycling bin with a casual flick of his wrist. “Good. Now, how about we get out of here? There’s only so much doom and gloom a guy can take. I wanna go and eat some burgers! Oh, oh and have a milkshake. Come on Gen-senpai! Don't be such a slow poke!”

You watched as he started walking away, his usual swagger returning to his step. Despite everything, despite the grief and the guilt, he was still Satoru Gojo. And that, in its own way, was comforting. You lingered for a moment, finishing off your drink before following him. The weight of the night hadn’t disappeared, but somehow, it felt a little easier to bear now.

epilogue

The afternoon sun bathed the park in a warm, golden glow, casting everything in a soft light that made the moment feel almost timeless. It was a day without expectations or duties—a rare occasion for you and Satoru, a time when neither of you needed to be the strongest sorcerers alive. Instead, you were just yourselves, surrounded by the warmth of your little family.

You sat on a bench under the shade of a sprawling tree, the leaves swaying gently in the breeze. From your seat, you watched Tsumiki and Megumi, their carefree laughter ringing out as they chased each other across the grass.

Fushiguro Megumi’s small smile hinted at how much he enjoyed these quiet moments with his sister, even though he pretended to let her win. His protectiveness over Tsumiki was subtle but undeniable, and you couldn’t help but smile as you watched their innocent game unfold.

Beside you, Satoru was sprawled out lazily on the bench, his sunglasses resting atop his head, soaking in the warmth of the sun. Satoshi, your energetic bundle of joy, was clinging to his father’s arm, trying to climb him like he was a human jungle gym. The sight of Satoru—so relaxed and utterly at ease—was a rare one, a moment where he let down his guard completely.

“Baby!” Satoru said, glancing over at you with a mischievous grin. “I think our son’s trying to take me down. Think he’s got the makings of a future jujutsu sorcerer?”

You chuckled, brushing a few strands of Satoshi’s hair out of his eyes. “Maybe he’s just training to be strong like you, don’t you think?” you teased, giving Satoru a playful look. “You’ll have to watch out—he might surpass you one day.”

Satoru sat up dramatically, hoisting Satoshi into his lap. “Surpass me? Oh no, not on my watch!” He declared, tickling your son until Satoshi was giggling uncontrollably. “Satoshi, my little dawn, promise me you won’t steal my title as the strongest!”

Gojo Satoshi, between fits of laughter, batted at his father’s chest. “Papa! No tickle!”

The sound of your son’s pure joy, Satoru’s playful antics, and the peace of this moment filled your heart. For once, there was no looming threat, no mission pulling you away. It was just the simple beauty of a family enjoying a sunny day.

Megumi, a little winded from chasing his sister, wandered over with his usual stoic expression, though you could see the faintest trace of a smile. You couldn’t resist teasing him. “Are you done showing off?”

Megumi shrugged, his tone as nonchalant as ever. “I wasn’t showing off. Tsumiki just needed to win.”

Satoru reached out and ruffled Megumi’s hair affectionately. “Such a gentleman. You’re really going soft on your sister, huh?”

Though Megumi swatted Satoru’s hand away, his eyes softened. “......She deserves it” he mumbled, trying to keep his fondness for Tsumiki hidden.

Tsumiki, noticing the conversation, ran over, her cheeks flushed from the chase. She flopped down onto the grass beside Megumi, leaning against him with a contented sigh. The two siblings sat close together, exchanging quiet smiles. You could see how much they meant to each other—the bond that had formed between them was one of the most precious things in your life.

Satoru stretched out his legs, balancing Satoshi on his knee. “You know, I think this is nice.” he said, his tone suddenly thoughtful. “We should do this more often.”

You turned to look at him, curious. “Do what? Actually relax?”

He chuckled softly. “Yeah. I like this better—just us. Just our little family, you know? No titles, no missions. Just being.”

There was something so genuine in the way he said it. You leaned into him slightly, reaching for his hand, feeling the warmth of his palm against yours. “I like this too, you know?” you said softly, squeezing his hand.

He smiles back at you with the most beautiful, warm gaze. He squeezes your hand back. “I know.”

Megumi and Tsumiki sat quietly, watching your interaction with curiosity but not interrupting. You could tell they were starting to understand the unspoken bond you and Satoru shared—the love that transcended the roles you played in the world.

Satoru let out a soft sigh, leaning back against the bench, tugging you closer. Satoshi, who had grown tired from all the excitement, settled comfortably in his father’s lap, his small hands gripping Satoru’s shirt. The park, bathed in the soft afternoon light, seemed to wrap you all in a blanket of calm.

“If you weren’t around to keep me sane…..” Satoru mused, glancing over at you. “I might’ve forgotten what a day off even feels like.”

You smiled, resting your head against his shoulder. “Oh, I’m sure you’d figure it out. You’ve always been good at pretending the world’s problems don’t exist.”

Satoru grinned, though there was a softness to his voice. “Maybe. But this…” He looked down at Satoshi, then over at Megumi and Tsumiki, who were now engrossed in their own conversation. “This is real. This is what matters.”

His words struck a chord in you. For so long, your lives had revolved around the constant threat of danger, the weight of responsibility. But here, at this moment, it was just the four of you—your makeshift family—enjoying a quiet afternoon in the park.

Leaning into Satoru’s warmth, you whispered, “Yeah, this is what it’s all about.”

The park’s hum continued around you: the distant laughter of children, the rustling leaves, and the occasional chirp of birds. But in your little bubble, time seemed to slow down. For a moment, there was no past, no future—just the present, where everything felt exactly as it should.

You rested your head on Satoru’s shoulder, Satoshi nestled between you both, and Megumi and Tsumiki chatting softly beside you. In this quiet, peaceful moment, you realized that despite the chaos of your lives, these simple, precious moments made all the struggles worth it.

And for now, that was more than enough.

[thehistoriangirl]

Hi!

Could you write something for Viktor in this Father's Day please??

Thank you so much, have a great day 🖤

Hi anon! For sure :3 I hope you like it

Little Genius

Viktor x Fem!Reader---1.4K----SFW

Tags: Established Relationship (they're married) | Pregnancy | Fluff | Viktor would be such a great dad yall can't change my mind | Happy Father's day to all who celebrate :3 | This is not proofread at all bc Father's Day is over in less than an hour i'm sorryyyy ;---; |

Viktor felt your head nudging against his side, making him lower the book he was reading since yesterday—since you had finished it without waiting for him to read it out loud. A small betrayal Viktor washed away with your extra long session of kisses after dinner.

He reached to turn off the lamp, your hand brushing his before he could pull the tiny rope. Golden eyes took in your alert face, body wiggling closer to him so Viktor could rest his right leg over your hip.

His hum reverberated in your whole body due to the closeness of your cheek and his chest, heart beating content as you melted against the soft touches, the nonsensical patterns he drew against the thin, worn-out fabric of your pajamas.

“Not tired yet?” he asked, looking at the clock hung on the wall almost reaching midnight.

“I want to show you something,” you said, fiddling with the loose threads of his favorite blanket, the one he packed from his house in Zaun and kept in Piltover, even now.

He mourned the sudden loss of your warmth once you incorporated in your elbows, reaching for the nightstand on your side of the bed. Though curiosity made his golden eyes twinkle as your fingers scouted the insides of the last drawer.

“What is it?” Viktor peeked over your shoulder, seeing your hand gently cradling a small, white box tied close with a golden ribbon. “Are you going to propose, my love? Because I’m sorry to tell you this, but I beat you to it around two years ago,” he chuckled, rubbing with his thumb over the golden band decorating a finger in your left hand. Soft, slightly dry lips kissing the reverse of your palm once you glared playfully at him.

“You’re not funny,” you said, thought your curved lips testified completely the opposite.

“I hate to argue with the love of my life, but I am. Otherwise I wouldn’t have win you over.”

“Well, what if I say that you win me over with your terrible jokes?”

Viktor feigned a deep betrayal just like they were represented in the Opera House; hand clutching his shirt over his heart, closing his eyes while his face twisted in a grimace of hurt. “Your words break my heart.” His hands enveloped your waist, pulling you against his chest. “You better have a plan to wound up my poor heart. Your devote lover is very sensible.”

You beamed at him, eyes crinkled in crescents. “I do have one.” Wriggling against his tangled hug, you sat with your legs crossed, settled right in front of Viktor, putting the box on his chest. “Open it.”

The mysterious object was covered with a layer of paper, and for a few moments all that it could be heard inside your shared room was the wrinkled paper being pushed away to reveal the gift.

“Huh?” Viktor frowned, his fingers brushing the softest fabric as he raised the clothing out the box to see it against the light of the bright, golden lamp.

A vivid, burnt yellow bib made of crochet in a pattern oddly familiar for his own baby clothes kept inside a bag under his mother’s bed back in Zaun. The lettering read: Papa’s Little Genius.

He gazed at you, founding your expression of pressed lips about to burst into giggles. “My love?”

“Do you know what day is today?” you said, brushing the empty box away to straddle his hips.

“Sunday?” He could barely articulate any words with your comfortable weight pressed against him.

You lowered over his chest, nuzzling your nose in the crook of his neck and nibbling on his ear just for the fun to see his pale skin flush deep crimson every time. “It’s Father’s Day,” your voice sent shivers down his spine, goosebumps traveling all over his body as his body torn between your allure making pool molten desire down his stomach, and his brain scrambling around by your shushed words.

“Father’s…” he said, holding your shoulders as he looked down toward you and over the bib resting on the pillow next to him. His golden eyes opened, a gasp hitching his already quickening breath. “Are you… you… I… we…”

You burst out laughing, your vision became blurry with the halo of tears pooling in your eyes. “Yes...,” you whispered, as if it were such a delicate thing, a dream, almost, that if talking too loud about it would make it disappear. “You’re going to be a Papa very soon.”

His teary eyes matched yours as he hugged him flush against him, taking in the smell of your hair, how perfectly he feels blessed at just basking in your presence. And now, not only had you given him your whole body and soul and heart. No, you were about to give him a legacy—a future carved in his blood and flesh.

A child.

His child.

His rough fingerpads caressed your cheeks, wishing to take in every little detail about this moment so he could treasure it for eternity.

“I thought I was the luckiest person in the whole world when you accepted to be my spouse, but now?” He laughed, wiping your tears away. “Now words can’t describe how I feel knowing that you’re carrying our baby.”

Viktor chuckled, his smile that one of a child’s that had just discovered the wonders of life for the first time. His hand cradling your belly.

“Hi, little one,” he muttered, almost afraid to cause a bad impression to his unborn baby. Fingers gently caressing the soft skin under your shirt. “I’m your Papa. Hi,” Viktor repeated, finding himself in a loss of words. “I… I promise I’m going to read a lot of books about parenting, and that I’m going to come up with pretty toys for you, and I promise that I will make daily time to play with you… and sing to you… and tucking you to bed,” his voice broke, a knot straining his throat. “I don’t know anything about being a father, but I promise you I will be the best for you, little one.”

With a groan, he sat on the bed, lowering his head to kiss your belly, hands interlocked in the small of your back. “Only the best for you and your stunning mother. I hope you look just like her,” he said with a chuckle. “Though I will struggle to ground if that occurs… hmm, just be easy on me, alright?”

He looked up at you, eyes full of wonder and pure, unfiltered adoration.

“I just know about them, but I already love them so,” Viktor confessed, caressing your hair, his hands pulling down your chin so his lips could encounter yours. “Thank you. Thank you so much.” He mumbled between kisses of all kind—as soft as the brush of a feather, bold ones with his teeth biting your bottom lip, his tongue exploring your mouth in a slow, sensual dance. “I love you. I love you both,” he corrected, patting your belly.

“Do you like the bib?” you hummed, and he laughed. “Your mother scold me a lot because I kept getting lost while knitting the pattern.

“I knew I recognized that style.” He scanned the bib, arching a playful eyebrow toward you. “Little Genius, eh? Pretty high standards, don’t you think?”

You roll your eyes, swatting his chest lightly. “You say that as if you won’t let them see all your blueprints and chalkboards full of equations the moment they’re born.”

Viktor’s heart fluttered at the thought. He would have to babyproof his studio—and for sure his child wouldn’t step inside the lab without a full-body protective uniform, but the thought of sharing with someone else besides you about his vision of the world and the place he had in it made him feel like he was inside paradise.

A personal goal to make this world much happier, and safer, and fairer.

His baby’s world.

“I love you,” he said, kissing your whole face with delicate kisses that poured out everything words could never express. His devotion. His love. Everything. “I will never be able to pay you back for this…this miracle.”

“I don’t want you to pay me back,” you said, hands resting over his quickly-beating heart. “I love you, too. And your love for both of us is more than enough.”

He smiled widely, showing you that grin you adored so much, that made you melt and wish you could, too, give him the whole world.

“How lucky I am,” he hummed, settling you against his chest. “To have my whole universe safely resting in my arms.”

[autistichalsin]

Halsin and abandonment issues

One thing I've come to conclude about Halsin's character, based on many parts of his story and some lines he says, is that he might have abandonment issues.

To begin with: he lost his entire family over the years to accidents and disease, per his writer. That's the kind of thing that leaves deep scars- watching everyone you love fade away over years, until at a "comparatively young age" you're the last of your family and turned over to the Druids to be taken care of. (His writer didn't specify an age, but if he was young enough to be "turned over to the Druids" instead of "finding his way there" then it is likely he was not an adult.) There's no time to lose your family that isn't absolutely horrible, but as a young person is far, far worse.

Then there's Halsin's other traumas, all of which involve isolation; he was a prisoner for three years in the Underdark, and despite this, no one thought to come looking for him to save him. He lost most of his fellow Druids in the battle against Ketheric Thorm and the Shadow Curse that followed- and what few didn't die, he still lost their friendship to his leadership position, the "weight of responsibility". His one lasting friend in all of this, Thaniel, was lost to the curse and Halsin spent over 100 years blaming himself, fighting to be the best leader he could at the Grove, and having no one at all he could lean on for any of his burdens. And then he wound up kidnapped again, this time by the goblins, and when he returns, almost all his Druids have been turned against him, some even holding him in contempt. All experiences that are isolating in nature and reinforce to him that he can't rely on anyone else, that he is the only person he can depend on, and that in the end, everyone he cares for is going to leave or die.

It's not just speculation that he feels that way, either. He has several lines about his survivor guilt and isolation:

"[...] there is a burden to being the survivor... the witness to others' tragedies. It only grows heavier with time."

"[...] Grim as it is now, it was worse on the day of the battle. A vivid wound upon my memory. I was lucky - I lived, when so many did not. It would take me a day and a night to recite the names of all the friends I lost."

And lines that indicate he's used to being left, too.

If the player rejects him after he wildshapes (emphasis mine):

"Ah, I see. Well, of course. Back to camp then."

Saying "of course" implies it's not entirely unexpected.

After the final battle, if the player declines to have a celebration and says the party should split up:

"It was always destined to be so, if we prevailed. But the foreknowledge makes it no less bittersweet..."

He was expecting the party not to stick together.

Similarly, if a love-interest player breaks up with him in the ending:

"I see... After all my years of living, I know all too well that nothing lasts forever. Yet a parting can sting, nonetheless. But that just means what we shared was precious, and will live on in my memory. Thank you - I am a richer man for having met you."

The "nothing lasts forever" really sells it, to me, especially because the context makes it clear that he isn't just making a general statement- he's talking about relationships and people. Again- he was expecting it all to end.

His worry in the epilogue, when a solo-romanced player comes to the party with him, hints at this even more: "You could have done anything, gone with anyone... yet you chose me."

He's surprised that the player, even if they're in love, would want to live with him and share his dream. He can't believe they really wanted that- he even says that he keeps expecting to "stir from the dream".

I feel like that shows a lot about how Halsin feels after all the loss he's endured- he doesn't ultimately believe anyone is going to stay with him, whether because they choose to leave him, or because they'll die.

[brainddeadd]

we haven’t talked much about baby devils family besides her mom… so maybe she’s an only child also why she’s love the boys so much because she has never had siblings and what if she lost her dad a few years ago to cancer and it’s not something she really talks about only person on the devils that knows is luke so maybe when it was the cancer game it was really important to her and everyone found out about her dad

The Cancer Game

warnings: parental death

ok so.. my dad died and this is how i'd want my friends to react and how some of them did react..

if you've lost someone close to you, i am so sorry for your loss

The New Jersey Devils locker room was filled with the usual celebration buzz. They’d just pulled off a big win, and everyone was riding high on the thrill of it, the energy bouncing off the walls as teammates shouted and laughed. Normally, Y/N would have been in the thick of it, cracking jokes and soaking up the post-game excitement with her team. But tonight, she’d been different. She’d put on a brave face, even cheered a little in the locker room, but her heart wasn’t in it. Only Luke noticed the way her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, the way she slipped out of the room as soon as she could without saying a word to anyone.

He’d seen her like this before, knew the kind of weight that could press down on her after certain games. The annual Cancer Awareness game, something that meant so much to the Devils organization and their fans, had an especially painful significance for her. A few years back, her dad had passed away after a long battle with cancer. It wasn’t something she talked about; she kept her emotions tucked away and rarely let them out, but this game always hit her hard. Luke was the only one who knew, and though she never said anything, he’d learned to recognize the signs.

The other guys hadn’t quite pieced it together yet, but they were noticing the change in her. Jack frowned as he watched her leave. “Did you guys see Y/N? She just left so quickly. I don’t think she even said goodbye.”

“Yeah, and she was barely talking all night,” Nico added, crossing his arms with a worried look. “She seemed…off. You think something’s wrong?”

Dawson, still buzzing from the win, looked back toward the door, his excitement dimming. “She didn’t even celebrate like usual. You think we should check on her?”

Luke glanced at them, a little torn. Y/N was private, and he didn’t want to betray her trust, but he also didn’t want her to be alone with this. With a slight nod, he said, “Yeah. I think we should.” He didn’t offer an explanation yet, but his face was serious, and the others picked up on it right away.

The group left together, the energy in the car shifting to something quieter and more solemn as they drove to Y/N’s place. They entered her apartment, hoping she’d be alright, but the scene they found tugged at their hearts.

Y/N was curled up on her couch, her face hidden in her hands, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Luke stepped forward first, his heart heavy as he saw his friend so vulnerable. He gently placed a hand on her shoulder before sitting next to her, pulling her into his side. She leaned into him, not saying anything, but letting him be there.

The others stood back, exchanging looks of uncertainty and sadness. They hadn’t seen her like this before and didn’t want to intrude, but they also couldn’t bear the idea of leaving her alone.

After a quiet moment, Jack finally spoke up. “Is…is she okay? What’s going on?” he asked softly, his voice filled with worry.

Luke took a breath, deciding to share what he knew in the hopes that they’d understand. “Her dad…he passed away from cancer a few years back. This game…this night…it’s a lot for her to handle. It brings back memories.”

There was a stunned silence as the reality of her pain sank in. Dawson looked down, feeling a pang of guilt for not realizing sooner. Nico’s expression softened, his eyes full of empathy as he took a step closer to her.

Jack’s face fell. He crouched down beside her, reaching out to place a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Y/N, I’m so sorry. You should’ve said something. You don’t have to go through this by yourself.”

Nico nodded, his voice gentle. “We’re family, Y/N. Whatever you need, we’re here. Always.” His words were soft, filled with the warmth of someone who understood what it meant to be part of a team that cared deeply for each other beyond just hockey.

Dawson gave her a supportive smile, his voice as warm as he could make it. “Yeah, we’re here for you. If you ever need to talk or even just want someone around to keep you company, don’t hesitate. We’ve got your back.”

Y/N looked up through red, tear-streaked eyes, managing a small, appreciative smile as she took in the scene. There they were—her teammates, her friends, her family—standing around her with faces full of concern and love. She hadn’t planned to let them see her like this, hadn’t planned to share the part of herself that was still so raw and aching. But here they were, offering her every bit of their support, not backing away from her sadness.

Luke’s arm tightened around her shoulders as he whispered, “You’re not alone. I’m here. We’re all here.”

Y/N felt her heart swell as Jack, Nico, and Dawson each moved closer, surrounding her with a warmth and presence that filled the room. They didn’t try to fix her pain or rush her through it; they simply sat with her, letting her know that she didn’t have to bear this alone. The weight of her grief felt a little lighter with them there, their quiet strength helping to carry her forward, reminding her that no matter how heavy the burden, she would never have to shoulder it by herself again.

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Your Touch Builds a Bonfire - A John Shelby/Reader One Shot Story.

Just a bit of John smut for my lovelies on this cold Saturday night! Enjoy, darlings :)

Words - 1,810

Warnings - Spicy smut below the cut, minors DNI!

The way he twirls a pencil between his fingers, watching how the phalanges bend so effortlessly has you in a trance. How he makes a teacup look so small in his grasp. How the veins in the back of his hands bulge when he flexes a hand in his hair, usually when something has frustrated him to the point of anger.  

When he notices you watching, though, that fiery temper of his never fails to cool.  

He knows how much you desire him. He sees it, he’s been waiting for you to make a move, seeing how far he can go in pushing you with little instances of tease. He always finds some way to lightly touch you, whether emphasising a point, sweeping a stray few strands of hair behind your ear, or brushing fallen eyelashes from your cheek, he finds a way.  

You want his hands on you in much finer detail, though. It’s only because he’s your boss and you’re scared to lose your job that you haven’t acted upon it, just in case you’re wrong. It makes you tingle to the tips of your ears, imagining giving him the come on only for him to stare at you incredulously and state that you are mistaken over his intentions.  

Leaving your daydream behind, you turn your attention back to the typewriter ahead of you, the chaos of the bookmaker's offices soon beginning to swirl as the races kick off at various locations around the country. By the end of the day, the final race leaving the men cleared from the space to go and either celebrate or commiserate their wins or losses at the local boozer, you are still at your typewriter, John across the space at his desk, scribbling in the ledger.  

You see him exit his seat without a word, leaving the room, your fingers tapping the final letters upon the page you need his signature upon, pulling it from the typewriter and gently shaking it to dry the ink. Placing it down, you see an arm reach over your shoulder, a whiskey placed upon your desk.  

“Worked hard today, you did,” he speaks, nodding to the glass as you turn to look up at him. “I ain’t in the mood for the pub, but I am in the mood for a few drinks with my favourite.”  

He winks, and heat prickles your cheeks, busying yourself with picking up the drink and taking a big sip, attempting to bolster your confidence a little. It’s what you want, but oh! How the man makes you nervous!  

He’s too gorgeous for his own bloody good.  

“Well, since your other favourite was disappointing today, I can scarcely blame you.”  

He grins, chuckling into his glass. “Yeah, you’re much less trouble than a thoroughbred with the desire to throw his fucking jockey.” He shakes his head, sinking the rest of his drink. “Bloody animal.” He reaches for the bottle he brought with him, refilling his glass, topping yours off too. “You’re still trouble, though.”  

Your face mirrors the confusion his statement makes you feel. “I am?” 

“Oh ar, love. Definitely.”  

Your heart hammers with nervous excitement, taking a long sip of the whiskey before replying. “Why is that?”   

“Because short of diving on you, I dunno what the fuck else I’m meant to do to show you how much I want to take you to bed. If we even got that far. Believe me, I want you so badly, I’d settle for tearing off all your clothes and bouncing you on my cock while sitting in a chair down here.”  

Oh god. There they are, his intentions, delivered with every ounce of cocky confidence you should have known would leak out eventually after his tentative flirtations thus far. John Shelby can only be gentlemanly for so long, though.  

It’s time to cease the wallflower routine.  

Standing up, you don’t take your eyes off him for a long, long moment, the weight of your mutual stare enough to crack the floor below as you gesture to the seat you rose from. “I think we were the wrong way round for that to happen.”  

His mouth curls into a smirk, finishing his drink and placing the glass down, seating himself. You move to him, excitement whizzing through your tummy, gathering the soft material of your summer dress and beginning to hitch it up, John’s hands reaching for you, running up your bare legs as you manoeuvre astride him, sitting upon his thighs.  

The feeling of his hands, hands you have fantasised about for so long finally running over your skin, gripping your hips as he pulls you closer to him causes little darts of warmth to flicker through you, the heat of his hardening cock right against your apex making you tingle with want. His lips press kisses across your chest, hands moving to cup your breasts, tongue running over the half-moon of each soft orb escaping the top of your dress, his soft groan hungry, fingers moving to lower the zip.  

The fabric pools in his grasp as the dress falls from your shoulders, his lips placing ascending kisses to your neck before your mouths finally meet, an exchange of filthy, blazing, hungry need, your heart somersaulting in your chest. His mouth is so ravenous upon you, it knocks you sideways, the urgency of his desire for you, hands clasping at your back, removing your bra will easy skill, like he’s done it a hundred times before.  

He probably has.  

You feel in nothing short of a hundred percent capable, knowledgeable hands, his mouth moving to suck upon your nipple, your head tipping back as you grind yourself against his hard cock, his teeth prickling in bite upon the pebbled bud in response to that. “Fuck, these are some fucking beautiful tits.” His breath flutters hot against you, summer breezing through a spring chill, warming you to your bones, his tongue running slowly from between your breasts and back to your mouth.  

Unbuttoning his waistcoat, your hands slide beneath his braces, levering them from his shoulders, unknotting his tie and unbuttoning his crisp, white shirt, thirsting to feel the skin that lies beneath pressing against yours. His shirt flutters to the floor, his arms tightening around them as your touch tours lithe muscles encased in pale, golden freckled flesh. His hand trails down your body, reaching the cotton of your undies, the fabric dampened by your want for him.  

Pushing you back, he moves you to your feet, pupils blown with lust, gripping those soaking undies and tugging them down. Shuffling the chair forward, he lifts your leg over his shoulder, scattering kisses up your inner thigh, the anticipation making you pant, a soft gasp fluttering over your lips as his mouth meets your folds.  

A hot lick rolls through the wet of you, the light fleck of stubble adding in delicious contrast, his tongue seeking your clit and circling, flickering, evoking your wails, your hands going to his hair, nails flexing against the shaven sides of his head as you mewl in delight. Each lick has your blood running hot, sends glimmers through you, little shocks of pleasure tingling your entire core as your cries rend the air.  

He has you panting hard, each skim of his tongue over your tiny, potent little bundle making your hips rock against his mouth, his arms wound around you, one gripped to your waist, the other squeezing upon the rounded orb of your bum. His full lips close in suck around you, your legs shaking, the heat of it snapping over your bones, the pleasure biting and full-bodied, a bright burn of warmth making the coil within you tighten sharply.  

Flattening his tongue against you, he lets you get off on the wide drag of it, the tip caressing your dewy opening as your clit throbs against the press, his hand moving to begin undoing his trousers.  

“I could fucking eat your beautiful little cunt forever, darlin’, but god, I need you on my cock.” You’re so aroused, you can barely form thought as he pulls it out, and it’s thick and perfect, running it through the slick petals of your sex as you sit back astride him before feeding it into your gaping little hole, filling you with a rumbling grunt.  

White hot pleasure sizzles up your spine, ascending like a flurry of champagne bubbles, the taste of yourself upon his sensuous mouth more erotic than you could have ever imagined, moaning against his tongue as your rock back and forth upon him. The sensations of your walls being split so wide around him has bolts of pure bliss skittering through you, your tender little clit grinding against him as his hips buck up against you, pushing you back to devour your breasts with kisses, nibbles and licks.  

The way his hands tour you, stroking ever rise and curve of your body, it has you just as mindless as the delicious drag of his cock over every sweet spot within you, scraping sparks through your walls, his groans deep and rich as he paws at you with unrelenting hunger. The heat of it roars like a forest fire, the embers sizzling over your nerves as your mutual moans fill the space, bliss tumbling through you both. It’s fervid and delicious, scorching and unrelenting, everything you knew sex with John would be now playing out in an illumination of utter sin.  

His eyes are a bonfire of blue fire as he stares at you, fingers tangling in your hair, kissing you again with urgent need as his cock sends glimmers fizzing through you. It becomes even more uncontained, the power of him beneath you incredible, hands tightening upon your shoulders as he forces you down upon the rigidity of him, making you to take the brunt of every hard snap of his hips, hitting you so deep, you’re sent reeling and mindless atop him as your thighs tremble.  

Your cries reach crescendo as the stars surge forth, entire nebulas glittering into decadent light, your walls fluttering around him, dragging his release from his sweaty body, cock spilling hot into you. You’re both rendered an entwined, panting mess in the wake of it, kissing softly, hands still roaming, John beginning to chuckle.  

“Yeah,” he breathes, nuzzling your nose, “definitely the least troublesome favourite of the day.”  

You beam, your chest still heaving hard. “Want to take me upstairs and see if I can change that?” Your tongue teases the outer shell of his ear, gently nibbling the soft lobe. “I promise not to buck the jockey off.”  

He laughs loudly, locking his arms around you and carrying you to the stairs, his hand smacking against your bum a few times causing your shrieking laughter. “I suppose it’d be fun if you tried to, love.”  

[richarlotte]

Most important steps to your glow up?

Top Tier.

Braces.

I had my braces on for 18 months, and they were the best decision of my life. I can breathe better, my jaw and chin look better, my teeth are straight, and I have no more pain. Facial harmony is everything, and mine was restored by an expert orthodontist and continued use of my retainers. Jaw surgery wasn’t reasonable or necessary, but I can’t even begin to describe the impact that dental whitening, braces, weight loss, and proper dental care work had on my face.

 

Electrolytes and Hydration.

I was severely dehydrated and in need of electrolytes for years and years. I thought that drinking enough water wasn’t as important as people made it seem, but my life changed when I started to do it. Life feels much less stressful now that I’m properly hydrated, and I make sure to toss a little lemon and salt in my water and drink a Gatorade or Liquid IV to get electrolytes.

 

Darker and Longer Hair.

I look better with hair that’s long, dark, and thick. I have alopecia, so I did a number of things to disguise my hair loss growing up, but I wear wigs now that my hair is gone. I was told to wear my hair long, dark, and straight last year, and whenever I do, people tell me that I look otherworldly. Now that I know what to do with my hair and what looks best, I’m a million times more confident about myself.

 

Less Dairy.

I am not lactose intolerant, but I do not need to be eating dairy in excess. I enjoy dairy, so I won’t cut it out of my diet, but I don’t need to be eating it in the amount that I did. I was bloated, always breaking out, and tired all the time, but my low energy dissipated the second I cut my dairy intake. I’m not 100% dairy-free and most likely won’t ever be, but I’m careful with the amount I consume.

 

Korean Contact Lenses.

Americans think that all colored contact lenses are unnatural, and American-made colored contacts are. I use Olens contacts and only use the dark shades, and they’re amazing. I find that having huge, dark, striking eyes helps me get exactly what I want, and I love the way I look when I’m wearing contacts. I use contacts to craft my look and emphasize my eyes, and I never buy or use colors that aren’t brown or black. Wearing dark contacts has reduced my need for so much bright eye makeup; they make me look friendlier, and I look better in photos.

 

Better Quality Makeup.

Investing in higher-quality makeup and actually learning how to apply it was crucial. Buying Hourglass, Pat McGrath, Charlotte Tilbury, MAC, and Nars was sort of essential to my makeup journey, and I look much better now that I’ve invested the time and money into learning about makeup. Dupes just don’t hold up to the real things, and I look better now that I’m spending $45 on one product instead of spending $45 on five different products to try to replicate the look.

 

Urea, Glutamic Acid, and Dry Brushing.

I used to have serious strawberry arms and legs, dry skin, and dark spots from body acne, but all of that has cleared up. Hyaluronic acid and body serums have nothing on this combo, and dry brushing has completely cleared up my rough skin and helped with my stretch marks. If you want skin that’s plump, hydrated, glowing, and looks healthy, then you have to exfoliate your dry and wet skin and start using this trio to care for your body.

 

Better Skincare Products.

I invested a lot in using fancy designer brands, but the things that helped me the most were basic, unscented, and quality. I use Paula’s Choice exfoliant, plenty of SPF 100, retinol, and a variety of Korean and American products. My facial acne is gone, my dark marks are cleared, my skin barrier is healed, my skin looks healthier, and I’m glowing. Drunk Elephant, celebrity skincare brands, and trending products didn’t do it for me; figuring out what I needed and then implementing it into my routine helped.

 

Creating my own aesthetic.

I won’t stop talking about The Blend because it helped me become who I am today. I wanted to create a look that would help me, and so I had to spend months solidifying my image. It took me a year to get to where I am today, but life became easier once I was able to figure out what I should be doing, what I should be saving for or investing in, and what suited me. The Blend isn’t just about style, and I had to be scientific with it at times and really work with the resources I had and what was readily accessible to me.

I can do Mid Tier next.

[nyctophiliq]

✮ ┆ THE HANDS THAT MAKE YOU BLEED. shadowheart

after becoming a dark justiciar, she decides against throwing you away and rather, uses you to spread the word of the lady of loss and help herself to some relief

CONTENT WARNINGS.                      18+ only, minors dni. NSFW/DARK CONTENT UNDER THE CUT; female-bodied reader, dark justiciar! shadowheart, mention of chains, manipulation, captivity, face sitting, hair pulling,  | ~2.3k words

A/N.                     this took like a few days and it might show, it might not, but gods i want this woman to ruin me in all ways she can think of. first time writing for baldur's gate 3, hopefully i didn't destroy anyone's expectations by writings this, anyway... i hope you guys enjoy !!!

the hands that dared to seize your free will, the hands that gave you silent commands, the hands that pushed and pulled you onto the granite floor, hands that patted the top of your head or cheeks so kindly after chaining yo up, hands that treated and teased your mind into mush so cunningly, the hands that punished, torn up your skin, maltreated you so cruelly.

those hands grabbed the belt on your waist, playing with it for a long second as she steps closer, pulling and pushing on it to before taking it off and holding it up in front of you. “you did well today, I am pleased…” the sash was weighted down by the hands of two paladins whose life you stripped by the command of the woman above you.

“kneel.” came simply, almost as quiet as the wind.

she was pleased how tolerable, how easy it was to use you to attain the eternity and enforce the word of shar. to think it was a tedious chore, a daily task of her belittling you, punishing you for every tiny mistake you made to get you to complete obedience.

shadowheart chuckled sickly as she thrived in her work, her fingers coming to grip your chin to tilt up your head. the purple-glowing eyes stare right into your soul, causing your cheeks to flare up because of the sheer embarrassment. it was already humiliating to be kneeling at her feet, in front of all the clerics.

truly, she was ruthless, but you couldn’t leave her, no matter if you wanted to or not, even if this public humiliation was slowly becoming a daily occurrence.

the room was silent for a few seconds, you closed your eyes and bowed your head as you waited for her next instruction but only the sound of boots and shoes scraping the floor echoed in the room and before you knew it, a small click sound. shadowheart patted your head, signing that you were allowed to get up on your feet.

“I’m proud…” she would never admit out loud in front of anyone, that she is pleased with your work not just because you have done it without complaining and shown how easy it was to meet her ‘high’ standards, but because you came back to her, rather than escaping. all her hard work to form you into a devotee like herself was one of her divine masterpieces.

she wasn’t going to let anyone mess it up by letting the leash she had on you hang loose. “we should celebrate, hmm?” she hummed softly as she took the collar of your shirt in her grip, yanking on it until your face met with the cold floor.

shadowheart let out a pleased scoff, watching as you tried to gather yourself from the sudden hit, wiping your face from the dirt that stuck to your sweat. quietly taking her steps to circle you, a bright smile on her face as you don't even try to get up until she says so. this just puts more fuel to the fiery pit in her stomach, craving to be satisfied by her most devoted.

"don't keep me waiting, hurry after me." she said lowly, grabbing hold of your hand that reached out for the stair by which you wanted to push yourself up. you look up at her, eyes sparkling with the mix of some sort of surprise and appreciation, things that she was quick to strip you of as she yanked you onto your feet and headed towards her chambers without waiting for you.

"my lady..." you whispered when you stopped walking, standing at the doorway, staring inside with wide eyes as you watched her move around in her large bed. she didn't even glance at you once, instead began to undress herself once she was settled in the middle of the soft silk sheets. this was nothing short of luxury, a privilege that she dragged you into her bed instead of just taking whatever physical pleasure she wanted and needed from you right in the middle of the house of grief without any care that someone might open in and see the two of you.

once she had stripped her underwear, leaned against her piles of pillows with a smirk on her lips, knees pulled up and slowly parted, just enough for you to see her glistening excitement smearing between her thighs.

"well... what are you waiting for?" she purred, voice husky as it sent shivers through your body, your legs weak and ready to obey her command. there's only so much power you can wield without it being her calling it an abuse of the little freedom she is giving you, being hesitant is one of those things she lets slip by.

you walked further into her chambers, your hand reaching for the few sashes that held your light armor together. you didn't have to be told or made by her to strip, she expected you to be bare and ready to fulfill her lustful needs with one simple look. thought she preferred if you were hasty about it, she didn't mind once in a while if you made a show out of it, only taking one layer down at a time and leaving your underwear for her so she could tear it up, to further degrade you, to call you her slut for not even fighting back against her violent advances.

"so many things you got done in so much time..." she starts off, her tone seemingly careful and kind as you crawl between her legs and wait for her to open them further, for her to let you lap her up with the eager moves of your tongue. but instead, she grabs your jaw, harshly digging her nails into your skin, her expression malformed into one of disgust and judgment. "do you have no shame for making wait?"

you cry a sorry out, then another when her other hand grabs a hold of your hair and pulls your head back until the skin over your throat painfully stretches, the back of your neck nearly snapping from the force. the pain was a reminder that you weren't a soldier anymore, that you were something else entirely, something that was different yet still felt exactly the same as your former self. you were her tool, used to achieve her desires. but now you're here, you're here to serve, to do her bidding, and to make her feel good.

there was not much you had to say or wanted to do other than assure her that you would do your very best, no matter if it meant that she smothered you to death between her lips of wildflowers. such a cheesy and unnecessary compliment for her, as if she didn't already know how'd you plead for your life, but such things like that brought back a small piece of the shadowheart you first fell in love with, a fragment of who she was before she chooses shar over you, that softened her now stone cold and hard heart so she saw you more than just a 'thing' that was beneath her.

but as far as compliments like that went with her, today she was not at all interested in anything you had to say. her pure goal was for you to shut up and use your mouth as she intended you to- to please her, to eat her out, to feast on her as if this was your last chance to eat because who knows? it might as well be...

shadowheart twists your head to the side, forcing you to roll onto your back before settling above you, nestling your face between her thighs but still keeping her grip on you. she looked majestic even if you couldn't see much of her in the dim lights, you knew how she looked by heart.

"service me now, work for my forgiveness." the words were spoken in such a way that they felt more like a command rather than a request, the sharp nails now digging into your scalp, more vicious than anything else. you wanted to flinch away, but her grip was firm. her grip was painful. her grip was everything but gentle.

she lowers herself on your face, feeling your nose touch the skin of her inner thigh before bumping into her clit. the warlock flinches, her grip loosening the slightest bit as she lets her sensitive bud throb with overwhelming need before slowly moving her hips. your head following her movement, and your mouth, sucking hard and biting her sensitive skin as you licked at it, tasting salt, trying to find her sweet spot.

it wasn't too hard with her guiding you, the merciless tugs to adjust your face as you stuck your tongue out and gently sucked at her sensitive nub, the warmth of her wetness mixing with your saliva as she continued to move your head faster and faster.

"ah," she moaned, throwing her head back as her hands rested on either side of your head, holding tight onto your hair and tugging with such force that she almost tore it out. but there were more pressing matters than for you to focus on this little discomfort that was so inconvenient for you. letting a hiss of pain die in your throat, you let your attention be eaten up be the taste of her hot and sour, of her juices running down your mouth, of her own blood mingling with yours, of her cries filled with joy and satisfaction.

your vision blurred and darkened, shadowheart merely being a shadowy figure above you, your whole body shaking under her weight as you felt her muscles tighten in her abdomen and the heat of her seed run down your throat, staining your tongue with the sweetness.  the sounds that escaped her mouth and the scent of her arousal that filled the air made your head spin, your hands tremble as you gripped her thighs tightly to ground yourself, to remind you that she was really fucking with you. really getting what she wanted. really making it clear that she owned you, that you had to do what she asked you to do, and that you were just a slave to her will.

shadowheart gasps deeply and closes her eyes tight. "faster," she commands in a hoarse whisper, "harder!" she practically screamed the words as her fingers dug deeper into the skin of your scalp, making sure to leave a mark that you would never forget. your mind going blank as it started to cloud over with ecstasy, as it was filled with the moans of the divine dark justiciar's cries of pleasure. she was enjoying it, enjoying this, enjoying being dominated by your tongue, sucking her off like a whore, like her own personal whore.

her breathing slowed down, her fingers slipping from your hair, her spine arching to press more of her weight down onto you, your lips finally sating the thirst and desire burning within her, the only thing left now was your body trembling in fear for her to do as she pleased with.

you could barely lift your eyes enough to see the look on her face, to see if she enjoyed the moment, if her satisfaction was greater than the last time you serviced her with your mouth. your lips parted as her head tipped forward and her gaze looked at you.

a satisfied smile spread across her face as she slowly moved the slightest off of your face to see her wetness shining on your face, enveloping your delicate lips.

shadowheart lets out a pleasant sigh, closing her eyes for a mere second as her body enjoys the remaining small waves of pleasure washing over it before moving off of you. she falls next to you on her side, her face inching away from yours before she leans in and captures your lips in a searing kiss. her hand comes up to caress your cheek, seemingly letting you savor the soft sensation of her skin upon yours.

you kiss her slowly, softly, tenderly...

"oh my... " she moaned, her hot breath fanning over you as she ran her fingers through your hair, pulling your head closer to hers. you knew what was going through her mind, could see the hunger radiating from her eyes, the want, the need, and the lust.

you let your eyes close, feeling her lips brush against your cheek, her hand falling to your stomach and caressing your lower stomach, pinching the skin lightly and causing you to wince at the sudden harsh movements of her hand.

"I... I'm tired, I need rest..." you mumble, the words barely audible and weak as your eyes remained closed, unable to open them and see what kind of look the dark warrior was giving you. you heard her hum, her warm breath fanning over your neck, her hand resting on your hip.

"you'll rest when you're dead." her voice was deep and low, her hand squeezing slightly around your hip, causing you to shudder and gasp as a chill ran down your spine. you opened your eyes to see what kind of face she was making, and for a brief second, you thought you caught something resembling sympathy, a sliver of a caring soul hidden behind her mask of darkness, her cold gaze melting your bones as your heart rate picks up, adrenaline pumping in your veins. "now i'm gonna fuck you until i get bored." shadowheart whispered in your ear, licking the shell and smiling widely, her tongue darting into your earlobe as she bites down. there is nothing you can do, nothing you can say that will change this situation, you are trapped, bound to her and your fate as surely as a snake wrapped around a stick tied to its tail; and she is the one to wield the whip.

[mysumeow]

HIII IS IT ALRIGHT TO REQ A YANDERE ALBEDO X READER SMUT N ANGST? I've been trying to look ALL over socials to find a good piece but I couldn't😭 would be wonderful for you to make one! BTW LOVE UR WORK UR DOING SO GREAT!!!!!💟💟💟

ꗃ ENSNARE

Warnings: afab genitalia, gn pronouns. YANDERE albedo, reader is forced to drink a potion, reader experiences memory loss, may be considered as dubcon, PIV unprotected sex.

Summary: Albedo isn't fond of the idea of you being away from him indefinitely. He proceeds to take matters into his own hands.

Word count: 3.3k

A/N: ANON TY TT_TT ILY <3. I think that Albedo as a yandere is a strange mixture of both being sadistic if pushed enough in that direction and being a gentle lover. He's just ironic like that. He can also be manipulative if he considers he needs to be. >:()

MASTERLIST

Being granted a chance to study at Sumeru's Akademiya was an achievement worthy of celebration.

Sucrose and Timeus congratulated you.

Albedo, on the other hand...well, he did too; however, not before a strange look settled in his eyes before he cleared his throat and congratulated you.

One week away from your departure, you still have one more obligation to take care of before you leave.

Albedo and you had been researching an experimental mix for memory loss. Not for getting rid of it, but rather for the opposite. Albedo did have a hidden streak for coming up with quite questionable ideas, but he claimed it's all for the sake of innovation and research.

He was quieter than usual as you worked on preparing the final touches to the potion. He even avoided your eyes, and that, of course, stung.

You were about to go abroad for a couple of years, and he was giving you the cold shoulder...?

"For how long will you be away?"

When the alchemist voices his question out of the blue, it took you by surprise. You bit your tongue to avoid answering with a passive-aggressive comment about his distant attitude. Instead, you answered with sincerity.

"Two years. Maybe more if I get a job there," you watched the bubbles form in the liquid. It was almost done.

"Hm, I see."

Is that all you'll say?

You couldn't help but be a bit annoyed.

"Although I am overjoyed about your promising future, I fret that I have to remind you that we aren't done with this research," the liquid stopped bubbling, and Albedo took the glass to shake it side to side. "And your duty, as a fellow alchemist, is to follow through with it,"

"..." well, he wasn't wrong. You did promise that you would complete this important experiment in a way to show your gratitude to him for taking you under his wing. "I was hoping that you would...excuse me, this time,"

Albedo's gaze seemed to stray off into deep thought.

"A reasonable assumption on your part," his voice was calm, even if that serenity didn't translate into his eyes. "I'll concede. You mustn’t delay your departure for the sake of testing and re-doing the formula in case it doesn't work,"

That relieved a weight off your shoulders.

"Nonetheless, I do ask for assistance in fetching additional ingredients in Dragonspine. It's less work, is it not?"

"Thank you, Albedo," you said, forcing a smile. Although you were hoping he would just let you go, you figured it was way less work than you had to do. "I'll be here tomorrow,"

"I'd like to depart at seven. I'd recommend you be ready by six at the latest," he nodded. He seemed to be in a better mood.

"Will do. See you tomorrow. Have a good rest."

"Goodnight.”

Once in your home, you had time to reflect on Albedo's attitude during this last meeting.

From the time you had known him, you never felt like he was dissatisfied with something you did. Not even when you first began dipping your toes into the field of alchemy and committed various mistakes that ended up in explosions, would he get as displeased as he did these past days. He was a patient teacher, guiding you towards the path of a successful alchemist. And, as a friend, he was also gentle and nice.

So, that's why you couldn't ignore the shiver that crawled up your spine for a reason you weren’t sure. He was just acting odd...

Uncertainty gnawed at the back of your mind while you prepared your equipment for tomorrow's trip. The more the clock ticked, the more it grew.

The longer you thought about the cold, difficult way up to Albedo's lab in that forsaken mountain, the more you doubted if you were willing to go through with it. You had a lot of preparations to do yet, and a trip to Dragonspine would take up at least two days.

Your arms went limp as you stared at the half-full suitcase on your bed. You were still in time to tell him about your change of heart. You could look for him in his office at the Knight of Favonius's headquarters if you went right now.

You finished putting your shoes back on and went ahead to open your door.

Your heart almost jumped out of your chest when the person who was occupying a good portion of your thoughts was standing right in front of you.

"Albedo...?"

"May I come in?"

You blinked twice, still recovering from the unexpected visit.

Albedo's teal eyes widened a bit as he raised his eyebrows and looked at you with confusion. "Is everything alright?"

"No-! Yeah! I mean, good timing. I was about to head out and talk to you," you stepped aside to let him in. "What brings you here?"

"Wanted to check up on you and make sure you packed the right supplies. You don't go up there as often as Sucrose and Timeus do," he gripped the strap of the bag on his shoulder.

"How... considerate," you planned to think about what you were going to say to him on the walk to the headquarters, but his sudden appearance left you unprepared as to how to approach the topic.

He glanced at your suitcase for a brief second before he spoke again: "You might reconsider the boots you're taking. Do you, perchance, have one with better insulation?"

"Albedo," you interjected more impulsively than you should've. Albedo turned to draw his attention to you. "I was thinking, maybe I can't do that trip. You see, I'm a week away from my departure. And I have lots of stuff to take care of before I go. I'm sorry that I'm sort of abandoning the project before its absolute completion, but..."

"I understand," Albedo's faint smile almost put you at ease. "You're busy. Everyone is, including myself,"

You just nodded, hoping this conversation would end already.

"So, let's skip the trip and go straight to the testing phase."

Weight placed on your hips and wrists, pain on the back of your head as you laid on the floor—it happened too fast. Soon, you began wrestling your arms, trying to break free from his grip but failing at it. You didn't understand how someone of Albedo's build and height could have such strength.

Your arms trembled, and you gritted your teeth, trying to push him off you. Fed up with your resistance, Albedo shoved you more against the floor, as if trying to prove a point—you're not going anywhere.

"I'd advise against making this harder than it already is," Albedo furrowed his eyebrows, his other hand pulling out the concoction out of the bag he had brought.

"Are you listening to yourself? You're asking me to stay calm in a situation like this?" your efforts to break free didn't falter for a single moment. "Are you out of your mind, Albedo? What the fuck is wrong with you!"

He didn't even seem to be listening to you; he unscorched the flask and poured the liquid into his mouth. He leaned down towards your lips, and you didn't need a second more to understand what he wanted to do.

He discarded the empty flask and took the opportunity to use his now free hand to pinch your nose, forcing you to open your mouth out of absolute distress and forcing the liquid into you.

You tasted blood, and at the same time, Albedo grunted from pain. You had injured his lip out of spite without thinking twice, but rather than angered, he had a pleased look instead.

"Why," you cried, your heart aching from having your trust broken by someone as important to your life as Albedo.

"Isn't it evident enough already? Ah, my apologies. You have your moments of being dull, needing aid from me to spell it out, don't you?"

Albedo was mocking you.

How much crueler could he be?

"There are reasons aplenty for these actions. One of them is that I can't stand the idea of letting you go. I hope you can find the possibility of forgiving me before you forget everything."

Seeing you were slipping out of conscience, Albedo finally let you go and cradled your head, resting his cheek against your temple, murmuring soothing promises that you didn't believe.

The place where you woke up was soft and comforting. It smelled of fresh linen and the faint aroma of cecilias.

Coming into your senses, you rose from the bed and looked around, recognizing you had no recollection of why you were here or who you were...

Your first instinct was to head to the door, which you did. 

A cold gust of wind blew straight into you, your once warm cheeks felt chilled at the drastic change in temperature. You shielded your eyes and squinted, discerning a pair of boots advancing in your direction.

"You're shivering," a pale, blond stranger with azure eyes guided you back inside with tender hands.

The stranger closed the door behind him with his leg and set down the stuff he was carrying. He brushed off the snowflakes left on your hair, not yet meeting your eyes.

"I know you have a lot of questions…”

You interpreted that as an invitation to ask away, which you did. The basic information about yourself, what's in this place, and about him.

Albedo wasn’t one to opt for easier ways out when it came to his work. He pushed himself to his limits, neglecting his commodity for the sake of advancing with his studies the most he could; he broke that habit with you. He chose the easy way out to avoid losing you; he chose the easy way out to trick you into feeling safe with him now.

“You can’t leave this place. There are people out there who want to hurt you.”

 Himself, being the first one to wound your trust.

“The moment they see you, they’ll want to pounce on you.”

Not for the reason he was deceiving you to believe in. They’d run to you to hug you and ask why you had disappeared.

“I still must go down the mountain to bring what we need to live here in relative tranquility. Don’t worry about it, I’ll handle it,” he rubbed soothing circles with his thumbs into your shoulders, his voice’s timbre akin to an analgesic. “Whatever you need, let me know,”

Albedo’s soft gaze was the first one you met back then, and as the days went by, not once did you sense any danger or discomfort within his presence. Considering that he was the only person you interacted with, you soon found yourself growing more attached to him.

Albedo sat down on the bed you shared, shrugging off his coat. He just came back from one of those trips he made to bring water, food, and other indispensable supplies. You watched him in silence, wondering if it would be alright if you acted on your heart’s whims.

He took off his boots too and undid his braids before he laid down next to you, facing the ceiling. His eyes were half-lidded from exhaustion. His chest rose and fell at a languid pace, his cheeks red from the cold.

He must've noticed your prolonged stare because he spoke up: “What did you do today?”

“Oh, I just stared at the wall,” you joked.

Albedo smiled, glad that you had at least retained some of your personality.

“I went through your sketchbook. The place where you go to fetch our stuff appeared to be warm and bright,” you sighed, longing to feel the sunlight on your skin and not the cold breeze trying to fight off what little warmth the sun provided. “I also tidied what I could, but there’s not much stuff to organize anyways,”

He hummed, his eyes still not meeting yours.

“Albedo—” you called out for him before you could stop yourself. You covered your mouth afterwards, but it was already done. You had the entirety of his attention on you.

“Yes?” he turned to face you; his cheek squished against the pillow.

Now that you thought about it, you realized you rarely glanced at his face, at least not with this amount of clarity. He was close; you could appreciate in detail every feature of his, like how the locks of hair he braided framed his face in a different way now that they were untied.

“I noticed there’s something worrying you,” he uttered.

Calling him was one thing your heart ached to do, and placing your hand on his cheek was another. The latter, however, you acted out on.

His face was warm. You expected it to be the opposite, but you were happy that it wasn’t the case. And it grew warmer the more you left your hand there and the more you approached his lips.

And the kiss heightened in intensity whilst his hands found your hips, and you positioned your leg over his. You wondered if his heartbeat was as fast as yours did now or if he had fantasized of something like this occurring. He didn’t push you away. In fact, he pulled you in closer. He locked his arms around your frame, loving you with a desperation not usual of him.

It was evident in his eyes how much he yearned for this, for your love. Despite that, he took his time to undress you, caress the expanse of your abdomen, and kiss every inch of your skin. His hands went from your hips towards your chest and gave you a gentle squeeze. Your body’s response occupied his keen observation; thumbs rubbed on your nipples, and more arousal pooled between your thighs. His index fingers joined to pinch them carefully—a moan left you, and his heated attention shifted towards your face.

Albedo swallowed hard before he shifted positions to sit between your parted legs. His kisses went to your neck, and a hand slid down towards your glistening folds. He prodded first, marveling at how slick you already were, and then glided a finger inside. You hugged him closer, unused to that sensation. You were hiding your face in his hair, but Albedo didn’t mind.

A finger became two, increasing the tempo little by little. Even though the stimulation wasn’t directed to your clit, his palm rubbed the spot anyway.

“More,” you panted, your arms tightening around his lean frame. You could feel the muscles on his back tense and release from his movements, and his hot breath was fanning your neck. Albedo, always responsive and pliant to your wants, rubbed his thumb faster against your clit, the thrusting of his fingers inside of you became sloppier. You’d be embarrassed at the amount of slick sticking to your inner thighs, but right now, you don’t have the mind for it.

Just before you reached the edge, he stopped.

“Albedo,” you whined, tears forming in your eyes from your ruined orgasm.

He didn’t seem guilty in the slightest when he cupped your face and swallowed any other complaints you had by claiming your lips with his; tongue slipping against yours, and softly groaning into the kiss. You felt him suckle your tongue a bit and pull away. You almost whined from the loss, but your thoughts vanished once he stroked your clit with his dick. Albedo’s interest piqued each time you twitched from pleasure, taking in your reactions.

“Put your legs on my shoulders,” he asked, waiting for you to come back into your senses to do so. With uncoordinated movements, you managed to follow through with the request, and he pulled you in closer.

Hot.

It was ardent when it made contact with your stimulated and sensitive hole. Albedo had trouble controlling his heartbeat, and after some seconds of preparation, he eased in. It was an enjoyable stretch, reckoning Albedo’s intent on satisfying you.

Albedo filled you to completion, the tip poking a vulnerable spot inside of you. The tremors in your body didn’t subside when he touched it, and he could feel it himself. Gripping your hips with a firm hold, Albedo began thrusting. In and out—a coordinated and gradual pace. You were getting used to the sensation of having something of that girth inside of you, and Albedo was trying not to cum so fast.

“Your body reacts so beautifully when I touch you here,” Albedo’s fingers went back to your clit, and you arched your back when he began stimulating it in tandem with his thrusting. He was about to say something else until a groan cut him off, feeling you clench around him.

Whatever self-restraint he preserved left his movements closer to fucking than lovemaking, with how fast and hard he was yanking your hips in his direction. Not like you would complain, anyway, since his sleek fingers (from your wetness) were rubbing on your clit. You were treated to the airy groans and gasps that emerged from his bitten lips and the unusual sight of the collected alchemist losing his composure, thanks to you.

You approached an orgasm faster than you thought you would, stopping your body with spasms and blanking your mind. You managed to hear Albedo’s own groan of pleasure and hot, thick spurts of cum inside of you. Albedo hurried to kiss you, ensnaring your body taut to him, making sure everything went inside.

You were tired, and you didn’t even care that Albedo was still resting on top of you. After a few minutes, he pulled out and laid next to you, hugging your shivering frame to his.

“Do you want me to prepare a bath?” he kissed your temple.

“That sounds like a good idea,” you mumbled, clinging to him.

The next morning came, and Albedo found he had to go back down for an emergency. You couldn’t help but stare at him as he prepared himself to go out, wishing you could go along with him.

“I’ll be here as soon as I can,” he said, putting his coat on before going away. “If I’m not here by nighttime, expect me to arrive in the morning,”

You nodded, considering whether you should attempt to ask him to tag along.

By the time you made up your mind, he was already gone.

Last night, as you were drifting off to sleep, you recalled some information regarding Albedo: he’s an alchemist.

You had no recollection of him ever telling you the precise field of his work, but for some reason, you were convinced it was a fact.

The more you fell down the rabbit hole with the question of why you were so convinced about it, the more you began remembering bits of information before you were brought here.

You glanced at the pile of research notes, notebooks, and sketchbooks left on the desk. Amongst the notebooks, you recognized one he tends to take with him whenever he heads outside of Dragonspine. For a moment, you entertain the idea of running after him to give it, since it’s important. You decide against it, given that you don’t have the appropriate equipment to stand the unforgiving temperature or something to guide you.

Days like this were boring, so instead of looking through his drawings, you went through the notebook.

A particular page catches your attention.

You skimmed through it, the mumble-jumble of words not inspiring you to stop and analyze it. However, the moment you identify a series of daily records detailing who worked to create this experimental potion and the progress made with each study—

You found your name.

[mytheoristavenue]

MHA Fumikage Tokoyami x Reader - Dangerous - I

Summary: After losing your quirk, you confide in Tokoyami that your situation does, in fact, bother you.

Warnings: Angst, fluff, comfort, mentions of trauma, reader has a specific quirk, fem!reader, loss of quirk

You sat on the balcony of Heights Alliance, hugging your knees close to your chest as you stared up at the stars with glossy eyes. From inside, you could hear cheering. Your classmates were having a party to celebrate everyone coming home somewhat safely from a terrifying encounter with the League of Villains. The party was actually meant to be in your honor, mostly. To commemorate you finally coming home from the hospital after such a long stay. That being said, it didn't seem like anyone minded you not actually attending.

The previous weeks had flown by for you, almost as if you were on autopilot. You hadn't had any kind of time to accept the things that had happened to you, but everyone seemed to have already moved on, so you did your best to pretend you had as well. You didn't want to rain on anyone's parade.

Tears welled in your eyes as you twirled a dead strand of hair around your finger, pulling it from the follicle almost instantly, and you stared at it, pinching it between your fingers. Heartbroken at the frailty and dullness of it, you blew it out of your hand, letting the wind carry it away.

Suddenly, you wiped your tears onto your sleeve, hearing the sliding glass door hit its frame as someone stepped out. You didn't need to look, you already knew who it was. Heavy footsteps were a dead ringer for the identity of the person. Only two people in class wore combat boots casually- Jiro and Tokoyami, and you could hear the former's distinct laugh coming from inside.

"You'd think if someone threw you a party, you might show up," Tokoiyami said, sitting beside you, one leg straight out, popping between the bars of the railing and the other bent with his knee to the sky as he rested backward on his palms.

"Yeah, kinda rude, don't you think?" A raspy, graining voice chastised from behind him, only to be waved off by the raven.

"Enough," He said, willing Dark Shadow back within himself.

"No," you protested, a bit too late. "He's right, you both are." you replied, finally acknowledging him. "It is rude of me not to attend my own party, especially when everyone went to such trouble..." You had to stop faking a smile as it was making your lip quiver. You felt a sturdy hand on your shoulder, and a staticky feeling on the other.

"Are you alright?" Tokoyami asked, giving your left shoulder a reassuring squeeze as Dark Shadow rested his head on the left.

"I-I'm fine, why wouldn't I be?" you answered, conviction wavering greatly as you stifled sobs. "You all went to such trouble to make sure I felt welcome when I came home, I'm just so happy to have caring friends." You were only half lying. Throughout your entire hospital stay, someone was always there with you. A few students rotated spending nights with you or sitting with you to ensure you didn't get lonely. Sato kept you in supply of so many sweets you were sure you'd gained weight as a consequence, and the girls kept your room cute and full of fresh flowers to lift your spirits. They had all gone out of their way to make you feel cared for. "I'm just going to miss you all so much..." You finally confessed almost silently.

"We aren't going anywhere, I promise," He said, comfortingly, eyes softening. "Why would you think that?"

"I know you aren't leaving, Toko," you corrected with a sniffle. "I am."

His vermillion eyes widened in pure shock. What did you mean, where you running away?" "No you aren't," he said in disbelief, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and pulling your back against his chest. "You're still a part of class 1-A, no matter what happens."

"I'm getting expelled, Tokoyami." You stated flatly. "I'm quirkless, I can't stay here."

He was silent for a moment before speaking again, softer than you'd ever heard him. "That won't happen, it's in the bilaws. A quirk isn't required to be enrolled at UA anymore, ask Midor-"

"Nezu said it himself," you explained matter of factly, feeling honestly numb about the whole thing. "He said I'm in more danger here as a student and without a quirk I'm a liability. I can't protect myself or anyone else if the villains were to attack us again. He's sending me home tomorrow and my family and I will be placed in witness protection."

Suddenly, everything made so much sense to him. Why you had mentioned wanting to stay in the hospital, why you didn't want to join the party. For the class, it was a welcome home party. For you, it was for going away.

"I-I see..." he muttered into your back, tucking his head between the two of you to gather his wits. "That's...unfortunate, I'm going to miss you...very much." He confessed, his stomach dropping to his stomach at the revelation.

"I'll miss you too," you replied softly, gazing up at the stars. "Probably the most out of everyone."

"Is that so?" He asked, chuckling sadly. "I'm glad I could be your favorite."

"Nobody else ever had a chance of being my favorite," you confessed with a relieved smile. This all did feel good to get off your chest. "I liked you since day one."

You could feel Tokoyami freeze against your back, his eyes shot wide open. "Y-You...liked me?" he asked carefully, almost as if asking for confirmation would scare you away like a deer when approached by a human.

"Present tense," You responded sweetly. "I still do. Just thought you outta know."

You felt his grip on you tighten as his head perched on your shoulder. "How bittersweet..." He mused lightheartedly.

"What is?" you asked, cocking your head away from his in a feeble attempt to look his way.

"I always thought I'd have more time to collect myself beforehand..." he answered cryptically. "I thought I might wait to tell you until we're older."

"Tell me what?" you pressed, becoming nervous and annoyed at once.

"That I am..." you could feel him inhale through his nostrils. "Irrevocably infatuated with you." He finally admitted, sanguine as he held you in the peaceful cover of night.

"Would have been nice to know." You laughed, cheeks running hot, but not as much as they would have been under better circumstances. "Maybe we'll find each other later in life, maybe in another life entirely. Sometime after this is all over."

"I'd wait eons to be with you, (Y/n)." he accepted, knowing the time wasn't right, but that you were the right person.

"I think I would too," you agreed, nuzzling his feathered cheekbone lightly. "I suppose there's no point in asking you out now, is there?"

He unfortunately shook his head. "I'm afraid not, but at least until morning, we can be one, even if day break means separation."

"That sounds nice..." you cooed, resting against him as your gaze naturally lilted upwards to his, already waiting. "Fumikage...can I call you that?" You asked, almost sure of his answer, but wanting to be respectful none the less.

"You may call me anything as long as you call me yours." He replied, nodding.

"Wanna kiss...?" You could tell the suggestion caught him by surprise by the way he withdrew slightly, and you thought for a moment that you'd ruined everything. No matter if you did, after tomorrow, you'd probably never see him again.

"More than anything, yes," he answered breathlessly. "But I can't kiss you...by conventional means." He confessed, suddenly bashful. It was then that you realized it never dawned on you that Tokoyami's beak may not have been pleasant to kiss.

"Why don't you kiss me then..?" you suggested serenely. "That way you can show me how to kiss you back, it's not like I've ever kissed anyone anyhow."

"A-Are you sure...?" he asked, swallowing hard as you shifted in his lap to face him.

"I am," you confirmed with a smile, leaning closer expectantly. Tokoyami suddenly felt incredibly nervous.

Slowly, he leaned in to meet you, first nuzzling his forehead against yours and then your cheek. "I-It's called preening..." he said softly, beak parting as he took the gentlest nibbles at your cheeks and bottom lip. You couldn't help but blush as you struggled to stifle a giggle, failing miserably, making him yank back in embarassament.

"Thank you..." you smile sweetly at his fluster. "For sharing that with me, I could tell it was special."

"It's how birds show affection," he explained halfheartedly. "We clean each other's feathers, though, obviously you don't have any feathers, so I improvised..." Tokoyami felt like he was digging his own grave as he withdrew from you.

"It was precious..." you murmured, bringing your fingertips up to your lips, as if to hold his kiss there for as long as possible. "I loved it."

"T-There is something else we could try..." he suggested sheepishly. It's a bit more human but its...also a bit more how do I say it...?"

You tilted your head, eyeing him curiously. "Passionate?"

"Something to that effect..." He muttered, on the verge of humiliation, until you nodded your head with a glint in your eye that made his knees weak. With trembling fingers, he raised his hand, trying his best to imitate things he'd read in gothic romance novels. Hooking your chin, he pulled you infinitely closer, tilting his head opposite of yours as he guided you to do the same, and he parted his beak again, this time wider than before.

Nothing could have prepared you for the sensation of his tongue pressing against your lips, but you tried to adjust quickly so as not to embarrass him further. Letting your lips give way, your own tongue inched beyond them, touching his so very gently. Shocked, he almost pulled away but willed himself still, letting his tongue gently brush against yours with a furrowed brow. He had to concentrate in order to keep his beak from hurting you, but he was finding it so easy to lose focus as you crawled closer and grew bolder, pressing your face against the side of his in order to explore more of his mouth.

"My lark..." Tokoyami sighed, feeling lost in the moment as he shivered at the sensation of your tongue grazing the back of his teeth. As his hands slithered around your neck to cup your jaw, he couldn't help but feel his attention split at the overwhelming warmth that sat there on your shoulders. Eyes fluttering open, they suddenly snapped wide at the sight of you, magenta locks aflame.

"Lark," he repeated, pulling away, breath dripping with astonishment. "Your hair!"

[fanficdelulus]

Renewed

Fate (Gojo x Fem! Reader)

————————————————

Violet eyes shrinking in horror once more as Suguru pushed past the heavy double doors of the church. His gaze immediately locked on his best friend. Satoru was sorrowfully carrying Riko's lifeless body towards him, a white sheet draped over her, while white-gown-clad church members smiled and clapped in an unsettling celebration.

"Satoru? Is that you?" Suguru shakily questioned as his longtime friend neared him. "Looks like you saw Shoko," Satoru noted as his gaze lingered behind Suguru in search of you.

"Yeah... I'm fine. (Name) is—" Suguru paused, his voice faltering as his violet eyes clouded over in dismay. His mind flashed back to the moment he was dragging the two of you towards the medical sector in search of Shoko.

"Suguru... we have to help Satoru," you wearily murmured as blood rushed past your lips, and coughs wracked your fragile frame.

"Shoko's doing everything she can to help her," Suguru replied, his voice heavy with sadness as his eyes caught Riko's lifeless hand falling out from underneath the covering.

"I'm the one who messed up," Satoru regretfully remarked, a pitiful sigh escaping his lips. The atmosphere in the room was heavy with grief and despair. Satoru's voice quivered as he made a grim suggestion, his eyes reflecting the pain that weighed down his heart. "Should we kill them all? The way I am right now, I wouldn't feel a thing."

Suguru, ever the voice of reason, shook his head slowly, his expression a mix of sadness and understanding. "No," he began, his voice low and filled with sorrow, "it would be pointless. We, as Jujutsu Sorcerers, must always have a reason."

With a heavy heart, Suguru reached for Riko's lifeless form in Satoru's arms. The two of them were caught in a painful moment of loss and helplessness, the significance of the situation weighing heavily on their souls.

Suguru tried to offer Satoru some consolation. "Go see Shoko," he advised, his voice gentle but laden with sorrow. "She'll help you once she's done with (Name)." The room held a sense of profound grief and despair as they grappled with their losses and the harsh reality of their world.

————————————————-

Satoru returned to school with a heavy heart. Guilt gnawed at him as he entered the med sector. His gaze fell upon you, and a deep sense of remorse washed over him. You lay in the bed, looking incredibly frail, your face pallid, and red splotches of pain marring your cheeks. Each slow and labored breath you took felt like a dagger in his chest.

His fingers hesitated above your limp hand, the guilt making it hard to bring himself to touch you. Just then, the door to the room creaked open, and Satoru turned to see Shoko entering.

"The blade that pierced through her chest had been tipped with poison," Shoko explained as she walked out of the storage closet, a pack of cigarettes in hand. Her words struck Satoru like a blow to the chest. "I've done all I can for her," she continued, her voice grave. "She's strong, though. I'll patch you up when I come back."

With those words, Shoko turned and exited the room, leaving Satoru alone with you. The weight of his guilt and the uncertainty of your condition hung in the air as he stood by your side.

Satoru was surprised when he arrived at the medical ward as usual, only to find your bed empty. Suguru had been sent on a mission, so he was alone. Shoko approached him, seeming to anticipate his concern.

"Yaga moved her back to her room this morning," Shoko informed him, her tone calm and professional. "Her wounds have completely healed. We're just waiting for her fever to break."

Satoru watched her walk off to the storage room. The news was somewhat of a relief, yet anxiety still gnawed at him, wondering how you were faring in your room. Quickly finding himself in an unexpected position, holding a tray of medical supplies in his arms, as Shoko suggested he go check on you.

"Why me?" He quirked an eyebrow at her, not exactly known for his caregiving skills.

"Because you care about her," Shoko replied matter-of-factly. "She's comfortable with you around. Now go."

Satoru sighed and made his way towards your room. This was not a situation he was accustomed to. But he couldn't deny that he cared about you, perhaps more than he'd care to admit.

Opening your door with a hesitancy he didn't usually experience. Inside, Satoru found you, lying still in your bed. As he got closer, he couldn't help but notice the returning color to your cheeks. The slow, steady rise and fall of your chest was a reassuring sight, and he took a deep breath, feeling a hint of relief.

Moving a chair next to your bed, he took a seat and set the tray of supplies aside, before watching over you. It was an unfamiliar situation for him. He wasn't used to caring for someone in this way. Satoru's usual self-confidence wavered as he sat there, silently willing your fever to break and for you to awaken.

He continued to remain in your room as the minutes stretching into hours. His usually composed exterior concealed the swirl of emotions he felt as he kept a vigilant eye on your peacefully resting form.

In a moment of somber realization, Satoru sat alone in your room, his gaze methodically moving across the minimalistic decor. It was a room void of the usual family photos and mementos, and that absence spoke volumes about the painful truth. His knowledge of the tragic night when Toji Fushiguro had brutally taken your parents' lives and nearly claimed your own had added a heavy layer of understanding to the room's emptiness.

As his piercing aquamarine eyes roamed your room, he couldn't help but marvel at your tenacity. You had faced the man who'd slaughtered your family and tried to take your life a second time. It was a story that gave new meaning to the word "strong."

Satoru found himself contemplating the meaning of strength. Until now, he had often defined it by raw power and cursed techniques, but your story had offered a different perspective. He couldn't help but have newfound respect for those he had once deemed weak. In your courage and resilience, he discovered the true essence of strength – the ability to confront the darkest aspects of life and emerge stronger.

The minimalistic decor of your room, the stark emptiness, seemed to resonate with the profound void that your heart might have felt after losing your family. The room felt almost too quiet, a stillness that mirrored the absence of those you loved. Yet, amidst this emptiness, a childishly decorated picture frame on your nightstand drew Satoru's attention.

As he picked up the frame and gazed at the photo within, a subtle, melancholic smile graced his lips. The picture showed you, your face lit up with pure joy, alongside two other children who were clearly not related by blood. Yet, the bond you shared in the photo was unmistakable. He assumed these must be your siblings despite the lack of any family resemblance.

It was an image of carefree happiness, the three of you captured at a lake, enjoying a beautiful day together. The laughter and pure joy on your faces were infectious. In that single photo, Satoru saw the essence of what you had been fighting for – a world where such moments of happiness and innocence could be preserved.

As Satoru sat by your side, a sudden, painful moan escaped your lips, immediately snapping his full attention back to you. He carefully set the picture frame aside and brought the back of his hand to your forehead, checking your temperature.

His brow furrowed with concern as he noted your fever was still elevated. He reached for the cooling towel that lay nearby and gently placed it on your forehead. He planned to change it shortly when a sharp gasp from you made him pause.

In an instant, his silent prayers were answered. Your eyes sprang open, still dark and hazy with sleep, but it was a sight that filled Satoru with immense relief.

"[Name], you're awake," he whispered, his voice laced with both surprise and happiness.

Concern filled his bright blue eyes as he noticed the panic in yours, and soon it was replaced by pure fear. He was about to ask if you were okay when you suddenly threw your arms around him.

"You're alive, Satoru..." you sobbed as you tightly held onto him, your cries quickly reminding him of the horrifying events that unfolded three days ago.

Satoru's heart skipped a beat at the mix of relief and fear in your actions. His arms slowly encircled you, holding you close. He knew that he had survived Toji's brutal attack, but the pain and trauma from that experience still lingered. In this moment, you were his lifeline, grounding him in the present.

"I'm here," he whispered, his voice trembling with raw emotion, as he gently stroked your back. "I'm alive, and so are you."

Your [e/c] eyes filled with fear, and your heart raced as you anxiously questioned, "Where's Suguru? Did Toji get away?" Your breaths came out in frantic, panicked pants.

Satoru, with a protective instinct, pulled you even closer while you were already sitting in his lap. He held you tightly, his voice a reassuring anchor amidst the chaos. "Suguru's fine," he said with a calm yet comforting tone. "I took care of Toji."

You felt a mix of emotions flooding through you, and your voice trembled as you questioned, "Toji, is he...?" The words trailed off, the unspoken fear still lingering.

Satoru nodded reassuringly, confirming your unspoken fears. "He's gone."

Relief washed over you, and you felt tears of gratitude welling up in your [e/c] eyes. "Thank you," you whispered, your voice filled with a mix of emotions, grateful that your friends were safe. In that moment, you clung to Satoru, thankful for his presence and protection, and the world began to regain its balance.

The atmosphere in the room shifted as you became more aware of your position. Flustered and embarrassed, you couldn't help but take note of the way his arms held you securely. Cheeks burning as you glanced down at the situation, realizing you were nestled in the crook of his neck, perched atop his lap.

Lifting your head slowly, you met Satoru's gaze, his aquamarine eyes filled with a mix of emotions. Your cheeks flushed, and you stammered, "I'm so sorry, Satoru, I didn't mean to... I mean, I didn't realize..."

He interrupted with a soft chuckle, "No need to apologize, [Name]. You just woke up, and you were scared. It's completely understandable.” A mix of embarrassment and gratitude washed over you as he continued to hold you in his strong, reassuring arms.

Satoru's thoughts were in turmoil as he held you close, your presence stirring something deep within him. He couldn't quite explain why he felt such a strong connection to you, drawn by an inexplicable warmth that seemed to radiate from your very being. But for now, he kept those feelings to himself, silently relishing the simple pleasure of having you safe in his arms.

————————————————

A whole year of intense training had passed, during which you, Satoru, Shoko, and Suguru had dedicated yourselves to honing your jujutsu skills. Under the guidance of the skilled Satoru Gojo, you had not only become proficient but had also developed a deeper understanding of your abilities. Days filled with relentless practice and nights of studying had gone by in a flash, and your progress was evident.

During this year, you had not only grown more powerful but also closer to Satoru. His expert guidance had become a beacon of inspiration for your development. You admired him not only for his incredible powers but also for the warmth he carried around him, a stark contrast to his often cheeky and carefree exterior. Your training sessions often felt more like bonding moments, and you had shared stories, laughter, and even moments of vulnerability.

Satoru's eyes twinkled with a mischievous glint as he stood before you, instructing the three of you to throw the stationary items you held at him, you and Shoko exchanged glances, a mix of excitement and curiosity in your eyes.

With a synchronized motion, you, Shoko, and Suguru hurled your items toward Satoru. What followed was nothing short of spectacular. Each item you threw hit an invisible barrier, stopped in its tracks. Your amazement was undeniable, and an enthusiastic "Wow!" escaped both you and Shoko as you witnessed this incredible display of power.

Satoru couldn't hide his cheeky grin as he revealed his ability to use Limitless nearly constantly. It was an awe-inspiring feat, but Shoko couldn't help but voice her concern. "You're gonna fry your brain like that," she skeptically noted.

Satoru, however, remained carefree and confident as ever. "I can also use my reverse curse technique around the clock, so I’ll always have a fresh brain," he cheekily informed you all.

"Now, [Name], show them what you've been working on," Satoru encouraged as he gestured for you to come forward. With a deep breath, you knelt down, placing your hands on the dry, dusty ground. A tingling sensation surged through your fingers as you channeled your curse energy.

In an instant, the earth beneath you transformed, blooming with fresh and vibrant flowers. Their sweet scent filled the air, intoxicatingly delightful, and Shoko and Suguru couldn't resist the allure of the blossoms. They happily walked among the vibrant petals, brushing them with their hands. Laughter bubbled from their lips as they fell to the ground, rolling in the flower-filled field, their giggles of joy filling the air. It was as if they'd been transported to a dreamlike meadow.

With a gentle smile, you ceased using your technique. The intoxicating haze of the flowers lifted, and Shoko and Suguru gradually returned to their senses. Their dreamy expressions transformed into confusion, and they jointly asked, "What just happened?"

"It's my ability! I can create a field of intoxicating flowers that will distract and, hopefully one day, subdue my opponent," you cheerfully explained, your newfound abilities a testament to your dedication and growth over the past year

Giggling as Shoko hugged you tight, she praised you, "Great job, my little [Name." Her laughter filling the warm summers air as she added, "Apparently, that idiot can actually teach, who would've thought?"

Satoru, annoyed by her playful jab, retorted quickly. The two of you shared a giggle, relishing the camaraderie. After slipping out of Shoko's hold, you made your way toward Suguru.

"Great job, [Name]," Suguru tenderly praised as he gently placed his hand atop your head. You flashed him a warm smile, feeling deeply grateful for the support from your friends.

"I couldn't have done any of this without you guys," you confessed, recognizing the integral role your friends played in your growth as a Jujutsu Sorcerer.

For a split second, you saw longing in Suguru's eyes. Concerned, you asked, "Are you okay, Suguru?" His blank gaze made you worry even more.

"Do you enjoy being a Jujutsu Sorcerer?" Suguru's quiet question hung in the air. His hand moved down, gently caressing your cheek before falling to his side. "Of course I do," you replied, concern evident in your tone as you met his gaze with your [e/c] eyes. "I'm able to learn and grow with all of you while helping those who are within my reach." You wanted to reassure him.

"You've lost weight. I know something's up. Talk to me," you tenderly offered, urging him to share his burdens.

"It's been extra hot out lately. I guess I'm just tired from the heat," Suguru softly answered. A wistful smile pulled at his lips before he turned to make his way back toward the dorms.

Your stomach twisted with knots as you watched him walk away, sensing that something was bothering your friend. Satoru couldn't help but notice the exchange between the two of you. His sharp eyes missed very little, and he had observed the conversation with a knowing look in his aquamarine irises.

As Suguru walked away, Satoru sauntered over to you with his usual swagger. "Something on Suguru's mind?" he inquired, leaning in closer, his breath warm against your ear, tone low and suggestive.

You sighed, your shoulders drooping as you glanced back in Suguru's direction. "I'm not sure. He's been acting strange lately, and I can't help but feel like he's hiding something. He said it's just the heat, but I don't think that's the real issue. Could you talk to him?”

Satoru, with a wry grin, responded, "Oh, don't you worry. I'll have a little chat with him. Suguru's a stubborn guy, but he can't resist the charm of yours truly."

His confidence was almost infectious, and you chuckled at his casual cockiness. "Thanks, Satoru. I appreciate it."

With that, he strolled away, headed in the direction Suguru had gone. You watched him for a moment before heading back towards the dorms, your mind filled with a mix of curiosity and concern.

————————————————

It was your first day alone in the medical sector, Shoko being away on a mission. The weight of responsibility pressed heavily on your shoulders as you tried to maintain your composure.

As you prepared the metal table with a heavy heart, the room felt stifling. Shoko had taught you well, but today was a grim test of your abilities. The pale, lifeless figure of Haibara lay before you, a cruel reminder of the unforgiving world of curses.

Nanami, known for his calm and collected demeanor, had slumped into a chair, the loss of his best friend clearly shattering his composure. "Damn it, it was supposed to be a simple grade 2 curse..." his voice trembled with regret and anger. The weight of what had happened hung heavily on him, and you couldn't help but feel a deep sorrow for the man who had always been there to help you.

Suguru, too, bore a heavy heart.This loss had struck at the very core of your group, a stark reminder of the dangerous world you lived in. It was a somber moment, and as you prepared to do everything you could for your fallen comrade, a profound sadness settled over you all.

Your hands moved with a practiced precision as you began your work. As you operated, the memory of your younger brother, his kindness and innocence flashing before your eyes, creating a lump in your throat. You pushed your emotions aside, concentrating on piecing together what remained.

The room felt heavy with grief as you and Suguru worked together, covering Haibara with a white sheet. Suguru taking the initiative to gently suggest to Nanami, "Go get some rest, Nanami. Gojo is taking care of it."

Nanami, still overwhelmed by the loss of his friend, sighed heavily. "Why doesn't Gojo just take care of everything on his own? He's the strongest, after all."

As you washed your hands, you couldn't help but wonder to yourself, "Must he shoulder everything?" You knew Nanami’s words held no malice, but it left you wondering what being the strongest truly entailed in the world of Jujutsu Sorcerers.

————————————————

“After Geto's curse exorcism mission, there was no one left alive in the village. Evidence of Suguru's curse technique and its residuals were found at the scene. These disturbing events have led to him being labeled as a curse user, now facing execution.”

Yaga's grim revelation sent a shiver down your spine. You and Satoru exchanged incredulous glances. "What?" Satoru questioned, his voice filled with disbelief.

Yaga continued, "From the looks of it, his parents' home is also empty, and with the leftover remains we found, it appears he had done the same to them as the villagers." He concluded with a heavy sigh.

Your stomach coiled with dread, as you hurried down the hall and out of the doors, yearning for the solace of fresh air. It was hard to comprehend the shocking revelation about one of your most trusted friends. The information swirled chaotically in your mind, leaving you feeling uneasy, was it really the Suguru you knew who had committed such a heinous act?

The weight of everything that had transpired since your move to Japan suddenly bore down on you as you rushed back to your dorm room; found your running shoes, quickly changed, and headed to one of the parks Suguru had shown you on one of your off days. His words from that day echoing in your mind as you rushed there.

"The next time I come here, I'll have made my decision."

You were nearly out of breath as you raced around the expansive park, tall green trees surrounded you as their leaves blew peacefully in the wind.

"Hey [Name]," Suguru softly greeted as he approached you from behind. Tears welled up in your eyes; your friend looked so different from who you had come to know and love. His usual warm violet eyes were now dark and distant. Tears welled up in your eyes as you questioned him, "Did you really do it?"

The silence hung in the air for a moment before Suguru let out a heavy sigh, "It was me”

His confirmation sent fear coursing through your veins. Suguru had always been the voice of reason, the one who showed kindness even to those who didn't deserve it. You had looked up to him as a pillar of strength and morality, and now, that image was shattered.

“Your own parents? How could you, Suguru?" Your voice quivered, laced with a mix of disbelief and sorrow.

Suguru's eyes, once warm and kind, now seemed cold and distant. "I want to create a world of only Jujutsu Sorcerers. Those who can evolve and awaken their curse energy should survive, and those who can't... they don't belong. My parents couldn't be exceptions if I was going to make this a reality."

Your voice cracked as the painful memories rushed back. "You've seen how cruel and painful it is. I had to witness both my parents get murdered and endure near-fatal injuries to awaken my curse energy. How can you be so heartless, especially to your own parents?"

The park's serene surroundings felt like a surreal backdrop for this heart-wrenching conversation. Suguru's indifference contrasted sharply with the peaceful nature that surrounded you.

"To live in a world without curses... a world of true peace," Suguru began, attempting to rationalize his actions.

But you couldn't accept this justification. "I understand that our lives as Jujutsu Sorcerers are filled with pain and far from fair," you said, your voice steady, "but I've also seen human lives that endure their own forms of cruelty. It's not for us to pass judgment on the innocent. Our existence is simply the luck of the draw."

As your words hung in the air, it was clear that Suguru's path and your beliefs had irrevocably diverged.

"Please don't go," you tearfully pleaded, your voice barely above a whisper. But Suguru had already turned his back to you, and he walked away, disappearing into the bustling city streets.

————————————————

Returning to campus as the sun began to set, you were greeted by Satoru as he waited for you by the gate. The two of you walked back toward your dorm in heavy silence, the weight of Suguru's defection pressing on your shoulders like an unbearable load.

Standing by your dorm room door, you turned to face Satoru, your eyes reflecting a storm of emotions. Tears welled up in your [e/c] eyes, and your voice quivered as you made a heartfelt promise. "Satoru, I promise... I'll bear the burdens that I can for you," you confessed, your voice heavy with the weight of the situation and your determination to support him. Tears streamed down your [s/t] cheeks, revealing the depth of your commitment.

Satoru's tender, teasing voice reached your ears. "You're such a crybaby, [Name]," he remarked as he gently wiped the tears from your face, his touch reassuring and affectionate. Then, he enveloped you in his arms, and your body instinctively relaxed into his embrace. In that moment, he buried his face in the crook of your neck, and you reciprocated by hugging him back, finding comfort in his closeness.

The warmth of your connection, the tears, and the shared pain all formed a powerful bond between you two. It was as though your hearts were intertwined, providing solace and understanding in the face of the overwhelming future that lay ahead.

———————————————-

Hi loves! I hope you enjoyed this chapter,tell me what you think in the comments and thank you for all the love this story has received I’m overwhelmed but all the support!

As always, much love xoxo

ʕ·ᴥ·ʔ

[uglypastels]

Not Wholly Evil |VI| pirate!Eddie au

Happy Fourth of July/(whatever day of the week it is) (depending on what you celebrate).

Series Masterlist

word count: 6.1k

"semi dark fic" - READ the warnings:. (gun/sword)violence. blood. mention of severe wounds. minor character death. allusions to suicide. kidnapping. imprisonment. alcohol. open and deep sea. pirates are pigs: mentions of non-con, but it does not actually occur. malnourishment and weight loss. paranoia. mention of poisoning. abuse. manhandling. lying.

Chapter 6: Shiver Me, Timbers

“Why won’t you leave me alone?”

“Then I’d be alone, too."

― Leigh Bardugo, Siege and Storm

Despite the fact you had your new room waiting for you upstairs, once Munson left you, all you could force yourself to do was lie down. With deep breaths, you steadied your heartbeat and let a soft slumber fall over you. Just enough to regain some energy and hopefully for the pain to pass. 

You fell into a dreamless slumber, simply hovering in an abyss between worlds. It was plain and peaceful. Beautiful, to say the least. Away from all the nuisance and filth that was actually around you. None of the noise. 

Just a voice.

It called to you, and your name sounded so lovely coming from his lips. So lovely, in fact, that you awoke with the ghost of a smile still haunting your lips. You wiped it off together with the sleep from your eyes.

The sun still shined, but less brightly so. The shadows grew longer around you as evening came near. As you tried to move, you groaned out, everything feeling stiff and tortured, your side pinching where the skin was trying to heal slowly. The floor was certainly not the place to do so, but fortunately, you would only have to stay there a little longer. Slowly, not wanting to make any erratic moves, you made your way up again. But before you got too far up the steps, already knowing you were not planning on ever returning down there, you grabbed the long sheath of fabric you had used for curtains around your cell. 

The difference between the deck from before you had left it was like day and night. No longer was the crew huddled around in groups and yelling and cheering. Playtime was over. Now, all the deck crew were busy cleaning the floors pulling ropes or… well, you were not entirely sure what needed to be done, but they were doing it, and it seemed to be working smoothly. Certainly, they had enough on their plates to be bothered by you walking by… at least, too busy to stop and stare. You still caught a few pained glances. You weren’t sure if you preferred their pity over their anger, thirst or intimidation. It fell somewhere in between, presumably. 

On your way up to the quarter deck, you caught sight of Harrington, who was busy pulling at one of the larger ropes at the ship. His shirt sleeves were pulled up, so you could see the strain he put on his arms with each move. His veins were mixed with various scars. Everyone around the ship seemed to have them. Pain was not an option on the Hellfire. It was the price.  

Without having a moment to criticise your actions, you called out to him. As he looked up, shocked or somewhat confused, there was a second in which he lost control of the rope. It slipped past his hands and started to unravel. You were ready to run up and help somehow, but he managed to pull it back. The response from the men around him was nothing but unimpressed grunts. 

‘I am so sorry,’ you said as you walked up, bunching up the fabric in your arms as pieces fell to the ground. There was more you wanted to say, but you kept it to yourself. 

Harrington huffed out. He pulled more of the rope, letting it circle around his shoulder. He was not looking at you as he asked: ‘Are you okay?’ 

‘I think so.’ You looked down. Now shredded to pieces, the bottom of your shirt had soaked up most of the blood, and the red stain shone like a bright fire against the pale white. 

‘Good.’ He nodded once and did not say another thing. ‘I should get back—’ he nodded toward whatever he was trying to pull with the rope, despite never having stopped or looked away. 

 ‘Ah, of course, you stumbled, taking steps back. The message was clear. Why in the world had you approached him? Or tried to glance at him as you walked away? The sheets kept falling out of your arms, and it was a hassle to keep it all together. 

‘Do you—’ someone asked, but you quickly shut them up with a decline of whatever offer they were making. 

‘No, thank you!’ there was an attempt at civility. 

There was no fear this time as you walked up the stairs leading to the captain’s—nay, your—quarters. In fact, you were filled with confidence that you had not felt in a long time. One that even a stab, or a cut, in the ribs, could not break apart. With your hands full, you kicked the door open, perhaps a bit harder than anticipated. Across the room, a pair of eyes shot up to look at the commotion, but they disappeared just as quickly under the curtain of dark bangs. 

‘In case you forgot,’ you said, head held high, scrunching the sheet tighter, ‘this is my room now.’ 

‘The bed is all yours, princess.’ Munson refrained from looking up at you again, instead holding a sensible interest in the papers in his hand. But then he glanced up briefly. ‘Planning on redecorating already?’ He got back to his business.

‘Thought I might need it as another cover, in case the night got cold. Or a pillow.’ You moved towards the bed, still unmade from that morning when you left it. Your dress still hung at the bedpost. The captain nodded at your answer but did not resume the conversation any further.

You had not contemplated this and had very little ability to affect it. You might have won the bed chambers, but the captain’s office still needed use… and considering these were in the same space… 

Now, you had dared a lot in your time aboard this ship, including duelling the captain, but seeing how that had turned out, you were not willing to risk such games anymore. And so, you did not try to fight it but instead sat on the bed and stared ahead at the map that hung across from you. The only sound in the cabin was the quill scratching of the captain as he made notes over all his other notes on the topic of more notes. 

You did your best to make yourself comfortable on the bed, moving around, shifting your weight from side to side, and pushing the covers and pillows up to give you more support. It was quite noisy, but it had not been done intentionally. Despite what your amusement might have come from the agitated looks of the captain could say on the matter. 

‘Is this what you’re planning on doing with your day?’ He mumbled, still not looking at you. It was as if he didn’t dare catch your eye any longer, but that did not stop him from talking to you like before. 

‘I am simply trying to make myself comfortable,’ you said, fluffing a pillow, slapping it as hard as possible. Some of the feathers flew out with it. 

‘And must you do that while I am working?’ He put down some of the papers in frustration. 

‘Remind me,’ you leaned back, the fluffed pillow doing very little in favour of your back, ‘what is it exactly that a sea urchin like you does?’

The captain sighed and leaned back on his throne. It seemed smaller than the first time you saw it. Less… menacing. ‘Well, making sure that things are run tight on the ship so we don’t die at sea in a crash of fire and timber, for a start. Then, just on the side, I am trying to find the fastest route to bring the princess home. Sound like a good day’s job?’ He spat your nickname out, and hearing that anger made you feel sicker than ever you had heard it before. So, you didn’t reply to him but turned your head the other way, facing the disorganised shelves of books. With one astronomy volume missing, the rest still looked on the brink of falling apart. It was stomach-churning to look at, and the next two minutes you spent in silence were enough to make your mind up. 

You got up on your feet too fast, sending a rush of pain into your ribs and a dizzying sensation into your brain, but once that faded, you made your way over to the books and started picking them out, one by one. Each fell loudly on the ground. It took four of these deafening drops for Munson to get up and shout: ‘What are you doing?’ 

‘Redecorating,’ you made a quarter of a turn and looked as naively at him as possible. 

‘And you think the books will look better on the ground?’ He was already stepping away from his seat, half behind his desk and ready to leap to the books. 

‘No, but I do think they would look better organised.’ You pulled out a few more books, each falling on top of the previous. 

‘They—’ Munson stormed over to you, mumbling in curses about God and whatnot. ‘They are organised.’ He pulled the book you had just picked up out of your hand. Suddenly, there wasn’t an entire room between you, but only a few inches, and it all became a bit too real as his presence was always so quick to tower over you. ‘Meticulously so, may I add.’ He put the book back where it belonged. You took another look at the books, apprehensive of the statement.

‘Then, please, enlighten me on this system.’ From what you had observed, none of it made sense. Munson contemplated beginning what you could only assume was an excruciatingly long and painstakingly precise explanation of this system but stopped himself mid-first syllable: ‘I do not have time to entertain you. Stay away.’ He backed away. ‘And put those back as you found them...Please.’ It was a miracle he had learned that word. 

‘Fine,’ you spat out, only to then ask much more calmly, ‘can I at least read them?’ You doubted these books had fulfilled any of their purposes in a long time. Munson may indulge in the accessorisation of his bookshelf, but he did not seem to be much of a reader since there was nothing else to do on this blood-boiling ship… 

‘Yes, alright, if it keeps you quiet.’ He waved you away dismissively as he got back to the desk. You watched how he moved, hand rubbing over his jaw as he scratched at the stubble that was apparently becoming a common characteristic of his now. That was combined with the blood red of his knuckles as if he had hit something hard. You wondered where the damage was—clearly not in this room, as you could not see any broken furniture, walls, or shards of anything.

It hurt to bend over, so you manoeuvred to sit down and slowly put the books back in their designated spot. All you could do to ignore the lingering stare you were given from Munson was to try and organise the books in your head. Epic poetry could go on the top shelf, followed by the sciences. Map journals would go below that, and then… then the diary logs. Were those his? Highly unlikely he would leave his own writings out in the open like this and then let you read them. You picked one out at random. 

It was bound in black leather, nothing written on it, but inside, the pages were clearly used and covered in ink, ready to fall out as you opened it. You glanced at the first page. The scribbling was barely unintelligible. For one, the handwriting the original scrivener had put down was tiny and messy, but also because any other free space on the page was used with notes in a different hand. The annotations were made in different ink, though both were black naturally and the letters a bit more manageable. They mainly consisted of deciphering the words that had originally been written, and soon you were to find out that the handwriting was one of many obstacles in understanding the text. 

It was a code.

All of it, and someone had taken a painstaking amount of time to decode all the cryptic messages left. 

‘Who is this Captain James?’ You asked as you walked to the chair before the desk since the bed only felt okay for lying in. Munson did not look up as you made yourself comfortable before him.

‘Old Man Jim, captain of the Gold Tiger,‘ he sighed, only briefly glancing up to catch any sign of recognition on your face, which was lacking, and so he continued. ‘I’m surprised your father had not told you anything about him; he was quite renowned for his… expeditions. Stole from any family he came to contact with, then buried all his treasures somewhere before disappearing—not before writing it all down in here, however.’

‘He wrote down how to find the treasure?’ You raised a brow. 

‘Among other things.’ 

‘Why let me read it then? What if I figure this out?’

‘Two simple reasons, princess,’ he put his quill down and, crossing his arms, looked directly at you. ‘Whoever had decoded his messages in the first place was probably even cleverer than Jim, so it’s all just more riddles for you to figure out and second… it’s been decades since he wrote that journal. The treasure is long gone.’

‘What do you mean it’s gone?’ 

‘As in, taken. No longer there.’ He blinked. ‘Now, if you will excuse me.’ He reached for the apple that stood on top of a pile of parchments, but you were quicker. Munson stared blankly at you as you leaned back in your chair and bit it into it proudly. 

‘Did you, by any chance, hit your head during our match?’ He watched you flip more of the pages in the journal. The notes were, indeed, all written in another code. He briefly explained his question: ‘You seem… different.’

‘No, I suppose you simply rubbed off on me.’ Like a disease. You smiled. 

‘Well, then, I’m glad my company has favoured you in some way.’ He wrote something down with his quill as you glared at him and snapped the momentary silence with a bite of the apple. Then, he got up and pushed his throne back, scraping the wood horribly. ‘I’m sad to admit I can’t spend more time enduring your questions, but I’m required somewhere else.’

‘Coincidentally, I’ve been waiting for you to say that since I walked in.’ 

‘I’m very happy to see you still have your sense of humour.’ He got up. ‘But will you be keeping the shirt?’

‘I don’t have anything else to wear,’ you weren’t planning on putting the dress back on. After spending half a day in these trousers and shirt, you realised the torture of all the other layers. The weight of it all alone. 

‘Hadn’t stopped you before.’ Munson nodded over to the wardrobe.

‘You want me to take your clothes?’ You ate some more of the apple. 

‘I’m sure it’s more preferable than being covered in blood.’ 

‘It is not us troublesome as you’d imagine, actually,’ then you looked up at him again with realisation, ‘unless… are you bothered by it, captain?’

‘I’m alright.’

‘Great. Then that is settled.’ You leaned back in the chair and took another bite of the fruit. The sweetness of it was like a reward for everything you had to put up with. Munson clenched his jaw, but there was little else he could do, so he walked away just as he had announced. You ignored his walk towards the door and only moved once you heard the familiar door closing behind him. Not wanting to waste a moment, you got up, ignoring that stitch in your side again, and moved across the desk. It had been naive to think that when you looked down, you would find the drawer still open, but as luck would have it, it actually was. 

However, not all the luck was on your side because when you pulled the drawer open, you only saw the bottles inside—now counting one less than in the morning, but only bottles nonetheless. The piece of the letter was gone. You searched underneath the glass to ensure, even under the desk and its surroundings. 

Glancing up at the door every few moments and listening to what was happening outside, you carefully poked around at the things on the bureau. No, it was definitely gone. 

Munson must have moved it. You cursed at yourself. Then, did he also know you had seen it? You knew it was wrong to go through his belongings, but you did not feel any guilt. That had left you when you were thrown in that cell all those days ago.

And so, you kept looking, cursing him after going through every book on the shelf and not finding it, then through the nooks of the wardrobe as you picked out a new shirt to wear, throwing the old one on top of the captain’s throne. It was somewhat of a sensitive operation, this search. You tried to be inconspicuous about it and let it spread over the next few days, making sure you did not make too much of a mess as you went through the drawers and items lying around to not cause any suspicion. Most of the days, looking went by in the exact same way. 

You did not know if the captain went in on your deal and slept in the cell or elsewhere. It did not really matter, either, since all that was important was that you got to sleep in a bed. He could sleep with the sharks for all you cared. Either way, he seemed well-rested. When you would awake each morning, the captain was usually already at his desk, your breakfast at the table, and you would eat it as he worked. Trying not to take up too much of the other’s space, only interrupting it with minor remarks here and there that would make you simultaneously laugh and grind your teeth with annoyance. Sometimes, other crewmen would walk in to discuss various matters, ignoring you for the most part. You listened but barely weight in on the conversation, more so out of a lack of interest than anything. 

The contributors in these meetings would vary, depending on the issues to be discussed, but Harrington and Robin would frequently be a part of them, clearly having a larger role in the crew than you had anticipated. Robin would sometimes ask your opinion, much to the shock of the others and yourself.

You looked up from your book, wide-eyed and taken aback, pretending to not know what they were speaking of, as if you had not been listening intently to every word.

‘I would say, go West.’ Mostly you would agree with Robin's suggestion, just to see Munson scowl, think it through once more, and eventually settle on the same answer himself. 

Harrington would not even look your way. You had noticed him going out of his way to stand with his back towards you, eyes always on the captain. You could not even understand why it bothered you so much, seeing you had only spoken once before all this; you felt a gnawing feeling in your gut… or maybe it was only the wound at your ribs. 

In the ongoing days, you checked how it was healing, and it seemed fine. Magically, there was no infection, maybe thanks to the alcohol you had poured over it. Finally, it was barely visible beside a paling bruise around it and the scar— large but still thinner than the ones you saw carried around by others on board. Maybe one day you would even forget it was ever there.

In the hours when it was just you and him, it was mostly quiet. You’d both read, only a desk between you, barely paying attention to the other until one would leave the room. Usually, he would do so first, and you’d take the opportunity to search for that cursed letter.

Other times, you’d grow tired, or your legs would become stiff, and you’d go out onto the deck first, leaving the captain to work on his own. Then afterwards, you’d return to the cabin, and your dinner meal would be waiting for you on the desk, and you’d read until sleep took over. You’d wake up the following day, and everything would start over.

When you were outside, you would mostly keep to yourself, knowing that the last thing the crew would want to deal with is to talk to you, and in your case, you had very little to say to them. Really, the only person you spoke to was Buck—or Robin, as she also went by, you had noticed—whenever she was not in her nest. You’d find a little less crowded spot on the ship and talk about whatever came to mind, or at least that is what you wanted it to sound like, while you tried to find out more about her, the rest of the ship and the captain.

‘So, how long have you been apart of this crew?’ It was a warm afternoon, a typical summer’s day, but the clouds had been appearing more and more recently and had now taken centre stage in the sky. The wind picked up, too, as you sat down with Robin. You wanted your questions to sound off the cuff and not as if you had been noting them down in your mind at night. Unfortunately, Robin was not the easiest to get information out of… well, depending on what kind of information you sought since she tended to talk a lot but not say much with her words. 

‘I honestly don’t remember when it was; it must have been years, time moves weirdly when you’re out on the sea, but I was dragged into it when bloody King Steve—’ 

‘King Steve?’ you asked, not recognising the name. Over the few days, she had been mentioning most of the crew, and you had tried to learn them, but this was a new one. 

‘Oh, Harrington— we call him that because, uhm he was a royal guard.’ 

This piece of information shook you. ‘Really?’

‘Yeah, met the king and all that— don’t know which king that was, but apparently, he doesn’t like toasted bread, the king, if you’d believe that. I mean, who does not like toasted bread? That feels like a bigger crime than whatever we have ever done—’ 

‘What have you done?’ You had quickly realised it was easier to try and keep up with what Robin had to say than revert her back to previous topics, and so, despite your longing for more information about Harrington’s life before Hellfire, you asked about the issue at hand.

‘What haven’t we done,’ she chuckled nervously, ‘but I probably shouldn’t be telling you about that. Don’t think cap would like you knowing.’

‘I am not bothered by what the captain likes or does not like.’

‘Yes, but…’ she struggled to find her words. ‘I mean, he told us—’ Robin faded out, her shoulders stiffened as a harsher wind blew. ‘Did that feel normal to you?’

‘I think so. But he told you what?’ You knew Munson ran a tight ship, but you had not thought he would ban his crew from talking to you about things. Did he have such significant secrets to go so far? 

‘Nothing. I didn’t say anything—did I say anything? You should probably ask— no, don’t ask Steve—I mean…’ Thunder rumbled in the distance, and she looked up, but you kept your eyes on her, unphased. 

‘I’ll go ask Harrington, then.’ You said, exasperated, as Robin stared out above you without the intention of coming back down. 

‘No, don’t! It will only–’ she got up after you, already reaching for your arm, but more thunder echoed with menace like a cannon. She looked around frantically, cursing, then turned back to you. ‘Is the captain upstairs?’

‘I—I think so.’ You couldn’t possibly know except that he had been there when you left, and you had not seen him around the deck since, either. Robin tightened her grip on your arm lightly, subconsciously, before letting go and running off, but not before saying: 

‘Just stay here, okay?’ without giving you any moment to respond. It had all happened so quickly that you stayed put for the sake of your own brain trying to catch up on what had happened. Everything that Robin had said, or rather had not said. More clouds appeared, darker than their usual counterparts that had followed your journey. The wind picked up as well. 

‘What happened to Buck?’ A not-so-familiar-anymore voice asked behind you. You turned to see Harrington, Steve, whatever his name was. His shoulder was already almost against yours. How you had not even heard him walk so closely up to you was a wonder. But since he was here already… Robin had told you to not move, so you remained where she left you.

‘She— I’m not sure; she heard thunder and ran off to speak to the captain.’ Exactly then, as if you had cued it, a lighting strike appeared, slashing through the sky like a knife. The thunder followed behind at its own pace. 

‘I’m sure it’s nothing,’ Harrington comforted, ‘she’s probably notifying him of the weather.’

‘Well, I doubt he missed that,’ you said, breathing in slowly, washing off the skip in your heart that came with the lightning.

‘Not an enjoyed of storms?’ Harrington observed.

‘More when I am not about to sail right into it.’ You had heard too many stories of ships going missing in waves, being washed away by the rain, or burned by the fire that came with lightning. It did not feel inviting. 

‘We’re not,’ Steve reassured you, ‘we will probably turn around, find somewhere to wait it out.’ And you would have believed him, certainly appreciated his efforts in comforting you, except you knew that Hellfire was nowhere near any safe piece of land or calm water. Not to mention, the wind was blowing you in the direction of those lightning strikes. Where else were you to go? But when the thunder boomed over you, it still felt reasonably far away. There was time, so you focused on issues much closer to you. Specifically, shoulder-to-shoulder. 

‘She told me something quite interesting, you know.’ You said, looking out ahead at where the clouds were the darkest. Yes, that must be miles away. 

‘Robin says a lot of interesting things.’ He had already distanced himself by several inches. 

‘Well, it was more what she had not said, or rather, could not say, that was so interesting.’

‘I’m not sure I follow.’ Steve said, clearly nervous. That was visible enough by the way how he started to look around.

‘I got this feeling that there were, or rather, there are, things people are keeping from me, on behalf of the captain.’ 

‘We’re all simply following orders.’ Harrington sighed.

‘So what are you orders then?’ You looked him directly in the eyes. His were brown too, much like the captains, and yet entirely different. Colder, darker, and yet as inviting. 

‘I can’t—’ He took another step back, looking up at the quarter-deck as if he had been caught red-handed stealing. But there was no one there or paying attention to the two of you. Not when the clouds grew larger and darker and the air felt denser. That density only came with rain. ‘Look, he means the best for you.’

‘We both know that is a lie. He doesn’t care about me.’

‘He might not be able to show it—’ More lightning came over you. The thunder followed in mere seconds. It was getting closer and much faster than you had anticipated. Steve looked around at his fellow crew members, who all had the same panic-stricken lines on their faces, and suddenly everything around began to move much faster. ‘Go inside and… and stop whatever you’re doing. Before you get us all into trouble.’ His words didn’t fall heavy onto you. It wasn’t a threat. Because whatever the consequences would be, whatever Munson had promised for going against his orders, was not detrimental. He was not someone that was feared by his people. That much you knew.

Harrington grabbed your shoulder and pushed you towards the stairs of the quarter deck, but you resisted, demanding answers.

‘How do I get us in trouble, what am I doing–’

‘Stop talking, please.’ He was ready to pick you up to get you out of the open air. The first droplets began to fall on your face. They were cool to the touch, a surprisingly nice change from the hot and salty air that came with every day. As the rain fell, you stared deeply into his eyes, hoping it would break a wall in him, but it cracked something in you instead.

‘Did he tell you not to speak to me.’ 

Harrington said nothing, and in many ways, that was worth more than a million words. And while before he tried to get you upstairs, he now reached for you as you ran up to the cabin, but you were already gone. The rain grew harsher; you walked into the room, door slamming up against the wall, with your hair already glued to your face, which was heating up with anger. 

Munson and Robin looked up at you, frazzled. 

‘You,’ you raged, ‘had no rights to do that.’ More thunder clapped. The wind rushed by you through the open door. Robin walked up to the window to see the waves crashing against the back of the ship and the rain that poured down into it like a curtain of steel bullets.

‘Buck, go check on the rest; tell them our plan.’ Munson said, composed, ‘and close the door.’ The wind was picking up at all the loose pieces of paper around him. Robin nodded and swiftly made her way out of the room. For the first time, she said nothing to you as she passed, closing the door. Immediately, with the wind now blocked by the walls, it was painfully quiet. 

‘There is a lot I do not understand about you, much I do not need to understand, nor want to, but I demand you to explain why you banned your crew from speaking to me.’ Your face was damp from the rain, so who could tell if tears had become mixed between them. 

‘I did no such thing,’ he grabbed the loose pieces of paper that had flown away with the wind. He was moving in a rush. 

‘We both know that is not true.’ You both walked, meeting in the middle, nearly chest to chest.

‘I do not have time for this, princess.’

‘Well, make time then.’ You could not let this be over. You wanted answers.

‘Do you not see what is happening out there,’ with the last ounce of humour left in him, he pointed at the window, though through the heavy rainfall, barely anything was visible. 

Munson walked by your side, and when you went to follow him, not wanting to give up so soon, he turned around, his nose almost smashing into yours. ‘Stay here.’ He growled. 

‘No.’ You said back.

‘Stay, or I swear, to all things sacred and not, I will chain you to that bed.’ Between his words, he had found a grip on your wrist, and it tightened with each syllable. You blinked away the flinch of pain, and something about that made him back out. ‘Stay.’ His last word before leaving you was a whisper. It echoed in your mind. 

And so, you stayed, kicking at the door with a scream of frustration. Just when you thought that things weren’t as bad when you thought you had found a place for yourself around, a stone was turned, and the truth was revealed, and how much longer could you keep doing this? 

Tired and not wanting to fall to the ground, you sat on the bed. A thought occurred to you that you could go around and just destroy everything in your sight. Let the storm take the blame for the mess you would cause, whether it eventually would reach this room or not. You wanted to throw all those books off their shelves, tear his clothing to pieces, burn all those papers on his desk and rip everything off the walls— the maps, the tapestry, the notes— 

How long had that been there? 

You must have stared at that wall for hours in the past weeks, so why had you not noticed the dagger in the corner of the wall. It was struck deep into the wall, holding up several layers of paper, but the one most recently added, right on top of the pile… you recognised the scorch marks. 

Why did this letter stay on your mind for so long? Why did it make you search every inch of this room? You couldn’t quite explain it besides maybe seeing it as a kind of purpose. You had given yourself a goal to find it, and now, as you walked closer, you may have done it. 

It had been turned backwards, now only showing an old piece of paper, only adorned by water damage and blackened edges. The knife had been pushed deep into the wood behind it, and you had to pull it a few times before getting it out. Immediately, a stack of paper fell to the ground. You picked them up and put them on the desk but took one back to the bed. There, you searched through the sheet you had taken from the below deck, where you had, hopefully, kept the other note. The one you had found in one of the chests. The one that had kept you sane, giving you a spark of hope for humanity as it reminded you that somewhere in the world, love still existed.

Both papers were damaged, so the fit was imperfect, but the sentences aligned perfectly. 

My dearest, 

The nights have been cruel, but I spend them thinking of you, and suddenly, the dark sky does not feel so heartless anymore. 

I think of your eyes. The sea reminds me of them— it is a calming sight each morning, and I imagine you looking out of your window at the shore, and perhaps we look up at the same clouds, and it is like you are right by my side and the wind feels not as harsh suddenly. More like a kiss straight from your lips. 

Some days I hum the words of that song you sang to me. I know what you have said about my voice, and the kind words still warm my heart, but they will never compare to yours. I will never do the melody justice. Only you behold such talents. 

To be able to hold you once again, to hear your voice, is the only thing that keeps me strong. I count down the days until I can tell you all these things while you lay in my arms, and I can feel your heartbeat against my palms. But for now, this must make due, sweetest, and I can only hope that when I close my eyes, I will envision you.

The last thing I will say to you is that I still have that dream some nights, the one we spoke of before I left. That we sail away from everything and create our own piece of paradise. 

I hope you do too.

Forever yours, 

—

The letter's ending had been burned off, concealing its signature, but you did not need to read it. You knew precisely what had once stood there, and upon your realisation, you could not believe that it had taken you this long to see what was right in front of you all along. After all, you had stared at the same handwriting for days in this room. On the notes scribbled in a rush, the margins and annotations of the books, but most importantly, the map you fell asleep staring at, the large cross over your home. It was all one hand. 

In shock, you reread the letter, trying to understand what was written there. As you did so, somewhere aboard, fearful yells erupted as the waves grew higher and the wind became angrier, and the rain more painful. Everything felt askew as the ship lost its balance on the water.

Chapter 7

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[moeitsu]

The Tie Which Linked My Soul To Thee

Ch 17 - To Watch The Dying of the Day

Summary: Say, isn't it strange? I am still me, and you are still you. In this place. Isn't it strange how people can change? From strangers to friends, friends into lovers. To strangers again.

Ao3  Wattpad Masterlist - All Chapters  Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

A/N: Oh gosh, it's been so long! A mixture of burnout and chaos will do that to a girl. But it's here, coming in at a strong 7k words. It's on the shorter side, especially since my previous chapters have been anywhere between 10-13k words. But this chapter is transitioning us back into the main story. So do with that information as you will, its going to be a bumpy ride....

TW: None really, just hella angst.

Tag List: @photo1030 @ariacherie @thatweirdcatlady @ultraporcelainpig @marygillisapologist @eternalsams @lunawolfclaw 

**please let me know if you would like to be tagged in future chapters!

StoryTags: Widowed, Original Character(s), High-Honor!Arthur Morgan, Arthur Morgan Does Not Have Tuberculosis, Arthur Morgan Deserves Happiness, Chubby!Arthur Morgan, Canon Divergence, Mutual Pining, Slow Build, Eventual Smut, Eventual Sex, Eventual Romance, Emotional Sex, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort,Touch-Starved, Sexual Tension, Friends to Lovers, Child Loss, Infant Death, Trauma, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Torture, Blood and Violence, Survivor Guilt, Aftermath of Torture, Caretaking, Injury Recovery, Period-Typical Racism, Anxiety, Self-Hatred, Night Terrors, Emotional Constipation, Self-Doubt, Men Crying, Bathing/Washing, Sweet/Hot, Romantic Angst, Romantic Fluff

“Are you out of your goddamn mind, John?” Abigail’s voice echoed through the camp as the tent flaps were shoved open harshly by the young man, who only ignored her comment. He was making a beeline for the one person he needed to complete his team—the one person he knew would stand by his side to enact revenge on the men who nearly took his brother's life.

Kate was chopping celery and carrots for an afternoon stew when she heard the heavy footsteps of John approaching. His gaze was determined, each step fueled with a fiery purpose. She glanced up to see Abigail standing not far behind him, arms crossed in frustration, throwing her hands in the air as John continued to ignore her protests. Kate already knew what he was going to ask of her.

John had found Colm O’Driscoll’s hideout, and he was ready to take action.

Kate placed the knife down with a sigh. Since their return from Emerald Ranch, things had been relatively calm. At least as calm as life could get when you were running with a bunch of outlaws, hanging onto the threads of some "plan" by a man she barely trusted. When they arrived back from their trip, Sean and the boys had planned a small party for Arthur—a ‘Celebration of Life,’ the ambitious Irishman had called it. Though it was more likely just another excuse to drink beer, dance, and be rowdy.

They used the get-together as an opportunity to tell the others about their relationship. Kate drank and sang with the girls, talking with them into the late hours of the night about her time with Arthur. Their small circle was filled with ‘aww’s’ and teasing glances. Kate felt a weight lifted off her shoulders after telling them, like somehow their relationship was finally real now that the rest of the gang knew—at least the ones most important to her.

Arthur was gradually reintegrated into jobs and missions, starting with small fishing trips and eventually moving on to more lucrative endeavors like robbing stagecoaches. Kate protested at first, trying to convince him there were safer ways to make money, but she knew she couldn't take the thrill of the heist out of the outlaw so easily. Arthur found work where he could, especially when Dutch wasn’t ordering him around. All of Arthur’s worries about being replaced seemed to dissipate in the days after his return. Dutch, ever the charmer, appeared overjoyed that Arthur was making a steady recovery and happy that his son found some happiness in a woman. He couldn't resist leaving Arthur with a gentle reminder that their priority was, and still is, to make enough money to escape. Arthur assured him with a promise: he would see it done.

This morning, Dutch sent Arthur, Sean, and Micah into Rhodes to meet up with Bill. Sheriff Gray wanted to speak with them about some work, and Arthur felt mighty proud to be involved, given his month-long absence. After breakfast, Kate pulled him aside for a few quick good-luck and be-safe kisses. It had become a new habit of theirs, since alone-time was rarely granted. They always made sure to say goodbye when one was leaving for a job, sealed with a kiss and a hug.

Kate looked up at John from under the brim of her hat, wishing in that moment Arthur was there to set him straight. But she knew nothing was going to change the young outlaw’s mind.

“Kate,” John greeted with a nod, his tone indicating he was ready to say more.

Wiping her hands on her raggedy apron, she leaned against the cutting table. “Fine afternoon, ain’t it, John?” she said with a smile, squinting up at the sun.

John wasted no time. “We’re ridin’ out today, to Hanging Dog Ranch. You coming?”

“Is that so?” She sighed. “What for?” Kate’s voice carried a hint of feigned ignorance. She knew why, but she was still trying to find it in herself to say no.

Since their ride back from Emerald Ranch, Kate had wrestled with Arthur’s words. She knew revenge was foolish, but seeing the way it had changed him cut her so deep she feared she would carry that rage with her for a long time. It was the same rage she felt years ago when she lost everything. Back then, her anger often consumed her, but over time she learned how to control it, to use it to protect herself and others. Right now, she wanted nothing more than to keep her word to Arthur, but also to protect him.

“You know why, Kate,” John’s voice grew stern, pulling her from her thoughts. “Colm’s men are up there. This is our chance.”

Kate’s heart clenched. She wanted to protect Arthur, to ensure that what happened to him never happened to anyone again. But she also knew that succumbing to vengeance could destroy her just as easily as it could destroy their enemies.

“John,” she began, her voice wavering slightly, “I promised Arthur I wouldn’t get swept up in this mess.”

John’s expression softened a moment, but his resolve remained firm. “I get it, Kate. But we need you. If we don’t take this chance, we might not get another.”

Kate huffed and lowered her voice so only he could hear, “Does Dutch know about this? Doesn’t he have a plan to get back at Colm?” She tried to make him see reason in her questions.

John only shook his head. “To hell with his plans. The way I see it, Colm doesn’t see us as a threat anymore. He tried to lay a trap and set the law on us. Well, he fucked around and it's about time he found out.”

Kate rolled her eyes at John’s ambitious statement. “John, no. I can’t go through with this and you shouldn't either.” She planned to leave him with that, pulling the apron over her head and starting to walk away.

John grunted and followed behind her, his frustration growing more evident. “C’mon, Kate, quit pussyfootin’ around. We need you, and we’re losing daylight.”

Kate turned and saw behind him as the others began saddling their horses and loading their weapons. Her eyes widened slightly when she saw Sadie packing her saddlebags, and her heart began to race as Lenny waited proudly on the back of his stallion, ready to take off at a moment's notice. Charles was there too, making his way over to see what the hold-up was. She was surprised to see this was the group that would be leading the charge. But, after all, these were Arthur’s closest and most trusted comrades.

Consequently, they were also the people Kate cared for deeply and saw as her own family. They were all putting themselves in harm's way for the sake of revenge.

“What would Arthur say about this?” Kate said finally.

Charles had finally caught up to them and heard the last bit of the conversation. “Arthur would say revenge is a fool’s game,” he stated.

“Exactly, thank you Char-”

“But those are his words, not mine,” Charles interrupted.

Kate pinched the bridge of her nose as John continued his persuasion. “Arthur’s the goddamn fool. We need to strike back, now. What if they come after us again? What if this time Colm takes one of the girls, or you?”

Kate felt the weight of John’s words settling heavily on her shoulders. The thought of Colm’s men taking her or any of the other women gnawed at her heart. She couldn’t deny the logic in John’s argument, even if it went against Arthur’s wishes.

Looking past the two men, she saw Lenny waving to her as if simply asking, "What are you waiting for?" John must have told them she would be joining, as Sadie looked over in anticipation, already holding Lorena’s reins, ready to leave as soon as Kate gave the word.

“Charles,” she began, her voice deep with conviction, “you’ve got a level head. This is a bad idea. How could you go through with this?”

Her words came out with a bite, unintended, but they stung nonetheless. Charles had always been a beacon of reason, often the one she or Arthur leaned on in times of need.

Charles' response betrayed no hurt, only his own sense of determination. “These bastards deserve it. Arthur suffered enough.” 

Kate found herself seething at his words, anger bubbling up like black coffee neglected over a fire for too long. The gang knew Arthur better than she did, Kate understood that much. But nobody had watched him suffer like she had. Night after endless night, holding his broken body and cradling him as she willed with all her strength that the pain and tortuous nightmares would cease. Her thoughts drifted to the night of their shared intimacy, seeing how Colm had broken him in unimaginable ways.

Nobody understood the extent of his suffering, except for Kate.

“Sadie suffered by them too,” Charles added after a moment. 

“We’ve all suffered from the O’Driscolls!” John exclaimed with a defeated sigh. “Choose your battles, Kate. But we’re going to send a message to Colm, whether you come or not.”

The two men turned to walk away, their boots kicking up dust as they marched back to their horses, saddled and ready for battle. Moments later, a third pair of footsteps fell in time behind them.

Kate had made her choice.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

The dry spell had lingered for well over a month, and the oppressive heat of Lemoyne had turned the air into a stifling, dusty haze. The town of Rhodes lay beneath a thick, barren cloud of yellow dust, each gust of wind sending particles stinging into Arthur’s throat and eyes, making them water. The winds whipped past him as he spurred Belle forward, urging her faster and faster. His grip on the reins was white-knuckled, his breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps as he tried to steady his racing heart.

The Sheriff had caught on to their schemes, and set them up in Rhodes. Sean had paid the ultimate price with a bullet between the eyes. The image of Sean’s lifeless body was seared into Arthur’s mind, a haunting image he knew would never leave him. He shook his head, trying to dislodge the relentless memory that played over and over like a broken motion picture. Sean had been on the cusp of becoming a man, his 24th birthday just a few months away. Though Arthur gave him grief since the day he joined their gang, deep inside he saw the ambitious Irishman as his younger brother. 

The irony of the situation gnawed at Arthur’s consciousness. Sean had warned them it was a setup. He had sensed something was off from the moment they entered the sleepy town, but both Arthur and Micah had dismissed his concerns as mere paranoia. Now, anger swelled in Arthur's belly, especially toward Micah. As much as he despised the shady outlaw, Arthur couldn’t deny that he wouldn’t have made it out alive without his help. Micah recognized that Arthur’s injuries had hindered his abilities, though his accuracy remained as deadly as ever. Together, they had picked off nearly every lawman and trigger-happy drunk who stood in their way, barely escaping with Bill in tow. Arthur knew his disability had slowed him down, and he blamed himself for Sean’s loss. 

The escape was a blur of gunfire and chaos. Arthur's mind raced with the events of the ambush, replaying each moment as a jarring blend of fear and fury. Belle's hooves thundered against the ground, each stride a desperate attempt to outrun the mix of anger, guilt and shame that threatened to overwhelm him. The acrid taste of dust and blood lingered in his mouth, a reminder of the violence they had scarcely escaped.

As they galloped through the barren landscape, Arthur's thoughts turned to Kate. He knew she would be waiting for him back at camp, a small comfort amidst the chaos. But the moment of peace would be short lived, they would have to leave again, and soon. The law would catch up to them in a matter of days. 

The thought of facing Dutch made Arthur cringe inwardly. Dutch would undoubtedly demand a report of what happened, and Arthur knew it could go one of two ways: Dutch might dismiss the incident, as he had when Arthur previously warned about their increasing sloppiness and the Pinkertons closing in. Or he might tuck-tail and opt for retreat to a new hideout, favoring the path with the fewest casualties. Either way, Arthur was in for an earful back at camp. He silently hoped that someone would go back for Sean, praying he wouldn't be discarded in a mass grave. Every man deserved a proper burial, but for people like him and his gang, it was a luxury rarely granted. 

As Clemens Point came into view, a deep sense of unease settled over Arthur. The camp seemed unusually quiet, devoid of the usual bustle and chatter. An eerie silence had taken its place. He panicked for a moment, what if the law had found them while he was away?

Arthur barely had time to dismount before Abigail came running towards him, tears streaming down her face. Dutch was close behind her, his expression grim. A chill ran down Arthur's spine.

Abigail grabbed Arthur's arm, her voice trembling with panic. “Arthur, they took Jack! Someone took Jack!” she cried, her eyes wild with fear.

Dutch placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, though his eyes were hard with determination. “We’ll get him back, Abigail. I promise you that,” he said firmly.

Arthur opened his mouth to explain what had happened in Rhodes, but the urgency of the situation left no room for words. His mind was whirling with this new information, trying to piece together what happened while he was away. There was a moment of silence, and Arthur’s heart skipped a beat as he realized Kate was also nowhere to be seen.

“Who took him?” Arthur said finally, his voice betrayed no hint of the unease he was feeling.

Hosea stepped forward, his expression was dire. “We believe the Braithwaites have taken Jack. They’ve been gunning for us ever since we crossed them,” he explained.

“Where is my son?” Abigail shouted. “If anything–oh God,” she choked on the words. “Where is my son Dutch!” 

“We will find him,” Dutch affirmed, clenching his jaw, eyes blazing with resolve. “We’ll make that Braithwaite bitch pay for this.” He surveyed the three men as Bill and Micah stood awkwardly nearby, unsure what to say. “What the hell happened to you three? Where’s Sean?”

Arthur took in Hosea’s words and then let out a breath as he shook his head. “They set us up, Dutch. Sheriff Gray killed Sean, nearly got Bill too. We shot up half the town trying to escape. If we’re not careful about this, we’ll surely be caught by the law.” They were in deep shit now, both families were gunning for them. They couldn't afford another casualty, let alone young Jack. The situation tore at his heart. 

Dutch’s eyes darkened, his mouth set in a tight line. Arthur recognized that look—it was the look of a man out of options. “We’re getting that boy back, Arthur, or so help me God—”

At that moment, the thunderous sound of hooves echoed down the path to their hideout. Arthur's hand hovered over his revolver, his mind still in fight-or-flight mode. As the riders emerged from the trees, he saw John leading the group, with Kate at the rear. A wave of relief washed over him; at least the law hadn't caught up to them yet. But as they drew closer, Arthur noticed Kate's clothing was stained with blood. His relief quickly turned to a mix of worry and dread.

As John dismounted, Abigail flung herself into his arms, sobbing uncontrollably. “They took him, John! They took our boy!” she cried, her voice breaking with desperation. John shot a confused look at Arthur, his own emotions swirling with shock and concern. He held onto Abigail, trying to process the chaos around him.

Dutch's voice cut through the commotion like a knife, demanding answers. “How nice of you to finally show up. Where have you lot been?”

“Taking care of business,” John replied dryly, his grip on Abigail tightening as he tried to make sense of the unfolding crisis. The air was thick with urgency and panic, even the winds seemed to hold their breath, anticipating the next move.

“What business?” Dutch spat, his agitation palpable as he glared at his returning crew members. The tension crackled like electricity in the air, setting everyone on edge.

Arthur's heart pounded in his chest, the rapid beat echoing the chaos of his thoughts. Sean's death, the ambush, Jack's disappearance, and the blood on Kate’s clothes all swirled in his mind. He moved with heavy, purposeful steps toward Kate, his focus narrowing to her alone. He tuned out the escalating argument between Dutch and John, his attention solely on the woman he loved.

“Kate,” he called, his voice rough from the dry air and his mounting anxiety.

She turned at the sound of her name, immediately reading the worry etched into Arthur’s face. Noticing her bloodied clothing, she quickly reassured him, “It’s not my blood.”

Relief flooded Arthur, and he pulled her into a tight hug, inhaling her familiar scent. The rhythm of her heartbeat against his chest provided a momentary solace amidst the turmoil.

“What’s going on?” she whispered, her breath warm against his ear as she pulled away slightly.

“Rhodes was a trap. They set the law on us, Sean’s dead,” Arthur briefly explained, his voice heavy with grief. Kate gasped softly, her eyes widening. “We just got back, and Jack’s missing. Hosea thinks it was the Braithwaites.”

Kate stood speechless, feeling the weight of the world crashing down around her. "Oh, Arthur, we have to—"

Arthur gripped her arms fiercely, his eyes burning with a mix of confusion and betrayal. Desperation etched into every line of his face. “Where were you, Kate?” he demanded, his voice laced with hurt and anger.

He hadn’t meant for the words to come out with such force, but his mind was a whirlwind of doubts and anxiety. Jack could be dead for all he knew. The thought of an innocent child being involved in this nightmare gnawed at his soul. Despite everything, Arthur blamed himself for Jack's disappearance. He cursed himself for not ensuring someone was watching over the boy when he left. Normally, there were plenty of people he and Abigail trusted with Jack, but those people had been gone nearly as long as he had. He desperately needed an explanation for her absence.

Kate pulled away from his grip but held his hands tightly, her gaze filled with guilt. Arthur’s heart began to sink, a cold dread settling in his stomach. “We were up at Hanging Dog Ranch,” she breathed. “Where Colm’s men were hiding.”

Arthur’s gaze hardened, a cold look crossing over his features. “I don’t s’ppose you were there to play hooky?” he spat, sarcasm dripping from his words. He felt the world spinning around him, losing Sean, losing Jack, and now, feeling a profound sense of betrayal from the woman he loved.

Kate shook her head quietly, her cheeks flushing pink with shame. “Arthur, I—”

Arthur’s grip on her hands tightened momentarily before he let go. “You promised me, Kate,” he said, his voice breaking. “You promised you wouldn’t get involved with Colm.”

Kate’s heart shattered at the pain in his eyes. “I know, and I am so sorry. But I thought—”

“You thought what?” Arthur interrupted, his voice rising with a mix of anger and fear. “You thought this would help? That getting yourself killed would make things better?”

Kate’s eyes filled with tears, her voice trembling slightly. “I just wanted to protect you and the others from those terrible people.”

“That is not your job, Kate!” Arthur shouted, and Kate flinched, taking a step back from him.

Arthur let out a breath, shaking his head, the betrayal cutting deep. “You just don’t get it, do you? You don’t understand what it does to me, seeing you put yourself in danger like that.”

“I see you put yourself in danger every day,” she answered meekly, her voice wavering with a mix of fear and frustration.

“Don’t make this about me,” he said sharply. “I trusted you to keep that promise.” The life he lived, the life she had joined, was a dangerous one. And Kate wouldn’t be the first woman he lost to such violence. Born from a promise that he broke, costing the life of his family. If he had lost her and Jack in the same night, he feared what he would unleash upon himself.

“I’m sorry Arthur,” Kate breathed deeply, tears finally spilling over and streaming down her cheeks. There was an old selfish ache deep in her soul, a desperate need to make them suffer for taking someone from her. Her fear of loss drove her every thought, every action, every breath. It had consumed her, nearly losing herself during Arthur’s recovery. Kate had never known anything but grief and loss. Holding on so tightly to her sliver of happiness that she was smothering it. Her selfish need cost her Arthur’s trust. 

“Kate,” his voice was softer now, laced with deep sorrow. Arthur shook his head, “I can’t go through this again.” His eyes softened, though the hurt remained. 

Kate opened her mouth to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. She felt a dark sense of dread, knowing that despite her intentions she had broken his trust and his heart. 

The weight of the moment pressed heavily upon them, a suffocating silence settling in. Arthur’s eyes, filled with a mix of anger and hurt, searched hers. The pain of his words, the pain of her actions, it all mingled together in a storm of emotions that neither of them could escape. A deeper love that remained unspoken.

Before she could find the words to make things right, Dutch’s voice boomed across the camp. “We’re not waiting another damn minute! Mount up, we’re riding out to get Jack back now!”

Arthur turned away, his expression unreadable. “I’m glad that you’re home safe. I wish I could say the same for Jack,” he said, walking over to mount his mare once more. The other boys were saddling up, the tension in the air thick with anticipation.

Kate stood in stunned silence, tears streaming down her face. The fear of losing Arthur, the guilt of breaking her promise, and the terror of what lay ahead gnawed at her. She felt an overwhelming sense of helplessness as she watched Arthur ride off into the night, leaving her standing there with her heart in pieces.

As she watched the men race down the winding path out of Clemens Point, she noticed Abigail's trembling form. Abigail was using her apron to wipe the tears that stained her cheeks. Kate swallowed her sorrow, pushing down her own broken heart. This was about Jack and Abigail.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

“I bet this has something to do with why you got shot to hell in town.” John’s voice broke Arthur from his clouding thoughts. The trees raced past them in a blur, and Arthur hadn’t even realized his brother was riding right beside him.

Arthur’s mind was a whirlwind of anxiety and turmoil. The events of the day had left him feeling raw and exposed. The setup in Rhodes, Kate’s actions, and now Jack’s abduction—all of it weighed heavily on him. The feeling gnawing at his insides.

“I don’t want to think about that right now, John,” he answered, trying to push the memory of Sean's lifeless body out of his mind. “We have to focus on Jack.”

John’s voice rose with anger, a mirror of Arthur's own inner turmoil. “I swear, I’ll kill every single one of them.” The desperation in his voice was palpable, and Arthur could sense the fear behind his brother's bravado.

Dutch’s voice called from the front of the line, a forced calmness trying to steady the group. “Easy, John. Try to stay calm. We’ll make them pay for this.”

“What about the plan, Dutch? Isn’t this family sitting on gold?” Bill’s voice cut through the night, his ulterior concerns evident.

Hosea answered, his tone grim and weary. “I hate to break it to you, but there is no gold. I’ve turned every stone. If they ever had any, it's gone.”

“For Christ’s sake, Hosea, after everything? Another perfect plan fed to the dogs,” John retorted, his voice laced with bitter frustration. Arthur felt the same anger bubbling up inside him—another one of Dutch’s schemes that had led them into danger and kept them on the run from the law.

“We underestimated them,” said Hosea, his voice heavy with regret and concern.

“No, they underestimated us!” Dutch roared, his voice echoing through the trees. “Enough talk. There’s no point arguing how we got here. This is where we are. And we are going to kill every one of those inbred trash.”

Arthur’s grip tightened on the reins, his knuckles white with tension. The thought of what lay ahead mixed with a fierce determination to bring Jack back safely. His heart pounded in his chest, a relentless drumbeat of anxiety and resolve. As they rode on, the night closed in around them, a shroud of darkness and danger. The only sounds were the thunder of hooves and the heavy breathing of their mounts. Arthur’s mind was a storm of emotions, the weight of his responsibilities pressing down on him.

The ride to Braithwaite Manor was filled with a tense silence, each man lost in his own thoughts. Arthur’s mind kept drifting back to Kate. They were close now, and there was no turning back. Jack’s life was at risk. The stakes were higher than ever, and the weight of their mission rested heavily on his heart. There was no room for distraction or hesitation.

Dutch’s voice broke through the silence, a final order before the storm. “Nobody makes a move until I say so. Follow my lead.”

The tension in the air was electric as they approached the manor, each man ready for the fight of their lives. As they dismounted, Arthur’s thoughts turned briefly to Kate once more. 

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Kate couldn’t sleep. The lamp was down to the midnight oil in the small green canvas tent that the Marstons called home. She had stayed with Abigail while the men were out in search of Jack. She couldn’t tell how long they had been gone; her weary mind drifted in and out of consciousness. She tried to stay alert for their arrival, or for anyone else who might try to abduct another member of their gang.

Abigail slept beside her, her cheeks tinted pink from tears. She clutched Jack's nightgown tightly to her chest, inhaling the scent of her child, her whole world. Kate understood that feeling. She looked down at her hands, the dim light flickering across her fingers. Old blood was dried into the cracks of her nails. Images flashed before her eyes of the violence that had defined her day. She had unleashed herself on Colm’s men, disregarding her promise. And consequently, she had neglected the safety of those left behind at camp.

An acidic queasiness settled in her belly. It had felt good to kill those men. By some miracle, or perhaps coincidence, she had found Arthur’s captors amongst the men hiding at the ranch. The two men had recognized her, though she had no idea how. They had never met before. But like most cocky men, they boasted about Arthur’s torture and the pain they would inflict upon her. Little did they know who she was.

Keeping them alive as the last two men standing, Kate gave them the same courtesy they had given Arthur. She made sure they would never use their arms again, and strung them up by their ankles. Finally, she sliced open their bellies, their blood draining like pigs for the slaughter. Her friends watched in cautious silence. And when she was done, she mounted Lorena, and together they left the ranch without so much as another word.

It was justice, Kate tried to convince herself. But no, it was a deep selfishness. One that an old friend had stoked like flames to a fire. Perhaps it was in her nature, to lose lives and take them. All of the people Kate was, and tried to be, were always a part of her. The mother, the nurturer, the defender, and the killer.

She regretted her actions, but selfishly, she would do it all again. The thrill of revenge had brought her a temporary sense of control, a fleeting moment where she felt powerful in a world that constantly threatened to strip her of everything she held dear. But as she sat in the tent, the reality of her choices weighed heavily on her. She wasn’t sure if she could ever reconcile the different parts of herself—the woman who longed for peace and the one who couldn’t escape the violence that had shaped her life.

Exhaustion finally overcame her. The flickering light of the lamp faded as she drifted into a restless sleep, haunted by the faces of the men she had killed and the fear of what might come next.

When Kate awoke the next morning, the first light of dawn seeped through the tent’s seams. She reached out instinctively, but the space beside her was empty. Abigail was gone. Panic gripped her heart as she sat up quickly, straining to hear the muffled voices outside the tent.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Arthur stood at the back of the crowd, his eyes scanning the faces around the small wooden table where Dutch sat, the tension palpable in the air. Dutch was deep in thought, the weight of leadership pressing heavily on his shoulders as the gang awaited his orders. Abigail stood silently next to John, her face a mask of fury and desperation. Her tears had dried, replaced by a seething anger at the men she had trusted to protect her family, now arguing over their next move.

The Braithwaites didn’t have Jack. They had passed him off to a man named Angelo Bronte. Arthur’s mind raced with strategies for their next step. Bronte was supposedly in Saint Denis, the heart of the new modern America, where law was heavily enforced, and policemen patrolled every corner. They needed to be cautious. Any misstep could end with them at the end of a rope, and that wouldn’t help Jack at all.

As Arthur idly rubbed his wounded arm, the pain a constant reminder of his recent ordeal, he replayed the events of the night over and over in his mind. They had stormed the Braithwaite manor, killing everyone who stood in their way. But they had been too late. Dutch had shot Catherine Braithwaite without hesitation and ordered the house to be burned to the ground. An entire empire, a long-standing family, wiped out in an instant. 

He was lost in his thoughts when a gentle touch on his arm brought him back to the present. Turning around, he found himself face to face with Kate. The memory of her actions, the betrayal he felt, and the look in her eyes were too much to bear. He quickly averted his gaze.

“Arthur,” she began quietly, her voice trembling with worry. “Where is Jack? Is he—”

Arthur shook his head, cutting her off. “They didn’t have him,” he said curtly.

“W-what did you find?” she stuttered, her voice edged with panic.

He knew he was being cruel by withholding details, but the turmoil inside him made it difficult to be gentle. With a sigh, he turned to face her again. “They handed him off to some Bronte fellow. Jack is somewhere in Saint Denis.”

“I don’t understand, why would they do this? What do we do now?” she asked, her voice rising in desperation.

Arthur gestured towards the group of men who were still arguing heatedly. “They’re working on it,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady.

Feeling incredibly defeated, Arthur’s thoughts were a blend of frustration and sorrow. He had thought things were getting better. After nearly dying from sepsis, he had started to find comfort and joy in Kate’s presence. But now, everything seemed to be falling apart. Sean’s death had barely been processed, overshadowed by Jack’s disappearance. His recent fight with Kate had left a gaping hole in his heart, the urge to mend things with her gnawing at him. But there was no time for feelings right now.

The gang was on the brink of a precipice, and Arthur knew they needed to act quickly and decisively. As much as he wanted to fix things with Kate, Jack’s safety had to come first. Pushing down his own emotions, he focused on the task at hand, knowing that every moment they delayed could bring them closer to disaster.

“It’s gonna work out, John,” Hosea’s voice joined the commotion, his tone reassuring. “Jack will be fine. Just listen to Dutch.”

Dutch’s voice cut through the din, authoritative and calm. “I don’t expect you to understand this, but I need your trust. Your word, now more than ever. No more running off behind my back. I know you were trying to do the right thing—”

“If I don’t get that boy back safe, I’m—” John shot a glance at Abigail, who stood trembling with a mix of anger and fear. “She’ll kill us all.”

“Looking at this logically, that boy is fine. They only took him to scare us. Nobody takes a child to harm him,” Dutch continued, his words meant to be comforting but failing to ease the tension.

“It’s true, John,” Hosea chimed in, placing a reaffirming hand on his shoulder. “Arthur, what do you think?”

Arthur sighed, shaking his head slightly. They were all trying to be strong for John, but deep down, they were just as scared. They’d seen what this world could do to children. The cruelties of their life were too real, too close. There was no guarantee Jack was safe.

“The boy will be fine,” Arthur lied, trying to steady his voice. “But of course, Marston’s scared rotten. We killed all those people, stirred up all that trouble…for nothing.”

Dutch scoffed from his seat. “No. No, not for nothing. For living. We get that boy back, and we go. It’s about time we leave this place. Trust me.”

Suddenly, Lenny’s voice boomed from the camp entrance. “Dutch! We’ve got a problem!” He shouted, rifles raised and pointing at two strangers who walked into camp with their hands held high.

Arthur’s mouth went dry. It was the Pinkertons. Agent Ross and Agent Milton.

“Not a problem, visitors. We come with a solution,” Milton said coldly, his demeanor relaxed and confident. His gaze found Arthur’s. “Ah, Mr. Morgan. Nice to see you again.”

Instinctively, Arthur stepped in front of Kate, shielding her from whatever was about to unfold. The other gang members began to surround the two agents, their suspicion evident. Dutch betrayed no hint of surprise, remaining seated comfortably.

“To what do we owe the pleasure, Agent Moron?” Dutch said, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

“I don’t know if you’re aware, but this is a civilized land now. We didn’t kill all them savages only to allow the likes of you to act like human dignity was not yet invented,” Milton explained, his disdain palpable. “This thing? It’s done,” he spat.

Dutch finally rose from his seat, confronting the agent. “This land was never civilized. It’s consumed with man’s love for greed.”

“And that lets you take what you please? Kill whom you please and hang the rest of us? Who made you the messiah to these lost souls you’ve led astray?” Milton retorted coldly.

“I’m nothing but a seeker, Mr. Milton,” Dutch replied.

“You’re nothing but a bunch of killers. But I came here to make a deal; you come with me and I’ll give the rest of you three days to run off and disappear. I’m giving you one last chance to live like decent human beings.” Milton’s voice rose, addressing everyone in the gang.

A bitter chuckle rose from Dutch’s throat. “Ain’t that a fine thing? You risked death by coming into a den of murderers and thieves to have me. And to give them the chance to live and love?”

Kate remained quiet behind Arthur, her hand ready to draw her pistol at a moment's notice. But she sensed that this man, this detective, was telling the truth. Why would he risk so much for one man unless he was out of options?

“I don’t want to kill all these people, Dutch. Just you,” Milton answered, his resolve unwavering.

Dutch raised his hands, a hint of mockery in his voice. “In that case, I’d be happy to join you, Agent Milton.” As he stepped closer to the detective, everyone simultaneously began to draw their pistols.

Kate watched the moment unfold with genuine concern and admiration. These people, Arthur’s gang, were willing to risk everything for one man. Their loyalty and dedication ran deeper than she could ever imagine.

It was Ms. Grimshaw who leveled her shotgun and gave the final orders. “I think it’s time our new friends leave.”

Agent Milton raised his hands once more as Lenny and Javier began to escort them out of camp. “You’re making a big mistake, all of you!”

“The only mistake is how you keep following us. Good day, sir,” Dutch said, turning away, suddenly unbothered.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that. And when I return, all of you will die. Run away from this place, you fools!” Milton’s tone carried a desperate warning. As he turned to leave, his gaze locked with Kate’s for a moment. He narrowed his eyes, trying to piece together her familiar face, but Javier’s gun pushed him along.

“How dreadful,” Dutch chuckled as he returned to his seat.

Arthur approached Dutch quickly, his steps heavy with the weight of the situation. “What now?”

“We get out of here. Have the women start packing. I’m sending you and the others to look for a new hideout. We’re running out of time,” Dutch said quietly, his urgency clear.

As Arthur turned to carry out Dutch’s orders, his eyes met Kate’s once more. The pain and fear were mirrored in their gazes. There was no time for reconciliation now. They had a mission to complete, and the stakes had never been higher.

“Arthur, maybe we should consider—” Kate began her voice quiet, searching for the right words to address their precarious situation.

Arthur spun on his heel so fast it made her dizzy. “Don’t. Don’t you even suggest it. You don’t have a say in this anymore, Kate.” His rage towards the Pinkertons and his anxiety about the lives at stake spilled out in hot bursts towards the woman he loved, and he couldn't stop the fire from spreading.

“Excuse me?” she responded, her voice a mix of offense and hurt. “I only want what's best for the gang.”

“The best thing to do now is leave. Go help the women pack,” he ordered, turning away from her.

“When does it end, Arthur? This cat-and-mouse game you have with seemingly every lawman in this country. How many more people have to be killed for it to stop?” Kate’s voice wavered with her fading strength. It was all too much to handle; everything was changing so fast. And now an innocent child was involved. She didn’t know what to do.

Arthur’s voice roared back, “I don’t know! Make up your goddamn mind, Kate. You go back on your word and put a target on your back. And now you want to lecture me on my poor choices? If you’re tired of running, you can leave. I won’t stop you.”

He left her with those words, his steps heavy and final. The men took off without a moment's hesitation, Ms. Grimshaw dishing out orders to begin loading the wagons. Kate felt a bitter moment of déjà vu, back to the day at the Downes ranch. She had scolded him for his actions, as if she were one to reprimand him. Kate had glimpsed the kind of man he truly was that day—the hardened outlaw, the merciless killer. She knew there was a kind heart inside him, and she had fallen in love with that part of him. Convinced herself that she could persuade him to leave it all behind, to give up that title for something softer. Arthur wanted it too, but only now was she beginning to understand the giant inside him. The man who had never known peace, who spent every moment fighting for his life and the lives of his family.

Arthur was consumed by his loyalty, as Kate was consumed by her grief. The realization hit her hard, and she felt a deep, gnawing sorrow. She watched him mount his horse, his back tense with determination and anger. The bitter truth settled over her like a shroud—no matter how much they loved each other, the world they lived in was tearing them apart.

A/N: I hope this chapter was alright! To be honest I went back and forth over this conflict for a while, and I think that’s where the birth of my writers block began. I wasn’t intending for their fight to become so heated, but then i was like “you know what? Their situation is a crock of shit, it can’t all be sunshine and rainbows.”

(Also trying to squeeze this in while simultaneously returning to a major plot point of the game was really hard haha)

So yeah, i may have gotten a bit carried away. But fear not, my summary for this chapter was incredibly dramatic. They’re not breaking up! They just got to figure themselves out, and come to understand one another. I want to make it clear that Kate has just as many flaws as Arthur, and that she suffers in silence too. God these two really need each other 😭

I think this was my first time writing some serious angst that didn’t involve one of them nearly dying (lol). So let me know how I did! It’s been awhile since I updated this story, and sometimes things can get lost to the tricks of time. If you notice any inconsistencies or plot holes please don’t be shy to point them out to me! 🙏❤️

[coraoropherion]

Alive [Thranduil x Reader]

A.N: This is my first fanfiction, I hope that you enjoy! Please let me know if there is anything that I can improve on or if you have any requests. I will be taking requests for any LOTR/TH characters or Harry Potter characters. More options to come! (Gif originally posted by blackheart-beauty)

Request: n/a

Pairing: Thranduil x Reader

Summary: Y/N, Thranduil’s second wife, is assumed to be dead after The Battle of the Five Armies, causing Thranduil to begin to fade.

Word Count: 633

Warnings: Mention of major character death, heavy angst, fluff

——————————————————————————————

The Battle of the Five Armies had left the Woodland Realm in a state of somber mourning. Although the battle was won, there was no celebration, only the whisper of an elven lament for the dead. Thranduil, the Elvenking, stood alone in his chambers, his heart heavy with grief. The news had reached him, an agonizing blow that shattered his world—you, his beloved wife, was lost, presumed dead, amidst the violence and destruction. He had tried to search for you after the fighting was over, but it was to no avail.

The weight of grief settled heavily upon Thranduil's heart, consuming his every waking moment. After his first wife, Calathiel, passed on from the mortal realm, it was a miracle of the Valar that he survived, and his spirit did not fade away. You became the new and only reason for him to live, other than his realm. After all, Legolas had left for his own adventures in the North. 

Days turned into weeks, and Thranduil's grief consumed him. His regal façade waned, replaced by a mere shell of the once-proud, brazen Elvenking. His subjects watched in sorrow as their ruler, burdened by loss, began to wither. The light in his eyes dimmed with each passing moment, mirroring the slow decay that befalls all elves who lose their life’s purpose. 

Within the confines of his chamber, Thranduil allowed his tears to flow freely, his sobs echoing through the empty halls. He clutched onto memories of your love, your laughter, and the warmth of your embrace, but they provided no solace in the void left by your absence. Tears stained his fair cheeks, and his blue eyes glistened– his voice choked with anguish as he whispered your name into the emptiness of the night.

It was then, when all seemed lost, that you returned—a week after the battle—bathed in the radiant light of the Valar. The wounds that had once threatened your life were now healed, and you stood before Thranduil. Alive.

His eyes bore into your own with an unbelievable emptiness. It was as if he was staring past or right through you. Suddenly, his crystal vision widened with disbelief, his voice a mere whisper. "Y/N, meleth nín... Is it truly you?"

Your arms enveloped him, holding him close, as tears streamed down his face. His cries were mournful, an outpouring of the anguish that had consumed him in your absence.

"Oh, my love," you whispered, your voice a gentle melody. "I am here. I am alive.  Let me share in your sorrow and mend your wounded heart." Thranduil collapsed into your embrace, his sobs wracking his entire body as he struggled to breathe. 

"I thought I had lost you," Your husband's voice cracked with desperation. You caressed his long golden hair, your fingers weaving through the strands with tenderness. 

"You will never lose me Thranduil. Our love is stronger than the darkest of shadows. I have returned to you. Your heartache has been my own. But together, we shall find solace. Your love has given me the strength to return, and my love will guide you through this darkness."

Thranduil buried his face into the crook of your neck, his heartbreaking whimpers of relief intermingling with the beating of your hearts. You held him, pouring your love and strength into his wounded soul. With each passing moment in your embrace, Thranduil's spirit revived. Alive. The color returned to his cheeks, his eyes regained their vibrant gleam. The darkness that had threatened to consume him was chased away by the light of your presence. Slowly, Thranduil's sobs subsided, his grip on you loosening as he pulled back slightly. He pressed his forehead to yours before whispering,

“Gi melin, Ilmarë nin.” (I love you, my starlight.)

“And I love you. Always.”

. . . . . . . 

Meleth nin = my love

[peleksstuff]

high on you l. l timothée chalamet x waitress!reader

*gifs not mine*

yes this would be a series. might be another series of mine that i wont finish. (again a lil bit of chatgpt to correct my grammar)

summary: a waitress caught timothée at the backroom of the diner doing something.

----

It was a chilly Tuesday night when Timothée Chalamet found himself in the back room of a small, dimly lit diner. He’d been feeling the weight of the world more than usual lately, and the crumpled baggie in his pocket was the only thing that seemed to provide any temporary relief. He had thought the diner, being relatively quiet, would be a safe place to indulge in his habit.

He was mistaken.

You, a waitress working the late shift, had just finished wiping down the counters when you heard the shuffling and murmur of voices coming from the back room. Curious, you walked over to investigate. What you saw stopped you in your tracks. There was Timothée Chalamet, crouched behind a stack of empty crates, looking frazzled and vulnerable.

You blinked, your initial shock quickly fading into a mix of concern and disbelief.

“Seriously?” you said, leaning against the doorframe with a raised eyebrow. “This is what you’re up to behind the scenes?”

Timothée head snapped up, and his eyes widened with a mix of panic and shame. He scrambled to his feet, his hand fumbling as he tried to stuff the crumpled baggie into his pocket.

“Look, I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I didn’t mean for anyone to see—”

You held up a hand to stop him. “You think I’m going to make a big deal out of this? Relax. I’ve seen worse. Just… don’t overdose in the restaurant, okay?”

His surprise was palpable. For a moment, he just stared at you, his mind racing. “You’re… not going to report me?”

“Why would I?” you shrugged, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. “I’ve got enough to deal with without adding a celebrity scandal to my list.”

He chuckled, the sound awkward and uncertain. “You’ve got a point there.”

He paused, glancing toward the door as if considering whether he should just leave and cut his losses. But something in the quietness of the room, the way you didn’t immediately judge him, made him hesitate. The idea of walking back out into the cold night, alone with his thoughts, suddenly felt daunting. Maybe, just maybe, he didn’t have to be alone right now.

“Mind if I stick around for a bit?” Timothée asked, his voice quieter now, almost tentative. “It’s been a rough night, and honestly… talking to someone who doesn’t expect anything from me sounds kind of nice.”

You blinked in surprise, not quite believing what you were hearing. Timothée Chalamet, the famous actor, the guy who could probably call up any of his friends and be surrounded by people, was asking to stay and talk to you? It seemed almost surreal.

“Wait,” you said, trying to wrap your head around the situation. “You’re saying you want to talk to me? Just hang out… here?”

Timothée gave a small, self-deprecating smile, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Yeah, I guess I am. I know it’s random, but…” He shrugged, letting his words trail off.

You couldn’t help the thought that flashed through your mind: You’re that lonely, huh? It wasn’t said out of malice, but rather a genuine curiosity mixed with a bit of sympathy. You’d never really considered that someone like him, with so much fame and success, could feel lonely enough to seek out company in a  diner with a stranger.

But you didn’t say it out loud. Instead, you gave him a soft smile, gesturing to the seat across from you.

“Well, I’m not exactly busy, so if you want to talk, I’m all ears.”

Timothée seemed almost relieved, his shoulders visibly relaxing as he sat down.

“Thanks,” he said quietly. “I know it’s weird, but sometimes, it’s nice to just… be around someone who doesn’t know everything about you. Or at least, doesn’t act like they do.”

You nodded, leaning back in your chair. “I get that. Sometimes, it’s easier to talk to a stranger. No expectations, no pretense.”

He smiled, a genuine one this time, and you noticed how it lit up his face, making him look a little less weary. “Exactly.”

“So,” you began, deciding to lighten the mood a bit, “do you always sneak around in diners when you’re having a rough night, or is this a new hobby?

He laughed, the sound genuine and warm. “No, this is definitely a first. I don’t usually do… well, this.”

You raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in your eyes. “You mean getting caught by waitresses in the middle of questionable activities?”

He grinned, shaking his head. “Yeah, not my finest moment.”

You both shared a laugh, the tension in the room easing as the conversation continued. As you talked, you couldn’t help but think how strange it was—this unexpected encounter, this moment of connection with someone so different from yourself. But as the minutes passed, it felt less strange and more… right.

Maybe Timothée was lonely, maybe he just needed someone to listen, but whatever the reason, you were glad you could be there. And as the night wore on, you realized that maybe you needed this moment just as much as he did.