#best grease for bearings

[molygraph-blog1]

Molygraph offers specialized bearing lubricants tailored for the pulp and paper industry. These high-performance lubricants reduce friction and wear, enhancing the efficiency and longevity of machinery. Designed to withstand harsh conditions, they ensure optimal operational reliability.

[littlechivalry]

I love the idea of our Hawkins teens going to a showing of a Rocky Horror so much so please join me in this:

Eddie's driving. He's excited, loves that he gets to 'pop their cherry.' He pulls up to Harrington house expecting to see Steve and Robin posted up outside in full Brad and Janet regalia.

Eddie of course is dressed as Eddie and of course he thought about Frank but that might be too much. Steve is cool but is he cool? Eddie hopes but he's not an idiot.

Instead of proper Midwestern church clothes he finds Robin standing out front in a raggedy black suit, her hair greased down while Vicki (and yes Eddie had had his suspicions) is next to her dressed as a maid with her own bright red hair teased out to heaven.

"Riff Raff? Magenta? I didn't expect to see you two here."

Vicki laughs but Robin gives him a look that makes a shiver run up his back.

"So where's Steve? Decided to stay home?"

The last syllable barely leaves his lips when the door opens and - - -

LEGS. Fishnet stocking LEGS. Tap pants and a bustier and a shining tail coat and a top hat and a blinding grin and LEGS.

"Columbia?"

Steve laughs and dances down the steps and he's wearing tap shoes too? Eddie may not survive this.

Robin laughs at him but Vicki pats his shoulder in commiseration.

The drive to Indy is filled with jokes and conversation and music and Eddie is paying attention to the conversation. And he is paying attention to the road. But

LEGS

They get to the theater and get their props and their seats. A few songs in Steve begs off to go to the bathroom. Does Eddie watch him go? Of course. Can he actually see him very well in the darkened theater? No. But it's the principle of the thing.

Then the music starts up for the Time Warp and Eddie is on his feet along with everyone else in the theater. There are performers on stage dancing along with the movie, a long line of tuxedo clad strangers when suddenly a figure goes flying across the stage and Eddie can hear Robin and Vicki whooping but he is frozen.

It's Steve. Tapping. It's a perfect recreation of Columbia's dance routine and when the other boy finally comes to a stop, gasping, on a chair at the corner of the stage Eddie finds his voice screaming louder than he has at any concert he's ever been to.

A few minutes later Steve makes his way back to his seat and Robin lunges past Eddie to throw herself at him. Eddie can make out that she's talking but not what she's saying.

They make it through the rest of the show and it's amazing. Eddie's second favorite moment may be when Steve and Robin wrapped their arms around him during "Eddie" wailing out fake sobs.

They sing and shout themselves hoarse. The ride home is quiet but in the best possible way. Robin and Vicki are as good as sleeping in the back of the van and Steve is leaning against the window, humming along with the radio.

"Hey," Eddie says softly. "Where did you learn to dance like that?"

Steve smiles but it's barely a shadow of his usual smile and it fades fast. "When I was little my mom still gave half a shit about being seen as a good mother so she put me in dance classes. It didn't last too long. My dad didn't like it and after a while it became more important for her to be seen as a good wife so I was taken out and put into every sport."

Eddie doesn't say anything. Can't say anything.

"I really liked it though? I can't play music and I'm not much of a singer but I really like dancing. Robin had to put up with me practicing this almost constantly for the past few weeks. I thought she was gonna kill me."

"So you learned this for tonight?"

Steve turned to face Eddie and smiles. "I learned it for you, man. Thought you would get a kick out of it."

The small ember of Eddie's crush on Steve had initially been lit years ago in high school. He had banked it carefully, couldn't bear to let it go cold but too worried about losing Steve as a friend to let it flare bright.

"You learned it for me?" Eddie's stomach feels warm

"Yeah," Steve says, smiling. "Every Eddie needs a Columbia, right?"

Steve is laughing at him and that only makes Eddie feel warmer. Steve. His crush, Steve. Steve did this for him.

"Yeah," Eddie says. "Yeah, he does."

"Thought so," Steve says, turning back to the window.

Eddie drives them back to Hawkins in a silence full of potential.

[velvexlubricants]

Best Wheel Bearing Grease from Velvex

About Velvex

One of India's top producers of genuine oils, greases, specialty oils, and lubricant oils, Nandan Petrochem Limited is constantly motivated by innovation to increase shareholder value and customer happiness. Contract mixing and filing for public sector undertakings were how NPL began business. As the oldest and largest contract manufacturer in the nation, NPL has access to the newest technologies thanks to a technical collaboration agreement with Meguin GmbH (Germany). We market the entire product range under our brand "VELVEX," which includes lubricants, greases, transformer oil, white oil/liquid paraffin, and specialty lubricants.

VELVEX WHEEL BEARING GREASE

VELVEX WHEEL BEARING GREASE is a sodium based automotive grease manufactured from superior quality base stocks and specially selected additives. This Grease has a high drop point, good thermal and structural stability and provides long service life under most extreme conditions of operation.

APPLICATION 

 VELVEX WHEEL BEARING GREASE is recommended for the lubrication and protection of wheel bearing and other components of light and heavy vehicles which do not come in contact with moisture/water.

FEATURES & BENEFITS

1. Good thermal and Structural stability.

2. High drop point and withstands extreme conditions of operation.

PERFORMANCE LEVEL

Available in all NLGI grades 000 - 3 Meets IS: 10647 - 1983 (RA 1993)

PACKAGING OPTIONS

Drums - 180Kg

Buckets / Pails - 20 Kg, 15Kg, 7 Kg

Cans - 5Kg, 2 Kg, 1 Kg, 500 gm

Pouch bags - 200 gm

OUR OTHER PRODUCTS 

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[hitech-automations]

Oil seals used for? Oil seals are used to protect shafts and bearings from ingress of dirt and foreign matter and egress of oil or grease. An oil seal generally consists of an outer circular metal part and an inner flexible member that does the actual sealing and is bonded to the metal part by chemical adhesive agents. oil seal is best? Image result for INDUSTRIAL OIL SEAL Buna (Nitrile) oil seals are the most widely used elastomer in sealing. Nitrile oil seals have great resistance to petroleum oils and fuels, mineral oils and greases, hydraulic fluids, water, steam, and alcohol. seal in oil and gas industry? Mechanical Seals for the Oil Industry A mechanical seal is a device that helps join two moving or rotating parts together while preventing the leakage of fluid or gas. oil seals prevent leakage? Oil seals, also referred to as shaft seals, are widely used to prevent the leakage of medium (such as oils and grease) along a rotating shaft. This leak prevention is primarily achieved by the sealing element which can be made from a wide range of materials that are chosen according to each application. seals can leak oil? If the valve cover gasket is not the source of your oil leak, the following gaskets or seals may be likely sources: Oil drain plug seal. Oil pan gasket. Front and rear crankshaft seals. Camshaft seals – overhead cam engines. Timing cover gasket. Intake manifold end seals. Cylinder head gasket. role of a seal? Conducting insertions and extractions by sea, air or land to accomplish covert, Special Warfare/Special Operations missions. Capturing high-value enemy personnel and terrorists around the world. Collecting information and intelligence through special reconnaissance missions seals leak? Image result If there are no fluids available to lubricate, the seal runs dry which causes extra friction and heat. The seal will burn or melt and become damaged, which causes fluid leakage due to the pressure. Even a few seconds of dry running can cause heat cracks or blisters, which leads to a leaking pump shaft seal

[serawritesthings]

WHERE THE DEERS REST, first part

Pairing | LowHonor!Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader Summary | How can we do good when all we were raised to do is bad? A cruel fate, indeed. Yet when your past, and a certain outlaw, finds a way to set its claws in you once more, perhaps you'll soon find there is a way to change fate's design. Tags | sexual content 18+ minors dni, smut, heavy description of violence and wounds, angsty Word Count | 22k A/N | Oh god, I'm so nervous about posting this. First of all, thank you SO much for the love you showed to Our Dear, Green Little Friend. It has completely warmed my heart that so many of you like it, and even though it's taken me very long to post my next fic, it was one of the key motivations for me to continue writing on it. So thank you very, very much! <3 Also, like I said earlier, I'm very nervous about posting this fic since it's very long and perhaps quite different than what I've written before, but I hope to god you like it! I haven't been in the best mindset when writing it since I've dealt with some stress both privately and at work. I will let you know that I will soon go through it once more and edit it slightly, but I felt like I had to get it out to you guys since I feel bad that I haven't posted in a while, and I'm honestly quite sick of rereading the story time and time again. Please let me know if there are any serious misspellings, and I'll fix it directly! Anyway, sorry for the long text, and I hope you like it!<3

For some, it might’ve seemed cowardly, yet you couldn’t bear to unravel some memories, for they hurt too deeply–wounded too far. However, the thought of letting them fade was somehow worse, and while you feared the pain they would surely bring when confronted, you hadn’t been forced to face them until now. So, it turned out to be quite the coincidence they would come to haunt you now that time seemed to be at a standstill; the world around you had never been this calm before.  

“Miss, would you mind taking these back?” A hearty voice broke your thoughts, speaking in a mumbling fashion as the loud sound of books hit the wooden table. Wading through the dust that floated around you that stirred from Eustace’s sudden motion, you found his ageing eyes gazing at you amusedly, chuckling at the sour expression that formed on your otherwise soft features. 

“I don’t mind,” you said, giving him a small smile that turned vicious once the heavy pile of books was cradled in your arms. “If you don’t mind taking a round with the whisk.” You didn’t get the chance to see the irked look on his face, disappearing quickly into the towering bookshelves. 

“Don’t forget to dust the higher places as well!” Chuckling warmly at the man’s miffed mumbling, you walked on carefully, making sure not to stumble on the ratty carpet as his grumbling grew distant.

The bickering that seemed constant when you conversed with the older man was by all means with no ill intent, more so done in jest. And, while your friendship might seem rather unusual, there was no doubt that his presence brought you an undeniable comfort in a world that had done you more wrong than right. Sure, it might sound dreary, but you recently concluded that you grew more and more content with the thought of staying here.

You loved how a sense of calm always seemed to rest over the building, the smell of old books filling your senses, although an ever-so-poignant whiff of hot steel and grease found its way in from the open window as the train chugged to a stop and steam billowed through the surrounding air. Sighing, you took the liberty of closing the window, the sharp whistle making you cringe as it brought you out of your solitude.

Eustace had taken you under his wing when the bearings of your life had become too heavy, giving you a roof over your head and warm food in your stomach. It made you wonder how sparse kind souls like his were in this world, never having met one quite like him. While your compromised situation originally had been the reason for his kindness, he had found your fascination and vast knowledge of books intriguing and, therefore, refused to take no for an answer when he asked you to start helping him around his bookstore. Yet, despite how much you appreciated it, you couldn’t flee from the unease that still hooked its claws in you when you pondered the reason you had ended up here in the first place, the tendrils of it creeping into the sanctuary of the bookshop like ivy upon ancient stone. Despite your dislike of it, you bore the weight of it every second, and although well hidden, you had become tethered to the memories that followed your past. 

Like shattered glass, memories pierced your heart with sharp edges at every twist and turn. Distant echoes of laughter that had long since faded into silence, the faces blurred by time yet etched into your very being passing before you as your pace slowed down, the wooden panels creaking something so terribly under your weight.

With a heavy sigh, you moved among the hundreds of books, fingers deftly tracing the spines as you sought their rightful place amongst their brethren. Arranging them on the shelves, you tried to distract yourself from your thoughts by humming quietly in the otherwise quiet room. The shop had been empty for quite some time now; the townsfolk’s interest in the subtle words on the pages dimmed in their struggle to survive their daily life—only pretentious men stepped inside at times who, by crook or hook, imagined they would leave a mark on this world with their clever words and supposed hierarchy in society. It lessened, though, as they went for bigger–more extraordinary–things than this muck of a town, wherever that might be.

Amidst the quiet rustle of pages and the soft creak of wood–and your less than favourable words, the air suddenly turned congeal, thick with a sudden tension that tickled your senses with its uncertainty. A chill coursed down your spine as you felt an ominous presence looming behind you, casting you in its shadow as the weight of something cold and unyielding pressed against the tender flesh of your temple. With a tremble, you froze, the books once held tightly against your chest cascading to the ground in a tumble.

Your heart was hammering against your chest, beating against your ribs like a caged bird as its frantic beat drowned out the world around you. You grew too fearful to move, the clicking sound of a gun daring you to resist. 

“Easy there, miss,” a gravelly voice spoke, vibrating dangerously in your ear as warm breaths turned cold on the bare skin of your neck. “No sudden moves, and I won’t have to hurt you.”

You remembered that voice, feeling it dance just beyond the reaches of your consciousness, its familiarity almost touchable. How could you not voice it when the name lingered on your tongue, teasing and beckoning you? There had to be a mistake; there was no other conclusion to be made, for if it happened to be someone you had known, they might be less agreeable than the common bypasser.

“What do you want?” you managed to whisper, voice barely above a breath.

“Money, jewels. Whatever you got,” the voice replied, words heavy with a certain kind of roughness only a man holding a gun to a woman’s head could possess. “Just keep quiet and do as you’re told, and we’ll be on our way.”

Your mind raced in a jumbled mess of fear and uncertainty at the sudden intrusion you should have known was a high possibility in such a city as Blackwater. Yet, the thought only made your heart heavier against your chest, knowing all too well what kind of men hid in the darker corners of the alleyways. For one to threaten a woman in broad daylight, though, seemed very daring yet not an ounce less terrifying.

Summoning every bit of courage you possessed, you tilted your head to glimpse at the man pushing his head against the side of your face, opposite where the cold metal touched your temple dauntingly. As you did, you met the eyes of the man who held your fate in his hands–and in that fleeting moment, as your gazes met, you saw something flicker behind the hardened exterior of the outlaw.

Recognition dawned like a bolt of lightning. What stared back at you was not the face of a stranger but the familiar features of a man you had once known—a man whose presence had once held the promise of escape amidst the terrible deeds that clouded your life. Arthur Morgan, that’s who was standing behind you. His name echoed in your mind like from a long-forgotten dream, memories hidden so well you could barely remember them. 

Two broken souls, trying to find what others seemed to have handed to them on a silver platter: warmth and solace, the comforting thought of finding a home–somewhere to belong. Yet, the relationship wasn’t made to be perfect, and in your despair, nothing good could’ve come from it. As many things go, it became too fragile. It couldn’t—didn’t—last, and what you once saw as a light beyond the heavy curtains of darkness was quickly swallowed up.

Instead of the kind ones you remember, dark, dangerous eyes stared into yours, the swirls of blue coated in a rich black that ran like coal through his acidic gaze. So harsh and cold were they, burning through yours as thick brows fell like a shield over the dark pools, hiding behind his squint and hostile snarl. Almost unrecognizable, he was seemingly both older and larger as the lines on his face were more defined and wrinkles on his nose nearly etched onto his face. 

As your fearful eyes stared into his stoic yet calculating ones, you felt your body shiver in fright, every bell of alarm that once sounded so clearly in your mind turning quiet, now only the clock ticking discernible as blood rushed in your ears like a flood. The gun cocked dangerously, dread creeping through you at the wordless threat when you stayed quiet for longer than he had the patience for.

 “You deaf?” His growling voice burned deep in his throat. A warm breath brushed against your cheek as he kept your gaze wholly, completely disregarding the unmistakable fear in your expression. 

“I-”

You stumbled over your words, voice thick before a gasp left you. Between the disbelief of seeing Arthur’s face once again, although more weathered than you remember, and the thought of having a gun pressed to your temple, there was not a single word you could utter that would seem sensible.

Suddenly, you were turned around, hands pushing you against the bookshelves in a hasty motion, never minding their grip on you. Your head craned as the gun now found your neck, trying desperately to get away from it but instead having it digging harder into your skin. 

“Now, are you going to do as I say?” You could feel the tendrils of disgust burn through you, face contorting as you twisted in his arms, proving futile against his leverage. 

“Nah, none of that. You hear me?” His grumbling could be heard from deep within his chest while his face soured, the sharp lines of his frown growing darker under the shadow of his hat. Tightening the grip he had on you, his arms wound themselves like vices around you, daring you to make another move. 

He was close now, his hot breath chilling the skin on your face as the smell of sweat and leather filled your senses–tears almost welled up in your eyes from the stinging feel of smoke emitted from his clothing. Every calm yet strained breath that left him was audible, contrasting heavily with your hectic breathing that filled the now-empty room. 

It was daunting yet all too familiar as memories clouded your mind of the same man who was now threatening your life. Did he even recognize you? Or was he too far gone? Had the devil set its claws so deep inside him that he couldn’t longer differentiate friend from foe? It would seem so, you concluded, gazing again at his hardened face, which only recognized a stranger before him–a puppet to get what he desired the most.

“We ain’t got much.” Your voice strained against your throat, thick with unshed tears that lingered in the corners of your eyes. All you got in return was a faint squint of his eyes, gazing at you cautiously as he looked behind him calmly before returning his eyes to you. 

“Do as I say.” Not a word left you, and whether it was from stubbornness or fear, you couldn’t be sure, but the look you were given made sure to convey that crossing him would not end well for you. 

That was until it changed. Arthur’s features softened after he observed your face, running his eyes over your eyes and the slope of your nose until they reached your lips, quickly averting his gaze as he turned his head away momentarily. Did he remember you, you wondered, finding no other explanation to make sense.

It was a long time ago, too long for you to consider the shadow of a man standing before you a friend, yet you had never remembered him to be quite so harsh. So, brutal, perhaps? You had undoubtedly missed a few chapters, but the years were far apart, and time had a funny way of doing its worst to those who deserved it the least. Like wet paint, it spreads, leaching onto good people like a virus–just like bad fosters bad, and good fosters good. 

“Please…” You pleaded with him, fright seeping like syrup into your shaking voice, pathetic and childish. “I-”

There was no time to finish your sentence. The loud thundering of hooves broke through the room’s tension, audible even through the closed window. Loud calls could be heard, as well as swear words further into the building that you did not recognize as Eustace. Worry filled you when you realized Arthur hadn’t come alone in his business to rob you blind, and now you were fearful that your companion might be in an even worse predicament.

The frown on his face deepened, the hold on his gun softening just enough as he pushed you hastily back towards the bookshelf, your legs weakening underneath you as you fell towards the ground. In long strides, he marched towards the window, hiding behind the wall as he peered out, almost blending into the shadows as the light from outside shone brightly. You could see people running past it, in too much of a hurry to peer inside as the shouts grew louder.

“Arthur!” A voice called out, recognizable as the rich timbre echoed through the corridor, gravelly yet smooth. “We have to leave!” As the last syllable left his mouth, you jerked as the first sound of a gun going off could be heard, hands quick to cover your ears as the noise punched a hole in your gut. “Now, Arthur!” 

Everything after that became a blur, your whole body growing rigid as the world turned into chaos. Bullets could be heard going off left and right, rather like a thunderstorm than a gunfight echoing outside the room that now held you in prison. Your body stiffened, muscles tensing as you were brought back to the sounds that filled you with dread, memories flooding you, both unbidden and unwelcome. 

Faces twisted in fear, the acrid smell of burning flesh, rising smoke, and gunpowder–sounds of screams echoing in your ears. You wished for it to cease, for the images to disappear, searching every corner of the room for an escape, somewhere you could go to to rid yourself of the horrid thoughts.

Momentarily, amidst your glancing around in stress, you found a pair of calculating eyes boring into yours, seemingly undecided as they stayed planted beside the window. Your breath came out in ragged gasps, the staccato rhythm of gunfire echoing through the building, mingling with shouts of panic and the sound of breaking glass.

Arthur’s gaze was fixated intensely on you, and a sense of uneasiness settled when you realized. It was heavy, and your heart raced as your eyes stayed plastered to the others–the urgent shouts from outside pierced through the silence as danger lurked outside the room’s walls. Yet, you couldn’t help but feel as if he was searching for something in the depths of your soul, piercing you with a scrutiny that left you barer than if he were to strip you of all your clothes and examine you naked. You found yourself unable to look away, moved by the indescribable way he didn’t seem to be either.

“Arthur!” 

Barreling through the door in a flash of binges breaking loose and dust clouding your vision, a pair of men fell roughly onto the ground a few meters before you, blood seeping through their clothes like a rich, red paint. Splattering on the ground, it almost reached your clothes as bullets rained after them, shooting holes in the walls the few times it missed their targets. 

Frantic eyes searched the now corpses in front of you, expecting to see Eustace's body among them. Yet, you found none–and hadn’t you been too preoccupied with the currants of relief coursing through you, you would have seen the young faces of the poor boys who had found their doom that day only because their perpetrators wanted to fill their pockets.

It didn’t seem that Arthur paid any mind to the mess that transpired in front of your very eyes, more so, still focusing on you like you were the only one in the room. Visibly distressed, it didn’t seem to deter him, his fingers flexing as his gaze burned dangerously under the shadow of his hat. 

That was until he suddenly tore his attention from you in annoyance, seemingly finding the dead bodies in front of you a menace, a simple block in the road. That was until a faint grunt seemed to leave one of them, a grunt filled with pain as frantic eyes flickered around while the rest of his limbs appeared paralyzed, only able to stare at the roof.

Rounding him immediately, Arthur stepped around the man, walking with his dirty boots and rattling spurs into the blood that loitered the floor as the sound of the thick, wet fluid reverberated in your ears. Without a single word, he gave you one last glance. You stayed on the floor, clutching your shoulders with your hands as he bent over the man and stared him unapologetically in the eyes–the only sound after being the loud bang of his gun. 

The sight was gruesome, and to think a man could do something like that without a blink of an eye, you considered even more cruel. You had seen your fair share of malice and anger, anger that turned even the kindest of men into herds of both sheep and wolves, meaning you couldn’t possibly be surprised. Yet, it reminded you too terribly of a time you thought you now would get the chance to lay behind you, never more having to stare these horrible men in the eyes any longer but instead keep them closed.

And you did keep your eyes closed this time, waiting for the moment pain would fill your chest. Yet, it didn’t come since only silence followed, and when you opened them again, the room was devoid of any life except your own; Arthur now only seemed to have been a figment of your imagination if it weren't for the poor victim, his blue eyes staring lifelessly into yous, wide open and terrified, seemingly having turned to you in the last second, hoping you would save him from his terrible fate.

—

Some would say you were of the quiet sort, choosing the words that fell from your lips carefully, both pondering and cautious. It came from a life where those assets were vital, a simple way to keep your tongue in check and do what you had to survive –which you would like to say wasn’t easy when it felt like your mind ran a thousand miles a second, never resting and finding it troublesome to make sense of the world that unveiled itself before you. 

With your mother gone, you found yourself thrust into a world of uncertainty, your father's callousness only serving to worsen the fate you seemed to have been handed as he appeared indifferent to your loss, attention consumed by the demands of those around him. But alas, he was affected too, and you had come to learn that different people react differently to whatever hardships they come by–and those who don’t respond at all seem to be the ones that eventually act the harshest.

That was at least how your father had acted; you perceived his anger as something only a daughter could experience from a father. It was brutal and sudden, only appearing after a silence that rang like sirens in your ears–then grappling and choking. What could possess a man to harbor such anger, you couldn’t say, and while you knew he had it worse when he was little, you wondered if the thought of you only being a child ever crossed his mind.

You should be filled with anger and resentment, so much it could consume your life, fuel every action, and affect every choice you make. You should’ve been immersed in sadness, crying until your voice gave out and tears dried up, yet you couldn’t. They were inside of you; you could feel them leaking into your chest, and as you stared into your own dry eyes, you could only see the malice of your father reflected in them–the malice that seemed to be reflected in most eyes these days.

 It didn’t matter if it was the ladies who sometimes passed by the dusty town of Blackwater or the lone man begging for coins in the corner of some run-down store. Deep-seated anger was in them all, rooted so gravely it felt like the air blackened when you stepped outside. Like a curse, it seeped into the very bones and festered there. 

Why? Perhaps that’s just how humans work, always needing something to prove that the inhabited anger they felt had a cause, always searching to direct it to someone else less deserving of it. So, perhaps there wasn’t anyone to blame for the whole thing—maybe it was just the nature of humans–just like happiness or sadness is a natural way of expressing oneself. It seemed more manageable for you to grapple with it when thought of that way, for it became more of a fact than somewhere to cast your blame. 

That’s why, when the bodies being dragged out the door left their track of dark, red blood, you could only gaze at Eustace, who spoke to one of the officers, refusing to look at the bloodshed around you. It turned out that your old man had been fine, answering in irritation while he told the sheriff that the outlaws probably hadn’t found him big enough of a threat as they searched every cabinet and shelf, taking no care to be careful of the things around them as it tumbled in heaps to the floor.

You couldn’t be sure if you felt relieved or not to have been further away from Eustace than you had been, wondering how your fate would have been decided if the lot of them had found you instead. Perhaps it had been your saving grace to see that the man from your past reached you first, but you couldn’t possibly say. Or maybe your saving grace was the officers who reached you just in time, for there was no telling what Arthur would have done with you had they not arrived when they did.

When you thought about it,  he’d always been unpredictable. While his face was familiar to you, he was unrecognizable in many ways. His movements had been calculating and menacing, and his eyes looked right through you as if it didn’t matter who was standing before him. The only thought reflected in his eyes was the hope of shiny gold and glittering diamonds. But there was also greed–greed and hunger.

You could tell, for you had seen it before. There was a time when that was all you saw, and for a long while, you wondered how far a man could go to satiate his needs–if greed only could grow, worsen like a drug. The more you got, the more you needed, the high never enough, and the thought of gaining more pleasurable to the point of doing anything to receive it.

 However, it was never a look you had seen coming from Arthur when you’d known him, as he’d been more prone to emit a childish want for justice and righteousness, pride, and a strong sense of doing what was right though the act was considered wrong. But it was a long time ago, and you realized that your vision might be clouded by a young girl's naivety that the world was a good place–that people could be wholeheartedly good.

“Dear girl.” Your thoughts were broken by Eustace’s low, seemingly now more careful voice, walking over to where you stood amidst the rushing forms of lawmen. “Are you alright?”

Were you? It was hard to tell, so you had no straight answer to give him. It was too crowded, and since you had nowhere to gather yourself, you weren’t in the right mind to devise a sensible response. So, instead, you answered in a way that would get you the least amount of questions–even though it might have been considered lying.

“Oh, I’m alright, Eustace; they never got the chance to find me.” Giving him a tight-knit smile, you touched his arm, grateful for his concern. “They didn’t hurt you, did they?” 

You glanced up at him, finding his sharp eyes doubtful. You should have known. He never took kindly to lying and had an incredible knack for noticing when someone did. It would indeed be your doom one day–and many others, no doubt. 

“No, I suspect they didn’t find the old man much of a threat.” 

“Well, I’m glad they didn’t.” His eyes softened, and he heard your words despite your mumbling. Your gaze stayed stuck on his shoulder, deep in thought. 

Even though the danger had passed for some time, it still felt like your heart resided somewhere deep in your stomach. Your thoughts and the looming dread–the slightly metallic smell of blood filling your nose—were heavy. It didn’t help that Arthur’s face became more prone to showing up after that incident, his grim expression wearing a sharp nose and piercing eyes cutting through the yellowed paper plastered on the city walls, surrounded by his unlawful friends that didn’t look any less menacingly. 

5000§. That was the price for a man taking what he deemed his own, countless murders and robberies on his hands, blood heavy on his mind, and dollars flooding his pockets. It didn’t help your case that the poor boy selling newspapers in the corner outside the bookstore had pipes to last for days, reminding both you and the townspeople of their latest misfortune of having a gang hiding in the shadows. 

Since trouble always seemed to find you, there wasn’t much for you to chastise yourself with, all too familiar with the thought of being at the deep end of one conflict or another. It was laughable, really, that one person could be doomed with such a case of bad luck and an increasing magnetism towards people who fought with bloodied knuckles for power and status. But, in the end, maybe the weak belonged to the strong—just like flies sought feed from the skin of rotting corpses to consume the waste left by those who always strived forward, no matter their intentions or values. Perhaps it was an unspoken law of nature, an inevitable dance between vulnerability and dominance, where the fragile were snared in its horrid embrace. 

What could you possibly do against nature’s firm grip on the world? It wasn’t as if it was an imagined force you could call upon when needed—it was just how it was, and no amount of will or strength could make that fact undeniable. You came to terms with that realization long ago, but the gnawing feeling in your chest was more stomach-twisting than anything you had felt before. What you were scared of, you possibly couldn’t say. Perhaps it was the leftover tremors that still coursed through you or the dampening feeling of nausea that persisted, yet somehow, it was something else, a faint sense that the danger wasn’t over yet.

Could Arthur be the one causing the cold sweat to run down your back even though the room was boiling from the heat outside, making you twist and turn in your bed as you prayed that the wind that sometimes passed through the slightly open window would carry an ounce of coldness so you could feel anything but the enclosing heat that now seemed to warm you to the bone? Your eyes closed tight as if you pressed them hard enough; you would fool your mind that you were asleep, the gnawing voices in your head ceasing so you could, perhaps, finally rest.

There was no doubt about it—you were frightened. It was unusual, this feeling, since while you’ve had many instances in your life where fear was the key factor, after some time, your body—or mind perhaps— grows familiar with it, so familiar that it washes away with the wind. Some fare well when scared, responding automatically as if their minds grow clearer when faced with the means to survive. In others, which is the category where you fit in, grow blank, like a heavy fog settles, keeping you from sensing left and right. A perfect prey, indeed.

And a perfect prey you were, the open window inviting anyone who happened to pass by, and in excellent condition for someone to climb the two stories to reach the wooden frames and then slink into the room with their grubby fingers and glinting eyes—stupid girl, to think so carelessly as if the streets were safe and people were kind. 

Clothes rustling into the quiet night could be heard if you focused your ears hard enough, the floorboards creaking under the soles of muddy boots and clinking metal. Whoever could it be, one might wonder—and you grew paralyzed as the thought hit you, only able to stare at the tapestry that covered the wall in intricate patterns. The room’s darkness lets you hear every slight sound that would otherwise blend into the background, your senses heightened.

Perhaps the perpetrator thought you were asleep, your dreams already taking you to a land where you were dancing among clouds, not a single thought of the fright that would soon take over and turn the clouds so dark you couldn’t differentiate them from reality. Then, you thought, maybe you had been asleep as the sounds disappeared, all too familiar with waking up along the frantic beating of your heart, wide awake as horrible nightmares chased you till morning.

Your laboured breaths were the only thing that could be heard now, only a fool mistaking them for sleeping as you tried to steady your erratic heart. But you would soon find that the cold chill that ran up your clothed arm wasn’t the wind from the window caressing you but the hand of something more foul, riddled with scars that seemed insignificant in contrast to its owner’s sin.

Creaking under you, the bed groaned from the sudden weight, bedsheets rustling slightly as you closed your eyes tightly shut. The figure loomed over you, its large hand carefully moving further down your arm. You wondered, perhaps, if you stayed still long enough, you would be left alone or maybe dismissed as dead if you held your breath long enough. The thought seemed more appealing when you felt the cold skin burn through the garment, the smell of smoke so strong it felt as if you took a drag of the tobacco and let it scald its way to your lungs. It was vile, and in the presence of the sweat that bit its way through your nose, your eyes watered, your body begging to escape the horrid stench.

That was until the pressure lessened, and the room stayed quiet for a while, your heart beating so heavily it felt like someone held it right up to your ear, breath shaking with every small intake. But then, as the silence continued, you felt a warmth spread slowly down your arms, the substance thick like syrup as it made its way through the cotton of your shirt, spreading til the white fabric darkened to a deep, unsettling red. The scent of iron filled the air, subtle yet unmistakable as the shirt clung tighter to the skin beneath. 

You shot your squinting eyes wide open just in time to feel a heavy weight falling over you, unmoving and grim as what you now saw was a man gasping for air. Your first instinct was to scream, but you didn’t get the chance as a hand roughly placed its palm against your mouth, leaving the terrified noise that escaped you muted while your eyes flickered around wildly, trying to make sense of what was going on.

“Quiet now,” a rough voice spoke, removing its hand from your mouth when you became quiet, too shocked when recognizing who it was that spoke. It only grew heavier when your eyes got more familiar with your surroundings, the heaviness that lingered over you being in the form of a man, the warmth you had felt turning out to be from the deep cut across his neck, blood seeping like a waterfall from the paling flesh.

Another scream left you as you struggled to get the limbs away, squirming and trashing as you pushed the hand off you in the process as you begged for the suffocating smell of iron and sweat to disappear. When it did, you crawled backward, body bathing in the slick, blood-soaked sheets. Pushed to the floor, the man was left in a lifeless heap, eyes staring vacantly into the distance.

Those eyes–the sharp nose and squinting eyes—seemed familiar, reminding you of someone you couldn’t quite put your finger on, not while the room remained dark. However, you didn’t have the chance to ponder any longer as more harshly than before, a hand covered your mouth as you remained pushed up against the bedframe, coddling your hands to your chest.

Wet eyes stared into a pair of dark pools, once blue eyes now appearing black in the obscurity of the night as its facial features bathed in the light from the moon. Even still, it was hard to make out who it was, but his voice alone was enough for the realization to set in, now undoubtedly aware of who held your mouth with one hand and the shining blade of a knife in the other. 

“Keep screaming, and you’ll damn us both.” A familiar, grumbling voice spoke out, hushed, yet the warning of danger lay smoldering underneath the surface. 

“Arthur?” Your voice was hoarse when you spoke, riddled with shock when you realized that the man you had feared was in your bedroom, unwelcomed and unwished for. 

“Wh-” You didn’t get to finish your question before he ripped his hand from you, casting you a dark look as he stepped off the bed, the floorboards groaning awfully at the sudden weight.

“Quiet.” There was no need for him to say anything else as you complied, the rattling anger in his voice only fueling his hasty, rigid movements as he bent down, checking the pulse of the man bleeding out on the floor. 

The sight was gruesome, blank eyes shining in the moonlight as if they were somewhere far away, lost in a dream. A dream, you pondered amidst your shock. Yes, this could all very well be a dream—a bad dream, perhaps, yet the thought of it maybe not being real brought you a sense of comfort. But how could it be? It felt too real, and you could vividly recall every moment as it played out in front of you, feel every touch, and smell every scent.

Lost in a haze, you stared down at your body, the thick, red blood more visible as your eyes got used to your surroundings. Closing your eyes, you cast away the faint memories that grew bolder as the smell of iron crawled up your nose, almost gagged by the sight and the imposing smell that grew stuffier, fuller somehow.

Your eyes shot open, watching the dead body heaved on Arthur’s shoulder being thrown over the window sill, the impact noticeable with a loud thud. You could only stare at him as he leaned over, looking around quickly before turning towards you again, nodding his head towards the window. 

If you had been in the right mindset and not scared witless, you would have laughed at his blatant naivety for thinking you would dive head-first into the darkness of the night, with him no less. There might have been a time when you knew him, but that wasn’t the case anymore—the dark eyes cowering behind his hat were unrecognizable, and the unkind tone of his voice was entirely someone else’s. 

“Shit,” you heard him mumble when you made no motion to move from your spot, only cradling your arms tighter around you. Rubbing his eyes in stress, he glanced at you again, almost scoffing at you when you gave him a blank stare.

“Come on then, I ain’t got all day.” As you made no further movement that would give him the impression you were complying, he sighed and, with heavy steps, stalked towards you as the bed rattled slightly from his movements. You only held out your hands when he grabbed your waist roughly, fingers betraying you as they trembled wildly against his chest.

“What are you doing, Arthur?” His movements halted, his leatherbound hands stopped around your middle, and his eyes twitched when he heard his name being spoken. Along the ridges of harshness, you could see a faint confusion lingering in his stare, blatantly staring deep into your eyes unabashedly as he lifted you from the bed. 

“Wha—” You pushed against his chest, and while it didn’t succeed in making him back off, it only made his brows furrow deeper.

“Listen here,” he said darkly, grabbing your upper arms and shaking you slightly. “Do as I say—follow my every word, and you won’t die.” 

You stopped for a moment, bewildered by his words. You couldn’t make sense of it—none of it. Questions were brewing in your mind, but you couldn’t find the words to speak them, couldn’t find the words to scream for help. It might seem funny to be scared of a man you once knew to have a good heart, but you have known men your whole life, and it never takes much for them to see right from wrong and still do the wrong thing.

“What’s going on, Arthur?” you breathed shakily, glancing at his hands, which gripped your arms when they tightened. It was hard to imagine that they had once been so gentle, the thought seemingly miles away as you returned your gaze to his squinting eyes, so close now that you could feel his breath against your skin. “Why are you here?”

Your voice had grown quiet as the question hung loose in the air. Shuddering, the wind flowed wildly into the room, banging the windows against the wall.

“Come on,” Arthur curtly said as he pushed you in front of him. You quickly realized you could hear footsteps from the stairs behind the shut door—Eustace, you thought, a cold chill running up your back as you gasped. 

When you stopped before Arthur in protest, he only gave you a mean glance when you gazed back in concern, telling you all you needed to know. Disbelief was written on your face when you realized his cruelty, feeling it reverberating in your head a few moments before you could make sense of it. 

“Don’t-” 

“Then do as I say.” He whispered harshly, pushing you forward to make you move, and this time, your feet strode hastily toward the window. Two stories high, the room was, and before you could glance back in protest, Arthur pushed past you quickly, landing with a heavy thud against the dusty ground, clouds of it forming as it danced in the falling glow from the lamppost. 

The street below was bathing in darkness, the sullied street more daunting from this high up and saddening when Eustace’s voice could be heard echoing through the hallway, his worried tone reverberating through the walls. It was hard to leave and listen to him calling out for you, yet you realized there wasn’t a choice for you now, and a big part of you refused to see him come to harm. If Arthur would’ve stayed true to his threat, that is.

You couldn’t say why you were so scared, having faced dangers more bone-chilling than this. But perhaps you feared to once more fall into the wrong arms, the arms of a man who reminded you of a past you’d rather lay behind you. But that might’ve always been the case for people who lived a hard life, feeling it better to put it to rest than reawaken it.

Without casting a glance behind you to see the shadow in the hallway flicker wildly as a stressed cane could be heard audibly hitting the wooden floor; you climbed over the window frame, the chipping paint sticking to your tightly gripping hands. It wasn’t until the trashing of air surrounded you that you fell into a pair of arms that immediately embraced you, hands gripping under your waist to ease your landing. 

Quickly, before his hand could linger, you backed away, relieved when you no longer felt the tight hold he had managed to capture you in. His gaze remained heavy on you, and you did your utmost to avoid him, letting your eyes falter, not daring to meet him. How he could act so carelessly, you couldn’t possibly justify, yet his presence alone made you take a few steps back.

His movements were harsh as he adverted his eyes, and you could see how his body was rigid and tense, as if he’d been bathing in ice-cold water. He glanced towards the window, walking towards you as he motioned you to turn around and walk through the streets until the building disappeared behind tons of others, his grip on your arm tight like he worried you would slip out his grasp—or attempt to. Most likely, you thought, knowing exactly what he would do if you tried when considering his earlier threat.

“Where are you taking me?” You applauded yourself for dampening the tremble in your voice when you spoke, somehow finding the simple thought mildly embarrassing while aware it would be entirely valid if you did. This time, you found yourself getting an answer to your question, and although harsh and hasty, it gave you reason to question its meaning. 

“Somewhere safe,” Arthur grumbled under his breath before pushing your back against the local general’s store wall, your figure hidden behind his large frame in the deserted alley. You made another attempt to question him further, only managing to open your mouth before the leather of his gloves covered it, hushing you as his eyes found yours, a threat lying deep within them. 

A few moments passed in silence, the brick wall against your back cold as the small stones pressed uncomfortably against your shoulder blades. Moving slightly, you turned your head to gaze out towards the street, finding Arthur’s hand turning your face back instantly, shaking his head.

It wasn’t long before loud footsteps could be heard through the streets, metal clanking and murmurs echoing as their shadows grew taller from the orange light of the lamppost.

“Be still,” Arthur whispered under his breath, the sound of his gun cocking slowly as if to make as little noise as possible. Stepping away from you, he motioned you to step further into the alley, where the darkness would almost swallow you whole. “Stay there until l come back, and keep quiet.”

You didn’t get the chance to follow his command, though; the sharp sound of a gun went off, the noise so bone-rattling in the quiet, sleeping town it likened to the sound of thunder—a thunder turning into a full-blown storm as it didn’t even take a millisecond before bullets rained through the air, shooting holes into walls and shattering surrounding windows. 

Your back found the brick wall again, Arthur’s back meeting your front as he shielded you with his body. Peeking from behind the building, the sound of his gun went off booming in your ear, his face growing even more grim, cursing under his breath as a bullet flew right past him. His weight pushed against yours when he once more took cover, taking the chance to reload as you gazed at the small cut on his neck where the bullet had grazed him—happy that it hadn’t been you.

Your hands turned pale as they gripped Arthur’s jacket, eyes screwing shut as the noise around you only grew nearer, each intake of breath shallow and rapid, as if the air in and of itself had turned hostile. Desperation clawed at your mind, begging you to slip away from the man holding you back and make a run for it, but you found that you couldn’t, damning yourself for staying still when all you wanted to do was get away.

Although warmth suddenly enveloped your hand, the rough leather and warm fingers wrapped around your sweaty ones. You opened your eyes, breathing erratically as you were once more met with the familiarity of Arthur’s jacket. As you glanced down, you caught a glimpse of his hand encasing you before the sight disappeared just as the feeling passed. You wondered if the hard, cold man in front of you had been the one to do it or if you’d imagined it.

With no more time to ponder, Arthur hastily stepped out on the streets, wildly looking around him with his gun raised as he turned his body in all directions. All dead, you presumed, as no more shots were being fired, yet you could hear more footsteps coming your way, alarmed voices shouting as doors slammed open in the distance. 

“Shit,” Arthur muttered, a loud whistle cutting through the air before he returned to you, casting a glance your way as you gazed worryingly towards the direction of the loud calls, stumbling towards Arthur, feeling like the ground was tilting beneath your feet. 

“What’s happening?”

“Law,” he stated, grasping your waist and hoisting you up what you discovered was his horse. The strong muscles flexed under your weight as you sat behind the saddle, and the chestnut coat softened under your fingers as you tried to find stability.

“Hold on,” Arthur said after heaving himself onto the saddle, casting a look backward when you took too long to follow his words, only setting off when your hands crawled tentatively around his waist, gripping the material under your hands firmly.

You wanted to ask him where he was taking you, but fear choked up your words and rattled your brain as you tried to comprehend your current predicament. So, instead, you held onto his jacket til your fingers turned a paler shade, closing your eyes as you wished that with it, you could disappear—perhaps wake up in your bed once more and feel the morning sun shine brightly upon you as it had done now for quite some time, instead of the cold, harsh air blowing against you, seeping through every garment you were wearing.

You had happily laid the unknown fate behind you when you found Eustace, not knowing the past from the present—not knowing what lay before you. As a child, it had been everything you’d known. And, being brought up always moving, you’d grown used to a stable home, a far-off dream, if even that, since you had never known that stability existed. Food on the table, clean clothes that didn’t reek of sweat and were stained with dirt, and clean water that would surely do you better than the burning alcohol you often got as a substitute for liquid. 

All in all, finding a home with Eustace had been a blessing, no matter how absurd your situation may have looked to others. Therefore, suddenly, having to leave made everything ten times worse—you didn’t want to go, and you cursed the man in front of you, cursing him for disrupting your peace, for taking you away for—well, you weren’t quite so sure yet. 

Although it itched inside you to ask him, you hadn’t missed the part where Arthur seemingly wasn’t the man you had once known. Therefore, you kept your mouth shut, not daring to speak a word while you gazed behind you as the city lights dimmed with time, buildings replaced with trees, and people with animals that scourged away into the woods surrounding the path when the clacking of hooves grew near. 

You rode for a long while in silence, and with every chance you got, you glanced behind you, expecting to see the sheriff’s men closing in on you despite Arthur’s brutal pace—to see the pistols aimed at you in a way you’d thought you’d laid behind you after all those years on the run. But no, no galloping horses followed you, only darkness engulfing your sight as you looked back, the only noise the huffing of the horse beneath you.

Night turned to day, and you never stopped to regain your breath, to make sense of your surroundings. It was consuming, yet you took the chance to feel the now brisk air of the morning caress your cheeks softly, smell the bracing dew and the carrying of fresh air before the heat would set in a few hours. For a long while, you’d forgotten how good it felt to be outside of the city map with no walls confining you, no bustling crowds jostling for space. Nature’s gentle, soothing sounds replaced the constant hum of urban life—machinery and voices. The rustling leaves, the chirping of birds, and the distant call of wildlife may have once done their best to soothe your rattled nerves, yet it didn’t ease now, and you found yourself only growing more nervous.

—

“We ain’t got no other choice but to stay here tonight,” Arthur said as the horse slowed to a trot, examining the area as he squinted against the sharp evening sun. “Reckon, we’ll be safe enough out here. If they ain’t following us, of course.”

A small sigh left you, almost letting a groan escape you as you moved slightly behind the saddle. Feeling the muscles ache deep within, you were unwilling to face a second longer seated atop the horse. You didn’t even register his last words and their hidden threat, trying to remind you what heap of danger you were in—as if you weren’t aware, as if he didn’t already make you more at edge.

As the horse finally stopped at a place Arthur found agreeable, you didn’t wait a second to glide down towards the ground, feeling your feet planted on firm ground, the grass underneath them heavenly as you stretched with your newly-found freedom. 

“Don��t run away,” Arthur muttered as his gaze stayed on you, warning laying deep in his voice.

“And where would I go?” Raising your arms, you gave him a frustrated look, not understanding how he would even make the assumption that you could, the landscape stretching on for miles with only vegetation and no roads as far as the eye could see, only lurking animals awaiting you with open mouths and greedy arms.

“I don’t know, just don’t do it,” he grumbled, sliding off the saddle before throwing you a blanket. As he crouched down, making you believe he was setting up a fire, you walked closer to him, carefully watching the guns on his back, like devil horns sprouting like bone from his shoulders.

“Arthur,” you began, hugging the blanket to your chest. “Will you tell me who those men were?” His mood was terrible, yet somehow, the words left you before you could stop them. There was, of course, still lingering anger at him inside of you, the underlying tones of sorrow that stung its way through you. Yet, you had to know—had to understand why he had turned his visit into a raging bloodbath and who that man was whose blood had dried up your clothes as the fabric had now grown thick and pasty.

“The law, I already told ya,” 

“I know that,” you sighed, trying again, finding it easier to look at him when his back was turned. “But the men before that, and the man in my bedroom….” you trailed off, recalling the horrid moment and the consuming smell of blood, the lifeless eyes once again staring straight through you, brows still furrowed while the eyes stayed wide open.

He halted slightly in his motions, casting a glance sideways yet not entirely looking at you as he rubbed his eyes. Sweat ran down his face as he lowered his hat to rid himself of the still-blazing sun, cursing under his breath at the damned warmth that almost felt torturous when the wind laid to rest.

“Jesse’s men,” he said, continuing his earlier action. Your stomach plunged, shock traveling through your body as you froze, wishing sincerely he’d said any name but that. 

“And the man in my be-”

“Jesse.”

“Oh.”

Backing slightly, you could feel your throat constricting when the familiar name left Arthur’s mouth. It had been a long time ago, yet now it seemed so near, almost too near, being able to grasp the memories that made your heart lurch and stomach turn, something waxy and cold lining your insides at the thought.

Although, with it being given more thought, wasn’t this just your luck? Had it not always been your luck? To find yourself amid everything terrible, of all that was rancid and chaotic—entangled in the embrace of men who, above all else, desired more, strove towards gaining what they deemed necessary. Because of this, there had been many instances where you had felt greed, the familiarity with currents so strong there was no other explanation than rendering yourself no better than others when it came to it. And, unfortunately, it was consistent, for it appeared in everyone—everywhere—whether consciously or not, there had been no way for you to unsee it. 

“But I don’t understand,” you said, your voice quiet as you spoke to yourself, gaze far off as you absentmindedly stared into thin air. “Jesse already killed Charlie. Why would he go after me, and now of all times? He couldn’t possibly be that greedy?” Silence followed, Arthur’s eyes finally meeting yours with reluctance, as if your question bothered him more than he wanted to let on. “Could he?”

“It ain’t—” he trailed off, eyes flickering as if pondering how best to form the words soon to be said. “Well,” he said more directly this time. “Death ain’t enough for some, I guess.”

As his words sunk in, Arthur avoided your gaze, the silence from you enough to tell him that he’d struck a chord in you with his admittance. Horrifying, yet how could it surprise you when you had faced the inner turmoil of men many times, knowing the ways of honor and respect they so desperately clung to? Although there was an underlying dread to his words—like someone had wrapped a bag over your lungs when you thought of what could’ve been—where you could’ve been if Arthur hadn’t been there that night.

When you were both smaller and much more naive than today, you’d seen the bullet that flew right through your father’s skull with both eyes by the hand of Jesse, wide open and undoubtedly too young to stand witness to such a thing—no less it being a parent. You’d been too little; you simply didn’t understand it, and while you can honestly say it didn’t impact you then, being too used to seeing things like that firsthand and not particularly close to your father, it plastered itself onto you like a stamp whether you liked it or not.

Charlie, your father, had grown too careless and brave to think himself above others, particularly Jesse. All in all, that didn’t sit right with him, and as your father went through the grief of losing your mother, growing both colder and meaner with time—an image of his former self—he didn’t have much to care for except the gluttony that grew more consistent as the years passed. Sometimes, you’d ponder if any man could be blamed for it, for it seemingly was engraved in our bones, perhaps a fundamental part of the human mind. 

You’d concluded you couldn’t cast that blame at your father when he tried to usurp Jesse, for then greed battled greed, and you had to choose which one was more deserving of understanding. Yet, you soon came to realize it didn’t matter who was more deserving, for power played a bigger part, and it didn’t care for either justice or discernment—only in which hands it could grow stronger, in which mind it could spread its dark tendrils until it grew satisfied. The only problem was that it never did, and you deemed it the downfall of many, both great and horrible men, those who deserved it and those who didn’t.

After that, you didn’t have much more to say, continuing the late evening in silence as your mind raced terribly after your conversation. You couldn’t help but stay unsurprised by Arthur’s theory, somewhere deep down knowing they probably did have much more in the plan for their leader’s revenge. Death, all in all, might not be so horrible after all when you’d imagine all the other vile and stomach-wrenching things one could do to deem their revenge agreeable—righteous. 

It was impossible to imagine yourself being the one to endure it. You almost felt lighthearted at the thought of men’s grabby hands and hungry eyes, conjuring up bone-chilling scenarios that would make any sane person’s face pale and skin gray. The slap of a harsh backside of someone’s palm was, of course, humiliating enough for you. Still, with time, it somehow felt less personal, as if the memory healed with the bruise, while someone infringed on the fleshier part of yourself, not quite humiliation, for it stretched farther than that—scarred deeper. Pure rot and filth would surely spread through your body and mind, growing until it became a part of you, your past, and your future. 

Your fright for Arthur did lessen as you pondered, growing thankful when you deemed his company much more preferable than the men who sought after you. It reminded you of a time he’d been the safest point in your life—perhaps the first since you laid in your mother’s arms, the warmth only a child could feel from a parent. Safe and undoubtedly free, his arms around you not encasing you—caging you in—but pushing you forward so you could feel the air of the wild blow through your hair, showing you there was more to life than death and violence, that there could be more to a man than his demons.

Of course, you had known what he was capable of—the brutality he wielded with his hands, the blood that tainted them, tainted him. In some deranged way, that thought had always made him even more comforting than he would be without it. It was what you’d known your whole life, and there was no hiding it. It drew you in, but never once had he made the slightest incantation of hurting you, and that’s what made you stay. 

God, you’d been so alike, you and Arthur, and your childhood likewise. It felt like he’d been explaining your life when he told you of his. It didn’t help, for it glued you together, and you wondered if it could even be undone, knowing the rip of the glue, if you ever did, would strip away both skin and bones—take so much from you you were unsure if it could ever heal again. To think it would be horrifying indeed, and in the end, it was; the bruising went so deep you’d wanted to dry-heave when you left, almost ripping your heart out with everything else as you pushed him away.

You wondered, the saddest smile almost showing on your lips, if he had realized how carefully he had handled you since you first laid eyes on him, thinking not of his threats and harsh demeanor but the thoughts behind his actions. Ever so thoughtful and very unbecoming of him, yet somehow entirely expected of his character. You lowered your head, letting your hair fall around you as you tried hiding how the corners of your lips suddenly turned into a frowning smile like you were in on a sad secret only you knew about. 

As you tried forcing your lips to maintain their straight appearance, you raised your eyes carefully after some time, observing Arthur through your lashes as he gazed into the fire. Leaning against an oak, he sought shade from the sun after providing you with something to eat. He seemed deep in thought as the flames caressed his face in the darkening evening, highlighting his sharp, harsh features. A heavy shadow cast over his eyes, hiding what thoughts lay behind them. 

He looked no doubt like a man to fear, with features just as deadly as he was, like the guns resting on his hips and the twitching of his fingers ready for even the slightest inclination of danger. It looked like he was sleeping, yet he was vibrating with tension, like his mind was resting without his body, as if it ran on auto, already aware of every danger that could occur upon you as if it was plastered in the back of his eyelids. 

You conclude that living the life he did would surely do that to a person. You’re not sure what he’s been through since you last saw him but deem it nothing good. Your eyes wandered over his face, gazing over the slightly suntanned skin, watching how the evening breeze made his roughly cut hair tickle his face. The trail of beard started to form, littering down to his neck, where a cluster of chest hair took over, disappearing invitingly into the unbuttoned part of his shirt.

Lingering over the bare skin that glistened with an inclination of sweat from the still humid air and fading sun, they followed over the expanse of his chest that stretched the fabric of his shirt, rising steadily in harmony with his breathing. The faint feeling of his skin under your fingertips ran through your mind, the slight memory so far away that only the feeling persisted. The sharp, musky smell of smoke was almost burning under your nostrils as the feeling persisted, coupled with a smoldering scent that was hard to word; you could nearly feel the warm skin underneath you—the faint sense of hair tickling your cheek. 

It calmed you to watch him, the slow breaths that left him making your eyes grow heavy as time ticked on, the chilling fog of night settling in, accompanied by the warmth of the fire you so desperately relied on. It wasn’t until you were at the brink of sleep a pair of darkened eyes met yours, bathing in the glow from the fire, that your eyes faltered, a scorching blush fighting its way up the skin of your chest till it covered your cheeks wholly—shit. It grew hotter, the air suddenly turning stuffed as embarrassment from your delirious, wandering eyes had been caught red-handed.

You could only stare at the ground in shame, the small pebbles suddenly turning interesting as your eyes stared in false interest. You blamed it on your worn-out mind, the fatigue that had overtaken your body, trying to justify it to yourself. You felt the brutality of another pair planted on you, unwavering, hoping to higher powers they would dissipate so you could pity yourself without an audience. 

“Cold?” Arthur’s gruff voice broke the silence, the words still quiet, making it sound more like a statement than a question.

Did he mistake your blushing cheeks for you being cold? Or, had your distracted mind kept you from realizing that the cold air had done so when the darkening sky fell upon you, too? Crossing your arms over your chest, you felt a shudder run through you, hairs raising as if on cue. 

“I suppose so,” you mumbled, inching closer to the fire that had begun to falter. The embers around it were glowing red as they crackled loudly into the night, the sudden noise making you jump slightly. 

“Mmh.” 

You stared into the flames as silence followed, refusing to meet his eyes. Your pulse was still pounding quickly, and your mind was caught in the horrible moment. Hell, you’d say it bordered on humiliating, throwing off your facade of irritation directed at Arthur and his actions that you were so dead-set on keeping up as well as your walls—so high he couldn’t peer over them the way you couldn’t look over his.

“Come here.”

Your eyes fitted to his, in an instance, baffled by the words that left his mouth, if even that was what he said and not something your sleep-deprived mind made up.

You could only stare at him for a while, trying to decipher the hidden meaning behind his words. Your face was straight as Arthur stared back at you with an expression that could rival yours, arms crossed over his chest, and he leaned against the tall oak. You damned his ability to keep his face so unreadable, eyes still as sharp as they always seemed. His voice was calmer, perhaps slightly warmer, heating like embers glowing in the hearth.

“What?” you mumbled tiredly, voice laced with a sleepy confusion.

“You’ll die of hypothermia before I even get the chance to get you out of here.” His tone was laced with annoyance, grumbling irritably as if the mere thought of the conversation you had bothered him immensely—as if the words leaving him were reluctant and bothersome. 

He didn’t continue, staring at the flames flickering wildly when the wind suddenly picked up—if it was a means to avoid your now wakened eyes or the nonchalance in his spoken words, you couldn’t tell.

The irritation that had been simmering in your mind grew at his words. Your throat constricted with words you wanted to speak, wanting to tell him that there wasn’t a single fiber of your being wishing to be close to him, to give him such a privilege. Had the world turned his head that daft, or had he simply stopped caring what effect his words and actions had on others, no less you?

A few moments passed, and you stared at him, eyes growing hard and sharp like glass, where confusion and fear were replenished. So, to rid both of you from the onslaught of feelings coursing through you, you turned around on the hard ground, bringing your arms tighter against you for warmth as a shudder ran through you.

“When did you grow so cruel?” you asked quietly into the night, watching the warm air leaving your mouth become clouds when you breathed a shaking breath. You weren’t sure if you were speaking about his sudden audacity or the change in his character that so starkly contrasted the one you had known. Nonetheless, you didn’t expect an answer, but you did get one, and a humorless laugh accompanied it as if the truth was some masochistic joke.

“If you only knew.”

—

The night continued in silence, and you woke between the hours from the cold, staring heedlessly into the darkness, ears taut as every noise made your breath hitch, almost expecting to find prying eyes staring back at you when you got the guts to open them. But, as sunlight found its way to you behind the trees, rising warmly over the cliffs, you could finally feel yourself relaxing against the hard ground, bringing the jacket that lay over you closer as you breathed in the scent of smoke and something warmer, muskier.

Blue orbs, hidden beneath the surface of anger and hatred, gazed at you through squinted eyes as the orange tendrils hit the skin of your cheeks just above ĥis jacket. They followed along the strands of hair that ran down your face, tickling your skin slightly as you shook them away from your face in deep sleep.

For far too long, they had only seen gruesome sights—things that would make even the strongest men empty their stomachs. So they stayed a while longer, feasting their eyes on something lovelier—a forbidden fruit laid out before them. The steady breathing lulled them closer as if calling for them, begging them to stray nearer until skin touched skin.

The skin he had once known so well, so well the mere thought of it had become less of a luxury and more of a second nature, a constant need. You might’ve let time do its part in receding the memories, but not him—not when every thought of you had become his way of finding something good in this world—his world. Whatever was left of it gnawed at him, clawed at the inside of his flesh, the scars with age growing visible, larger to only himself; only the aftermath of anger and resentment was what was shown to the world. 

Embedded in the darkest corners of his mind, you laid like a hidden haven, formless yet shaped by recollection. He rarely touched it, for every time he did, he found the flesh of you that was once so bright, so warm, turned colder and grayer, rot spreading its way up your delicate skin, his disease only managing to span through your body. The eyes had grown too lifeless to be associated with yours, the sunken eyes dull and almost bordering on hateful. He couldn’t stand it, so he let it be after some time, outmost refusing to taint your memory with his cruelty and violence, refusing to cover you any longer with his filthy hands. 

It was a part of his life he’d had to lay behind him, a chapter that he had looked upon so fondly laid to rest, only for the next to take form. Oh, how it was riddled with filth and violence, the edge of the papers burnt and soiled. It was simply how it was, he’d concluded at the time, all too aware that it was what lay before him, what had always been destined to be his life. 

What once was a heroic attempt, a means to do good, had been overtaken by gluttony, the constant want for more. A bare and raw sin was what he had turned into, a hungry wolf, led by his brutality and fear—a fear of realizing what he was, what he had always been.

So, he couldn’t help but just for once take you in now that your watchful eyes weren’t gazing at him in fright—a fright he had grown all too used to when others looked at him, whether it was by the end of his gun or in the final short few breaths of their life. You had turned in your sleep, chin resting against the hard ground, when his eyes fitted over you, resting in the soft curves of your face and lashes that lay delicately on your skin. 

The gentle rise and fall of your chest was a lullaby of sorts, a contrast to the storm inside of him. He wondered what dreams might be drifting through your mind, hoping they were far removed from the darkness that often clouded his own, hoping he wasn’t turning them vile.

Arthur gazed over the plump cheeks that seemed fuller, akin to his memories, a soft glow over them as the morning sun washed over you. You had always looked prettier in the sunlight; it was something he had always thought, for it was like two twins meeting each other again, laden with the same light and warmth. The ghost of a wistful smile begged to tug at the corners of his mouth as he indulged in this rare moment of stillness—the rough edges of his hardened soul seemed to soften, if only for a heartbeat.

He wanted to reach out a hand, rough and scarred, and try to let it hesitate above your cheek as he thought it would break the spell of sleep that enveloped you. He could feel his breath caught in his throat, a mixture of awe and sorrow, for deep down, he was aware that the world he lived in had no place for such beauty and peace. He was a ghost in your serene world, an intruder with no right to stay. Still, he would linger, savoring the moment like a condemned man savoring his last meal. 

A dream was all it was, to imagine a different life where you could bask in the sun’s glow without fear and violence. But, as the sun climbed higher, reality would begin to seep back in, and he would reluctantly pull his hand away, the humid air now filling the spaces between you. The weight of his choices and the path he’s walked pressed down on him, so for now,  he’d indulge in the simple act of watching over you as you rested—not sure where to go where the men now seeking your death couldn’t find you yet promising to himself he would keep you far, far away from them.

—

When the sun’s warmth began to cover your skin in a faint layer of sweat, you awoke, being met with the smoking of a dying fire and a soreness in your body that only laying on hard ground could create. You had almost expected to awake in the comfort of your old bed, feeling the soft wind caress your face as it blew through the open window, curtains fluttering in the air as the far-away sound of people chattering could be heard, and the constant chugging of the train.

Homesickness, you thought. It was strange; never before had that feeling grappled you so intensely; never had the thought of being back with Eustace seemed so wishful, so desperate. It pulled something inside of you, and as you sat up, you could only find yourself wishing the feeling away, rubbing your eyes as you set your gaze forward, refusing to ponder over it any longer. 

“No sight of Jesse’s men yet, so I think we’re good,” a voice called out nearby. Looking behind you, you found Arthur going through the saddlebag, his back facing you as you slowly stood up.

“Do you-” You cleared your throat, still riddled with sleep, both rough and quiet. “Do you think they’re still after us?”

“Sure,” he drawled, fastening the bag before patting his horse encouragingly. “We just killed their leader; I don’t think we’re off the hook that easily.”

“You,” you stated, dragging your fingers through your hair as you felt the various knots get stuck in your hand. You tried to sort them out but found your effort unsuccessful. 

“What?” he said.

“You killed their leader, you mean.”

“Yeah, I guess, but they’re still coming for you nonetheless.”

“And the law?”

“If we keep away from Blackwater, we’ll be fine,” he said, turning towards you.

“Then where do we go now?” you asked, staring at the ground as you grieved at the thought of not being able to head back to Blackwater, back to Eustace. He only glanced at you, the slight movement of his shoulders indicating he wasn’t so sure either. 

You walked tentatively towards him, meeting his gaze as he leaned towards the tree where his horse was stabled. He watched you cautiously as if he had any reason to be careful around you.

“How did you know Jesse’s men were after me?”

Arthur shifted uncomfortably, his eyes narrowing as he considered his response. “I have my ways,” he muttered, eyes darting to the horizon. “Words travel fast in these parts, and I keep my ears open.”

You only gazed at him for a while, hearing him sigh when you didn’t let your eyes waver, his eyes narrowing as he studied you, measuring how much truth to reveal. He adjusted his hat, the shadow casting a veil over his expression. “We heard things. Rumors in the towns. Jesse’s men have a way of making themselves known.” You nodded, absorbing the information. It made sense in a twisted way; your past seemed to chase you no matter where you ran or how far you went.

Arthur shifted his weight, his voice dropping lower, more serious. “And when we ran into some of his boys a few days back, well,” He stared at you hard. “They mentioned you.”

“Me?” Your breath got caught in your throat, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded.

“How did you know I was in Blackwater?”

Arthur’s eyes darkened slightly, a shadow crossing his face. He took a moment before answering, his voice low and steady. “I’ve been keeping tabs on you,” he admitted tersely.

You blinked in surprise, the revelation catching you off guard. “Why?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper, your tone betraying none of the turmoil. 

He only sighed, glancing away briefly before meeting your questioning eyes again. “Because I had to make sure you weren’t getting yourself killed,” he retorted sharply, his words tinged with frustration. “Especially after everything that happened all those years ago.”

Many emotions flooded through you—confusion riddled with anger, a strange sense of relief you wanted to cast far away. Anger at his presumption, a deep ache for the man he once was when he mentioned the past. “So you’ve been watching me all these years?” you countered, your voice carrying a cutting edge.

Arthur’s jaw clenched, his temper flaring. “I’ve been trying to keep you safe,” he mumbled, his voice growing snappier. 

The reality of his words sank in, and you struggled to process the implications. You met his gaze, trying to keep your composure, refusing to let his anger shake you. “Protecting me by keeping me under surveillance?” you shot back.

“Call it what you want, but I had to make sure you wouldn’t end up lying dead somewhere,” he said gruffly, staring stubbornly at you. “Jesse’s men aren’t exactly known for sending love letters.” 

“And did it ever occur to you that I might’ve been wanting to be left alone?”

“You don’t get it, do you? They’ve been after you this whole time; they still are. You think you can just walk away and be fine?” 

The air hung tense between you and Arthur, his words cutting through the warm air like a sharp blade. “You had no right,” you hissed, your voice low but filled with simmering anger. You knew you were right, and you were sure Arthur knew as he quieted down, grumbling as he strode past you, stepping on the fire’s dying embers to put it out, his movements stiff and rigid.

“We’ll keep moving, get you out of the wild for a bit.” You stayed facing away from him when he spoke, only moving when he extended his hand, motioning you towards the horse. 

“Listen,” he murmured, turning you around before you could sit behind the saddle. “I didn’t—” he turned his head away from you for a moment as if thinking about his following words, hands gripping your shoulders carefully, flexing slightly. “I know how these types of men work, and you would thank me for keeping an eye on you if I told you what they would’ve done to you.”

“And how are you so different from these men you talk of, Arthur?” Your voice was accusing and bitter, and only silence followed from his side. “I used to know a different man,” you murmured. One who was understanding,” you finally said, your voice barely a whisper as your walls crashed, a somber look glazing over your eyes. “Kind.”

You felt him stiffen before you, and he didn’t respond immediately, as if surprised by your words. “Things change,” he replied curtly, his voice devoid of sentiment.

“I can see that,” you said, lifting your hand as if to move his hat out of the way but faltering at the last second. “ I barely recognize you.”

You hadn’t failed to realize it, and it had consumed your thoughts fully since you first discovered it was him when he held that gun toward your head. Never did you imagine he would be the type of man to wield such a dangerous weapon towards a woman—towards you—yet that’s precisely what he’d done.

“You don’t understand the world we live in now,” he said, his tone hardening. “Things aren’t as simple as they used to be.”

“Maybe not,” you replied, feeling the weight of your disappointment settle in your chest. “But I didn’t think you’d let it change like this; I didn’t think you’d become-”

“What? Like them?” he interrupted, his eyes narrowing. “You think I had a choice?

“There’s always a choice,” you shot back. “You used to be a different man.”

“And what good did that ever do me?” he snapped, stepping closer. His breath was warm against your cheek when you lowered your face, staring at the fabric of his shirt. 

“The world is cruel, whether you want to acknowledge it or not, and I had to make sure to keep the gang safe, and I still do.” The last part, he muttered to himself. “And since you decided to leave me-”

“Leave you?!” you gasped, appalled at his choice of words. The familiar stabbing pain gripped your heart when he accused you, and you stepped backward slightly only to find his hands rooting you in place. “I had no choice!”

“No choice, huh?” He said, his lips curling into a bitter smile as if your words were ridiculous and filled with lies.

“I asked-, no begged, you to come with me, but you refused! Talking all sorts of rubbish about loyalty and Dutch this and Dutch that!” It felt like a stone the size of your fist was plunged down your throat while the muscle could only constrict around it, twisting your body slightly so he would let go of you. 

“I realized there wasn’t a place for me there, with you, any longer, so I had to leave before I went insane!” you said. “I couldn’t bear it, living that life anymore. My whole life had been filled with cruelty and violence, and I needed to feel as if I was the one living it instead of watching myself from the sidelines!” Flashes of faces, both grim and cruel, passed your vision, the image of a younger you looking for somewhere to hide but only finding broken souls wandering around you.

Like lost in a maze, you had tried left and right, but with no guidance, it proved useless as you kept wandering, trying to make sense of the world that you grew up in, parentless and abandoned in a gang whose hearts had been ripped out of their chests and feasted on by the devil. His pupils were all that was left, and you, a lost child, were made to endure a world that had been stripped of both kindness and care.

“But you-” your voice was choked up, trembling as your frenzied eyes flickered around you. “You didn’t care enough to see that, and now I can see why.”

“You’re just like them.” As your words ended, the onslaught of feeling simmered underneath your hectic breathing, and you finally felt the pressure loosen on your shoulders. Taking a few steps back, you passed the back of your hands over your eyes, feeling the warm liquid rub into your skin.

Those years felt distant now that they were brought up, and you had done your utmost to keep them far away until one day, you woke up feeling like that life hadn’t been your own; the person you were hadn’t been you and the memories entirely someone else’s. It had become too much, the air around you thick and nauseating when it felt like none of it would stop, like you were in a loop that never ended, only bringing you back to where you first started but with different people this time.

You soon realized that since you managed to remove yourself from Jesse and his men, you’d only wound up sleeping on a hard ground once more, the twigs and sticks poking you through your back like they’d always done. However, the people around you were new, but they were still the same lost souls as you, and the thought terrified you. You couldn’t handle the idea of that being your life, of always following someone who strived towards a goal that, when reached, would only be replaced by another one.

You didn’t dare glance at Arthur, yet you felt his eyes on you. As you tried to calm your breathing, you wondered why he didn’t say anything, defend himself, or retort and fight back like you thought he would. Yet, his lack of words made you second guess your revelations, shame soon filling your body when you realized how much of yourself you’d given a man who no longer cared to understand, who was so far gone your words meant nothing, just like the men he killed in cold-blood—a menace and an obstacle.

“Let’s go,” was all that he replied with after some time, avoiding glancing at you before grabbing your waist carefully to sit you behind the saddle, stomping one last time at the dying fire before sitting before you, no doubt noticing how your hands ghosted around his waist as if touching him alone was a vile and horrid thought.

—

You couldn’t help but ponder over what transpired this morning, all too aware it had to be spoken about sooner or later, but you wished he’d tell you more, explain why he’d acted the way he did and why he’d changed so much even though the words might’ve been said in anger. Yet, perhaps, that is a ridiculous exception, for who can say why they’d change if they even stopped enough to notice they did?  Still, you realized what he had to say might not be what you wanted to hear, and the thought didn’t fail to make your heart sink.

It’s terrible what time can do to one person, but you could not understand how it could wound its way into Arthur so firmly, as if not considering his past self that had been so different from who was before you now. Perhaps being young and in love had made you fail to realize that maybe the man he was now is only an older version of who he’d been then and that he’d only shown the sides he felt deemed to you. Why, you wondered. Had it been shame or fear, knowing very well the cruel place you came from, not wanting to admit that he was a criminal—that he did exactly what every other man would do when following another blindly?

Bringing yourself out of your thoughts, you observed that day had once more turned into night, the familiar setting sun casting its warm gaze over the landscape as the horse huffed underneath you in exhaustion from running all day—tired from the lack of rest and the growing tension that was heavy between its riders. 

Rising your gaze to look at his back for the first time since you set off, you let the follow along the chestnut tone of his hair, trailing over his tense back, eyes focusing on the various scratches and stains on his clothing, the blood that had been rubbed so many times it had turned into a lighter shade, yet the slight pinkness still resided, marking him unknowingly, as if his clothing represented his being. 

It was so unfair, you concluded, yet you felt angry at him, furious at yourself and the world for being unpredictable, for never making anything easy, and more so for laying trouble over minds that from the start were pure, a blank canvas now to be trifled with. But there was also a tinge of sadness over the people you had turned out to be and grieving over the man you seemed to have lost behind smokes of black and anguish.

The pit of darkness that now filled you turned into thunder, and as the rain began to pour, the cold drops doing nothing to wash away the hollowness you felt, you failed to hear the hooves that could be heard from a distance. Arthur, though, had sensed them for some time now, trying to make his abrupt, faster pace less noticeable, hoping to gain some distance before you could see their dark figures form behind you.

Unfortunately, they only gained on you with every minute that passed, reaching out for you with their slinky arms and wild gazes, bullets vibrating in the metal, begging to be released so they could bury themselves into your flesh. Yet, it was hard for them to see, the heavy downpour blurring their vision of you, the fading sun offering them no help, and the galloping of their horses dizzied their sight.

A gasp left you as the horse suddenly stopped abruptly, the reigns held tightly as it skidded across the slippery ground. You didn’t get the chance to be surprised, hastily brought down to the ground, Arthur’s hands almost lifting you with the way he pushed you as you clumsily glided across the ground, grasping onto his arms to find stability as you walked up the small stairs that appeared on front of you.

A small porch, desolated and lonely, spread out around you; from the hasty look you could get, the windows seemed dark and lifeless—not a single light shining through them. The two-story structure seemed to stand on the outskirts of a forgotten, overgrown field, its once-white paint nor a peeling, weather-beaten gray where ivy and wild vines clung to the sides, creeping through the cracks in the wooden boards. The roof sagged precariously, shingles missing in place, revealing patches of rotting wood underneath.

“Shit!” You could hear Arthur shout as the loud weather dampened his voice, grasping the handle as it refused to open. 

“What’s going on, Arthur?!” you said loudly so he could hear you, but you got no answer to your question. He pushed you to the side with one motion, trashing his shoulder into the door, and rusty hinges groaned in protest; the flimsy wood bent slightly before he bolted against it again. With this attempt, he opened it, and it smashed against the wall; the smell of something musty reached your nose as it escaped the house, contrasting heavily with the freshness of the rain. 

“Get inside!” he shouted, and as you hurried inside, you heard the door slam shut. Your back pressed against the wall beside it, and Arthur stood before you, peeking out carefully from the window beside it.

It grew quiet the minute you stepped inside, the rain reduced to a slight humming as it splattered against the one-story house that seemed long abandoned, the faint smell of mold and neglect traveling through the air–the stale, dry air left a metallic tang in your mouth, the taste of dust was ever-present, gritty and unpleasant, seemingly coating your tongue and throat with each short, terrified breath you took.

“Arthur,” you whispered, craning your neck so you could gaze up at him where he leaned against the window, his eyes scanning the storm outside as his hands squeezed your arms gently but firmly.

“I gotta hide you,” he said, his voice low, his throat straining around the words when he finally looked into your eyes.

He pulled you from the wall, leading you deeper into the cabin. The floorboards creaked underfoot, threatening to give away with each step you took. Moving through the tiny parlor, past the broken chairs and sagging sofa, you moved into the kitchen where the cabinets hung open, their contents long since scavenged or rotted away. 

As you gazed back, you found Arthurs’s eyes darting around the place, searching for a place where you would be hidden from the gruesome and horrible event that would soon take place in this already damned building. A small pantry, its doors hanging loosely on its hinges, seemed to be the only hiding place he deemed approvable.

“In here,” he said, guiding you towards it. 

“Why?” you asked, hesitating to enter the small space.

“They caught up to us,” he murmured, watching your hand grasp his shirt. “Jesse’s men.”

“What about you?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“I’ll be fine,” Arthur replied, momentarily passing his hand over yours. “I’ll handle them, just please-” he trailed off, grasping your cheeks between your hands so you would focus entirely on his and his words. “Please don’t come out until I tell you.”

A few moments passed before you tentatively nodded, feeling his hands leave you so you could squeeze into the pantry. The small space was barely big enough to hold you as the doors were closed gently, slightly ajar so you could breathe through the thick, consuming air.

A few moments passed, your eyes wide in the darkness as you took in his words. It surprised you there were still so many, remembering the night in Blackwater where it seemed like bodies littered every corner of the streets when you passed them, lifeless and now soulless. How many, you wondered, were outside now, and how had you not managed to feel their presence before, to catch sight of them behind you, yet Arthur could without a glance?

As the first sign could be heard, you held your breath, the beating of your heart almost audible in the small space as it fought against your chest, your hands covering it as if it would give away your position. That was when the door burst open, and you could only clamp a hand over your mouth to stifle a gasp that escaped against your will, listening tentatively at every noise that could reach you.

You could only make out Arthur’s voice, low and steady, even though you couldn’t make out the words that left him, almost wanting to cover your ears as if it would help against the terror you knew would soon erupt, praying-no begging Arthur would be alright, that you wouldn’t have to be dragged away from there a weeping mess as Arthur lifeless eyes stared into your own, bullets imbedded in his flesh as you awaited your fate.

The sound of struggle filtered through the storm—the clatter of boots, shouts of men that boomed through the cabin, and the crackle of gunfire. Each noise made you cringe, squeezing your eyes shut as you tried to block out the terrifying reality, hands shooting up to cover your ears as the loud sounds lessened; instead, the more vile noise of flesh hitting flesh ensued, the noise bones made when broked and the bloodily smack of skin against skin. 

It ensued for a while, the disgusting sound of grunting and groaning making you remember the many times you had to hide your smaller self and only listen. Listen till the danger was over, examining every sound that could be heard to tell if you’d be alright stepping out or whether it would lead to your death—which had most of the time been the biggest possibility. You felt like you had traveled back in time, with not an ounce more courage than you had lacked back then, quivering like a fool while others fought like madmen around you, wishing you could be somewhere else—for someone to swoop down and save you like in some sad fairytale.

Minutes felt like hours as you waited, heart pounding in your ears as you didn’t dare to peek out from the cracks. Then, amidst the chaos, you heard a voice—Arthur’s voice, calling your name as you heard him breathing heavily, your name strained as he spoke. A sense of relief coursed through you, now knowing he was alright, yet you still lingered for a second, hand hesitating at the door as you feared what sight you’d be presented with. Yet, as you pushed it open, you stepped into the cabin again, taking small steps leading further into the house, trailing over the dark red liquid as you closed your eyes at the bodies it came from.

“They won’t hurt you no more,” Arthur murmured. 

He stood there, hands at his side, his eyes as blood-filled as his hands, the red liquid dripping onto the wooden planks, staining them til they flowed beneath the cracks. Fitting to yours, you could only gasp, taking a step back as you were filled with dread over what he just did, the brutality of his actions, and the lives that now lay devoid of it around you. There had been too much death over the last few days, and although it was either their life or yours, you couldn’t help but detest the constant smell of the deceased resting just under the tip of your nose. 

You gazed over the chaos; the broken glass shattered on the floor, blinding you when the sun was reflected on their surface. The white porcelain was stained red, and the walls had been painted the same color. You felt his eyes stay on you, unmoving and seemingly not bothered by the brutality he just possessed—always had possessed—but not making any attempt to move, as if he was waiting for you to make the first move, speak the first word. 

He looked tense where he stood, and despite his horrible deeds, he looked at you as if he searched for your acceptance, as if trying to convey that he did this for you, that he dirtied his hands only to keep you safe, just like he’d always done. And, as you stared at him, you could almost see his hand flex slightly, as if it wanted to reach out to you, yet was held back, rooting him to the spot.

It might surprise him what you would do next, as the first tentative step towards him—although riddled with a faint fright and shaking hands—never wavered, carefully stepping over the bodies in your way until you stood in front of Arthur, ignoring their deathly, vengeful eyes that almost followed you, rolling into the back of their heads when you went out of sight. 

His hands were still shut tight, knuckles white against the suntanned skin that flexed slightly when your fingers ran over them, bringing them higher as you felt the callousness that bruised his hands. They contrasted so heavily with your own, soft against hard, the veins beneath his skin protruding til the blue shades created valleys, irritated and angry. The warmth of your touch contrasted starkly with the cold reality of his actions, a shiver running down your spine when the blood on his hands painted your untouched skin. Arthur didn’t attempt to push away from your touch but stood like a statue, eyes cautious when you brought his knuckles to your lips, closing your eyes as you ghosted over them.

Every breath you took was heavy; each inhale difficult to make as his gaze remained locked onto yours. The bluish shade grew molten on the edges, warming up the coldness of the otherwise sharp hues, staring into yours like he was waiting for something or perhaps fearing something. It made the ache in your heart settle daftly, staring into the eyes you could now recognize from the ones you had known many years ago, see the man you hadn’t been able to remember till now rightfully.

You pulled away slightly when you realized that man wasn’t standing before you but a figment of him, perhaps a vivid remembrance yet not reality. Your fingers lingered on his skin, though, as if afraid to let go, afraid you might’ve lost him as you’d done before even though he wasn’t whole—the pieces of him scattered wherever he went, falling away like fragments with every step.

Brutally and cold, the devil resided in his eyes, each glance laden with sin and searing pain that engulfed like wildfire, encircling and trapping in its flickering, scorching embrace. It was a warmth that turned cold, caressing with its chilling touch, raising the hairs on your skin in protest—an unwelcome sensation that one dared not wish for. Yet, amidst this, your heart beats heavily–not in fear, but in yearning for his touch to linger.

How could your heart betray you so? How could it stray so far from reason, captivated by a man who made you unable to tell between reason and desire? Traitorously, it thudded heavily within, not out of fear but wishfully. It created an ache that settled so deep in your bones it hurt, a pain born of longing—a desire that scorched like a fever. Every instinct screamed for you to flee, to turn away against your now abandonment of all sense and sensibility—to run far away from the life he reminded you of, a life you’d so desperately feared.

You were caught between shame and confusion as if he could sense your pulse racing against the barriers of cotton and leather. Did he notice your heart’s betrayal and the quivering of your lips as your shaking breath rose like wisps of smoke in the cold air? Maybe he did, for as you closed your eyes, unable to handle the downpour of emotions coursing through you, you suddenly felt his breath against your lips as his presence enveloped you, casting a shadow over the world when he drew closer. Your breath caught in your throat as your eyes opened in protest; the space between you dwindled, narrowing to nothingness until you could feel the heat of his breath mingling with your own. 

His eyes burned like smoldering coal, holding you captive as every voice in your head told you to run, hit, scream–anything to get away from him—only to silence when his lips brushed against yours in a feather-light caress. It was far away and fleeting, the small touch of skin almost ghostly as they moved over your trembling lips. His breath was warm, so warm it made heat crawl up your neck, spreading slowly throughout your body.

His careful touch made you wonder when the world turned him so cold. To carry the burns of his soul, hideous and bare, with not a single kindness seemingly left inside him. Was he ashamed of his skin, which wrapped so harshly around his bones, scarred yet strong–cold but fond? Was it right for you to fear the hands that once fell so delicately on your skin, porcelain never having been touched as carefully as he had touched you? There were days you now could remember so clearly, the warm look in his eyes as they caressed over your skin, the naivety and desperation that shone so bright within them—a want so fundamental it made you wonder if it was even possible. 

The years had passed now, and you were both older and saner, but through the shades of blue in his eyes that were covered with darkness that rested like a veil over them, you thought you could still see the same man you had once known, and as his lips met yours firmer if felt like the past washed over you again. And it was good, so good you felt your knees almost give out, stumbling backward slightly but finding yourself not falling heedlessly towards the ground. Instead, the pressure of standing on the ground disappeared as your felt fingers worm their way under your thigh, lifting you in the air. 

Softly, your back met the planks that creaked audibly when Arthur pushed you against them, the material groaning and protesting when he leaned more of his weight against you as if the pressure was too much to bear. You were trapped in his embrace that spoke only of desperation—desperation so raw you wondered if it spread from his skin to yours like a disease, if it traveled through your body, infecting everything it passed in its way.

A certain rigidness could be felt in the hands that held you, their grip tight yet unmoving as if he battled against letting them touch any other part of you. They were there, yet somehow unwilling, like he needed to touch you but couldn’t bring himself to go any further. Perhaps, you thought, he shouldn’t. Maybe it would be best to end it here, not to get any more pain that would surely hurt more than do good. Yet you missed him, missed Arthur so much it felt like a part of you had returned when he was this close as if you could imagine him being who he once was. 

You chastised yourself for it when his lips caressed you softly, letting them push further against yours. The distant sound of chattering and calls beckoned you from afar, the clanking of pots loud in your ears as he had you pushed up against a tree, far and hidden from curious eyes, all your senses focused on him. It had been so simple then, such a warm, inviting touch, the feeling differing strongly against the violence and pain that had followed you until you met Arthur. It was the only reason you’d stayed with him for as long as you had, for never had hands handled you so carefully, so tender; never before had you stared into a pair of eyes that, without a blink, promised to keep you safe and sane.

It felt different yet the same; for now, those feelings mingled together, the brutality shining so strongly within him. Yet, his hands were so gentle, his means to keep you and cradle you in his arms til no one else could touch you so palpable it made every fear you had for him dissipate with the wind that flew through the cracks in the wall. It felt like you held a giant in your grasp, a lost soul seeking the goodness of his past, wishing to erase the bad and expel the vile, monstrous thoughts that he’d been forced upon—expectations he grew up with. How could you possibly blame him? How unfair was it for you to tell him he was wrong, that he acted wrongfully?

Your hands shook as you brought them up to his cheeks, claiming< them in your grasp, feeling him sigh when your fingertips ghosted over him as if the feeling alone chilled his blazing—scorching—skin. Following that means of human nature, his hands that kept you lifted from the ground raised one, caressed its way over the swell of your hips, letting it feel the warm flesh emitting from under your clothes until it followed the path of your sides til it found the valley which where your waist sunk in, letting fingers grip under the harsh bones of your ribs.

A gasp left you, lips parting as if to speak but only inhaling his warm breath, pushing your head away, yet your grasp on his cheeks making him follow you—ordering him to chase the pink, swollen skin that begged for the sensation of more—demanded it. You realized soon that you didn’t have to, his imposing frame pressing you further into the wall, no longer needing to hold you by the tight to keep you from the ground as his lips sensually now found yours again, a deep, dark rumbling—like thunder brewing—could be heard deep into his chest.

It was sickening, the air thick and pasty, like breathing into sourdough bread, the swelling yeast filling all spaces around you, making it difficult to breathe. When you needed air too much, begged for the oxygen yet displeased with the thought of parting with Arthur, he pulled his head away slightly, eyes opening to gaze at your closed eyes, the warm tint of red rising from your chest to your cheeks.

 Opening them, you’d only be given a moment to stare upon his face until he leaned in again, his lips finding their way to the dip of your collarbone, rising to cover the space where your shoulders dipped up to the slope of your neck. Inhaling, exhaling, he breathed in the dizzying warmth of your neck, groaning when he let his tongue taste the humid skin that was scorching under his wet, slippery touch. 

So divine, yet so dangerous to touch what wasn’t his anymore, what couldn’t be his—but he couldn’t deny he longed for you, couldn’t deny that your smell alone awakened the man he had been, your hands reaching out to him like the gates of heaven shining with its door wide open. A cruel joke was what it was, but he had no want to dispel it, to turn it away. It taunted him, laughed at him, giving him a fair bit of pleasure so the rest of his living days would turn to torture, a small taste of what he could’ve had before dooming him to an eternal defeat—dooming him to live the rest of his days a hollow shell.

Your hands found the back of his head, fingers threading through the strips of hair that felt like velvet under your skin. You couldn’t help but push on the back of his scalp to bring him even closer, dismayed when you realized he was as close as he could be, fingers gripping his hair so tight you feared you would leave tufts of it when you released your grip. You only got a hum of satisfaction in return, the feeling of a wet muscle traveling down your collarbones til they ghosted over the swell of your breasts carefully, like waiting on a signal before they could devour, let their touch consume you.

“Arthur,” you mumbled, lost in what was wholly him, the very fibre of your being begging for him never to stop, wishing he’d never done all those years ago.

You only got a low, appreciating groan in return, only gained the feeling of cold air hitting your legs as he snaked his hands under your skirt, hitching it up as he let them run over the bare skin like a starved man, not even an inch of you left untouched. The wind’s chill lessened when his rough, warm hands caressed you, soothing your aching, quivering legs. Almost, it seemed, he mended every bruise and hurt, internally or externally, replacing them with something that felt so divine you were nearly sure you were dreaming when he returned to your lips, his once guarded eyes bare before you.

He took a few steps back, letting your feet hit the floor as you followed him. You did not let him back away further as you walked with him, rising on your toes and writhing your arms around his neck. You were now the one to cage him in—cage him with your want and desire, your love and hope. It would be a terrible defeat if he stepped away from you, and your stomach twisted at the thought, the familiar pang of sadness only love could create.

“Don’t go,” you whispered, feeling his arms wound around your waist as he stumbled backward, his tall frame big and clumsy in the tiny house. He frantically ran his hands over you before hoisting you up again, seating you on the dark wooden table in the kitchen’s front of the sink. Your mind had grown clouded, his whole being morphing into the man that had once caressed you so gently—and when he did now, it made you dizzy, wondering if they were so unlike as you thought.

“I won’t,” he mumbled against your lips, the words hasty and muted when he didn’t want to waste a second of feeling you against him.

“I won’t,” he spoke once more, this time the words only coming out in nonsensical grumbling as he pushed you softly towards the poorly sawed planks after pushing the various knickknacks of it, plates falling audibly to the floor to join the rest of the mess, burying his face into the nape of your neck to once more take a final breath before standing up.

The mess around you turned vile and filthy compared to the wondrous look on your face as you watched him, the familiar pang of pleasure beating so heavily in his stomach he thought he might puke—coupled with the still warm, wet blood now lining the skin of your legs from his hands. A few moments passed where he stared at you, ignoring your hands that reached out to him as the horrid monster clad in black garments and poisonous fingers got to him first, digging its claws into his back, wrapping its fabric over his mouth till he felt himself suffocating. 

It wasn’t until he felt nimble fingers ghosting over his hands, running along the inside of his wrist until they intertwined with his, that the small, supple kisses on his cheeks became his saving grace. Diminished the cruel and twisted devil that rested on his back, all he could think about was the gentleness of your hands, gazing to watch your furrowed eyes filled with understanding—yet a gracious knowledge at that.

“I know you, Arthur,” you whispered, laying your head on his chest. Listening to his wildly beating heart, you found comfort in his erratic breathing.

“No,” he mumbled, resting his head on top of yours. His arms were slack on his sides as your hands passed over the broadness of his back. You gripped the dark leather of his haunches as you slid them down his arms, letting them hang in the stuffy, thick air. “Not anymore, you don’t.”

“Well, you’re still as stubborn as you used to be,” you said softly, the corners of your mouth rising slightly when a grumble left him, acting like you couldn’t feel his slight smile against your head. “Still as warm as you were then,” you mumbled, hands slowly running over his arms that flexed slightly at your touch, mouth opening slightly as they came to rest on the table, trapping you beneath them. “Still as strong,” you gasped when he leaned over you, pressing his weight into you.

He closed his eyes as you spoke, basking in your quiet, warm tone, which he missed hearing. “That don’t matter anymore,” he said, feeling you snake your arms around his neck, arching your body against his, as one of his hands naturally found sanction on your waist. “What I’ve done—” he trailed off. “What I am, it’s not something I can run from.”

You felt your brows furrow, grief finding you at his words that rang so melancholy into the quiet air, the heaviness of his voice alone ripping the tapestry and breaking the windows. As you were about to tell him he was wrong—that although his actions had been so blood-filled and vile, you knew who he was deep down, for you had seen it, seen it in his eyes when he looked at you, seen it in the way he still cared about you—he instead laid you back down on the table carefully, covering you with his body as he hitched your legs around his waist.

Your breath hitched when you felt the rigidness rest against your warmth, feeling it lay heavily under the fabric of his pants. “Yes, you can,” you gasped, hands finding his shirt as you searched for something to hold onto, wishing it away so you could see the skin underneath it and feel it against your own. 

You didn’t gain an answer, only the tugging of your undergarments, the chill from being bare cold against your skin, yet Arthur’s hands warming them straight back up when he tenderly caressed your inner thighs, stabilizing their trembling although never letting his palms stray too far, ignoring the way your legs tightened around him, trying to chase his touch as they attempted to chase his touch but finding his hips pressing into yours further, leaving you no place to go but stay in place.

The motion made a groan, quiet and unprepared, leave him, yet you had heard him. As your hands wound their way beneath his shirt to palm over the broadness of his chest, hips moving against him with the bit of space you had in protest, you looked up to find his gaze planted on you, head raised. Yet, eyes looking down at you, like he was trying to hold himself away, failing to escape from the softness of your touch. 

He was too deep into it now. He felt the restraints that once were so tight around him lessen as he kept staring into your eyes, those deep and fascinating eyes that he didn’t deserve—that no one would ever get the chance to deserve. It was selfish for him to continue, but he wished to feel you one more time so he could restore his memory of you until he turned viler, meaner, the black poison coiling around his heart til he faced its death wrapped up in its grasp.

So, he found himself leaning into you once more, focusing on your hands that now had seen the planes of his back, his muscles flexing involuntarily as you did, his hand hitching your dress up further, letting it go past the delicious curve of your waist, groaning internally when he realized he couldn’t rise it further. So, he let his head rest between your breasts, pulled out from the tightness of the fabric, letting his tongue run over the warm skin. 

You felt the arms of your dress hastily go over your shoulders down your arms, breath hitching when you felt his mouth able to travel lower until it caressed the inside of your breast, his rough stubble like sandpaper against the sensitive flesh. It was addictive, his whole persona making you desperately cling to every bit of him you could manage, grasping wildly as if he was made from thin air, trying to find something that would turn him back into a solid form, something you could touch. 

The slight feeling of him grinding into you made you clasp harder. Your hands found his biceps as the back of your head hit harshly against the table, and your hips wound tighter against his waist. The roof above you blended, the colors of brown and ashen blond mingling as the morning sun shone through the windows, the tendrils of the light casting the room in a way that almost looked ethereal—too good to be true.

And it was, the whole moment was, and you memorized the touch of his hands and traveling mouth, imprinting it in your mind so you could remember it forever. It still, despite his words, felt like he would somehow dissipate, and it turned into your worst nightmare, like the last pages of a book that would send you reeling, biting at the corners in despair and slamming yourself against the wall in anger. It was pitiful, the way you were brought to your knees in front of the man you had not nearly long ago feared—more so wondering if you feared his actuality or feared how long a time had passed, how time changed and ruled people's character, how you didn’t know him anymore.

Or perhaps you feared the way you knew it had been doomed from the start, always known, the very first day he had planted his brisk, blue eyes on you, full of life yet the underlying promise of something that could only be transcribed into pain—of hurt and blame. Perhaps you were afraid of knowing that it didn’t matter how often you’d come upon one another; it would always end the same way, for you were both too broken by the life you laid upon you. The chance of redemption was maybe possible once when you were younger, but you feared that it was lost. And, while Arthur reminded you of a past you’d rather lay behind you, prayed and prayed through years of peril and hurt, wished you could run from it, you perhaps had reminded him of what he’d once had and what he could never deserve to have again.

As Arthur lifted his head, you could see in his eyes that he knew, knew there might not be a time when you could live out your life together, for he too was aware that it might be too late, that the world's grip on the both of you was too firm. Yet you both ignored it, entangled with one another as your limbs melted into the others, your motions becoming erratic and desperate, wishing—no, seeking desperately to bring the other back to life, back to what you once had been. 

“Please, Arthur.” Clawing and almost beating his chest in desperation, the tension so ripe it felt like you might combust, you begged him to let his skin lay upon yours, bare and exposed, as close to each other as was humanly possible. It felt like a border, keeping you apart in a pitiful, almost laughable way. 

“I know, honey,” he murmured, his voice steady, yet the beating of his heart speaking more than his tone ever could. “I know.”

Rising from you for the slightest of seconds, he hoisted his pants down his hips and over his thighs, dark, desirous eyes never taking their gaze off you where you lay breathless on the table that, compared to you, looked like rotting wood. He damned himself for letting you lay upon such misery, to unveil you in such an appalling space that now reeked of death and foulness.

When your hands reached out to him, he let them bring him back down, watching the way your eyes fluttered when he graced upon your pulsating warmth, his own eyes closing for a second before opening again, looking away so he could regain his senses, regain his clouded vision that only flashed with pictures of you beneath him, as if you had surrounded him. That is, only for a short while, not taking long before he had to—needed to— return to you once more, to slip through the warmth of your walls that wrapped around him, the palm of his hands slamming down the table as you clenched around him, the sheer bliss that left your throat burning like embers inside of him.

There was no outlet for him, nowhere to go, so he hitched you further up the table, pressing into you so he could feel you closer. The feeling of your hands in his hair was nauseating, the taste of your skin intoxicating as he kissed the corner of your neck, burying his head into it as he felt your strands tickle his cheek. Slowly pushing out to then enter you once more, he grew greedy, not wanting to spend even the slightest of time away from you.

It was tender the way he moved—careful—and you could only follow his movements as he stayed on top of you, the strokes desperate and short. The small moans that left you rose into the quiet house, your breathing hitching with every thrust of his, almost feeling like the air was being punched out from your chest as you slid further up the table. Arms wound themselves under your shoulders, one hand grasping the back of your head to keep you in place—to avoid letting your head hit the hard surface.

It wasn’t enough; how could it ever be enough? Wrapping your arms around his neck, you gasped audibly when his hips moved faster, now almost grinding into you, his breath shallow and erratic, white knuckles grasping on the end of the table, as if he was controlling himself, unsure what to do with the pleasure that was riding through his body, bleeding into his very bones.

“Come here,” he murmured, gently lifting you so you were seated upon the edge of the table, looking up to meet his eyes. Continuing his tender thrusts, your lips sought him, finding his eyes not closing but planted on you, eyes lidded and chest red from exhaust. A sheen of sweat dripped slowly down his neck to his chest, disappearing through the unbuttoned shirt, the material sticking to his skin like glue. 

Pushing your hips further against his, he groaned, resting his head atop of yours when you placed mindless kisses on his exposed skin, mumbling nonsense as he hugged you closer, his breath hot and ragged. Every movement sent a jolt of pleasure through you, sharply white and burning red, coiling tighter and increasingly tighter within you. The sound of your mingled breaths filled the room, and you could feel his muscles tensing beneath your touch, almost seeming to tremble.

You whispered his name, a plea and a promise all at once, and he responded with a low rumble that resonated deep within his chest—a guttural groan escaping his lips as he pushed deeper, the table beneath you creaking with the force of his movements. The room seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you, just like you were before, just like you once had been—Arthur guiding your movements as if he was determined to merge his body with yours. 

His arms tightened around you when you straighten your back to reach his lips, capturing them in a kiss that left you more breathless than you had already been as his pace quickened. The friction, heat, and sheer desperation were too much to bear, yet you craved more. His eyes were wild, almost desperate, as he responded to your plea, every thrust, every gasp, every whisper filling up inside you as you begged to god it would never end, hoping and demanding that nothing would take it away from you.

Yet, you knew it wouldn’t last, and therefore, you felt the tears burn at your eyelids, the hot liquid falling slowly down your cheeks as you found your back pushed against the surface of the table once more, Arthur’s hand softly wiping away the tear that fell from your eyes as despair filled his own.

“Don’t cry,” he mumbled, a low groan leaving him when you tightened around him, unable to ignore the way you sucked him back in. “I can’t-” He ground his teeth when the familiar coil spread through his stomach, wrapping itself around every organ and bone. “Please, honey, I don’t want you to cry.”

“I miss you,” you gasped under your breath, words choked up as you focused on the way he dragged himself in and out of you, feeling like someone was twisting your guts inside your stomach when you thought once more about him disappearing from you hold like ash, only leaving faint memories before blowing away with the wind. “God, I missed you, Arthur.”

He struggled to catch his breath, his hand finding your thigh as he pushed it further up the table, the new angle making your breath hitch. “I know,” he groaned. “God, I know-”

Was it all a dream, he wondered, would fade away from him as his evil deeds caught up to him, for once letting karma do its part? Would you vanish right before him, leaving him to face the consequences of his actions alone? He only held you closer as the thoughts passed, keeping you tight in his embrace as his elbows encased your head. Capturing your lips on his own, his eyes shut tightly as he tried to memorize the feel of you—the warmth of your breath, the softness of your lips, the way your body moulded against his. 

The time seemed to stand still, yet it passed too fast, the coil wrung so tight it felt like your stomach would combust, pleasure so raw filling you it felt more like torture than anything else, and as you felt his hips ground themselves into you, one hand stroking so tenderly over your brest it felt like shots of electricity zapped its way through your body, you thought yourself tightening around him, gasping for air.

“You’re alright,” he murmured against your lips, consoling you as your moans left you without your allowance, desperate and bordering on pitiful as your whole body felt like it was burning up—like the very flesh was set afire with gasoline. 

“Please, Arthur,” you gasped, not knowing what you were pleading with him for, yet the words left you involuntarily. Perhaps you wished for him to remove the hollow feeling that resided deep within you, to soothe the pain that never seemed to go. Or, possibly, it was deeper than that as you pleaded for him to return to you, to show that he was the man you’d remembered.

“That’s it,” he cooed at you, kissing your forehead softly as you clenched around him. Your hands found his shoulder as they gripped tightly, head knocked back against the table as a long, drawn-out moan left you. Staring up at the ceiling as the world grew dizzy around you, the bliss that traveled through your body was like no other. 

His movements didn’t slow as you relaxed slightly on the table, now running your hands over his skin soothingly, gazing into his eyes as he groaned audibly, chest heaving heavily as he frowningly stared into yours, observing you like you held something he couldn’t have that he strived for, pushing and pulling you closer to him.

Lost in pleasure, it felt like he was gasping for air, the sound of his skin slapping against yours echoing through the now quiet house, only the splatter of rain still audible from outside, yet his ears were focused on something else entirely as you whispered his name, beckoning him to your as your eyes were tired yet warm in the afterglow, looking like something not quite real—more or less surreal—or perhaps ethereal.

With one final thrust, he buried his head in the nape of your neck, hands grasping the edges of the bale as he grimaced, taking a few seconds before letting a guttural groan leave his chest and travel through his throat, muted into your skin as he gritted his teeth. Pulses of pleasure wound themselves through him in intervals, the warm, wet feeling of your walls encasing him, wrapping around him wholly as he, with one last movement, buried himself deep, so deep there was no way out—and god, he thought as his breathing stayed hectic, god how he wished there wasn’t.

Especially when he rested against you, trying to catch his breath, revelling in how you hugged his head closer to you, pressing small, quiet kisses against his jaw as if you tried not to disturb him, letting him regain his senses. Letting a hand travel down your sides, he caressed your skin, feeling the softness underneath it as it went further down to then rise back up again, finding pleasure in the way your breath hitched from the sensitivity as he passed a thumb over your breast. 

You didn’t speak much, for there was so much you wanted to say that it became overwhelming, leading to you saying nothing. How could you, when you weren’t even sure how to describe your emotions, which seemed still but then everywhere at the same time, running through your mind endlessly with no sense of direction or heading? Where could you go from here that would satisfy you both and let you stay with one another despite your differences? 

You wished you could drag answers out of Arthur, torture his mind and soul until he had no choice but to respond, yet you doubted he could even know what to tell you, for he wasn’t sure, and you could see it in his eyes, feel it in his touch that contradicted his mind starkly. Every motion and caress was soft yet reluctant, and you could hear the slight sway in his voice when he spoke to you as if he battled against his will and obligations. It tore you apart to realize he struggled against himself, struggled against his beliefs and wants.

You realized that whichever hands managed to strangle your relationship before would surely do it again. To be quite honest, it did scare you, more than you dared to admit, for you knew you were two different people now, and when your bond wasn’t strong enough all those years back, how could it be now that you both had your inner anguish that clawed itself inside your walls, thrashing and screaming. More so, changing for someone else is a terrifying thought per se, and there was no mistake in thinking that would be the case for both of you. A cruel, horrendous fate, indeed.

[prazinos]

Everyone loves a Ghost mechanic AU, but I raise you mechanic au where the roles are reversed.

Simon cursed as the engine to his truck made the third unpleasant grinding sound within the past half an hour. He didn’t exactly know a lot about cars, so he thought it would be better to just drive to a mechanic. And that’s exactly what he did. 

Pulling into the mechanic garage, Simon stepped out, brows furrowing when he can’t see anyone.

“Hey, hun. What can I do you for?” a voice rang out from behind him, and when Simon turned and looked down, he saw you. A woman who looked far too pretty to be working in a dingy mechanic shop. You were far more fit to be in SImon’s house, all barefoot and pregnant, greeting him with a kiss and a hug when he gets home from work. 

“Hello? You need something done on your truck?” you asked, snapping Simon out of his thoughts.

“Uh, engines making a sound. Like grinding.” Simon muttered, voice gruff “I'd fix it myself but all I know about cars is how to change a tire.”

You seemed satisfied with that answer, wiping your hands on a rag you had tucked into your overalls, before walking over to the front of the old beat up red truck, and popping open the hood.

Simon leaned against a concrete pillar, crossing his arms and staring at you. He didn’t trust easily.

After you’d looked at his car, you wiped your hands again, before going up to Simon. “It seems to be your bearings, sweet pea. Gonna be around four hundred, I can have it done in a few hours” you informed him. Simon couldn’t help the twinge of amusement at the nicknames you’re calling him.

Simon nodded silently, before pulling out his wallet.

“But,” you start, a coy smile on your lips “i’ll only charge you three hundred cause you’re cute”

The tips of Simon’s ears go red, something that happened whenever he was flustered. Been happening since he was a kid and Penny on the playground gave him a kiss on the cheek before running away. And judging by how your coy smile only grows wider, you notice his flustered give away as well.

“Right…thanks” Simon says, still reeling from your boldness. “You uh…You take care of my truck. Real attached to that thing” he finished.

“Oh don’t worry, by the time you come back to pick her up, she’ll be stripped and sold for whatever parts I can salvage.” you quipped, biting your lip as you grinned. The action made Simon swoon slightly.

Simon ended up leaving and going to a coffee shop nearby, talking to Price on the phone about an upcoming mission while he waited.

When Simon got back, he couldn’t help the twitch of his lips at the small amount of grease smeared on your cheek. You walked over, wiping your hands on your overalls this time, not the rag.

“All fixed up for you moonpie,” you grin, “I’m about to close up for the day so you best go on now.” you smile, holding the keys out to him.

Simon grunted and nodded, “thank you” he murmured, taking his keys from your hand, noting how much bigger his hand was compared to yours, before turning and getting in his truck, reversing out of the garage.

He grimaced slightly when the sun hit his eyes while he waited for an entrance to pull out onto the road, the sun was setting yet not all the way set, at that annoying angle which practically blinded him.

So, he quickly pressed the sunglasses compartment above him, Simon’s eyes widening for a moment when a piece of paper fell out alongside his sunglasses. 

“You’re sweet on the eyes, sweet pea. Call me sometime xoxo" with your phone number scribbled on it.

[loveinhawkins]

Steve doesn’t think anything of it when he says it.

He’s lying on Robin’s bed, squished between a diverse collection of childhood teddy bears. Robin’s sat opposite him up by the headboard, her feet knocking against his knees; she’s massaging Pond’s cream into her elbows, and the room smells of cocoa butter.

Steve breathes in leisurely.

He thinks back to just a few months ago, when he’d first gotten the job at Scoops Ahoy—when he’d found out that his only co-worker was going to be a Robin Buckley: who the hell is she? he’d thought with a familiar carelessness, an echo from his junior year. Before the monsters. Before…

“Hey, Robin,” Steve begins. The words come slowly, like he’s wandering through the thought. “Do you ever think that, like… that it’s kinda crazy, y’know, how we ended up here?”

Robin pauses in her massaging. She gives him a dry look. “This is a pretty standard Sunday evening for me.”

Steve snorts. “Not like that, dickhead.”

Although maybe it is like that actually.

Maybe it’s about how he now watches Murder, She Wrote in the Buckley’s living room without Robin’s parents batting an eye; how they said he could join them for dinner beforehand, and then he kept showing up earlier and earlier to the point where him and Robin just spend the whole day together, and it’s never awkward, there’s no quips or whatever from her dad about them secretly being together; and maybe it feels sorta like a fairytale in the best way; maybe he feels a little like Laurie except he doesn’t want to propose to Jo.

And maybe it’s that the whole thing is just insane: that the entire goddamn trajectory of his life somehow took this wild turn, has made him land here, of all places, and he doesn’t even mean it in an asshole kind of way.

He means…

“Guess I’m just… just thinking. Like, it all kinda worked out, y’know?” Even as he says it, he knows it’s a risk—because they’ve not talked about Starcourt, not really, they’ve just talked around it, but this hardly counts, right? It’s just a joke, it’s just… “Yeah, I, um, got my head knocked around, but, it, uh, it meant I ended up here, so.”

He wants Robin to laugh—or at least, he thinks he does.

She doesn’t. She just goes very still.

He feels something twist in his gut; she’s got this way of looking at him, like he’s accidentally said more than what he thought he did.

“Steve.”

Robin crawls forward, clumsy and urgent. She grabs hold of his wrist. He feels the grease of body lotion as her thumb moves in tiny circles against his skin.

“That didn’t need to happen,” she says so seriously, and for some reason that’s almost the thing that does it, the thing that almost gets him to break on a slow Sunday evening in October, because whenever his stupid brain brings him back to July, to blood and pain and a deep, unimagineable fear, he tries to remember how it felt: how he laughed through it with Robin in a bathroom stall, and it would almost be enough to soothe the sting, that he could endure it, could endure anything so long as he could have this, please just let me have—

“We could’ve had the most boring summer of our lives,” Robin says, with a smile that’s a little sad, a little wistful, but always kind. “And I still would’ve…”

He hears them again, those words he’s been clinging to.

Listen to me, Steve. It's shocked me to my core, but I like you. I really like you.

“It just would’ve taken longer,” Robin finishes. Her eyes dart all over his face, and he suspects that he knows part of what she’s seeing: the ghosts of bruises. “Okay?”

For a moment, Steve can’t speak. “Okay.”

Robin shuffles up next to him, sitting right on top of one of her bears—“You’re squishing him,” Steve points out, to which Robin just snorts—and then she’s hugging him, maybe tighter than he’s ever been hugged before.

He lets his head fall forward and breathes.

They break apart eventually. If there’s a wet patch on her shirt, Robin doesn’t point it out—just says there’s cake for dessert, and she doesn’t move back to her spot, so her elbows are practically always in danger of catching Steve in the ribs.

And God, Steve tries to believe it: that he could have all of this without… That he could’ve always had it.

He tries.

[thesightstoshowyou]

Shoot for the Moon

Bo Sinclair X GN Reader

Warnings: None. Just fluff. Who am I?

~~

Keys jingle as you cut the engine. The thrum ceases and a moment of tranquil silence passes before the nighttime sounds rise to life all around. Crickets and frogs chirp, night herons splash, a barred owl calls. Cypress, oak, and maple trees creak and rustle in a gentle breeze. Car door hinges squeal as you slip from your vehicle and your boots swish in tall grasses as you make your way to the trunk.

Carefully, you unpack the telescope, flashlight, guides, and notepads. The scents of damp earth and decaying wood wash over you as you move. Already, the oppressive Louisiana humidity sticks your hair to your forehead, yet you wear a jacket and jeans to protect your limbs from mosquitos and ticks.

Satisfied with a small, nearby clearing, you meticulously set up your equipment. You peek through the eye piece and adjust the telescope’s position incrementally. Little flashlight clutched between your teeth, you scratch notes on the illuminated portion of paper before repeating the process.

An hour or so in, you abruptly surface from the lull of peaceful concentration. At first, you’re not certain what distracts you, but then you recognize the silence. All the wildlife has gone quiet, disturbed by something close by.

You frown and quiet your own breath, tilting your head to listen intently. To your left, a sharp snap; twigs underfoot. Something stalks through the brush, just out of sight.

A bear, maybe, or a stray dog. Your mind whirs with the possibilities, but you will yourself to stay calm. Nothing you can’t handle.

However, when a man emerges from the tree line, your heart stutters. Fear and confusion take root in your brain and you must consciously fight back the panic to keep your thoughts clear.

Where the hell had he come from? There isn’t a town or house around for miles, as far as you’re aware. You’d carefully chosen this particular spot for that very reason.

The man saunters toward you, hands buried in the pockets of the deep blue coveralls he wears. His pace is leisurely, every step measured and deliberate, meant to instill dread. You can’t make out the details of his face through the gloom and the cap perched atop his head does you no favors.

“Yer out here awfully late,” he notes, the pleasant drawl of his voice disturbing the hush of the clearing. He nods toward the crescent moon hanging low in the sky as though you need his help to tell it’s nighttime.

“Could say the same about you,” you respond, slipping the flashlight into your palm. You could blind him if he gets too close.

He stops his advance about twenty feet away, head tilting slightly as he studies you and your equipment. “Folks out this late don’t often have the best intentions.”

Pot, meet kettle. You resist the urge to call him out and instead motion to your telescope. “Just star gazing. I wasn’t aware this was private property. I’ll go—

“Nah, s’not private. Yer good, sugar.” He takes a few steps closer. The muscles in your shoulders tense. You swallow thickly, mind racing. What now?

You speak before you can stop yourself, “I, uh, I just found Saturn. It’s nice and clear tonight. Wanna see?” The man stops abruptly, obviously taken aback. He’s silent for a moment, contemplating.

“…Yer serious?” he questions. His steps are tentative now, cautious. You caught him off guard, it seems.

Roll with it. “Yeah!” You wave him over and allow the excitement to take control of your vocal cords, “And the Milky Way is so pretty right now. We can look at that next….”

He’s close enough now that you can make out the incredulous expression on his face…his very handsome face. The scents of engine oil, burnt grease, and metal hit you and the outfit suddenly makes sense. Still, you question why he’s out for a midnight stroll in such a remote area wearing his work garb.

You scoot out of the way and instruct him to look through the eye piece. He shoots you one more skeptical glance before carefully leaning over and peering into the telescope. You smell him now too: Cigarette smoke, faint aftershave, and woody musk that is not at all unpleasant.

You watch the exact moment the man spots the planet. What you can see of his face lights up and he shifts his body in toward the telescope, hunching more to get a better angle through the eyepiece. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he murmurs, hand coming up and hovering over the finderscope, hesitant to touch. You can’t help the grin that spreads across your face.

“So beautiful, right? Do you see the rings?”

“Sure do,” he replies, straightening and flashing you a hesitant, crooked smile. Your thoughts are almost derailed by the charm of it, but the eagerness to teach keeps you grounded.

“Here, scooch over a sec, lemme just readjust it….” You quickly check your notes then fiddle with the telescope. You’re overly aware of the man standing next to you, but he surprises you with polite silence, hands on his hips, apparently content to watch you work.

“Here, look,” you excitedly tell him as soon as it’s adjusted. With a quizzical expression, he leans down again, though there’s more enthusiasm in his movement this time.

“…What am I lookin’ at?” he asks, glancing over at you expectantly.

You giggle and mutter a quick, “Oh right,” before launching into an explanation. You gesture and describe, the animation in your voice and knowledge on the subject captivating the stranger.

He watches you speak with a mixture of admiration and bemusement on his face, like he can’t believe he’s listening so attentively, but doesn’t want to miss a word. All previous tension evaporates as you show him the charts you’ve drawn and move the telescope to and fro.

“Oh, and you should be able to see Phobos right now—

“What’s yer name, darlin’?” the man interrupts suddenly. You glance up at him and realize just how close he stands. Your shoulder brushes his chest, his body heat palpable. You’re glad for the darkness when your cheeks burn.

You do your best not to trip over your own name when he smirks, sudden shyness drying your throat and making your heart skip a beat. There’s irritation there too, annoyance with his smugness. You’re easier to read than you’d hoped, apparently.

“Bo,” he tells you as he holds out his hand. You turn to face him and accept his outstretched palm. It is then you notice your watch.

“Oh christ, it’s late. I really gotta go!”Hurriedly, you gather up your notes and pack away your equipment. Bo watches quietly and you can tell by the way he stands so stock still that he’s contemplating something.

You don’t give him a chance to decide on whatever it was he was planning when he entered the clearing.

“I, uh…I was gonna come back on Thursday if, you know, if you wanted to learn more.” Bo blinks at you, genuine surprise on his face. You’re just as shocked by your own words. Offering to meet a strange man with questionable intentions, alone, in the middle of rural Louisiana to teach him amateur astronomy?

Have you lost your damn mind?

Yet, the way he’d engaged with the subject and how eagerly he listened makes you think there’s something more to this man. The initial trajectory of your meeting had changed, hadn’t it? There was a spark, a yearning for connection. He wants to learn, and you want to teach.

That, or you’re completely delusional.

“Next Thursday?” You nod at his question. He tips his head again, like he’s thinking. Slipping his hands back into his pockets, he shrugs. “I can try and make it.”

**

He does make it on Thursday. You do too. And again on Saturday. And the following Friday. And Monday.

Sunday finds you seated on a blanket, Bo at your side, flashlight in your mouth and pen in had. Around you, the nighttime creatures sing their songs. Your trusty telescope points to the sky, ready to capture the comet you’re tracking.

You’re relaxed in his presence now. You’ve decided to attribute your initial meeting to simple chance. He hasn’t given you a reason not to trust him, and you’re not going to look for one.

Your name murmured in a hushed and careful tone breaks your reverie. You hum in response before lowering the flashlight and glancing up. The look in Bo’s baby blues freezes you in place and brings heat to your cheeks.

He’s closer than you anticipated. He removed his hat at some point and his dark hair is ruffled like he hastily ran his fingers through it. That self-satisfied smirk you tell yourself you hate pulls at the side of his mouth and there’s warmth in his eyes as they trace the curve of your lips.

“Been tryin’ t’kiss ya for the past ten minutes,” he teases, his hand reaching out to playfully flick the pen in your hand. You release a breathy laugh as your heart flutters in your chest like a trapped bird.

“Oh, um…s-sorry,” is all you can manage, mouth curving in a weak smile. Your teeth worry your bottom lip when Bo slides closer to cradle your face in his palms.

“Looks like I finally get t’teach ya somethin’ huh?” he jokes, lips ghosting across yours.

You huff, “Oh shut up,” but there’s no real bite to your words. Bo chuckles affectionately and smoothes his thumbs over your hair.

His next words are soft, the vulnerability in them meant only for your ears. “You been real sweet, darlin’. Ain’t nobody taught me anythin’ like you.”

“Oh,” you breathe, moved by his admission. The gratitude in it warms you deep in your chest. Bo wrinkles his nose.

“Alright, enough a’ that. Turnin’ me into a fuckin’ sap.” Your next scoff and eye roll is cut off when he finally claims your mouth in a searing kiss.

Overhead, stars twinkle, your silent spectators.

[kekaki-cupcakes]

Hiiii! How are you hanging?

Warning: periods? Not sure if it’s a warning. If it is or it makes you uncomfortable I am so so sorry it was not my intention

Could you write for Leo Valdez being his s/o’s biggest simp and like acting as heater and heating pad especially when she’s on her period and building her lots of gadgets for basically anything he thinks she may need?

Feel free to skip this obviously!

Sorry again and have a lovely day!

Bye! (Ps I have reade your Nike one for about 20 times now and it still is so fun and amazing! ‘Cant wait for the Hypnos one!)

I'm working on so much rn so this is just a short head canon list that sort of derailed but it was so cute to write. I'm glad you liked the Nike one, and the Hypnos fic was just posted I hope you find it <3

And period talk doesn't make me uncomfortable don't worry I'm fine with writing lots of that kind of stuff I just have like, limits with smut and age gap kind of stuff [I'm also a minor]

This header just gave me like, hot water bottle cover vibes and matched the rest of it too, hope you enjoy!

Hotboy/Hotpack---Leo V x gn reader on their period

»»————-　★　————-««

-No but like he’s literally perfect for the job

-Who else is better at laying down as a weighted blanket and heating himself up to perfect temperature and then just literally fiddling with rubix cubes while you use him as a hot water bottle

-He’d be so happy to as well, like it was the best job in the world [which it is to him, he gets cuddles as well as being a good boyfriend. It’s a win win]. Even if you didn’t ask, he’d catch you microwaving a wheat pack while you take painkillers in the camp kitchen and sneak up behind you and hug you. Or maybe he’d lay across the counter dramatically, 

-‘mi amor are you replacing me? Why would you do this? I love you, and now there's other guys in your life!’

-‘it’s literally a hot water bottle’

-‘No! I must win you back!...Come on let’s go make out-’ 

-Then he’d take the hot water bottle away and smother you in kisses [if you felt like it] and drag you back to your cabin. He’d bring your favorite snacks and steal Pipers Ipad, the one with the hello kitty stickers, and you’d watch movies to pass the time. 

-He’s the type to try those different rubbing points on your stomach to help with cramps [gods his hands are so fine, but that’s besides the point] and even if they didn’t work you’d get a massage out of it <3

-So we’ve all agreed Leo is the little spoon, right? 

-He’d act so tough and macho, spooning you to heat up his hands on your stomach but then you rolled over in your sleep once and woke up to him grinning his head off while you hugged him

-Of course you figured it out and now you’re the big spoon because he’s just so small and cuddly, like a teddy bear [even if he’s a bit boney] and when you get cramps it works even better. He’s like a life sized heat pack pressed against you, and he always holds you hands as well because he’s just like that :D

-He has the softest curly hair when it isn’t covered in sawdust and grease, and when he lays his head on your chest or that little spot between your neck and your shoulder you could just run your hands through it. Or maybe put little plaits in it. He’d love that. Touch is definitely his love language, once he realizes he does deserve it, as well as gifts and acts of service.

-Gifts and acts of service is a subconscious thing for him that he doesn’t even realize he does and likes until he spots the shelf next to your bed filled with all the little things he’s made. Gold or silver jewelry [he quickly figured out which one was favorite through trial and error you didn’t even notice], little metal flowers he’d welded with his fingers, which were literally made with love. There’d be things like lollies and packets of gum he’d realized you liked and promptly bought when he went out, fairy lights he’d made in the shape of hearts, candles with your favorite scents he’d made from when Hazel had a wax-y crafts phase, and more. 

-If you ever gave him something in return, he’d probably cry

-But he knows you love him and he definitely knows he loves you [as well as the rest of CHB lol]

»»————-　★　————-««

[essentiallyleaf]

day 13. blindfold kink. with. irene.

446 words.

tags.

kinktober ‘23, idol x male reader, blindfold kink(/fetish/is this even a thing?), sex toys(?), ass play (reader receiving), you are basically just the guy from the peek-a-boo mv, but in a fantasy setting, horror undertones, happy (or, spoopy?) friday the 13th, tags are hard.

notes.

just winging it at this point. improvisedly, leaf.

The last thing you see, before she positions herself behind the wooden chair you’re sitting on and tied to and removes her red top to knot it around your head as a blindfold, are Irene’s swamp green witch eyes. Green like the rage she has stored up for the people who banished her, or maybe green like the hope that tonight will be the start of a new life for her, and only because of you.

“There is one last ingredient that I need to gather from you, boy, and then my brew will be complete.” Not many ingredients she would need to strip you naked to get, you figure. “But where’s the fun in that?”

You shiver as you feel a razor’s blade slide down your cheekbone to your jaw, then as her sharp canines repeatedly bite around the side of your waist, and again as her warm, grease-covered digits wrap around your already erect length, all the sensations accentuated by your lack of vision.

“Not so fast, boy. We’ll need the purest specimen of your seed. And to get that,” you hear sounds of metallic objects dropping onto the thick walnut table, “we’ll follow a special procedure”

The witch opens your legs wider and drags your butt closer to the edge of the chair, then you feel a cold, wet sphere press against your puckered hole. You groan in pain, but no sound leaves your throat.

“Sorry, boy, I’d love to hear everything you want to say later, but right now, I just need my sample. So be nice and quick, and give me what I ask for”

You can only try your best to endure the pain in silence, as the orb is forced (your vision is impaired, so it doesn’t require a lot of focus for you to visualize it) deeper and deeper in your hole, seemingly not needing to be pushed by her fingers. When it reaches your prostate, you feel a surge of electricity propagate through your body. As the sphere starts massaging all around your sensitive spot, Irene’s hand envelops your erection once again, and with a couple swipes of her long, soft, oily digits along your shaft, you give her what she’s looking for. Buckets on buckets of white nectar are squeezed out of you only to be collected in a long, thin glass jar as you scream in silence from the still ongoing stimulation on your p-spot.

“Perfect, boy, now bear with me as I make the brew complete and initiate the ritual. You don’t mind attending to it from there, right? Worry not, for I’ll be back soon; so many more nights of ceremonies are awaiting us”

-

footnotes.

i might be going insane. slowly, leaf.

[pixieimp]

Logan and Kurt have a very different idea of what romance means.

Kurt would arrange a whole day thing if given the chance. His ideal date would include to go to the cinema or the theater, some outing to a fine restaurant where to eat delicious food and to drink even finer alcohol. He would put the cherry on top with a sweet night full of making love.

Logan on the other hand, he just simply doesn’t do dates. Give the man the opportunity and he would go out to a pub to play some games and that’s pretty much it. A nice hard fuck later to finish the fun and a long night of, hopefully, peaceful sleep.

However, Logan and Kurt have been together enough to know exactly how to charm the other.

Logan will choose to watch a film he knows Kurt loves or wants to see when the X-Men gather together for a “Family Bonding Time”. It doesn’t matter if Kurt can replay at this point most of the classic films, Logan would go through all of them only to see his Elf smile and breath the dialogues under his breath. Logan will put his arm over his shoulder when Kurt feels sad about any particular scene and even if “grunting” (only to keep his face as Wolverine in front of all their team mates and family) he will let Kurt snuggle with him in the romantic bits.

Kurt will propose a night out to the Bar when Logan seems about to start crawling walls or to swing a punch to Scot the next time the two of them have an argument. It’s not like Kurt doesn’t have fun at the Bar, it’s the bad cheap bear what annoys him and the grease of years upon years of fast food which sticks to his fur. But Kurt would take Logan and they would order the “best” bear around, Kurt will play darts with Logan and cheat moving Logan’s hand with his tail when he is about to shoot. They will play pool and order definitely junk food and chat about any game that’s going on the place’s battered tv. And Kurt will do this all the time Logan needs it because he loves to see his lover carefree and relaxed.

They actually don’t need a special occasion to have a bit of “adult’s only exercise” they both have a very healthy amount of pretty frequent sex. They both like to please and to try new things so they know they can always have fun there and to show how much love the other in body and soul.

[profoundbondfanfic]

Do you have any recs for Reallyyy long fics? Like 200-300k+ words? That isn't 91W... avoiding that one because I feel like it will hurt me... preferably fix-its? Oh and no a/b/o pls :) thanksss

Here are a few:

Angel's Wild by riseofthefallenone (Explicit, 389k words)

But that’s the whole reason he’s here, isn’t it? He’s not out here hunting Humans. He’s not even hunting deer, or bears, or anything else that featured in Bambi. He’s out here, freezing his nuts off every night, because he’s hunting Angels. Sometimes Dean wishes that Angels were like how they’re described in the Bible. How people from time too old for him to care much about thought Angels were messengers and warriors of God, protectors of Humans. He knows that how they’re really described in the Bible is actually pretty terrifying, but at least they were told by God that they’re supposed to love Humans, right? That’s a thousand times better than what Angels really turned out to be.

Bitch Better Have My Money by Duckyboos (Explicit, 256k words)

How Dean Winchester - mechanic, shitty cook, single father - became the power behind the throne in one of the biggest crime syndicates in the Midwest.

Computer Safety Verse by followthattardis (Explicit, 232k words)

On the day of his 29th birthday, Dean receives an email from his old nemesis: Michael Milton, the guy who got him kicked out of college and stole his girlfriend. The email contains encoded images with top secret CIA/NSA intelligence – and now their only copy is in Dean’s brain. Both agencies send their best operatives – Castiel Novak and Victor Henriksen respectively – to handle their accidental asset and protect the invaluable data in his head. To justify their sudden appearance in Dean’s life, they adopt covers: Victor as Dean’s new co-worker and neighbor, Cas as his new boyfriend. Needless to say, Dean’s brother and his girlfriend are thrilled to see him in a relationship they believe to be real. Clearly, there’s no way this could go wrong.

Four Letter Word For Intercourse by bendingsignpost (Explicit, 228k words)

As a grease monkey turned college freshman, Dean's constantly three seconds away from being stressed out of his mind. It hardly helps that he's finally figuring out his sexuality in his thirties. What might help with that stress is a little phone number (and a big credit card bill). If he can't figure out how to be bisexual in person, he can at least give it a go over the phone, right? (It's probably a bad idea, but he really can't help himself.)

Light me up by tricia_16 (Explicit, 218k words)

Five years after participating in a life-changing threesome with his then-girlfriend and her friend Cas, Dean's single, comfortably bisexual, and has everything he's ever wanted except for that special someone to share his life with. When tragedy strikes, he and Cas are reunited in an unexpected way, and a split-second decision entangles their lives in ways neither of them could have predicted…

Not Part of the Plan by Annie D (scaramouche) (Explicit, 337k words)

Castiel's spent most of his adult life keeping his head down and staying out of trouble. This is a deliberate choice on his part, because as a cousin of the King, he'd rather stay unimportant and forgotten. This changes abruptly when King Michael decides that he has a better use for Castiel: he is to be wed to a noble member of the neighboring Republic, as part of an agreement between their two nations. Castiel knows he has to obey, but that doesn't mean he won't rebel in what small ways he can. Unexpectedly, his actions end up having far-reaching consequences.

one million fires burning by dothraki_shieldmaiden (Explicit, 248k words)

Dean Winchester teaches three classes a day, tutors after school, and chairs the English Department for Lawrence High School. He does enough. Unfortunately, his boss doesn't feel the same and informs him that he has a new job: co-coaching the school's trivia team. His co-coach? None other than the school's golden boy, Castiel Milton. Who Dean can't stand, for various reasons, all of which are valid, thank you very much. And the fact that Dean can't stop talking about the stick up Cas's, sorry, Milton's ass? Completely irrelevant.

Redux by emmbrancsxx0 (Explicit, 386k words)

Dean Winchester is dead. For decades, he, along with Castiel and Sam, has led a peaceful afterlife in heaven. He has everything he’s ever wanted: a home, his family and friends surrounding him, and a relationship with Cas—and he’s bored as hell. Until, one day, Chuck escapes heaven’s lock up and begins capturing souls to regain power. To stop him, Jack sends Dean, Cas, and Sam back to Earth. After so long away from hunting, will they be able to once again find their place in the family business?

Talk Some Sense To Me (Kenopsia) by ImYourHoneyBee (Explicit, 244k words)

Scrambling to his knees Castiel hugs back, burying his face in Dean’s neck, breath coming in fast little pants against his skin. Dean closes his eyes and just breathes him in, barely able to believe that this is real. At any other time in his life, closing his eyes against a threat like Death would be an inexcusable lapse in his hunter’s judgement. Right now, he doesn’t give a single fuck. Death can reap him for all he cares, he’ll die knowing Cas is going to be ok. Alive. “I will see you soon, Dean,” Death tells him, that deliberate voice of his soft enough not to intrude on the intimacy of the moment, “Raincheck on that grilled cheese.” “Thank you,” Dean croaks, propping his chin up on Cas’s shoulder, unmindful of the tears trickling down his cheeks, “Thank you.”

The Closest Thing We Have To Magic by EllenOfOz, TrenchcoatBaby (Explicit, 221k words)

Dean Winchester is a graduate student at Stanford University’s School of the Occult. A naturally-talented mage but a lazy professor and student, he figures he’ll coast through his final year the way he always has: with charisma, charm, and a natural aptitude for magic. All that changes when his thesis advisor, Dr. Castiel Novak, turns out to be the strictest and most challenging educator on-campus. Unfortunately for Dean, the uptight professor is nearly his age and infuriatingly gorgeous. But Castiel is keeping a secret, a powerful talent that’s more a curse than a blessing when he’s targeted by seditious parts of magical society. Can Dean and Cas put aside their animosity—and undeniable chemistry—long enough to instill real change in the magical community? Or will sinister plots and hidden agendas keep them apart?

To Build a Home by intothesilentland (Mature, 383k words)

Twenty-three years of head-over-heels, devastating devotion and love, love, love for the man with bright eyes and dark hair. Fourteen years of friends, best friends, of always together. One moment of rejection. Nine years of apart. Nine years of heartbreak, nine years of continents away, of not speaking, of no acknowledgement, no interaction, no closure, no peace. No happiness. Nine years of Dean’s life entering motions, going through them, constant, cold and mechanic, like clockwork. Nine years of alone. God. Nine years. A lot has changed. And yet Dean still loves Cas just the same. Even if his heart hurts all kinds of different.

Under The Midnight Sun by NorthernSparrow (Explicit, 232k words)

Dean Winchester’s been camp manager of a science research station on the Alaskan tundra for thirteen years. Dean likes his job; fixing the camp trucks, troubleshooting the generators, keeping clueless undergrads and NSF bigwigs from walking into grizzly bears or getting lost in snowstorms — it’s all in a day’s work. It keeps him pretty busy, and this year his brother Sam's visiting too, so he's even busier. So it’s really not any of Dean’s business when some weirdo antisocial ornithologist sets up a tent a few miles away, a dark-haired blue-eyed guy who’s doing a “very long-term" study on birds or wings or something, and who never, ever takes off his big lumpy backpack. But then the new guy starts dropping by camp for coffee and… well, he’s not officially part of camp; he's not Dean’s responsibility; he’s really not Dean’s problem at all, but when a strange blizzard comes sweeping in, Dean gets worried and goes to check. Thing is, Dean's spent years in the sweeping vistas of the Arctic. He knows all about the midnight sun and the northern lights, the ice caves and avalanches, the rough-and-ready Haul Road truckers and the even rougher-and-readier wild animals. But even so, what he finds is much more than he bargained for.

With Interest by everandanon (Explicit, 296k words)

Eighteen, bored, and not quite able to turn down the money, Cas agrees to an ill-advised bet, and Dean's heart isn't the only one that gets broken. Eleven years later, grieving his twin brother and struggling to take care of his niece, Cas finally returns home — only to meet Dean again and discover that the boy he left behind has grown up a lot. And now, Dean seems to have every intention of getting him back — with interest.

You can also check our >100k tag for all the longer fics we rec.

[2dmenenthusiast]

I'm having Graves brainrot so accept this little thought dump cuz I love a southern man

Thinking about Graves before he enlisted, young, southern Georgia boy (its not explicitly stated where he's from but we're going with it) with the charm and smile to match.

Thinking about how he's got rough hands and strong arms from working on a farm, bailing hay and helping his family with cattle. His boots are dirty, blue jeans hugging his thighs, and his most of his shirts are missing the sleeves, cut deep down the sides so you can see his toned waist

Thinking about meeting him at a county fair, playing one of those dart balloon games, and he can see you're having trouble cuz your aim is just atrocious.

So he sidles up next to you, being all respectful and asking if he can help. He places a rough hand on your elbow to adjust your aim, another hand on your waist for no other reason than you're just so darn pretty, and boom, you did it!

You're so excited with the small stuffed bear in your hands, he just can't let you go without knowing your name. And he repeats it to himself when you say it, loving the way it forms on his tongue and slips past his lips.

Ofc, he meets you afterwards, finds out his parents know your family, and he ends up getting pretty close to your father. You see him over at the house more and more as time goes by, helping your dad with little projects around the house. You watch him as he works on your father's truck, in one of those damn sleeveless shirts with grease on his hands. Its damn hot out, so you bring him a fresh glass of lemonade, and he takes it with a breathtaking smile and a "thanks, darlin'."

It isn't long before something forms between you two, sneaking glances at each other whenever you can, slight touches that linger just a little too long. And whenever he comes over, you find yourself sneaking away with him, grabbing his hand and leading him up to your bedroom while your father passes out on the couch. He sits on your soft bed and brings you into his lap, warm hands on your hips and his lips leaving burning kisses all over your skin.

He takes you out in his old truck, cleans it out and makes sure its nice for you, because something so pretty deserves the best. He watches when you stick your head out the window to feel the wind against your face, knowing damn well he should be watching the road. He's just so enraptured by you, a hand on your thigh and the other on the wheel whilst you belt out the lyrics to whatever song playing on the radio

Your first time is in the back of his truck, parked somewhere secluded on his parents' farm. You both crunch yourselves into the backseat, and while it's a little uncomfortable, he's never felt so alive than when he's with you in that moment. He tells you he loves you, wants to marry you, and you kiss him so hard he thinks he forgets how to breathe for a second.

He swears he'll give you the best. Best house, best car, best life. He's so incredibly devoted to you, practically obsessed, that he can't imagine giving you anything but you deserve.

[kelcemenow]

Drive Me Crazy - Chapter 1.

Pairing Travis Kelce x Reader

Words 682

Warnings Nothing at all!

Huge thank you to the Anon who sent this in! They had such amazing words to say about my writing which I massively appreciate and then to top it off, had an incredible request for me! I only have experience with mechanics in the UK, so I've tried my best with this one! "I just recently got interested in Travis K. X reader stories and wanted to let you know, I read all of yours as quickly as I could. They are so well done and I couldn’t help but laugh/giggle and feel through each word you typed out. You’re doing amazing and I’m so glad to have stumbled onto your page. If you have any space for a request, I’d be curious about what Trav would think about having a military (like fighter pilot) or engineer or mechanic girlfriend. I see a lot of stories with him paired with models/singers/social media individuals (which are phenomenal!) but just wondering how he would be with a more tomboy like girlfriend!"

CHAPTER 1

You wiped the beads of sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand, grabbing your water bottle with the other and slowly gulping down the cool liquid. Taking a deep breath, you closed the hood of the car and gave Jordan a nod of your head to signal that you were finished.

"Thanks, Y/N." He said as he made his way towards you, "I knew you'd figure it out."

"Don't sweat it. You almost had it, bro." You smiled, wiping your hands on the towel that hung from your waistband.

"You're the best." He grinned as he got into the car and started up the engine with ease.

The purring of the motor combined with the sounds of the drills and hydraulics pierced through your ear and although you were used to them, a slight headache was looming. You headed to the small garage office, massaging your temples on the way.

The office door was battered and covered in grease from years of being pushed open by dirty hands, and as it swung open, you were greeted by a smiling face.

"Hey honey!"

"Hey Dad." You said wearily as you pulled open one of the drawers of the desk.

"Oh dear." He groaned, "What's up? That Chevy pushin' against you?"

You shook your head gently as you picked up the bottle of Aspirin, "No, no...I finished it."

"That's my girl."

"Just...I didn't sleep great last night and I got a migraine coming on." You tipped out a couple of tablets into the palm of your hand before popping them into your mouth.

"I'll steer clear of you today then...I wouldn't want to poke the bear." He joked as he opened the door, disappearing onto the shop floor.

"Ha ha." You said flatly, swallowing the Aspirin with a mouthful of water.

The bell above the front door rang and you turned around, plastering a fake smile on your face.

"Good mornin', sir. How can I-"

"Yeah, can I speak to a car mechanic, please?" His eyes were stuck to the phone screen in his hand.

You quietly cleared your throat, clearing away your immediate frustration, "Well, lucky for you, sir, I am one."

The man in front of you looked up and paused, blinking a couple of times before his mouth dropped open, "Oh, I'm so sorry, ma'am."

"Happens all of the time." Your lips curled slightly into a smile, "What can I help you with?"

His eyes darted across your dishevelled appearance, almost narrowing with curiosity as he looked at you. Your hair was pulled back and a colourful scarf was covering your hair as best you could. You were wearing one of your Dad's old band shirts, grease and oil stains adorning any space they could and your navy blue coveralls were pulled down and tied at your waist to relieve you from the blistering heat. You blew a rouge piece of hair away from your face and waited patiently as he reached for his keys and gently placed them on the desk in front of you.

"My uhh...car. I was driving down the highway and...it just-" He stumbled.

You slid the keys closer to you, "I'll take a look."

He ran his hands through his beard, "Thank you. And can I please apologise for what I said? Today is not my day and I just-"

"Honestly, it's really not necessary. Like I said, it happens all of the time. Mechanic isn't really a 'typical career' for a woman." You bent your fingers in the air as you spoke, reciting words that you had heard many times before.

The man exhaled a laugh, his eyes gentle yet piercing, "I gotta say, it's pretty impressive. I'm useless when it comes to stuff like this."

You smiled, an uncomfortable silence filling the room.

"So, if I could take your number and I'll call you later today?"

"Uhh yeah." He mumbled, jotting the digits down on the pad positioned next to your hand before turning back to the door. "And I'm sorry...again."

"It's fine..." You glanced down at the pad, "...Mr Kelce."

______________________________________________________________

I know I said that I was going to carry on with requests before diving into another series but this one was too good not to make into a little series so I'm doing it and no one can stop me! This first part is just setting the scene really so I hope I've piqued your interest! If you want to be included in my Taglist for any future chapters, just let me know!

Taglist @rd14 @dandelionwrites8 @keiva1000 @fantasywritersstuff @caelipartem @anacarangel @she-lives-in-her-dreams @kkrenae @kristencochefski1125 @countrygirl120983 @charmed2000 @nouis-bum @cixrosie @delicateearthquakellama @wordsaresimple-imnot @amylouwho9 @queenisa17 @talicat713 @luvvtrent @purecinnamonextract @savaneafricaine @caelipartem @beyxgrande @caitdaniels @ezgirl1108 @vir-tual @lightsoutstyles @macey234 @s294749w @kelcemesoftly @calirindo @livinginmyfantasies @bernelflo @secretmywritingfictionlawyer @killatravtramp @there-goes-thefighter @unicornblueberry @calirindo @tjkelce87 @kristinamae093 @kmc1989 @ajbird18 @triski73 @ctn26 @kgcaputo07 @abby-splace @bobthe-turmpetman29 @cedricbitch @jmamas92 @bellstwd @killatravsworld @marchmaiden @chimchimmarie @blackstabbath6 @fanficfanatic15 @jessiemariebarnes @mmb219 @vanwritesfan-fiction

[lettersfromaphrodite]

[3.42]

― pairing : Yunho x Fem! Reader ― genre : fluff + smut ― content warnings: grease! au - therefore it's the 50's, Yunho smokes weed and has a motorbike, mentions of a car accident but it’s superficial and no one of the main characters is involved, thigh riding, unprotected sex, idk how to describe it?? acrobatic sex??? idk you’ll read it, kinkshaming will not be allowed, inspo for that came from an italian song' MV ― word count : 7.830

― notes : this fic looks familiar?it is! I’m reposting ALL my works on this brand new blog and therefore please, bear with me! as always, askbox is always open and feedbacks are always welcome 💌

«I swear, if I hear that song another time, I’m gonna scream bloody murder.» you addressed your colleague with an annoyed groan as you both were busy cleaning one of the now empty tables of the Frosty Palace, the local diner where you worked. She sighed in silent agreement, both of you wondering why your boss decided to let customers choose what to play from the jukebox even during Saturday nights, when the diner was really busy and crowded with people.

«Here comes trouble,» she announced with an amused smile on her face, as she took the plates you were busy balancing on your forearm, before nodding towards a group of guys which just arrived, busy taking their seats. «they’re all yours.» she chanted, quickly leading back into the kitchen with an amused smile.

«That traitor.» you mumbled, before taking your small notebook from your apron’s pocket and taking a deep sigh. Of course you perfectly knew the loud group that just arrived, since you’ve had a crush on Seonghwa since you could remember. His dark and mysterious aura always charmed you, and you could not help but to grow interested in him. 

However, your mother’s advice not to get involved with bad guys always resonated in your head anytime you caught a glimpse of them and their leather jacket or motorbikes, and therefore, you’ve never tried to approach any of them beside work related matters. Their table was incredibly loud but also incredibly polite to you, and if you were to be honest, they probably were the best and most polite customers of the entire evening. Your only interaction with Seonghwa consisted of your eyes briefly meeting, before eventually, you went back to your previous working hurried pace. Low-key, you were glad that you couldn’t stay at their table for more than the essential time needed to take their orders, because you knew that you probably looked like a mess: you’ve been working for nine hours straight, your hair was a mess – even if tied up in a ponytail, and you were sure you had bags under your eyes due to how tired you were. You just wanted to go home and sleep.

«Are you coming to Jisung’s party?» your colleague – and friend, asked you, handing you a glass of water as you were both spending your first shift break leaning against the counter – few steps away from Seonghwa’s table. You quickly hummed, shaking your head while swallowing the water, silently wondering if that was how god’s nectar tasted like. 

��When is it? I’ll probably have to work.» you asked her, unaware that your small talk had caught the attention of both the boy you had a crush on and one of his friends’.

«Next Friday!» she enthusiastically said, her eyes glancing at the diner’s entrance door every now and then in order to check up if some new customers arrived, while yours kept glancing across the room, to see if anyone needed anything else. «Please, come with me! I promise I’ll cover your shifts anytime you want!» she quickly added, as if she managed to read in your mind the fact that you were once again about to say no. 

Perhaps, you agreed because you were extremely tired. Perhaps, you agreed because as your eyes were quickly scanning the room, you shortly locked your gaze with the boy with faded pink hair that was casually sitting next to Seonghwa, with his back leaned against the wall and his black leather jacket draped over his wide shoulders as he uninterestedly rolled a cigarette while occasionally glancing at you. 

«Don’t look at their table, but,» you lowered the tone of your voice, getting closer to your friend and pretending she had something in her hair. «who’s the one sitting next to Seonghwa?» «Yunho.» she immediately whispered back, without blinking or thinking about it. Then, with a surprised gasp, she simply stared at you with wide amused eyes and her mouth slightly open, the sudden action making you giggle. «I can’t believe you’re not asking about Seonghwa!» she whispered, and just like that, new customers arrived and both of you went immediately back to work.

Seonghwa and his friends left around midnight, and as you were cleaning their table, the bright green bill neatly placed under Yunho’s coaster caught your attention; your eyes widened slightly and you immediately looked around just in case it was a joke, but nothing seemed out of place. You folded the banknote, placing it in your apron’s pocket, and as you were collecting the dishes, you saw Seonghwa and his friends talking right outside the diner’s windows, illuminated by the street lamps.

Surprisingly enough, instead of focusing on Seonghwa, your eyes were curiously looking at Yunho, the tall boy that earlier was looking at you; he was quietly chuckling at something his friends said while casually sitting on top of his motorbike, the cigarette he previously rolled was carefully balanced between his lips as he looked for a lighter in his leather jacket’s right pocket. You felt strangely hypnotized by the small action of him lighting up his cigarette before blowing out a puff of smoke while his head was thrown back, but you quickly snapped out of it as soon as one of your colleagues called your name, asking for help.

The walk back home was quick and mostly made by inertia, due to how tired you were feeling; you mindlessly unlocked the door and closed it with a yawn, before taking off your shoes and collapsing on the couch – since your bed was too far away. «Come on,» you weakly encouraged yourself, trying to ignore the numb feeling of exhaustion spreading from your legs all the way to your body. «take a shower and then go to sleep.» you mumbled, «In five minutes…» you were about to drift off, when Yunho’s piercing gaze flashed behind your closed eyelids; your eyes snapped open, and you immediately reached in the back pocked of your jeans, taking out the 10 bucks tip.

A small smile unexpectedly made way on your lips, wondering if he left the tip because he saw you working your ass off or because he had other reasons to do so.  Funny how a banknote helped waking you up, but you placed it on the coffee table in front of your couch, and headed towards the shower. 

Of course, your colleague knew about your crush on Seonghwa and of course, she wouldn’t shut up about Yunho for the most part of the week. 

«I can’t blame you,» she said, cleaning the counter as you were about to close the diner. «He’s hot. And he seems so strong, I bet he can fuck you against-» your colleague’s – and friend, words were immediately stopped by your hand on her mouth, reducing the remaining of her sentence into an inaudible mess of muffled words. 

«Not a word, or I won’t come to the party.» you said, blushing about the intrusive thoughts that thanks to her, were now vivid and oh, so realistic in your head. 

«Are you a virgin?» she whispered, even if no one else beside the two of you were in there; you shook your head, explaining her that beside your first boyfriend in high school, you’ve never had any other experience, nor romantically, nor sexually. 

«I just completely focused on studying, and now here I am: the best waitress in town.» you joked with a sad smile, mentally going through all the future life plans you had which you eventually had to reconsider, and she immediately let go of the glass she was cleaning in order to walk towards you.

«Come on!» she cooed, «It’s the 50’s, love. Fall in love, live a little.» she smiled, her slim arms snaking around your waist. 

«It’s not like-» as you were about to retort that you weren’t that interested in romance since all you managed to have crushes on were obviously bad boys who carried a concerning amount of red flags everywhere they went, she was quick to silence you, once again.

«I bet we’re gonna have fun, trust me, I’m the expert here.» she winked at you, and you nodded with an amused, exasperated sigh.

Jisung’s party was chaotic, and you deduced that it couldn’t be otherwise since he was the most popular and richest kid in town; he spent the evening next to his girlfriend, and you wondered if you would ever be as lucky as her since, judging by Jisung’s looks, he seemed pretty much head over heels for her.

An elbow delicately nudging against yours quickly made you turn your attention back to your friend, which had her head tilted towards the backdoor and she was pointing towards it with her eyes; she looked quite funny, but as soon as you saw what she was desperately trying to point at, you felt your knees go weak.

Seonghwa was standing with his friends, looking as good as always but once again, you felt your eyes naturally drift towards Yunho’s figure, casually leaning against the wall with a red plastic cup probably filled with punch as he was talking with one of his friends – a little shorter with raven black hair. You honestly tried to prevent your eyes from scanning his body from his chest, to his long legs - which looked sinful in high waisted skinny jeans, and as your gazes met, you quickly looked away as quickly as a wild flame has just burnt you. You felt a blush creeping on your cheeks, your heart picking up speed in embarrassment by the fact that Yunho had basically caught you ogling at him, but also secretly turned on by the sudden smirk that he had plastered on his face.

From there, the night went by rather quickly. Surprisingly enough, you managed to have fun, even if it was probably thanks to the few cups of alcohol you drank during the night; you were tipsy – drunk enough to laugh about almost everything but sober enough to still stand without falling on your face, and so that’s how you found yourself in Jisung’s wide garden, sitting next to your friend, listening to two random boys blabbering and flirting with the two of you.

Despite the fact that you were sitting in front of your friend’s crush with the promise of somehow help her out, you never tried to hide the fact that you were absolutely uninterested in his friend’s obnoxious advances, and your eyes kept glancing at Yunho, which much to your shame, caught you the most of times.

Yunho was incredibly beautiful, and he absolutely had no reason to affect you like that; especially, he had absolutely no reason to look so hot as his lips closed on the filter of the joint that him and his friends were passing around. As they were laughing together, you figured that you probably would have wanted to try it, too.

«It’s your turn.» the boy in front of you said, and your eyes immediately fell on the joint that he was carefully handing to you, the filter pointed towards you and the smell of weed invading your nostrils. You politely shook your head, refusing the offer, aware that there was only one particular person that you wanted to try smoking weed with.

You knew Yunho was approaching you, even if you were not looking at him anymore. You could feel his gaze on you since the moment you excused yourself from the conversation you were having with your friend, and all you could feel was anticipation. If you were to be honest, you didn’t do it in order to get his attention – not entirely, but you really needed a break from hearing your friend and her crush flirting with each other and his friend obnoxiously trying his luck with you; so this is why you walked past Yunho and his friends heading to the backyard, where a significant less number of people were chatting.

With a sigh, you closed your eyes, your back and your head delicately pressed against the wall as you waited; you waited both for your incoming headache not to ruin the little party time you had left, and both for something – anything, to happen right before you had to go back home. Your silent wishes must have been heard from some kind of celestial entity, since few minutes later, Yunho was casually standing in front of you, one hand placed on the wall next to your head, and the other still holding what remained of the joint that him and his friends were previously smoking.

«You’re not very subtle at stealing glances.» Yunho smirked, and you felt your knees go weak since it was the first time you were hearing his voice, and you definitely didn’t expect for it to be so deep and melodic.

«Maybe I didn’t want to be.» you answered, your voice coming out weaker than you wanted, and the alcohol mixed to the weed you breathed made you act a little bolder than you really were. Yunho’s smirk was all you could think about, the cologne he wore still managed to intoxicate your senses even if he was holding a joint between your bodies; everything you wanted was to kiss him, to feel his skin against yours even if deep down, you knew that boys like him inevitably lead to a heartbreak. Yunho looked like everything you were not, and at the same time, he looked like everything you wanted.

«So, angel face,» Yunho said, his voice a little bit deeper than before, he slowly raised the joint’s filter few centimetres in front of your lips, while his eyes hungrily and repeatedly glanced from your eyes to your lips, ��do you want to try this,» he added, nodding to the joint before leaning a bit closer, so that your noses were almost touching and you could feel his soft breath against your skin as he spoke, «or do you want to try me?» your breath hitched at that final question and Yunho probably noticed but, being the gentleman he actually is, he settled for not saying anything and just wait for your answer, a smug smirk plastered on his lips as he made you feel almost naked under his gaze; you had to restrain yourself in order not to grab his leather jacket and close the small distance between you, and you wondered what was wrong with you.

“Am I really that drunk or am I just incredibly horny?” you thought, licking your lips and feeling almost suffocated by the tension that was surrounding both your bodies as the two of you were in your own small bubble.

«Mommy said boys like you are bad news.» you answered with a quiet mumble, knowing he would have heard nonetheless, thanks to the almost non-existent space between you.

«Oh, really?» Yunho cooed, tilting his head, action that you slightly mirrored in the opposite direction while waiting – hoping, for him to kiss you. «Why don’t you find out if that’s the truth?»  you were about to kiss him, you desperately wanted to kiss him, to feel his lips against yours and for him to completely push you against the wall while making out and feel his body pressed flush against yours but of course, your friend had to unintentionally ruin the moment by calling for you, but despite your name being called, neither you nor Yunho looked away.

Yunho grabbed your chin in his hand in a gentle but firm action, the filter of the cigarette pressing against your cheek, and you swore your heart was about to climb its way out of your body as Yunho hinted the action of bringing your face closer to his, but eventually stopped as your lips were few millimetres apart.

«Feel free to come looking for me, when you have an answer.» he mumbled, and you were sure that your lips brushed against each other few times, the faint sensation lingering on your lips from the same moment when Yunho detached himself from you, winking at you while taking a step back and innocently smiling as if he wasn’t about to kiss you in the backyard of Han Jisung’s mansion during one of his parties. You walked towards your friend with a hammering heart, and occasionally touching your lips in order to quench the lust you were feeling; you spent your way back home wondering if you could get drunk on another person’s cologne, because all your senses were focused on the feeling of throbbing desire you felt towards Yunho.

Despite your efforts of avoiding thinking about the party and completely focus on work, you still found your thoughts wildly wandering towards that night every time you had a break. Although your friend kept encouraging you to go talk to him, you always said no, hiding yourself behind the most stupid excuses, hinting that obviously, someone like Yunho could never like - let alone desire, someone like you.

«I’m too inexperienced for him.» you told your friend, which simply scoffed, looking at you like you just randomly grew another head.

«I don’t even know where to start in order to explain how dumb that statement is.» she muttered, going back into the kitchen while she kept mumbling other unintelligible things.

The diner’s entrance bells rang loudly, echoing in the almost empty room on a Wednesday night, and you shortly panicked as soon as you recognized Yunho casually walking towards the counter. It was the first time you’ve seen him since the party, and you didn’t know both how to react and how to greet him; did you have to pretend nothing happened?

«Hi, angel.» Yunho’s endearing smile most definitely caused your heart to skip a beat, and you timidly greeted him back with a smile.

«Are you by yourself, tonight?» you dared to ask, in the attempt of making a small conversation as you were busy preparing his coffee while he sat directly behind you on one of the red leather stools in front of the counter.

«I am. Were you waiting for someone else?» even if you weren’t looking at him, you could hear the smug grin that was dancing on his lips; you immediately shook your head, your eyes locked on the coffee machine in front of you, and you heard Yunho hum, as if he was pleased with your answer.

Contrarily to your expectations, you and Yunho fell into a peaceful and relaxing small talk, and he also listened to you blabbering about how rude and unkind customers have been lately without complaining about you talking too much. Even if he had finished his coffee long ago, he settled for keeping the conversation going, finding you insanely entertaining and attractive to just walk away.

Gradually, you loosened yourself a bit, thanks to Yunho’s natural kindness and his way of talking which made you feel at ease; you slightly leaned on the counter while talking, as Yunho rolled a cigarette in the desperate attempt to keep his mind busy and prevent intrusive thoughts about all the ways he wanted to ruin you from popping up in his mind and suggest things you both might have regretted. As much as you thought that Yunho was a charming and interesting boy, he thought the same about you and so, for the first time in his life, he settled for making things right, following your pace.

«I guess you’re on closing shift,» Yunho said, licking along a stripe that would seal his cigarette, and you nodded as you were busy following the action. «Are you walking home by yourself?» «No, I’m-» «Yes! She is!» your friend immediately chimed in, and you suddenly remembered that you were not alone with Yunho, and she probably had to stand there and suffer from second hand embarrassment since who knows when. Yunho clearly understood that your friend cancelled on you last minute in order to leave the two of you alone and quietly chuckled at your small interaction, the cigarette he had previously rolled now placed behind his left ear. «I can walk you home, if you want.» he said, his gaze never faltering from yours.

Few hours later, you were both sitting on a bench at the now deserted skater park, the full moon watching over you as a pleasing spring breeze occasionally dishevelled both your hair.

«I still have to thank you for the tip you left me.» you said, focusing your attention on your hands, and Yunho simply shrugged.

Of course, the both of you engaged a conversation composed by the most infinite number of topics and of course, you ended up asking him about smoking and Yunho simply looked back at you, rising an eyebrow in surprise by the fact that the request escaped your lips out of nowhere, but also secretly pleased with the fact that you were not acting as if nothing happened few days earlier.

Yunho patiently taught you how to smoke without feeling like you were suffocating, occasionally rubbing your back as he waited for you to stop coughing.

«I can’t die like this, not before I get my monthly salary.» you cleared your voice, wiping the lone tear that escaped your eyes, and Yunho chuckled, his hand moving your hair from your face, so that now your neck was completely exposed to him, like a white canvas that he couldn’t wait to draw on. In order to stop coughing, you tried to focus about the fact that at this point, you and Yunho indirectly kissed through the filter of the cigarette, but it never really helped you, leaving you a bit flustered than you were before.

Somehow, you managed to learn the trick, and as you felt your body relaxing, you also felt becoming incredibly giggly; you knew that you were stupidly giggling at some jokes Yunho said while looking at him with rosy cheeks and a wide smile, but you couldn’t help yourself.

A large quantitative of praises towards Yunho were about to escape your lips but you managed to stop yourself just in time, losing yourself in the boy’s magnetic gaze which made you want more, aware that you wouldn’t even be able to quantify how much was that.

Once again, the thought about boys like him ending up breaking your heart popped up in your mind, but you ignored it.

“It’s the 50’s, love. Fall in love, live a little,” your friend had said, and you decided that, at least for tonight, you could have ignored the part of you which was always and only thinking about work.

Only when the bell tower signalled it was almost three in the morning, Yunho decided it was probably time to go back home.

«But we were having fun!» you whined, taking Yunho’s outstretched hand, which both helped you standing up but also pulled you flush against his body in a swift movement.

«Now,» Yunho smiled, and you had to beg your brain in order to stop the instinct that wanted for you to nuzzle against his chest and breathe in his alluring scent. «but you’re gonna hate me tomorrow, if you don’t get enough sleep.» even if you whined once again, you agreed with him and you both started to walk towards your apartment’s direction.

«Yes!» you giggled, quickly walking towards Yunho’s motorbike. «We’re gonna ride it?» you asked him, stopping next to his bike in order to tilt your head to look at him. Yunho thought that there was no way someone could look so cute after smoking weed for an hour, but yet, there you were, looking at him like you were the most innocent girl on the planet.

«No, angel face.» he said, affectionately ruffling your hair and making you pout. «I don’t have a spare helmet.»

«Next time?» you immediately asked, lifting your pinky finger in the air in an instinctive manner, and the hand which was furrowing your hair a moment earlier, was now lifting your chin while Yunho’s face came dangerously closer to yours.

«Are you sure that’s the only thing you’re gonna ride?» Yunho’s words seemed to spark the fuel that was smeared on your soul, since you were sure that the blush covering your cheeks could be seen from space. As you embarrassedly stuttered while coming up with an answer, Yunho laughed loudly – the sound making your heart do somersaults in your chest, while his long pinky finger gently intertwined with yours, sealing your promise. The both of you managed to arrive at your apartment while you kept giggling about the most random things, occasionally pouting about the fact that Yunho had been smoking too, but he completely seemed unaffected by it.

«Experience.» he simply answered as you unlocked your apartment’s door, immediately turning on the lights and heading for the couch while loudly calling for him to get in as well. Yunho followed you into your small living room, and sighed loudly at the sight of you laying down on the couch, with your arms thrown over your head while the shirt you were wearing was now showing part of your stomach.  

«Yunho.» you called for him in a serious voice, quickly sitting up and waiting for him to crouch down between your legs while sitting on the coffee table. You quickly shook your head as he asked you if you weren’t feeling okay while he carefully brushed  your hair out of your face, and you quietly gripped his jacket, looking at him in the eyes with the most serious expression you could muster. Yunho tilted his head, confused but your action but also intrigued about what you had up in your sleeve, when you definitely managed to surprise him another time.

«I’m so hungry.» you whispered as you were confessing a sin, and Yunho had to cover his mouth with his hand not to laugh too loudly. «But it’s almost four in the morning.»

«What do you want to eat?» Yunho asked back in a whisper, playing along, as if he was implying that your secrets were safe with him.

«I want a cheeseburger,» you smiled, counting on your fingers as you started to list a concerning amount of junk food, «and then, milk and cereal, and then…» Yunho let you finish while looking at you with an incredulous smile, before meticulously asking if you had any cereal in your house.

Less than five minutes later, you were happily munching to your night snack, trying to quench your chemical hunger. You didn’t expect for weed to have such a disastrous effect on you, but you managed to drift off – only after successfully feeding Yunho a couple of times, and eventually, hecarried you to your bedroom and left, not sure whether you’d like to see him first thing in the morning.

Later that night, you woke up with a headache and a bitter taste in your mouth; the fact that you were still wearing yesterday’s clothes was the proof that you did not have a fever dream and last night really happened. Your cheeks flared up in embarrassment, and you rubbed your temples before making up your mind and heading towards the kitchen  to drink some water and have some breakfast.

“I made a fool out of myself,” you thought, completely sure that you’ve blown off all the chances you had to get to know him better, “He’ll never want to see me again.” As you mindlessly grabbed a bowl from your cupboard, you noticed a small yellow paper neatly placed on your kitchen table.

“Hope you slept well, call me.” the paper said, and unexpectedly, there was Yunho’s phone number.

The note with Yunho’s number written on it was carefully taped on your fridge, but you still didn’t call him; four days quickly went by, and you still couldn’t find enough courage to dial his phone number and talk to him. At this point, you had the sensation that, in the back of your mind, the small yellow paper started to lighten up anytime you walked in front of it, only to become more evident and making you feel even guiltier. 

Yunho didn’t show up at the diner, and you took it as his personal way of letting you know that he was respecting your pace, a thing you were glad for.

An almost deafening noise of tires braking on the asphalt and a sudden crash noise made you immediately wake up clutching your chest in fear, sitting up straight in your bed as you tried to understand what just happened. Your heart was hammering in your chest due to the sudden fright, and you scanned the dark room in the desperate attempt to individuate any other noises which could help you identify what happened; as you walked to your bedroom’s window, you also heard the sound of multiple sirens approaching, and your eyes locked with the two cars that crashed against each other almost in front of your condominium. Both the police and an ambulance were quick to show up and take one of the two man back to the hospital, but even if the situation had calmed down and only the police remained with the other man to investigate the dynamics of the car crash, you couldn’t bring yourself to calm down. Work had been particularly busy those days, and the fact that you were stressed was undeniable.  

Perhaps, you were too zoned out to realize what you were doing; perhaps, your brain acknowledged the fact that in that moment, there was only one voice that you wanted to hear in order to feel better.

Therefore, you turned on the lights of your apartment all the way to the kitchen in order to collect that yellow post-it and listen to your brain which, at the moment, was suggesting to do the best thing.

«Hello?» Yunho's raspy voice mumbled from the other line; for a split second, you wondered how cute he looked with his hair messy and pointing in every direction due to sleep.

«Hey.» you mumbled, your voice a little more unstable than you originally planned, wondering if he would have been able to recognize you, and wondering if he would have got angry at you, since you were basically calling him in the middle of the night.

As your eyes glanced to the clock nailed to the wall right on top of your landline, you mentally cursed yourself, since it was literally 3.42 in the morning.

«Hey, angel.» Yunho mumbled again, the sound now a little muffled since he was probably rubbing the palm of his hand on his face in order to somehow get rid of all remaining traces of sleep. «Did anything happen?»

Although you wanted to tell him the truth, that you were okay but a car crash woke you up and you just wanted to hear his voice, you didn't; you spent few more seconds in silence, wondering how could you phrase all the waves of emotions you were feeling.

«Can you come over?» you finally whispered, aware that for sure he didn't manage to hear you, for your voice was almost inaudible; you quickly cleared your voice, ready to repeat your sentence a little louder when Yunho's voice made you close your mouth once again.

«Okay,» you heard him sigh, «I'll be there.» Yunho hung up and still, you stood there, listening to the robotic and redundant sound of the other line being hung up, while staring at the wall as if it was the most entertaining thing ever.

Yunho arrived more or less twenty minutes after your call, the loud rumble of his motorbike announcing his arrival. «I don't know why, but they're not letting anyone in, unless they live here,» Yunho's groggy voice greeted you as he closed the front door behind himself. «If the police officers come and ask, we're living together.» As if you were in autopilot, you quickly walked towards him, snaking your arms around his waist and trying to calm yourself down with his presence. You knew you were acting like an idiot for being scared like that but you couldn't help yourself, the pent up stress made you overreact and you were glad that Yunho still decided to show up after you basically ghosted him because you decided to shy up and act like a coward.

«Come on, let's go back to sleep.» Yunho was taller than you, therefore he easily towered over your frame and so, as he gently hugged you close to his body while placing his chin on the top of your hand, you felt safe.

It was funny how you were standing in your apartment in the middle of the night, clinging to the stereotypical boy your mom always warned you about, as if he was the only way you had to feel better. Inexplicably, Yunho's strong arms made you feel like you wanted to build a home in there; like those wooden houses built on trees some little kids had, where they hid when they wanted to have their personal space and live safely in their own world for some time.

Secretly, you wished you could stop time in order to live this moment for eternity, but deep down, you couldn't help but wish for these moments to become your new, daily routine.

Obviously, you didn't know yet, but Yunho wanted pretty much the same as you did. In his eyes, in that very moment, you looked so small and helpless that he felt the desire of protecting you from everything.

Yunho hanged his leather jacket before the two of you eventually ended up cuddling on your bed, facing each other while laying on your sides; Yunho's right leg was slightly between yours while your left leg was resting over his thigh, your naked skin pressed against the rough fabric of Yunho's denim jeans while his fingertips gently caressed the expanse of your exposed thigh.

Before he arrived, you wondered if the perspective of sleeping with a boy while being so underdressed – a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, was the right choice but you didn't really want to change your pyjamas. Now, Yunho's warm hands made you want to completely feel his natural warm skin against yours.

«Thank you.» you whispered some time later, a faint and tranquil murmur into the comfortable silence you were sharing.

«It's okay, angel.» Yunho sighed, holding you a little closer to his chest. «Anytime you need me, you holler, and I'll appear.» his words were nothing but sweet, and of course, you believed him.

«Don't go away this time.» you mumbled right against Yunho's collarbone, your breath ticking the skin that the wide collar of his shirt exposed. Yunho's answer came in the form of kissing your forehead, and you slowly drifted off to sleep, lulled by the other's slow rhythmic breathing and the feeling of his warm body enveloping yours.

The sound of your alarm woke up the both of you in the middle of the morning. Yunho – now almost completely laying under you, groaned in protest before effortlessly turning the both of you around in a swift and quick movement.

«Five more minutes.» he whined, his voice unexpectedly deep and hoarse. As much as you wanted to chuckle since that action was incredibly cute, you stayed there, almost petrified, as Yunho was now laying with his head on your chest and his legs between yours; he manhandled you so easily you had to close your eyes in order not to give in to the sensation of the heat that was pooling into your panties and consequently to the thought of searching for relief on his firm thigh.

«Why is your heart beating so fast?» Yunho asked, rubbing his eyes as he propped himself on his elbow, now almost completely awake. If you thought that Yunho looked handsome on a daily basis, now you were completely sure that he just earned the status of "breathtaking": his lips were plump and rosy because of sleep, and his cheeks were painted by a faint blush, his hair were dishevelled and looked pretty much untameable. You were used to seeing him surrounded by the "bad boy" aura, you'd never expect to find him so cute you'd want to squish his cheeks.

«Do I make you nervous?» he asked, a mischievous grin on his lips as his cheek was now placed on the palm of his hand while he kept hovering above you. «Well, yes.» you admitted, your glance quickly drifting away from his. «You're... you.» at this point, not only you lost all the ability to think properly, but you were also sure that Yunho thought you were completely dumb.

However, he simply hummed, his long fingertips hovering above your lips which naturally parted; as you unconsciously licked your lips, the fact that Yunho was following the action didn't go unnoticed.

«You'd probably want to be careful, angel.» Yunho's voice made you imperceptibly close your legs around his thigh. «Just because I like you doesn't mean you should try your luck.» his fingers were now under your chin, the feeling of the cold ring he wore on his index finger making your head spin with different scenarios which ended up in the same sinful way. «Otherwise, I won't hold back.» Yunho's words were all it took for you to tangle your hand in the front of his shirt; you weren't pulling him closer nor away from you, you just needed another conformation that this was happening for real. Yunho just admitted he liked you, feeling which definitely was reciprocated; anticipation was clouding your senses, and Yunho prevented you from daydreaming any further by purposely tensing up the muscle of his thigh just to tease you, but it simply ended up in you trying to suppress a needy whine.

«Then don't.» your voice trembled as your eyes locked with his, happy and relieved about the fact that the lust and the passion you found there were matching yours.

«Remember, angel,» Yunho shook his head with an amused grin. «That you asked for it.» you didn't have time to question his words, since his lips immediately found yours in a needy, passionate kiss. You completely submitted to him; you didn't dare to try and take control, you didn't want to. All you wanted to do was to lose yourself on the feeling of Yunho's lips moulding with yours, his teeth nibbling your lower lip and his tongue moving with yours in a messy and passionate pace. You felt the mattress dip under his knee as he balanced his weight on his arms, action which made his thigh press a little more roughly against your heat; instinctively, you groaned, arching your back in the desperate attempt to press yourself even more against the rough fabric of his denim jeans.

That action wasn't nor casual, nor innocent, and you felt Yunho's smug smile against your lips, before he leaned down to kiss your jaw and eventually, leave a trail of kisses for as much as the collar of your shirt allowed. Your mind has already flown on cloud nine long ago; during these years you never really missed sexual contact nor you ever felt the need for a relationship but there was something unexplainable about Yunho's touch that made you feel like you wanted to make up for all the time you lost. And of course, you wanted to do it with him.

«Yunho,» your voice was somewhere in-between from a whine and a surprised squeal as his right hand roughly pulled your waist upwards and towards him; he simply hummed, lost in the feeling of enjoying all the reactions your sensitive body had.

Despite you were most definitely loving how good Yunho was making you feel, you felt the desire of making him feel good as well and so, your fingers gradually loosened from the grip they had on Yunho's hair and gradually lowered until the palm of your hand was completely placed on his half hard length. A wave of pride washed over you as he instinctively jerked his hips forward in your hand, burying for a moment his head in the crook of your neck with a loud groan – which worked wonders for the situation in your now completely wet panties.

«You'll have plenty of time to make me feel good,» Yunho eventually swatted your hand away, pinning it against the mattress. «Today is about you.» he added, proving his point by digging his knee against the mattress so that the friction between your legs would increase. Yunho's sentence somehow boosted your confidence and if his right hand were guiding the movement of your hips for a brief fraction of time, now it settled for hoisting your thigh a little higher, his nails sinking in your soft skin as you grinded against his thigh while your lips were occasionally moulding against each other. Your shorts now completely exposed your inner thighs and the sensation of the rough fabric of Yunho's jeans made your skin almost feel sore, but anytime he tensed the muscle of his thigh, you stopped thinking about it, since the sensation of your orgasm building up thanks to someone else and not your own fingers were all you could focus on.

Yunho, on the other hand, was focusing as much as he could in order not to come at the sight of you falling apart so rapidly under him and because of him. It would have been embarrassing for him to come untouched, but the way you were repeatedly whining against his lips while frantically gripping at his shirt or his hair just to anchor yourself at something made him want you even more.

Yunho's thoughts got interrupted by a sinful loud moan escaping your lips and your body tensing up before relaxing once again, collapsing on the bed with your eyes closed while you were trying to focus on slowing down your breath. As you came, your thighs squeezed Yunho's in a brief but tight hold, brushing against his length in the process, and Yunho was sure that precome was now staining his boxers.

Feeling your heart hammering in your chest for two completely different reasons, you reached out to peck Yunho's lips in a silent and affectionate “thank you”, and he smiled before repeating the gesture. «Are you sure you-» «Yes,» Yunho answered with a small nod. «I could use the bathroom, and then we could cook breakfast?» Yunho somehow answered in a questioning tone, unsure whether you wanted to spend more time with him. You simply nodded, checking the watch on your nightstand before giggling. «More like lunch.» «Brunch?» Yunho answered as, following your gaze, noticed what time it was.

«Just so you know,» Yunho casually addressed you, pointing at you with his index finger as he was still holding his glass of water. «I bought a spare helmet, so I might just let you ride with me.» You nodded, eagerly, happy that Yunho wasn't backing down on the pinky promise you made.

Few days later, you told everything to your friend, which had to stop drinking because she was somehow managing to squeal while doing so. «Yunho has never let anyone ride his bike,» she said in an excited voice, «not even his friends.»

Not only Yunho took you on an insane amount of dates but also, every time his work shifts allowed him to, he'd pick you up from work because he didn't want to let you walk back by yourself. Spending your free days together had become a habit and so, three months later, there was a little corner in your wardrobe only for Yunho's spare clothes. Yunho managed to make you feel the happiest girl in the world, to make you feel desired and loved, and the night Yunho confessed you that his feelings were the same as yours, you felt do happy you swore you could become the sun of a whole new solar system.

Yunho also confirmed your friend’s words: you were indeed the first one he ever let on his bike, and you both loved this privilege but most importantly, you loved to cling to his back to your heart’s contents and enjoyed the little forms of affections he still managed to show. Anytime you were waiting for the traffic lights to turn green once again, he’d mindlessly caress your leg, all the way from your ankle to your thigh; sometimes he’d just trace with his thumb over the top of your hands which were intertwined on his abdomen.

You never thought – probably not even in your wildest fantasies, that one day, you’d be sitting right in front of Yunho on top of his Harley Davidson – your back pressed against the fuel tank and your legs around his waist, as his length rhythmically disappeared inside you.  Obviously, you never suspected he could hide some kinky meaning behind the sentence: “probably you’d be more comfortable wearing a skirt”, but still, there you were, trusting Yunho and letting him fuck you on top of his motorbike while both your helmets were safely placed on the floor and you had the perfect view of the sun setting in the sky due to being on a non particularly popular hill and therefore, completely alone.

«What if someone sees us?» you whined, the sensation of Yunho filling you up so perfectly and roughly – even if his pace was slow and teasing, momentarily clouding your senses and making you think that you probably wouldn’t have actually cared, not when you were so close to your release and Yunho looked like Apollo himself as the lights of the setting sun were dancing behind his back.

«Why, would you care?» Yunho asked back with a groan, a smug smile on his lips and his hands tightly gripping your waist under your high-waisted skirt; the chuckle you wanted to answer with died in your throat as he changed pace in the same moment you decided to sit up a little bit straighter, holding his shoulders to balance yourself. It was undoubtedly messy, and the fact that Yunho was strong enough to effortlessly fuck you in those circumstances made the warm sensation of an approaching orgasm pool even faster in your lower stomach. 

Both you and Yunho managed to almost come together, between breathless chuckles – due to the fact that you were more than willing to try new things as long as you were together, strained moans and passionate kisses. 

«My legs are numb.» you breathed, leaning once again your back on the fuel tank as Yunho was looking at you as you were a work of art, «I can’t get down.» you added, smiling before randomly erupting into a series of giggles, toying with the sleeves of Yunho’s leather jacket. 

«That’s my favourite thing to hear, angel.» Yunho smiled at you with a mischievous wink as he was gently running his fingertips on the expanse of your thighs.

Yunho loved how willing you were to be bad for him, just as much as you loved how willing he was to be good for you.

all works © lettersfromaphrodite

Do not modify, repost, translate or plagiarize my stories. I only publish my works on tumblr & AO3.

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[marblemoovt]

Ok, but hear me out. Sugar Daddy Demons.

I’ve only ever seen the original pilot, not the series, but the hazbin brain rot is real. I saw a post ages ago about having a sugar demon (picture above) and it makes me wonder what the scenario would be like with Lucifer or Alastor.

Might write a proper oneshot/series for it, but for now have some Luci headcanons for the first meeting. With a few tweaks it could work for Alastor.

Sugar Demon! Lucifer Headcanons

It had started off as an accident, summoning the king of hell

A dusty leather bound tome found in the attic of a house you bought for way too cheap

The cover was littered with intricate symbols and a beautifully carved goat head

Despite your best attempts, the book wouldn’t open, like someone had glued the damn thing shut

So you decided to bring it down to use as decoration, maybe spook your houseguests with the rumours that a cult used to live here

After some elbow grease, you managed to remove all the dust and grime from the leather

You flop down onto your bed and admire the clean lines on the cover. Until the cover starts getting bigger and bigger

*Thwap*

The heavy tome falls flat on your face, your forehead and nose bearing the brunt of the force.

You sit up, book sliding onto your lap as pain floods your face.

Red droplets splash onto the cover, and you wipe your nose with one hand and the other smears the blood on the book in an attempt to clean it.

You start to think the book caused some brain damage when the lines fill with a deep red, contrasting against the black leather

You jump up, the book tumbling onto the floor and clatters as it opens to a random page.

Guess all it needed was a good smack

Out of curiosity, you read aloud the open page. The foreign words twist your tongue into knots.

The tome shakes and blinds you with a bright light. Where’s the dark mode on this thing??

You toss the book away from you in a panic, and suddenly there’s a very confused… man? He’s sitting in the middle of your floor surrounded by an alarming amount of rubber duckies.

He certainly didn’t look human, but you recognized a few biblical motifs in his outfit. Honestly, he was kinda cute. Blonde hair, rosy cheeks, and a quirky little ringleader getup. What’s not to like?

Guess a cult really did live here before (What did they worship though? Some duck deity?). If you had to guess, you just successfully completed your first summoning ritual. Would you exchange your soul for immense power? Bottomless wealth? To have your back blown out by a demon—specifically him?

You dismiss the last idea.

“Nice ducks,” is the first thing that comes out of your mouth, and you immediately want to kick yourself. So smooth. Look at you, master of first impressions. If you’re lucky, you won’t be obliterated on the spot and have your soul dragged to the underworld.

Red irises sweep the room until they land on you, narrowing to study you in detail. His mouth slowly stretches into a wide grin, revealing rows of razor sharp teeth.

You swallow the nerves bundling in your throat and return a wobbly smile.

What the fuck did you just get yourself into?