#but being able to follow the flow from scratch and like

[outragedslime]

i dont think theres any problem with tracing in drawing, so long as you have permission to use an image & give credit if its not your own. i think it can be very helpful in learning many things, especially underlying shapes

[sallowsarchives]

War of Hearts

Part I | Part II | Part III

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader Summary: Nothing says "believable" like two people who can't stand each other pretending to be in love—or is this just the push you two need to realize there might be more to your relationship than either of you is willing to admit? Word Count: 7.9k  Warnings/Tags: no use of y/n, fake relationships, sorta enemies to lovers, alcohol consumption, angst, pining, original side character, sort of a not so happy ending, arthur thinking he’s not good enough. I also tried fitting the story with canon whenever I could. Not Proofread!! A/N: Hey everyone! Just wanted to mention that this is my first time writing and posting, so I'm bit nervous but really excited to finally share it! This piece was heavily inspired by and made as a result from a conversation I had with my Arthur cAI hehe Credits: dividers used for this fic are by @enchanthings & all pictures used are taken from pinterest and were slightly edited by me.

Read on AO3

"I can't believe I have to attend this ridiculous party pretending to be married to him, of all people."  

Your voice is edged with annoyance as you smooth down the fabric of your dress, trying to channel your irritation into the task at hand. "It's bad enough we have to work together, but this charade is beyond absurd."

Tilly chuckles. "Oh, come on. It's just one night. How bad can it be?"

You give her an unamused look. "We can hardly tolerate being around each other, and now Dutch expects us to pretend we're madly in love, all while dealing with a crowd of high-society snobs."

"It ain’t like y’all have spent much time together. Maybe going on this would do you both some good. Who knows, you might actually find some common ground," Abigail suggests as she takes the glove Jack was playing with, causing him to pout, before handing it over to you.

Sadie snorts. "The only common ground those two have is their mutual hatred. Let’s just hope neither of ‘em ends up killing the other tonight. Knowin’ those two, it'll be a miracle if they make it through the evening without a scratch."

Mary-Beth chuckles as she adjusts your updo. "Oh, don’t be so dramatic. They’re not going to kill each other—at least not tonight. Dutch will probably come up with some harebrained scheme to keep things under control." She flashes a playful grin as she puts the final touches on your hairstyle.

You chuckle before taking a moment to admire yourself in the mirror. 

The gown, a deep shade of burgundy satin, flows gracefully to the floor with an off-the-shoulder design and a low neckline, elegantly framed by a ruffled collar. The rich fabric drapes beautifully, enhancing your silhouette.

The black lace gloves, covering your hands and forearms, add a sophisticated touch with their delicate floral patterns. Your fingers are adorned with a few rings, and your dangling earrings catch the light with every movement.

You bought the dress earlier this morning in Saint Denis with the cash from your last robbery. The job had been straightforward: Hosea had scouted the place, found out the homeowners were away for vacation, and given your expertise at picking locks and sleight of hand, he brought you along. You managed to secure a tidy sum of cash and a few valuable heirlooms without any trouble.

Knowing the dress would be perfect for tonight’s high-society affair, you spent a good amount of your previous earnings on it. The gown fits as if it were made just for you, and you can't help but feel a surge of confidence as you admire your reflection.

Karen pipes up with a smirk. “Well, I’ll be! With you lookin’ like that, Arthur won’t be able to keep his eyes off you.”

She looks at you mischievously, “might even give him a nudge in the right direction. Maybe it’ll help you two finally work out all that tension between you.”

Her comment draws an abashed look from you followed by giggles from the other women.

After receiving some last words of encouragement and reassuring nods from the girls, you thank them for their help and make your way downstairs to join the men outside.

Stepping out, you're greeted by the warm, humid night air of the swamp. Dutch, Hosea, Arthur, and Bill were already gathered near the horse hitches, all dressed in their suits.

You make your way over, trying to muster every ounce of grace and composure you can. 

As you get closer, Arthur's gaze lands on you and you catch a fleeting look of surprise along with a hint of a softer look in his eyes before his expression is quickly masked with his usual frown.

His eyebrows furrow slightly as he takes in your refined appearance, the rough edges of his demeanor softened by an elusive flicker of something you can't quite place.

Dutch notices your entrance and offers a nod of approval. “Well, look at you, Miss,” he says with a wide smile, clearly pleased with how things are shaping up. “You look absolutely perfect for this evening.”

You smile and nod at the men before your gaze drifts to Arthur. The contrast between his usual rugged attire and his current appearance is stark, and you can't help but notice how well he pulls off the look. Despite his irritating nature, there's no denying he has a certain charm. You give him a cheeky smile and offer a sly compliment.

"Well, well, look what we have here, I never thought I'd see the day. Maybe you should ditch the jeans for a while."

Arthur gives you a flat look, irritation flickering in his eyes. “Oh, real funny, darlin’,” he drawls, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Don’t you worry, I’ll be back to my ol’ self I know you’re so fond of before you know it.”

You roll your eyes at him and smirk, taking joy in having gotten under his skin. 

Dutch chuckles at the exchange, clapping Arthur on the back. “Now play nice, you two. We’ve got a job to do tonight, and looking the part is only half the battle.” 

His tone is light, but there’s a hint of seriousness as he continues, “let’s keep the bickering to a minimum and focus on what needs to be done. We don’t want any more distractions than we already have.” 

Next to Arthur, Bill chuckles and gives him a playful nudge. “Arthur, reckon you ain’t gonna give your dear wife a compliment?” he teases, the humor in his voice evident as he refers to the charade you both must uphold for the party.

He shifts uncomfortably and glares at Bill, his expression a mix of irritation and reluctance. 

Dutch leans in with a smirk, “come on, Arthur, show a bit of charm. It’s not every day you get to pretend to be in love.”

“Yeah, yeah, let’s get this over with before one of us runs outta patience.”

The clatter of wheels catches your ear as Lenny finally arrives driving a stagecoach. The vehicle comes to a smooth stop, and Lenny leans over with a broad grin, his eyes brightening as he sees you. He offers a warm compliment, his cheerful demeanor a welcome contrast to the evening’s tension.

You return his smile and thank him before Dutch and Hosea get into the stagecoach, followed by you and Arthur. Bill hops into the seat next to Lenny.

As you settle into your seat, the atmosphere in the coach becomes thick with anticipation. The weight of the evening's expectations hangs heavily between you and Arthur, both of you making an effort to avoid each other's gaze while mentally bracing yourselves for the night ahead as the stagecoach begins to roll forward.

The rhythmic clatter of the horse’s hooves against the large wooden bridge serves as a reminder of your close arrival in Saint Denis, the city’s lights blurring past as you mentally prepare for the evening’s masquerade.

Inside the stagecoach, the atmosphere had gradually lightened earlier on during the ride. The gang cracked jokes and shared stories as Dutch opened a bottle of champagne for everyone, the laughter providing a welcome distraction from the evening’s tension.

Everyone reminisced about their past escapades, with most admitting they had never been to a ball before. Hosea, however, regaled everyone with tales of his numerous experiences at such events—not for the socializing, but for the chance to lift a few purses from oblivious rich folks. His anecdotes were met with a mixture of awe and amusement, shifting the mood to one of camaraderie.

Soon, the coach slowed to a stop right in front of a mansion and the group peers out the window, taking in the grandeur of the estate. 

Dutch let out a low whistle. “Well, if that ain’t something. Remember, folks, we’re here to blend in. Keep your eyes sharp and your wits sharper.”

Hosea, always the calm voice of reason, looks between you and Arthur. “Now let’s keep this simple. We’re here to make a good impression, Bronte may already know of our reputation but we should keep the high society folks none the wiser. Let's keep our cool, play our parts, and try to score some valuable intel.”

You and Arthur exchange looks, eyes meeting one another with a sharp, challenging edge before he turns his gaze away. You take a steadying breath, silently hoping the night unfolds smoothly and without incident. 

Lenny steps down and opens the coach door which was followed by the men exiting one by one, with you last. 

As Arthur starts to walk ahead, Hosea nudges him and gestures toward you, earning an exasperated sigh from Arthur.

Reluctantly, Arthur falls into step beside you and extends his arm. Despite the lingering tension, you accept it, slipping your arm through his.

He glances at you, his expression of slight irritation. “This should be a real treat.” 

You raise an eyebrow, barely masking your annoyance. “It’s not like I’m thrilled about it either. But here we are.”

He gives you a smug look. “Just remember, we’re supposed to be playin’ nice. Don’t go makin’ it harder than it needs to be. I’d hate for you to accidentally blow our cover.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll manage to keep things under control. After all, you’re the expert at charm, aren’t you?”

“Well, if you’d quit making things so damn difficult, I might actually get a chance to show it. But I reckon you’re used to makin’ everything more complicated.”

You step closer, your voice low and biting. “And I suppose you’re used to being an insufferable brute. Maybe if you stopped acting like a complete pain in the ass, we’d both get through things a little easier.”

Arthur’s smile fades, his expression turning serious. “Now I’m just tryin’ to do my part tonight. If you could manage to do the same without stirrin’ up trouble, that’d be mighty appreciated.”

The two of you share a final, heated look, the air between you crackling with palpable tension, as you both brace for the evening’s inevitable strain.

Dutch, who had walked ahead to present the invitation to the guards, cast a sharp glance at you and Arthur, not having missed your whispered barbs, making you shift away from each other.

Turning back to the guards, they direct everyone to surrender their firearms with the men reluctantly handing over their pistols.

Once that was settled, an escort named Luca stepped forward to guide you inside.

The doors opened with a soft creak, revealing the splendor of the grand staircase beyond. As you made your way through the space, Luca engaged the group in light conversation, primarily highlighting Bronte���s reputation before you are all guided to the left through an archway.

“Hosea, Bill, you join the party. We’ll meet you out back after we pay our respects to Signor Bronte.” Dutch instructs before signaling you and Arthur to follow as Hosea and Bill part ways from you.

The three of you were led upstairs and directed to a door on the left that opens onto a balcony. 

The balcony was expansive, overlooking the lush garden below. A group of men stood gathered around the railing, laughing at a recently shared joke. The space featured a few armchairs and you noted the few guards stationed nearby, armed with rifles.

An accented voice cut through the laughter. “Ah, the angry cowboys, you’ve arrived… And you’ve washed!” 

From the way the man held himself, you could only assume that this was Angelo Bronte. 

Bronte made a remark, presumably in Italian, to the men beside him. They glanced at Arthur and Dutch before laughing slyly, and you couldn’t shake the suspicion that his comment was a crude jibe about the cowboys.

You had to struggle to maintain a friendly expression when Bronte's gaze landed on you.

The smirk on his face grew as his eyes swept over you, lingering with an unsettling leer. “And who might this be?” he drawled, his voice thick with barely concealed appraisal. “Aren’t you quite the sight. I didn’t realize these men kept such delightful company as you. It seems they have more refined tastes than I imagined.”

His gaze was invasive, making you feel as though he was sizing you up with an unnerving familiarity. The overt sexual undertone in his words was palpable, and it took every ounce of your composure to not react. The air around him felt thick with condescension and unwanted attention, making it clear that this meeting was going to be far more uncomfortable than you had anticipated.

“A pleasure to meet you, Mister Bronte,” you replied evenly. “Thank you for the invitation. I’m here simply to accompany my husband.” You cast a steady glance at Arthur as you spoke.

Bronte’s eyes flicker to Arthur, a look of surprise momentarily crossing his face before he returns his attention to you. He takes your hand, pressing it to his lips and holding it just a moment too long, his gaze never waver. “Ah, I see,” he says, his tone smooth and almost mocking. “Pleased to meet your acquaintance. I must say, it’s quite surprising to see such a charming companion alongside your husband. A fortunate man, indeed.”

Arthur’s expression hardens momentarily before he quickly masks it, stepping forward. “Seems I’m full of surprises tonight,” he says, his tone unexpectedly calm. “Just as I’m sure this evening will be.” He holds a steady, unwavering gaze at Bronte.

Bronte’s lips curl into a knowing smile as he studies Arthur’s unyielding gaze. “Ah, such a spirited response,” he says with a playful glint in his eye. “I do appreciate a bit of unpredictability. It seems we’re in for an interesting evening indeed.” He gestured grandly towards the gathering, his tone dripping with feigned charm.

Arthur nods curtly before stepping back, positioning himself in a way that subtly yet clearly marks him as your protector, despite the dynamic between you. Bronte’s gaze lingers on Arthur for a moment longer, his amusement giving way to a more calculating expression.

Dutch stepped in, resuming his conversation with Bronte in an effort to ease the tension while you and Arthur stood off to the side. 

The men were offered cigars, and Arthur quickly placed one in his mouth. Before he was even offered a cutter, he bit down and tore the end off with his teeth, spitting the excess over the balcony in a manner that left your jaw hanging open in disbelief.

He smirks at you, clearly enjoying the reaction he’s provoked. You roll your eyes at his display, a mix of irritation and slight amusement etched across your face.

“You know,” you whisper to him with a hint of exasperation, “you could at least pretend to have some manners.”

Arthur’s smirk widened into a cocky grin. “Right, forgot we’re here to put on a show,” he shot back, his voice dripping with playful insolence, making you roll your eyes.

When the attendant extended a match towards Dutch but pulled back before reaching Arthur, the gunslinger seized the attendant’s arm and held it in place, lowering his cigar to the flame. The boldness of his actions flustered you, leaving you a mix of irritation and an unexpected flurry of emotions that left you feeling perplexed.

Arthur dismissed the attendant with a nonchalant nod, his eyes fixed on you the entire time. The attendant, evidently accustomed to such brusque behavior, retreated without protest.

You found yourself both exasperated and oddly captivated by the ease with which Arthur commanded the attention. His effortless defiance was infuriating, yet there was something compelling about his blatant refusal to conform to expectations, making it hard to ignore the allure behind his brazen demeanor. 

You quickly push those thoughts aside, refocusing on the conversation between Dutch and Bronte, doing your best to ignore the flush in your cheeks and the rapid beating of your heart.

After several exchanges between Dutch and Bronte, including another jibe from Bronte about cowboy lifestyle, which had elicited subtle pointed looks from you and the men you were with. 

“Those sure were the days,” Dutch simpered, his gaze on Bronte now more intense and focused. “Good day, gentlemen.”

Just as you were about to leave, Bronte turned to you, offering a slight bow.  “And you, Miss,” he said with a smirk, “do return if you the crowd down there becomes too dull.” His gaze shifted to Arthur. “‘Course you could bring your husband along, but I wouldn’t mind if you came alone.”

He held his gaze on you, lingering with a glint of amusement. You gave him a polite nod despite the discomfort you felt and turned to follow Dutch and Arthur. Even as you walked away, you could feel Bronte’s eyes on your back. 

The encounter left you with a sharp sense of irritation and a strong resolve to avoid any further interactions with him.

You glanced at Arthur, who had been waiting with Dutch by the door. Though his face showed no sign of emotion, you couldn’t miss the subtle clench of his jaw. You felt his hand gently place on your lower back, guiding you away.

The unexpected touch had caught you off guard, making you stiffen slightly as you struggled to process the unfamiliar gesture. It felt protective and oddly comforting, coming from someone who had been nothing but a source of irritation and friction.

You chanced another glance at Arthur, but his face remained expressionless. His hand lingered on your back for a moment before he withdrew it as quickly as he had placed it, his demeanor swiftly reverting to its usual hardness. 

The fleeting moment of unexpected closeness left you feeling unsettled, a mix of confusion and reluctant curiosity stirring within you.

You quickly reminded yourself that you were both still maintaining a façade, and this brief intimacy was likely just another part of the act. You focused on the task at hand, trying to push away the feelings and maintain the necessary distance between you.

Luca led the three of you back downstairs to rejoin the party, bidding you farewell before you head off with Dutch to meet Bill and Hosea outside.

“Gentlemen… and lady, let’s go ingratiate ourselves,” Dutch began before outlining the plan and giving everyone the freedom to mingle. “And steal nothing… unless it’s information,” Dutch added with a final nod before everyone dispersed.

With that, you follow closely behind Arthur as you both make your way down into the crowd, the murmur of conversations and clinking glasses filling the air. The curious glances of other partygoers followed you both, their eyes lingering with a mix of intrigue and scrutiny. 

He noticed a few men’s eyes drifting from him to you, their stares lingering with evident interest.

Arthur made a conscious effort to ignore the unwanted attention, though his irritation was palpable. 

Pushing down an unfamiliar urge stirring within him, Arthur quickly reminded himself to keep up with the act you two must play tonight.

He shifted to stand beside you, offering his arm with a practiced ease, his expression carefully neutral as he guided you through the crowd.

The absurdity of it all made him grumble under his breath about the ridiculous situation. With a sigh, he steered you toward a less crowded corner of the garden, seeking a quieter spot away from the throng of guests.

As you settled into a less conspicuous spot, you could feel the weight of Arthur’s tension. “I suppose this is where we’re supposed to make our mark,” you said, trying to break the silence. 

You watched as Arthur scanned the crowd, his eyes darting from one group to another, searching for anything useful.

His gaze met yours for a brief moment before he spoke, “Keep your eyes open for now,” he said quietly, his voice low and focused. “I’ll try to track down the mayor and speak with him. See if you can strike up a conversation with some of these folks and gather any useful information about where they’re stashin’ all their riches.”

"Alright, I’ll work the room while you schmooze with the mayor. Just don’t take too long—this place is already starting to wear me thin after that meeting with Bronte. I'm not keen on diving into more talk about the latest fashions and whatnot."

Arthur’s lips twitched in what might have been a small smirk. He inclined his head slightly before turning away and heading off.

You spent the better part of an hour making conversation with various guests, each interaction aimed at uncovering valuable intel on potential robbery targets. 

Maneuvering through the crowd, you engaged in light, seemingly innocuous chit-chat while discreetly probing for any mentions of high-value items or vulnerable security.

Despite your best efforts, luck seemed to evade you. Although, you did manage to uncover information about a stagecoach arriving next month, supposedly laden with valuable jewels. That was at least something.

You took a small sip from the glass of champagne you've snatched earlier in the evening, surveying the crowd. The sound of giggles and lively chatter drew your gaze, and you looked over to see Arthur deep in conversation with a group of women. You couldn't help but feel a wry amusement at the sight.

One of the women, with a clearly flirtatious gesture, placed her hand on Arthur’s arm and leaned in, her laughter echoing. The simple touch and her proximity sparked an uncomfortable feeling within you. 

You observed how Arthur subtly stepped back, skillfully deflecting her advances. Despite his efforts, the woman seemed oblivious to the fact that her attentions were being rebuffed. It was a masterful display of charm and diplomacy, leaving you with a mix of admiration and lingering discomfort. You took another sip of your drink, trying to shake off the unexpected unease.

At that moment, Arthur glanced up and locked eyes with you. He gave you a wink, likely meant to provoke or tease, but instead, his gesture caused a reaction you hadn't anticipated. Your heart skipped a beat, and a sudden rush of warmth flooded your cheeks. The playful glint in his eyes seemed to pierce through the crowd, stirring something deep inside you.

Muttering a curse under your breath, you narrowed your eyes at him and quickly turned away, trying to conceal the flush that had crept up on you.

You dashed to the nearest table, grabbing a bottle of champagne and quickly pouring yourself another glass. You downed it in one swift motion, hoping the crisp bubbles would offer a fleeting distraction from the swirl of emotions inside you.

As you pour yourself another glass, you hear someone speak up beside you, her voice tinged with curiosity. 

"Well, I must say, I’ve seen many ways to cope with a dull party, but this might be the most... efficient.”

You glanced at the voice and saw a woman smirking at you. She appeared slightly older than you and was dressed in a lavish blue gown that sparkled with every movement, her necklace glinting from the lamps. Her expression conveyed amusement. 

Feeling embarrassed to have been caught in your moment of inner turmoil, you attempted to regain your composure and replied with a hint of forced levity. “It’s quite the dull affair, isn’t it?”

The woman laughed softly, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Thank goodness, someone who gets it.”

“You seem to be surviving it better than most. I imagine you’ve been through a few parties like these before?”

She nodded, her gaze shifting to a distant corner of the room where a group of guests were deeply engrossed in animated conversation. “Too many, I’m afraid. After a while, it all becomes a blur of extravagant gowns and polite small talk. One learns to navigate these events with a certain... detachment.”

You chuckled, raising an eyebrow. “Sounds like you’ve mastered the art of it. I could use a guide through this maze of high society myself. Any tips on surviving the evening without losing one’s sanity—or dignity?”

She grinned, leaning in conspiratorially. “Well, first off, always have a backup plan for when the conversation turns to the latest trends in hat feathers or the merits of various imported cheeses. For instance, I’ve found that nodding vigorously while muttering phrases like ‘absolutely fascinating’ works wonders.

You laughed, shaking your head. “I’ll keep that in mind. Though I suspect I might still need a crash course in how to look like I’m genuinely interested in ‘the most enchanting new fabric designs’.”

She chuckled. “Well, when in doubt, fake it till you make it. Nothing says ‘I’m absolutely fine’ like a perfectly practiced smile and a glass of champagne held just so.”

You chuckle and raise your glass at her before taking a sip. A brief silence follows as you both sip from your glasses. The woman then speaks up, her tone warm and friendly, “I’m Eloise, by the way. It’s rare to find someone who sees through the façade of these high-society gatherings.”

You smile, offering her your name. “It seems we’re both on the same wavelength when it comes to these affairs.”

“So what brought you here tonight?”

“Oh, um… I’m just here to accompany my husband, he’s the one with the business connections, so I’m playing the dutiful spouse for the evening.”

Eloise raises an eyebrow, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “Ah, the classic role of the ‘plus one.’ Now which one of these overdressed peacocks is your husband?” 

She sweeps her gaze across the crowd with exaggerated curiosity. “Is he the one with the ridiculous bow tie or the chap with the hat that looks like it’s been borrowed from a magic act?”

You raise your brows in amusement as you glance at the men she’s mentioned, finding the whole scene of tonight’s event even more absurd. Your gaze sweeps over the crowd until you spot Arthur. 

“Actually, that would be him right there.”

Eloise’s eyes follow your pointing finger and widen in genuine surprise. 

“Well, I’ll be!” she exclaims, clearly taken aback. “I must say, he’s certainly not what I was expecting. Doesn't look like he belongs here, in a good way of course. He’s quite the rugged type—like one of those big, tough cowboys you’d see in a wild frontier town. You know the sort: strong, stocky, with a weathered charm that comes from living hard and facing rough challenges.”

The irony of her words makes you laugh. “That’s one way to put it.”

“I must say, you two make quite a handsome pair.” 

You flush at her words, a mix of embarrassment and awkwardness coloring your cheeks. Instead, you offer a polite smile and nod, playing along with the pretense. “Thank you,” you say in a steady voice, unsure of what else to say.

Arthur, briefly looking away from another person he was speaking to, catches your eye for the second time tonight. There’s a fleeting moment of connection—his gaze is intense, and the faintest smile plays at his lips—before he turns back to his conversation partner.

“I must admit,” she says, her tone light and teasing, “there’s more than just a bit of magic in the air between you two. It’s not every day you see such a striking balance. I do believe there’s a certain... chemistry here that’s hard to ignore. How delightful!”

You raise an eyebrow, giving her a confused smile. “What do you mean?”

Eloise’s eyes twinkle with a knowing glint as she glances over at Arthur. “Oh, it’s really quite charming, the way he looks at you. There’s just something in his gaze as if he’s captivated by you in a way that could be missed. It’s rare to see someone look at their partner with such intensity and warmth these days.”

For a moment, you almost correct her, eager to clarify that you and Arthur aren’t actually together. But then you remember the need to maintain the ruse. You glance awkwardly at Arthur, trying to downplay the connection Eloise is suggesting.

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” you say clearly flustered, trying to sound casual but failing to hide your unease. “I mean, Arthur and I aren’t exactly... well, he’s just got this intense look, which I’m sure it’s nothing more than... you know, his way of being attentive. It’s just a bit of his nature.”

Her smile softens, eyes warm and genuine. “Oh, it’s clear to see if you look hard enough. Even in a crowded room, he seems to be drawn to you. It’s quite endearing.”

The sound of cracks echoed before you could think of a response, and the woman beside you lit up with genuine excitement.

“Finally, something exciting! It's been lovely chatting with you. I do hope we cross paths again. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Eloise sends you a warm smile before hurrying off.

You send her a genuine smile before you turn your gaze upward to the sky, where faint glimmers of fireworks begin to light up the night. The display added a splash of color to the darkened sky, creating a stark contrast to the opulence of the garden below. 

As you watched the vibrant bursts, your thoughts drifted back to the conversation you had with Eloise, trying to process her comments. Her words lingered in your mind, stirring a mix of curiosity and confusion. 

The idea that whatever is between you and Arthur might actually convey something deeper, something affectionate, felt almost surreal given the dynamics between you two and your perspective on your relationship with him.

Perhaps Abigail was right; the more you spent time with Arthur, the more you learned about him and saw him in a new light. What had once seemed like mere pretense or forced partnership now hinted at a connection that transcended your initial expectations. 

The way he moved, the way he spoke, the moments of unguarded sincerity—it all started to paint a different picture. The possibility that these moments could be more than just part of the act began to take root, stirring a blend of curiosity and apprehension within you.

You quickly down your drink before setting the empty glass on the table.

Suddenly, a rough hand wrapping around your wrist jolts you out of your thoughts and you turn to see Arthur who all but tugged you along behind him. 

You let out a scowl. “Hey! What the-”

Arthur glanced over his shoulder, a mix of amusement and determination on his face. “Come on, we just caught wind that the Mayor’s gotten somethin’ from Cornwall. Dutch reckons we oughta figure out what it is, make sure we ain’t missin’ nothin’ crucial.”

“And you need me because?” You asked with slight irritation as he continued to pull you along.

Arthur's eyes narrowed slightly, his voice taking on a low, firm tone. “I need you to keep watch, and your lock-pickin’ skills could come in handy… ‘sides, you’re my wife don’t forget.” He added with a teasing smirk. 

“Can’t have you wanderin’ off by yourself lookin’ like I’ve neglected you. That wouldn’t reflect too well on me now, would it?”

You shot him a glare, yanking your wrist free from his grip. “Could’ve just asked me”

Arthur’s lips twitched with a hint of a smirk. “You looked so wrapped up in the fireworks, darlin’, I didn’t want to interrupt you.”

You bit back a retort, your frustration mingling with a begrudging understanding of his point.  “Don’t call me that,” you said, a hint of irritation in your voice at the use of the nickname. 

Arthur raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening slightly. “Alright, sweetheart. Try to keep up now.”

Trailing closely behind Arthur as you followed the servant, you effortlessly weaved through the spectators, who were too engrossed in watching the fireworks to notice you. 

The servant circled around to the side of the house and ascended a small set of steps leading out of the garden. He paused briefly to engage in a conversation with someone before slipping inside through a side door.

The both of you followed cautiously, making sure to stay out of sight. Inside, you overheard the man berating a maid before he made his way up the stairs, retracing your steps to the upper levels where you had previously been.

Just before reaching the landing, Arthur raises his hand, halting you in your tracks. He peers over the edge of the wall, watching as the servant enters the locked room, heads to a desk, and inserts a key into a drawer to place the letter inside. The servant then disappears further into the room, the sound of a door closing signaling that it is time for you and Arthur to make your move.

Arthur moves first, effortlessly slipping inside through the wide-open door left by the servant. You quickly scan the area to ensure it's clear before following him.

He makes his way over to the desk and tugs at the drawer, only to find it locked. Grabbing a letter opener from the table, he attempts to pry it open. You watch with amusement as he grunts in frustration, struggling to get it to budge.

“Honestly, watching you fumble with that is almost painful,” you remarked, making Arthur roll his eyes and throw up his hands in a gesture that clearly invited you to take over. With a sigh, you stepped in, gently nudging him aside before kneeling down to get eye-level with the lock.

Pulling a pin from your updo, your hair falls loosely over your back, leaving your style in a half-up, half-down look. You insert the pin into the lock, and after a few moments of fumbling, a triumphant smile spreads across your face at the satisfying click of the lock opening.

You stand back up and look over at Arthur, giving him a smug smile when you catch him staring. You raise an eyebrow, and he quickly clears his throat, shifting his gaze away as if caught in the act of something he wasn’t supposed to be doing.

"I, uh, never seen you with your hair down before," he comments before he can think twice, his voice trailing off as he leans over the drawer, a hint of color creeping into his cheeks. 

"Nice work," he adds, his eyes momentarily meeting yours before darting away.

You raise an eyebrow at his flustered demeanor, the corner of your mouth twitching in amusement, “I’m glad you approve.” 

You watch as he sifts through the drawer's contents until his hands close around a book with a piece of paper inside. He briefly reads the paper, nods, and then tears it in half, slipping the pieces into his suit pocket.

“You got it?” 

“Yeah, let’s get outta here,” he replies, glancing around making sure no one is watching before heading out the door with you following closely behind

Just as you were about to move down the stairs, the creaking sound of someone coming up halted both of your tracks. Without warning, Arthur grabbed you, pushing you gently but firmly against the wall beside the staircase, his body pressing close to yours. His arms caged around the sides of your head, creating a tight, protective barrier.

The sudden proximity left you acutely aware of his body against yours, his chest nearly brushing yours as his arms trapped you in place.

His gaze locked onto yours with an intensity that made your pulse race even faster. His brow furrowed slightly as if he were struggling to control a rush of emotions.

The closeness had clearly caught both of you off guard, the charged atmosphere between you almost palpable. His breath came in short, controlled bursts, and you could see the way his jaw tightened as he struggled to maintain his composure.

As he held you there, his expression softened just a fraction, revealing a flicker of vulnerability beneath his usually guarded demeanor. His voice, though still firm, carried a hint of concern as he leaned close to whisper, "Just stay still and quiet.”

The proximity of his breath against your ear made the moment feel even more intimate, amplifying the unexpected connection between you. The closeness, once marked by animosity, now seemed charged with a different kind of tension—one that was both electrifying and confusing.

As you stood there, the boundaries between duty and emotion blurred, and the shared space between you felt charged with unspoken understanding and vulnerability.

His eyes, usually hard with resolve or irritation, softened as they locked with yours. There was a softness in his gaze, a flicker of something raw and unguarded.

The emotion he held in his eyes made you reconsider the hostility that had defined your interactions. In that moment, the anger and resentment seemed to fade, replaced by a deeper, more complex understanding of the man standing so close to you.

The sound of footsteps drawing nearer to the top of the stairs heightened the urgency of the moment and Arthur’s gaze shifted to you once more.

One of his arms lowered from the wall behind you, and he placed his hand softly at the back of your neck. His touch lingered without applying too much pressure. You felt a shiver at the contact of his hand on your neck, the warmth of his touch sending an unexpected jolt of emotion through you, bringing a surge of feelings you had been trying to suppress all night.

The gentle warmth of his hand contrasted sharply with the intensity of his gaze, creating a palpable connection that seemed to heighten the gravity of your precarious situation.

Your heart pounded as you met his intense gaze, which held a rare blend of sincerity and vulnerability that was almost disarming.

“You trust me?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper but filled with a sincerity that cut through the tension of the moment.

You hesitated, the weight of his question hanging between you. The proximity of his body and the depth of his gaze left you momentarily breathless. “Why should I?” you whispered back, your voice betraying a mix of defiance and vulnerability.

Arthur’s eyes never left yours as he leaned in closer. “Because right now, it’s the only way we’re getting out of this,” he replied, his tone resolute but gentle.

In that charged silence, the dynamics of your relationship were shifting. You felt the usual barriers between you—formed by past conflicts and mutual distrust—began to dissolve, replaced by an unspoken understanding that was both electrifying and comforting. The anger and rivalry giving way to a fragile trust and an unexpected tenderness. 

With the footsteps slowly growing nearer, you saw a flicker of sincerity in his eyes that made you question your own doubts. You nodded slightly, trying to steady your breath. “Alright,” you whispered.

Arthur's lips curved into a faint smile, a mixture of relief and determination. “You gotta say it, sweetheart,” he urged softly.

Your mouth curled into a slight smirk as you looked up at him, your heart racing with a blend of anxiety and anticipation. “I trust you,” you said, the words feeling like a pact forged in the heat of the moment.

In a quick, decisive motion, he leans in and presses a firm, purposeful kiss to your lips, filled with urgency. The initial touch is electrifying, but as the kiss deepens, it becomes a release of suppressed feelings, a flood of emotions long held in check.

The kiss is fervent and consuming, each moment stretching out as if to make up for lost time. His lips are warm and insistent against yours, and there’s a raw, desperate quality to the way he kisses you. It feels as though every emotion he’s been holding back is being poured into this single, intense connection.

Your own lips respond with equal fervor, the kiss becoming a mutual surrender to the feelings that have been building between you. The world around you fades into the background, the only reality being the overwhelming sensation of his kiss. 

Arthur’s hand that had been pressed firmly against the wall, now frame your face with a gentleness that contrasts with the intensity of the kiss. His grip is both tender and possessive, as if he’s anchoring you to him, unwilling to let go.

The sound of someone clearing their throat suddenly jolts you back to reality. 

A servant, caught off guard by the intimate display before him, stood at the top of the stairs. His eyes widened in surprise, clearly unprepared for the passionate exchange unfolding before him.

You and Arthur break the kiss, though the intensity of the moment lingers in the charged air between you. With a quick, shared glance, you and Arthur both adjust your demeanor, the brief intimacy giving way to the reality of the mission.

The man, realizing he has intruded on a private and critical moment, clears his throat, clearly flustered at having walked in on the intimate scene before him, face flushing with embarrassment. "I-I’m sorry to interrupt, but this area is restricted to guests unless otherwise accompanied,” he stammers.

Arthur’s eyes narrow slightly, but his expression quickly returns to a more controlled demeanor. He gives the servant a nod of acknowledgment. “Sorry ‘bout that, partner. Seems my wife and I took a wrong turn and found ourselves in the wrong spot. We were just about to head on out.”

You, still caught in the afterglow of the kiss, straighten yourself and try to regain your composure. The abrupt interruption leaves you with a swirl of mixed emotions—embarrassment, irritation, and a lingering sense of affection. You cast a quick glance at Arthur, who responds with a subtle nod, signaling that it's time to move on.

Still visibly flustered, the servant offers a hurried apology, stepping aside with a rigid posture and a face flushed a deep shade of red. He tries to give you both space as you and Arthur hurry down the stairs, the charged atmosphere from the kiss still lingering between you. The abrupt return to reality sharpens your sense of urgency.

Arthur takes a deep breath, stepping back as his gaze meets yours for a moment longer. He opens his mouth to say something but hesitates before speaking again. “We should get a move on and find Dutch and the rest ‘em.”

You noticed his hesitation but decided to brush it off, nodding in agreement. “Sure, let’s see what’s next. The sooner we get this done, the better.”

You find Dutch, Hosea, and Bill on the first-floor balcony. 

“Ah, there you are!” Dutch exclaims, a smile on his face. He then turns to Arthur. “Find anything?”

Arthur gives a nod and taps his chest where he’s tucked the letter. “I think so.”

“Great. I think we’re done here.”

The four of you move to follow Dutch, briefly exchanging information with Hosea and Bill. Hosea mentions a potential robbery job targeting a big city bank, outlining the possible opportunities involved. You share what you’ve gathered earlier about a stagecoach expected to pass through Lemoyne in the next few weeks and the valuable jewels and cash it carries.

Dutch, Hosea, and Bill push past the front entrance, walking ahead. Just before you can follow, Arthur calls your name and gently grabs your arm, pulling you aside.

In the quiet corridor, away from the others, you face him. His eyes are a mixture of resolve and something else you can’t quite place. “Listen, I, uh…,” he trails off, his voice low, seeming to wrestle with his words for a moment before finally meeting your gaze. 

Your heart races, expecting him to address what happened between you earlier and the emotions that followed. 

Instead, Arthur’s tone is hesitant and detached. “‘Bout what happened earlier… I don’t want you thinkin’ it meant more than it did. We can’t afford to get all wrapped up in nothin’ personal.”

His dismissal hits you like a cold wave.

You had hoped for some acknowledgment of the shared moment, perhaps a sign that it meant something to him. Instead, his words feel like a sharp rebuff, making you question everything you thought you understood about what happened tonight.

“What are you talking about?” you demand, trying to mask the hurt in your voice. Your frustration and anger boil over. 

Arthur’s gaze falters for a moment before he regains his composure. He runs a hand over his face, clearly struggling to find the right words. “I just don’t think—” he begins, but his voice trails off as he lets out a frustrated sigh. 

He steps back, clearly distancing himself. “Look–I can’t offer you anything more than what we have. Let’s just focus on ending this job and not let personal feelings complicate things.”

You scoff, feeling the sting of his words. Personal feelings? 

“Right, so all that back there was just for show, was it? Just keeping up appearances?”

Arthur’s expression falters, and he hesitates. He opens his mouth to respond but closes it again, his frustration evident as he struggles to find the right thing to say. 

He turns to you, his expression now seeming emotionless and cold. “I didn’t mean to make it seem like nothin’ mattered. It’s just… I’m not tryin’ to make things too complicated. It’s best to keep things straightforward right now.”

The words and his tone cuts through you like a knife, the brief connection you shared now feels like a cruel tease, an illusion of intimacy shattered by the harsh reality.

His coldness is a stark contrast to the warmth you felt moments before, leaving you grappling with a mix of hurt and frustration. 

What started as mutual disdain had evolved into something more complex, yet now it feels like it's spiraling back into that familiar animosity.

You’d hoped that beneath the hostility and barbed comments, the genuine connection hinted at earlier tonight might bridge the gap between your conflicting dynamic. But now, it feels as if his rejection is pulling you back to square one—a place locked in an endless cycle of arguments and misunderstandings.

The idea that the warmth of those moments might have been nothing more than a strategic move or a fleeting distraction makes you question if there was ever truly a chance for something different between you two.

God, how naive you were to think there could be a sliver of something more between you and Arthur.

You take a deep breath, reminding yourself to focus on the task ahead. You push aside the personal turmoil, resolving to keep your interactions with Arthur as they were before—distant and guarded. 

With a blank expression masking the tumultuous emotions roiling beneath, you reply, “Fine. Let’s just get this night over with and move on. I’ll keep any ‘personal feelings’ out of the way if that makes it better for you.”

You turn away, forcing yourself not to say anything further that might reveal your feelings. As you do, you didn't miss the brief flash of hurt and sadness in Arthur’s expression before he quickly masks it with his usual stoic demeanor.

Finally rejoining the others, you enter the stagecoach and take your seat from before. Arthur takes his place beside you, the space between you charged with unspoken words and lingering hurt. 

The rift between the two of you feels even more pronounced, a painful reminder of what might have been overshadowed by the harsh reality of your circumstances.

Hosea and Dutch, seated across from you, seem to be blissfully unaware of the personal turmoil that has unfolded between you and Arthur, their conversation flowing naturally as they discuss the next steps of the gang’s plans.

The stagecoach rolls forward, and you turn to look out the window, drowning yourself in the passing scenery. The kiss and its aftermath now feel like an unspoken wound, deepening the complexity of your already fraught relationship and leaving you to grapple with the emotional fallout alone.

A/N: Okay so that ending was definitely not a happy one. After exploring where the story might go and experimenting more with the writing, I've decided that I mighttttt just make a Part 2, which might or might not include some smut hehe... So please stay tuned!

Thanks again for reading!

Read Part Two Here

[pandalexoxo]

since i’ve watched youtubers play dead plate, it’s been on constantly my mind 😻 i’ve literally searched up gacha reactions, fanfics, edits, etc, just because i’m starting to obsess over the game. not to mention how little attraction it’s gained?! where is the fan art, the fanfics, the loveeee?!? 😭 anywho! just a little blurb i keep imagining in my head!

this takes place after ending 3 so please, keep in mind that this will contain spoilers for the third ending! you’ve been warned!

(DEAD PLATE X READER)

With his left hand, Rody puts pressure on where his left ear had been before Vincent had ripped it off and eaten it. He pants softly, unable to tear his gaze away from the flames that engulf the bistro.

Rody is able to break contact when he sees a shoe in the corner of his right eye. Rody’s body tenses as he looks over at the shoe, allowing his gaze to slowly move up to take in the owner of the shoe. Black leather shoes that shine bright from the fire’s light, black slacks and a white long sleeve button up underneath a black vest adorned with a black tie. Rody’s eyes widen at the face.

The persons expression is full of worry, the figure holds their hands out as if wanting to comfort Rody but feeling as if they shouldn’t overstep boundaries in such a clearly traumatic time. the figure’s mouth opens, mouthing some illegible words. Rody hasn’t realized that all this time his ears had been ringing, his brain already trying to force this moment into the back of his head.

Rody’s eyes fill up with tears and he sniffles. The ringing slowly fades out as the voice slowly registers. “Rody! Hey, are you alright? Hey, deep breathes, you don’t have to tell me what happened, let’s- here, can i lead you to my car…?” Rody feels tears flow down his cheek and drip off his chin and Rody feels like he’s breaking as he wetly smiles. “…(M/n)…”

The man, finally known as (M/n), looks relieved as Rody seems to snap out of his previous delirious state. “Rody… Hey… Let’s step away and go to my car, yeah?” Rody nods but takes one step and falls forward. (M/n) panics, stepping a few paces forwards to catch Rody.

Rody’s eyes close and he whines, letting his tears fall and openly sob as he mourns. Mourning over the truth he has learned, that his girlfriend was killed and cooked up by his boss, being served to Rody though, due to his inability to cook, he had not eaten the dish, which Rody is now thankful for. Rody finds himself surprisingly mourning over Vincent too, just wishing to make some money to whoo Manon and wanting to try to become closer to Vince, maybe even become friends. It’s too late, what’s done is done.

(M/n) sighs softly, his expression softening as he holds Rody close. He allows Rody to get all of his feelings out, hoping his friend will be able to feel better. “Rody… I don’t know what happened and you don’t need to tell me until you’re ready, but… Please … I want you to know that i’ll be here with you, for you… All the way...”

Rody’s body continues to heave from the force of his sobs but ultimately seems to be calming down. Rody is reduced to sniffles and he clears his throat to speak. “All the way…? You promise…?” (M/n) hums, rubbing Rody’s back soothingly. “All the way. I promise.”

Rody nods, feeling content before pulling away with a sheepish look, as his stomach growl. He scratches the back of his neck nervously but (M/n) breaks into laughter, causing Rody to follow suit. “(M/n)… Could we get something to eat…?” (M/n) nods, able to pull both of them up and lead Rody to his car. “Of course, my treat.”

[whenlostinthedarkness]

Chapter 2 | Part Two: Silk Chiffon

Lead Singer!Reader x Lead Guitarist!Ellie Williams

Summary: A smoke session in the hotel leads Reader & Ellie into a conversation about the past that affect their future.

Warnings: Sexual Content(f/f fingering, oral, and dry humping), and Infidelity.

WC: 5k

A/N: Thank you to everyone who has been reading this series so far & for the positive feedback 💜 Enjoy

Series Masterlist

"Do you ever think about us?”

Ellie's words echoed in your head like a prayer sung in a cathedral. Over and over and over.

“I uhm-I mean..”, you couldn't help but stutter.

Meanwhile, Ellie stifled a laugh as her eyes remained on the ceiling and her mind reveled in the amusing way you were reacting to her question. “You don’t have to say it if you don’t want to.”

Your pupils searched around the room as your hand came up to scratch against your bare arm. You needed something to tame the anxiety running marathons inside of you and your surroundings were the only thing you could use as a tool to calm it.

“I think about us.” Ellie said it so casually, you had to question if what you heard was real or a hallucination.

“What?”

Ellie's chin lowered, her eyes following along with the movement until they rested on you. “I think about us.”

She shrugged as if it wasn't a big deal, when in reality, what she was confessing to was something so thoroughly massive in your brain.

“In what way?”

Ellie’s eyes left yours as the confidence seemed to drain from her once sharp facial expression as she shrugged her shoulders. Suddenly, she grew shy at the thought of talking about your relationship together and how it still runs through her mind on a near daily basis.

The temperature seemed to rise in the hotel room even though a soft breeze was flowing freely through the window. Without a word, you turned to walk the short distance back to the couch and took a seat in the same spot you once occupied before; Ellie followed shortly after.

The strain in the room was severely obvious.

You presumed the only reason Ellie had asked a question like this or brought up this sort of conversation all together, was due to the fact that she was clearly very high and spaced out. Which, you weren't wrong about.

Ellie was indeed very high and sunken down deep in her mind as she dared to travel to the one set of memories that were usually barred with yellow caution tape. The memories always appeared so enticing and leaving her wanting to visit the scene of the crime again..but never being able to push herself fully over that barrier to engage with them.

Now, it was different. She was high, you were high, and a shared hotel room was proving to be a nudge in Ellie's rib as she became consumed with thoughts about something else. Someone else.

It was suddenly like you were a hyper fixation of hers that she was bursting at the seems to talk about, yet, she held it in. Instead, opting to keep quiet and let her thoughts be silent or get distracted by something else that wasn’t her life. Yeah - that's what she needed, a distraction.

“You still wanna watch that movie?” Ellie’s voice was so fucking soft yet at the same time very hoarse, it almost made you melt right then and there into the couch.

“Yeah,” you gulped, “anything in mind?”

“How about….”

Your finger aimlessly flipped through all of the options on the screen as Ellie scanned each of the selections until she found the winner.

“But I’m A Cheerleader- that one!”

You shook your head with an amused smile, "Typical".

“What?” Ellie's smile returned to her face as the room relaxed for the first time in several minutes.

“You’re just so predictable- that’s it”, you said playfully while shrugging your shoulders.

“It’s my favorite fucking movie. You should already know I’m biased to it.”

“Yeah yeah yeah.” you waved Ellie off as your thumb clicked a button on the remote that started the films opening scene to display on the large flat screen tv.

In her best efforts to fight off the chill in her body, Ellie grabbed the blanket she had packed along with her and spread it along the lower half of her body as she allowed herself to relax into the cushions.

“How old were you when you saw this for the first time?” You wondered as your eyes watched the cheerleaders twirling high up in the air as the camera panned to an up-skirt view.

“Too young.”

“Like how young?”

Ellie shrugged, “I don’t know, maybe like ten..eleven. Something like that.”

You nodded with wide eyes. “Damn, ten?”

Ellie chuckled at the disbelief in your voice. “Yep. One could say it was my gay awakening.”

“What about Princess Jasmine?”

“She’s different. She’s an angel and can do no wrong.”

A thunderous laugh left your lips which instantly made you slap a hand over your mouth in an attempt to muffle the sound.

“Plus, I was too young to understand I wanted to fuck Princess Jasmine so she doesn't count as my gay awakening.”

Ellie enjoyed your laugh, enjoyed it that much more when she was the one inducing it. It’s like she got a shot of pride directly injected into her veins whenever she could sprinkle a moment of joy or humor or any other emotion that made you feel good. She wanted to make you feel good always and would if you let her.

It's comical in a way. When Ellie was 19, it was as if she had to keep trying to convince herself that she didn't care about you nearly as much as she knew, deep down, she did. In fact, it was as if she was fucking up on a near consistent basis purely just to keep up the act that she was only caring about herself. If the act was more for you and the public, or herself, she wasn't sure. It only became more difficult for Ellie to keep up with this act the further and further you both got into your relationship.

When things were going really well between you both back in your college days, fuck, was it good. On the other hand, when things weren't going well, usually because of something Ellie did, they really weren't going well. It was almost like the good moments were a spotlight shedding on what could’ve been if you and Ellie both had been just a little bit older and more matured and established in yourselves. Sort of like how you both were now.

Yours & Ellie's conversation tapered off naturally as the both of you started watching the movie. Not that Ellie was having much luck in concentrating on the film.

You, on the other hand, were fully entranced on the current scene where the main characters, Megan & Graham, sneak off to have sex for the first time.

The film made it exceptionally pretty. The soft pink tones, the gentle touches, the intimate eye contact between the characters- it truly set the mood for what your first intimate experience with another girl felt like.

Your gaze was too concentrated on taking in all of the details in the movie, that your sober mind had never bothered to notice, that you missed the heavy gaze Ellie held on you as she moved her body slightly. Now, she was seated on the couch, but her body was twisted so she was facing directly towards you with her knees pulled up to her chest.

Eventually you caught on to Ellie's stare, nearly catching you off guard when your eyes met.

"You okay?"

Ellie didn't answer verbally, just opted for a nod as her mind was deep in thought. You mimicked her nod of the head and returned your eyes back to the movie while trying your best to ignore the heat from Ellie's eyes that you could feel were still concentrated on you.

"I miss you."

Your eyes returned to where they were moments ago as you looked into Ellie's green eyes. "We see each other like everyday Ellie."

Ellie nodded, "Yeah, but not like this. I feel like we are walking on eggshells together most of the time and now it just feels..I don't know. Natural. Like old times".

You knew exactly what Ellie meant. She was talking about how things were when you were dating, but now you were far from that and hadn't been even close to that for a couple years.

"I mean..things are different now."

"But why?”

You matched Ellie's position as you twisted your body to face hers. "What do you mean why Ellie. You know why."

Ellie knew you were right, yet there was some part of her that wished things between you both would've gone back to normal after your breakup. Surely wishing something like that was foolish, yet Ellie lived to be the fool.

"I just miss you."

"What things do you miss?" You asked genuinely as the movie now became background noise to the first conversation the both of you had really ever had regarding your past relationship.

Ellie's brain immediately went through film clip memories in her mind of all of your good times together. The late night escapades, the movie nights, the jam sessions, even the sex. It was all something that felt right and natural. Ellie missed all of that, and tonight was feeding a hunger for that feeling she wanted to have again with you. She didn't want it to stop.

"Shit like this..," Ellie shrugged, "..watching a movie, smoking weed, cuddling on the couch.."

Ellie's voice trailed off on the last part as if she were ashamed, which, in some ways she was. However the need for this feeling with you was outweighing any guilt that she could be feeling right now.

"The cuddling huh?", you teased with a warm smile. "Do you think that's a good idea? Cuddling?"

The answer was clear. You knew it, Ellie knew it, yet the both of your bodies somehow began to scoot closer and closer to one another.

"What's so wrong with cuddling?" Ellie asked with innocence which made you roll your eyes.

"I think you know why we can't cuddle Ellie."

By the time you finished your sentence, you and Ellie had hunched backs as you both naturally leaned in towards each other like metal to a magnet.

A heavy sigh fell from Ellie’s lips as she fought a battle within herself that she didn’t know the outcome of. That hunger, that want, that nostalgic feeling coming back was making her want to take in spoonful after spoonful of you and this feeling. On the other hand, she knew it was bad to even entertain such a concept.

She had a loving girlfriend at home that was great in every way possible, but why didn’t she make Ellie feel like this? She kept asking herself this question over and over. Until she couldn’t take it anymore. The two choices sit like two different entrees on fine china. Ellie’s mind kept going from one to the other, trying to decipher if she wanted normalcy or if she wanted you.

“Fuck it.”

A breath gasped out of your mouth and vibrated against Ellie’s lips as she held them against yours like her life depended on it.

Your first thought was shock, but relief soon chased it as you found yourself melting into the tender kiss.

One of Ellie’s hands went up to cup the side of your face as your mouths continued moving slowly against one another’s. It felt so sweetly familiar.

For a second, you were nineteen again and kissing your college roommate for the very first time. The pent up tension and feelings were coming to fruition and that similar sense of relief that you felt when you were 19 was present in this very room as Ellie cradled you in her arms with a grip that held a fear of you trying to leave.

What Ellie didn’t know is that you too had an appetite for this sorta of feeling and you weren’t planning on cutting it off anytime soon. At least not tonight.

Ellie's girlfriend wasn't a thought in your mind or hers as you instinctually moved into Ellie's lap to straddle her waist. Both of your lips moved fervently against the other as tongues collided and saliva coated both your mouths like a shiny clear gloss.

Everything felt second nature and habitual. The way one of Ellie's hands gripped your waist tightly as she pulled you as close to her chest as possible, and the other rested at the swell of your ass. Natural.

The way one of your hands cupped the side of Ellie's face as you ground your hips down towards her; so fucking natural.

Ellie let out a groan at the friction as she tried to pull you tighter to her body, even if it was impossible for you both to get any closer. Her strong grip on your hips was enough to have you mewling into her mouth which only made Ellie feel more starved and deprived of your alluring noises, the warmth of your skin, and the way your mouth fit against hers like the missing puzzle piece that had been brushed under the couch for ages. It was a sensory overload that you both had missed and craved, yet suppressed time and time again - and for what reason?

At this very moment, everything else was quiet and nonexistent. All that was in both of your worlds right now was two past lovers who desperately needed one another.

Ellie allowed you to gently push her to fall backwards so her back rested on the couch as she gazed up at you sitting on top of her.

The quiet and stillness suddenly made everything stop. The eye of the tornado had passed and now it was stillness- A calm just after a storm that caused a kind of damage that could destroy towns.

Ellie mimicked your heaving chest and wide eyed gaze as you stared down at her and she stared up at you. Images of her girlfriend were now flickering through her mind, yet her hands never even thought about straying away from your hips.

As much as this moment was a moral battle for Ellie, there was also a sense of comfort in the familiarity that was your legs resting on either side of her.

Silently, your eyes made a treaty with one another that spoke of consent and allowing whatever happens, to happen but that didn't make you any less hesitant. You had nothing to lose, but Ellie had an entire relationship to lose.

You both could stop the betrayal with just a kiss - you both should stop the betrayal with just a kiss.

Yet still, Ellie nodded as she sensed your hesitancy. She wanted you to know that she knew exactly what you were thinking and feeling and still she wanted this so incredibly bad. Who were you to deny that you wanted the same exact thing when it was consenting right in front of you?

You couldn't nod any quicker and Ellie couldn't move any slower as her hands squeezed your hips in a nearly feral manor. This made you smile and feel a sense of shyness as Ellie looked at you as if you were the Mona Lisa in the flesh.

Gently, Ellie's hips rose up off of the couch to collide with your center, making you bite your lip as you brought both of your palms to rest on top of Ellie's stomach.

Your eyes remained fixed on her as you bent the upper half of your body downwards towards Ellie; your hands sliding all the way up to her shoulders as you did so.

You were now hovering directly above her like a mobile above a babies crib. Ellie's tongue wet her lips as she looked at you as if you were a meal she had been starved of for years, which you had been, but all by choice.

In a challenging nature, you ground your hips down onto Ellie's. Her eyes squinted harshly at the interaction as she slid her hands down so she could unashamedly knead your ass.

Your faces were so close together that both of your breaths were hitting the other with a vapor of warmth that was charged with anticipation and excitement. Ellie was finding it all torturous.

"Please."

Her voice was so quiet it was nearly drowned out due to the audio from the movie, but your focus was on her and only her. You heard her perfectly clear.

"Please what?" You questioned knowing damn well you speaking would lightly brush your lips against Ellie's as you remained hovering above her.

Ellie let out a groan paired with a rolling pair of eyes as she squeezed your ass harder in the hopes that would get her message across...but she should know you better.

"I'm afraid you're going to have to use your words El."

You wore a near devious smile as you turned your face to the side, allowing your mouth to graze along the skin of her freckled cheeks and travel downwards towards her neck.

The tingling feeling made Ellie shiver the closer you got to that euphoric spot just below her ear and when your lips did finally meet that thin layer of skin, you paused entirely, making Ellie huff out of frustration and neediness. You found it all very amusing as your lips continued ghosting along.

“Are you not having fun?”

All Ellie could manage to do was sigh loudly which seemed to spur you on even more.

“Awe you don’t seem like you’re having fun.” You sealed your sentence with a severely light peck to her neck in the exact place she wanted, making Ellie’s hands squeeze your ass again as her eyes began to close. “Then again, maybe you are.”

“Shut up.”

Suddenly, Ellie sat up, forcing your body to sit up along with hers. She wrapped one of her arms around your waist and firmly held you against her as she swapped your position with hers. Now, Ellie was above you and moving quickly to take off her hoodie.

You laid in awe as you took in the view before you. Ellie in a white tank top with messy hair that was stuck up in multiple places, yet the image was as close to the past as it could get in your mind. Except now it was fast forwarded a couple years- Ellie’s facial bone structure was more pronounced, her upper body was more lean and muscular, and her eyes had dark gray underneath them from exhaustion, yet you felt like it complimented the green in the nicest way.

Once again, silence consumed the room, even as Ellie lowered herself downwards and kissed you without warning-not that you needed one.

From here, the race began.

In contrast to earlier, both of your locked lips were desperate and chasing one another. Saliva began dripping along the sides of Ellie’s mouth as she left open mouthed, gasp filled kisses that only separated when she desperately needed to have your bare skin touching hers.

Quickly, Ellie moved to rest inbetween your legs before her fingers found the hem of your flimsy t-shirt. The further the material moved upwards, the more present the urgency was as you assisted Ellie in lifting the material the remainder of the way up until you were tossing it on the floor.

You swore you saw Ellie’s eyes pop out of her head when your bare chest was on full display for her to indulge herself in shamelessly-and shamelessly she did.

A guttural noise came straight from her chest as Ellie’s hands moved to squeeze your tits together, making you lull your head to the side out of sheer pleasure.

“Ellie,” you whined, making that same noise slip off of Ellie’s tongue as she moved her face and began furiously kissing along your collarbones.

Her tongue glided along your skin, leaving trails of wetness in her path, until she got to the place her mouth had been watering for.

Your nipple felt velvety against her tongue as she lapped it up using various circular movements. This feeling used to be a phantom, but now it was in the flesh and she couldn’t believe she had been depriving herself of the delicacy that was you for all these years.

Your fingers twirled the hairs that sat along the back of Ellie’s neck, occasionally pulling them whenever she hit a particularly heavenly spot. Ellie gently grazed her teeth along your nipple while her other hand stayed firmly placed on your ribcage- half in order to keep her own balance, the other half just so she had an excuse to be touching you with every limb that she had.

Ellie began sucking on your nipple and you couldn’t help but arch your back off of the couch, naturally making yours and Ellie’s centers grind against one another. Clearly Ellie was enjoying the friction-and so were you-as she continued sucking even more harshly on your nipple, just the way she remembered you liking it.

By now, you were dripping wet as the currents of pleasure, from the friction and Ellie’s mouth, had you rocking your hips against Ellie as you searched for any sort of abrasion in order to ease the pressure that was weighing heavy on your clit.

“Take this off, you spoke through heavy breaths as your hands moved to the back of Ellie’s shirt. You were tempted to just start taking it off yourself, but you were still hesitant in whatever was happening between the both of you and the only thing that was reassuring you it was okay was Ellie giving her consent.

Ellie swiftly moved upwards and discarded her shirt so it met yours on the floor-a silent consent. Now, the both of you were matching with bare chests exposed to one another.

The moment Ellie moved back down to kiss you again, both of your bodies began sinking up in a rhythm that was getting both of you equally worked up. Ellie’s hand moved to your thigh and lifted your leg up to her hip as she ground her hips down against yours again, but this time with much more access and ability to move against one another with an added pressure.

While the both of you continued fucking with clothes on, Ellie’s hand had managed to slink in between both of you. Her fingertips pressed firmly against your clothed center, feeling the slightest bit of wetness that she was hoping she would find seeping through the thin cotton of your sleep pants.

In unison, you both made a noise of pleasure as Ellie continued rubbing along your clothed core, until you gave her bicep a squeeze.

Ellie released the suction of her lips against yours and peered down at you with a cautious facial expression. “You okay?”

You smiled slightly at the worried expression on Ellie’s face and nodded. “Yeah, I'm good. Really good.”

Ellie’s eyebrows relaxed from their tense state, yet she was still confused. “Are you sure this is okay?”

You shrugged as your eyes averted from Ellie’s worried look. “I think that’s a question you should be asking yourself, not me.”

There was that reminder again about how wrong this situation was, but how could something that’s so wrong feel so incredibly right to Ellie?

Silently, Ellie’s mouth moved to your neck as her hands went to rest along either side of your body. “The only thing I'm thinking about right now is how you taste.”

Her lips left a long kiss to your neck as your eyes nearly rolled to the very back of your head as she did so. “Take off my pants then.”Ellie snickered at your confidence as she obeyed your command.

She maneuvered her body so she was sitting back on her knees-her hands were quick to reach the top of your pajama pants and shed your lower half of it’s top layer.

“God damn,” Ellie sighed words that were meant to be internal, but at the sight of the dark spot that was gathering in the center of your panties, she just couldn’t help herself.

As much as she wanted to enjoy this moment and take her time, Ellie also couldn’t fight off her primitive urge to have your cunt on her mouth.

Swiftly, Ellie’s thumbs hooked on the sides of your panties; you raised your hips upwards to assist her in fully discarding the material off of your legs.

The natural scent of your pussy filled Ellie’s nostrils as she felt her heart start to speed up. Her hands were quick in moving to wrap around your thighs as she settled her face so that it was just above your warm and visibly wet center.

Ellie started off with slow kisses to your inner thighs and lower stomach,trying once again to take her time, until she physically couldn’t take it anymore.

Her teeth sunk into your thigh, making one of your hands raise up to rest on the back of her head and your crotch raise up to move along Ellie’s face.

Ellie’s tongue moved along her lips-the faintest taste of your wetness hitting Ellie’s taste buds for the first time in years. She was desperate now.

Her face moved down, pressing a long lick to your center and allowing you and her to both have some relief from the built up tension. She found herself humming in satisfaction as her tongue peaked out to gently lay flat along your dripping clit, causing you to jerk your body upwards from the sensitivity that was already very prominent. Ellie bared her teeth in a grin before she went back for more.

Ellie’s tongue made out with your cunt as she gave you the sloppiest, messiest head of her life. Your wetness mixed with her saliva as it dripped down her chin while she licked up your center faster and faster with each lick.

Your hand squeezed her brown locks as Ellie wrapped her lips around your clit, sucking it with all the pressure she could muster up before popping it out of her mouth.

Her eyes would briefly glance up at you to watch your every facial expression and bodily reaction to make sure she was hitting every spot that once drove you wild; she was happy to know your body was still a well read book in her library.

Ellie’s tongue went back to give quick, but long licks to your cunt, making sure to leave more pressure then the next. One of her hands moved to your inner thigh and pressed it down gently to ensure you were keeping your legs fully wide open for her, especially when her lips would take a break from the licking and go back to suck on your clit again and again and again.

You could feel the warm tension in your lower abdomen spreading throughout your body as you fully allowed your voice to moan and groan out whatever words came to mind that would accurately describe the ecstatic feeling that Ellie was putting on you.

“’m so close,” you whined as you subconsciously squeezed Ellie’s hair in your hand even more as you tried your best to keep your eyes open so you could watch the way Ellie looked in between your legs.

At your confession, Ellie began to slow down. Infact, her tongue was licking along your slit, but purposefully not putting too much emphasis on your clit because she knew you would be coming undone all over her tongue if she did.

As tempting as all of that sounded to her, she hadn’t even had her fingers inside of you yet.

Your eyes squinted as you watched Ellie’s tongue as it moved tantalizingly slow. By the way the corner of Ellie’s eyes were pinched, you knew she was smiling deviously even though her full face blocked as her tongue dragged up and down your cunt.

Her eyes looked straight into yours as her mouth disconnected from your center. A line of spit connected the both of you before Ellie wiped her lips with her thumb. With that same thumb, Ellie glided slowly along your cunt as the severity of your wetness made a squelching noise that had Ellie regretting she had ever removed her mouth from you.

Ellie’s teasing had you making noises as if you were a new born baby crying out for its mom. Begging and pleading and writhing so you could have your way, but Ellie wasn’t having any of it, she was much too entertained by how you were acting.

“What’s wrong?”

All you could do is respond with a whiny tone as her thumb dipped inside of your cunt for a brief second that didn’t last nearly as long as you needed it to.

“You like that? You want my fingers inside of you?”

Your nodding was so quick, it made your entire head vibrate. Ellie snickered with amusement as she watched you grinding yourself down onto her fingers that were beginning to pick up speed as they rubbed along your pussy.

“God you’re so hot.” Ellie’s eyes were super glued to your lower half as she watched the way your hips rolled into her hand, leaving your wetness to glisten on her fingers. She could only imagine how good you’d look riding her fingers like this.

The next time your body ground down, Ellie tested the waters by slipping the tip of her middle finger inside of you with ease, thanks to your wetness. Your little, bitchy whines were enough of an answer for her to proceed, But first Ellie wanted to take you to bed and ensure she had enough room to properly fuck you into oblivion.

At the disappearance of her fingers, you looked down with a mix of anger and shock. However, Ellie was quick to give clarification as she stood up from the couch with her hand outstretched towards you as she nodded in the direction of her bed.

You nibbled on your lower lip as you placed your hand in Ellie’s palm, just before she assisted in getting you to a standing position.

And from there, everything felt like a blur.

[xshines]

mizu x reader enemies to lovers

sry for being inactive, im lazy af; also i might continue this one

Falling pieces of snow slowly began to cover the surface of the broken sword, thrown somewhere in the distance on the cold ground, no longer incapable of saving you. The cold snow slowly began to compact and melt beneath your shivering, warm body. The cold metal of your rival's sword blade hugs your thin neck. You dared to look up at her as she hovered over you, her expression blank. She finally has you. She looks at you lying so pathetically in front of her now. She squints those blue eyes of hers to scan you once again, your scratches, your torn clothes, a moment longer she lingers on your torn side, which stains your clothes and the snow beneath you with a dark crimson. But finally her eyes land on your face, finally able to take a closer look at the face of one that has been getting under her skin so much lately. Her enemy. Oh, how she hated you.

You know your fate very well, you are very aware of what is about to happen. Even though your body is shaking from exhaustion, from the snow and cold wind, you try not to show your fear. Despite your increasingly throbbing wound, you don't even hiss or whine. You're not asking for mercy. On the contrary, you frown and even give her that defiant look. Like you're daring her to cut your neck.

She hesitates, hesitates the longer she looks into those big eyes of yours. She has killed countless men, but their facial expressions were different, they were afraid, they were begging, they were screaming, asking for mercy. You are different. The sight of your helpless body, covered with blood dripping from your side, invokes sympathy and nostalgia in your eyes. For some reason, she finds in them a strange innocence that she herself was stripped of a long, long time ago. You look so soft. You look so pretty. “You’re so young…” her voice whispers while her eyes stare into your face. You could only wonder why she hadn't yet swung her blade and sliced your neck cleanly once and for all. "Does it matter now?" You answer in an equally quiet, hoarse voice. The cold wind blows strands of hair and sticks them slightly to your forehead.

Your words echoes in her head. She is brave. You haven’t shown fear nor pleaded for life, which makes her feel…something. She is strong. The cold blade still doesn't pierce the soft skin. "Why didn't you ask for mercy...?" She speaks quietly, only a silent breeze passes by, whispering snow in her hair. She is special. Not many survive an encounter with her, even those who have begged and fallen to their knees.

More and more you felt the blood flowing down your side, staining your clothes and coloring the snow. You just snorted at her question. Despite how much blood you've already lost, you still collect the remaining energy to growl in response. "I am not a dog. I'm not going to whine for mercy." You even dared to give her that determined look again.

All sorts of thoughts were running through Mizu's head now. She’s not afraid. She doesn't know her place. She's just like me. She lowers her katana. Her enemy is more than just an enemy.

"What are you doing?" The question falls from your lips as your eyes follow the blade as it moves away from your neck. „You should kill me.”

The moral monologue battles deep within Mizu. She still wants me to kill her. I should kill her. With the sound of the blade, Mizu raises her sword and returns it to its scabbard. Her gaze falters — a rare moment of weakness. "How old are you?" She steps closer as her voice echoes in the snow-covered landscape, while her blue eyes scan their enemy's body, taking in every tiny detail — bruises, scars, wounds. A glance at the blood that continues to seep down your side and stain the snow. An unexpected feeling, unknown to her, wells within her. An urge to protect this young person, as if you had reminded her of her younger self.

This sudden change in attitude surprises you. You swallow, gritting your teeth as you consider whether to answer the question or ignore it. After all, you no longer have a weapon, and even if you wanted to get up and run away, with this wound by your side, it wouldn't be difficult to catch up with you. "… 20." Mizu frowns when she hears the answer. She really is just like me. You are only a few years younger than her, but you have already chosen this terrible path of violence. “Stand up” she demands quietly. You look sharply at Mizu, as if trying to feel the catch. Slowly, you tuck your legs and push yourself up into a sitting position with your arms. You grit your teeth and widen your eyes as now your wound reminds you even more of its existence. After a moment of deep breaths, you gather yourself to get up. You'd rather bite your tongue than hiss in pain in the presence of your enemy, and finally you slowly, swaying slightly, stand in front of her.

Mizu’s gaze remains fixed on her rival, not taking her eyes off you for a single second. She sheaths her katana entirely, and a soft snow breeze fills her senses. The sound of snow crunching beneath her enemy’s feet resonates inside her mind, echoing inside of her heart. "What is your name?"

You think for a moment. You don't have the strength to think about why she's suddenly asking you so much information about you. The only thing you focus on is the throbbing pain at your side. "[Y/N]" You reply quietly, your head slightly bowed as you grab your side and try to apply pressure to your wound. “[Y/N]…” Mizu repeats after you. Her enemy’s name echoes in her mind, as if a whisper. The cold wind passes by, caressing her senses, touching her face with invisible fingers, carrying a hint of fresh winter air. Her blue eyes soften, as if looking at the most beautiful thing in existence. “Your name…is beautiful…" she sighs, unable to take her eyes off her enemy. “…like you,” Your face relaxed slightly at this sudden compliment. It's been a long time since anyone complimented you or your appearance. You opened your mouth as if you wanted to say something, but after a while you remembered the situation you were in and frowned again. She is your enemy. „Shut up” You groaned, unable to hold in the pain any longer. You lowered your head and clenched your eyes and teeth. When you looked at your hand, entirely stained with blood, you shuddered. Mizu watched your reaction very carefully. Deep down, she admired you for still having the nerve to tell her to shut up despite bleeding profusely and being on the verge of death. She's strong. She’s beautiful. “I’m taking you with me,” Mizu said sternly, as she approached you. She lifted you, her enemy into her arms.

Her closest enemy. Oh, how she adored you.

[skz-bibi]

( 🔴 ) ... [ YOUTUBE ] STRAY KIDS: THE KITTEN INTERVIEW !

( outfit ) ...

"i'm bibi." she waved to the camera , smiling.

they all sat on the floor excitedly waiting for the kittens to come out. "are they coming?" she squealed as the small kittens entered the studio. "oh my god , they're so cute."

she picked one up , gently scratching its head. "it's so soft." she said , not sure if she'd even be focused to answer the questions.

what do you look forward to eating the most when traveling in the usa?

"Chick fil a." she said , holding the feather over the kitten's head watching it follow it. "I wish I could take that back to Korea with me sometimes."

"I wish I could take you back to Korea with me." she cooed at the cat.

what's your favorite american slang word?

"they learned about rizz a few weeks ago , it's been interesting."

if you were an action figure, which two accessories would you come with?

"my phone and chocolate."

ryan Reynolds has publicly said he's a stray kids fan , are there any other celebs you were surprised to learn were your fans?

"we recently met chris hemsworth?" chris said , telling them about their interaction at the met.

"it was sort of like playing with an older brother , imagine being picked up by the chris hemsworth." she laughed.

"oh at the vmas sabrina carpenter called me cute." she smiled. "and I tell everyone about it."

you were the first full kpop group to attend the met gala. what was the most memorable about the experience.

"I think the entire thing was memorable , growing up I would see the outfits on TV and think it was so cool , I never thought I would be able to ever attend something like that."

if you weren't an idol what job do you think you'd be good at?

"probably a track star or a actress."

what names are your members saved as in your phone? What's your group chat name?

"chris oppa" "yongbok" "lee know oppa" "han" "yenie" she pointed them out. "then bin oppa" "hyunjin" "and kim seungmo like han." she said.

what artist would be your dream collaboration?

"tyla." she smiled. "i love her so much."

what's your love language?

"hugs , I love physical touch." she hugged the kitten. "you're so cute , she nuzzled her on top of his head.

"bibi is like a koala." Felix said. "she clings to people all the time." she nodded. "it's cute."

what's your roman empire?

"What would happen to me if I just was shipped off to a private island and had to survive?" she said. "really." she nodded. "I think about it often , I don't think I'd survive because I have 0 survival instincts."

if you could put one stray kids song into a time capsule to be listened to by future generations which would you pick ?

"3rd eye." she said. "I feel like a lot of people would love that song in the future."

you've had countless comebacks, but what concepts do you want to try that you haven't done yet?

"something like muddy water, I think it would be fun to have a comeback with that old school hiphop vibe." she said.

your concert last sometimes three hours, what's the secret to maintaining stamina on stage?

"relax a bit before you go on." she said. "save all your energy for when you're on stage , cause that's when it matters."

"of course with a group like this it's hard , so I say just wing it when you're up there." they laughed. "bibi stop."

what's your workout routine?

"legs the most , I don't focus on upper body a lot , I have no interest in lifting weights , but if I'm working out with the members I'll do it just for fun."

"doesn't last long." jeongin said. "yeah because I hate it." she laughed.

what's changed the most about straykids from your rookie days to now?

"my outlook on everything , when I was a rookie I thought about everything did wrong , now I just go with the flow and hope for the best."

what's one piece of advice you'd give to your trainee self?

"it's gonna be okay."

©️SKZ-BIBI

[heartfullofleeches]

[tw: threats]

Midnight Caller Darling... - A reader fully aware and terrified of their stalkers. The yearning, unwanted presents and advances- the stares. They hate the stares most of all. Lingering glances burned into their skin, following them home and clinging to them no matter how hard they scrubbed and scratched them away. In their shower, their bedroom. Nowhere was safe from watching eyes. They were an infestation, a plague. Darling just wants them all to go away, but nobody will help them. Their calls had been ignored by police, ongoing cases thrown out and burned by detectives who swore their safety - all parties involved paid off with the deeper betrayal of passing their information off to the highest bidder.

They couldn't leave. This was their home, the town that raised them. Though its people had turned their backs on them they couldn't uproot their entire life so suddenly and who's to say their stalkers wouldn't chase after them once they fled - the very police who turned a blind eye writing their escape and subsequential disappearance as just another missing persons case.

They had enough. They were tired of being afraid in their own home. Tired of being afraid of going outside. They searched for something - anything to help them come to find everything they needed was written straight from the hands of their admirers and slipped under their front door.

Phone numbers. Once it was clear nobody would save them, their stalkers shed almost every inch of anonymity and became bolder in their demands and approach. They left numbers, places to meet. Pretty much everything except their real names.. Cowards. One night Reader realized they could have the same wall of mystery as their watchers and ventured out to the payphone down the street. It was dangerous to go out so late, but there were just so much racing through their head they had to do something to gain a moment's rest.

They dialed the first number, granted seconds to put everything in their brain to words as the phone rang. They begs so many nights to be free, it was time for a different approach. If they showed fear or even an ounce of weakness it'd mark them permanently as an easy target. They had to be the one that was feared, a force to be reckoned with. They need to be worse than their stalkers. Threaten them and make them fear every waking moment alive - just like them.

"I..... I have a knife... I have a knife and... I'll stab it through your fucking eye if I ever see you again."

Did they really just say that? The words flowed so naturally from their lips it felt as if they'd rehearsed them their whole life. It felt good. Freeing. Their body hadn't felt so light in ages. They felt in control. Powerful.

"I'll gouge them both out... then you'll never be able to stare at anyone else again. I'll be the last person ever see.. You'd like that - wouldn't you?... stupid bitch."

Its the most fun they've had in years - even before all this began. They never wanted to come down from this high. They were free. Finally free.

"Slut... Think showing a bit of skin will make everyone love you? You're worthless. Nothing more than a cheap fuck. If you ever talk to another person like you do now I'll cut out that pretty tongue and rearrange your guts in ways you aren't used to. We'll see who think you're oh so cute and innocent when I put your head in a trash bag."

"There've been so many times where I could kill you. So many times I could just wrapped my hands around your throat and just - squeezed til you finally shut your mouth for good. One of these days... one of these fucking days..."

"Hahaha, I'll kill you. You hear me, bitch?! I'll slit your fucking throat and fuck you til the warmth leaves your body. It's all you're good for anyway. You stupid whore. Disgusting pig. hahaha - HAHAHA."

In a way their calls work. There aren't as many eyes on them anymore - bashful and reserved by the depravity their darling has whispered to them in the dead of night. It's almost romantic most think. Being the outlet for every twisted thought and frustion their love has had to endure. Figures who once waited outside their door wait patiently each night for their midnight call unable to fall asleep without the verbal assaults and threats of the one they hold dearest to heart.

[actual-changeling]

this is some self-indulgent, directly post-divorce crowley angst, i am 100% responsible for any emotional damage this might (probably will) cause. enjoy.

CW for mild self harm mentions/descriptions, nothing graphic

-

His flat is dark when he returns.

It always was, and up until this very moment, it had never bothered him before; yet as he watches the door swing open, he feels a wave of apprehension. Even the metal underneath his fingertips has an unfamiliar chill to it. After driving for hours late into the night, his mind painfully numb, the Bentley eventually chose a well-known road and brought him back—well, 'home' is certainly one way of putting it.

It was never one to begin with, but now it is the only place he has left.

Some of the city's shine flows through the windows, but it is barely enough to move the shadows below them, let alone reach the hallway. Crowley presses his palm against the door frame and tries to remember how to breathe, grabbing his glasses with his free hand as he squeezes his eyes shut. When Shax took over, he had spent a week arguing with himself over whether or not to tell Aziraphale, slowly settling on a 'yes' with a growing spark of fearful excitement.

Until he remembered their conversation on the bench.

(I don't think my side would like that.)

Until he thought back to the bandstand, flicking through the years like a photo album and revisiting all the times he had asked for something, anything, and the answer he received.

(You go too fast for me, Crowley.)

No, it would have to come from Aziraphale, and maybe, he repeated to himself over and over whenever he decided to drop by, with just a little more time, he finally would. After saving the world, after escaping heaven and hell, after sitting in the Ritz for hours, Crowley dared to hope.

Four years later, he had long since realised his mistake.

(Nothing lasts forever.)

A crack rips him back to the present, dull pain attempting to separate the veil of numbness and failing, and he drops the crushed remains of glass and metal to the floor before stepping over it. The door quietly falls shut behind him, locks thoughtlessly click into place, and he distantly acknowledges the need for new security measures, not that he currently cares much about anything.

Let them come for him; he has nothing more to lose.

Sliding down the closest wall, he listens to the roughened surface scratching the fabric of his suit, finding that once he sits with his knees pulled against his chest, the physical place loses importance.

"Maybe it's not the dark," he whispers to himself, the thoughts thick and sluggish like honey in his mind. "Maybe it's not the dark, but the quiet."

His own words are haunting him, ringing in his ears and sticking to the back of his throat, and for a moment, he considers simply getting up and walking away. The earth is a graveyard of memories, London is a mass grave collapsing in on itself, and it's not like being anywhere else would change the fact that he was alone.

Alone.

The earth was empty, just like it had been when he sat in a burning bookshop.

Flames licking at his skin would be preferable to the ache underneath it, every cell remembering the fleeting press of warmth, of Aziraphale, his just for a handful of seconds. When he traces his lips with his fingertips, he catches a hint of copper, and it's ash and soot branding him despite his miraculously clean body, it's begging and asking and pleading, it's a mouth opening and the euphoric shiver that followed.

Love, fire, loss, the taste of blood lingering on his tongue no matter how much time passes, and if he weren't wrapping his arms around himself while curled up on the floor, he might have been able to tap back into his anger, the indignant rage Aziraphale's words woke within him.

The weight of the last week hits him all at once as the adrenaline in his body finally starts to fade, the pressure tightly constricting his lungs and forcing a choked gasp out of him. He rests his forehead on his knees, his palms seeking the grounding cold of the cement.

"No nightingales." Crowley scrapes his nails across the floor, the words barely audible even to himself. "Fucking idiot, I just had to hope again, didn't I? Too many fucking questions."

It's not the quiet either. It's not the dark or the empty halls, it's not a pristine, dusty bed or imperfect plants lining the windows. It's the fact that even now, he knows exactly what he will do, surrounded by everything he has after losing the one thing that actually mattered.

He will stay right here, and he hates himself for it, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip until salt explodes in his mouth, but it won't change.

Aziraphale has gone, so Crowley does what he always does—wait for him to come back.

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Worlds at War | Yandere Thor

The world as you’ve known it was on the crux of war. Your father and mother fought hard to support your older brothers who were intent on leading the kingdom's various armies. Though your father seemed fairly indifferent, he didn’t bother to hide his anger when you received your first injury. 

“Never again.”

“But Dad!”

“Nope, you’re far too unprepared to be on the battlefield. Just let your brothers handle this.”

“Dad it was just a little scratch!”

“Please Adam, darling! (Y/n) just going to run away if you forbid them entirely!”

You doubt your father would have let you do even that but it convinced him to let you take on smaller tasks like leading the transportation of goods. Usually on an already conquered route, once again secured by your brother’s army.

On the day you met him, that was exactly what was happening. Following behind Lu Bu’s enthusiastic army you were sure this would be another uneventful mission. You’d be incredibly wrong. 

Diverging from the usual plan, Lu Bu’s army had not cleared the route. Instead, they were still battling the enemy on the path. All too eagerly you directed your unarmed troops to run, retaining half of your army to aid. Being on the level of your brother, you easily tore through the enemy army. It was exhilarating. Like your brothers, you found the enjoyment in a fight but of course, it just wasn’t on your level. 

No one on the battlefield was until you got to him. Hair flowing like the tail of a phoenix and eyes gleaming a yellow-green like the moon of a lunar eclipse. His hammer swung with power that could be spotted miles away. But what stood out most was the smile on his face. It matched the one on Lu Bu’s face when he made his last charge. 

Despite the grief that threatened to clutch your heart you found yourself grateful. For if anyone knew of your brother’s burden it was you. While you may have been able to go toe to toe with him in theory your father once again would intervene; ordering you both not to take it any farther than light sparring. It only fueled your excitement.

You quickly ordered the remains of your brother's army to retreat or continue fighting along with your own, launching yourself off the back of your horse to immediately commence in battle with the silent giant.

“You’ve given my brother a glorious end, I’d love to do the same.”

He only grunted but his smile persisted. 

For the next ten hours, this duel of yours would commence. Both of you smiling ear to ear as you both parried, blocked, and occasionally slashed at one another. An unspoken comradery was born when he fought your brother and the same could be said for you. 

It only slowed when the sun began to rise and a hawk came with a warning cry. Breaking out of your trance you jumped away listening to the chirps of the birds–something your father taught you fervently. The message they sent was one of warning. The warning of a specific someone’s wrath.

“Rats, I have to go. He’ll chain me to a wall if I don’t.” You whistled for your horse who dutifully trotted to you. Before you snapped their reigns to return home, you turned your head. 

“So what’s your name so that I can look forward to fighting you again?”

For the first time since the fight had begun he spoke.

“Thor.”

You smiled and bucked at your horse; yelling over your shoulder. “Then until next time Thor! I’ll  beat you then!”

From then on the story of your love would begin. To the average person, it would seem bizarre that you’d both go from fighting for days to making out during an ambush. It was truly a marvel that heirs of warring kingdoms would find such comfort in one another but you two did. Against the warning of those who suspected, both of you ignored it for the euphoria you gained with each other. 

“Thor, I’ve been thinking about what we’d do after this war.” 

His eyes opened looking up at you, who was running your ungloved fingers through his hair. He took a moment to speak, admiring the small smile on your face. 

“What will we do?”

You chuckled ducking low to share a kiss with the Norse warrior, lovingly trailing your hands from his crimson tresses to hold his chiseled chin. He, in turn, held your cheeks lightly running his thumbs over your cheeks.

“We’ll go live in a forest or a mountain, or maybe we’ll travel.”

He smiled at you nuzzling his head deeper into your stomach as though trying to close the distance between your bodies. Hugging him closely you let his hands trail further down as you spoke in whispers.

“Maybe we’ll have a family or a bunny. Though I wouldn’t want mjonirr to be left out.” 

He hummed turning himself around hold you in his lap to trail his hand along your back and the hem of your scouting uniform, playfully toying with the small opening. Distracting you from your protests he nuzzles his nose against yours swallowing your moans with his own. 

So encapsulated in each other it was beyond either of your thoughts that those who were suspicious now had finite proof of your allegiance to each other. It was true that no information had been betrayed or secrets shared but still an allegiance to the enemy would bring some concern. 

________________________________________________

“From now on you’ll be put on the back side of our defensive front.”

“What?!” 

“I no longer trust you on the front lines.”

“What why?!”

His usually indifferent cerulean eyes looked out the window to the east as though glaring at the one he’d been told of. His gaze softened when he looked into his child’s pained eyes forcing him to close his, he appreciated Eve’s grip on his hand. 

“How can I trust you’ll come home if you're distracted?”

“....Dad I can explain–”

“I’m sure you can but I won’t be leaving my baby in the hands of an enemy warrior.”

Their head hung low before they ran out of the settlement. Adam could hear the confused shouts of the guards as he heard the swift gallops of his child’s horse. He knew they wouldn’t run too far because they knew he wouldn’t let them.

“Adam, my love how do we know he isn’t as equally in love with them? How can we be sure their love isn’t true?”

The father looked wistfully at the apple on his plate holding it up high before squishing his hand and turning it to mushy paste. 

“That’s what I intend to find out.” 

Meanwhile, Adam’s child was now running to the meeting point. The abandoned wasteland of unconquered territory had been the meeting place for the couple. By now vegetation had begun to grow over the remnants of a town caught in the crossfire. It provided just enough cover for a letter that (Y/n) would only hope Thor would receive in time.

Finishing up the remains of the letter when they saw the hulking shadow cast over them they thought it was Thor. So they didn’t protest when a large hand pulled them by their waist into a deep kiss. Faster than they could register they’d already slashed at the man’s cheek, immediately causing the man to flinch. He still held tight around their waist this time digging his nails spitefully into their sides. 

“You think I wouldn’t know the taste of my lover? Loki.”

At the call of his true name, the face and figure began to morph revealing the adopted mage with a twisted expression. 

“Well, it appears you do. My bad for underestimating you.”

“What do you want?!”

“So cruel. I only wanted to give my regards to the fallen hero.”

Already suspicious (Y/n) attempted to jump back fully drawing their weapon only for their arms and legs to buckle. Looking at the pinch of a syringe in their side, they glared at the giggling mage. Their vision went black as they saw the mage come in close.

With the last of their strength they called for the one they yearned for,” Thor.”

The mage chuckled with glee as he kicked the limp body below him. With ease, he lifted them turning to their sleeping face with a triumphant smirk. 

“What should we do with the damsel hero then?”

_____________________________________________________

On the battlefield, Thor found he didn’t recognize the attack patterns at all. They weren’t familiar. He forged on finding that his troops were being brought down in record time. The pattern was incomprehensible. If he didn’t know any better he’d say whoever was leading was making a path right to—

“Found you.”

–him.

The punch he received was devastating. Knocking him through the waves of his armed troops and ground below; leaving him frantically standing in a crater. The owner of the attack wasted no time knocking him back before he could actively use Mjolnir, already pinning him down with a heavy foot on his chest.

“You and I need to talk.”. 

Thor tried to lift the man’s foot off of him for that same foot to deliver a striking kick to Thor’s jaw. Shaking the initial shock to digs his boots into the ground, lifting himself to stand in his favored position with Mjolnir. Sensing the sentient hammer Adam jumped away, expertly dodging the weapon which happily returned to the hands of Thor. 

Without hesitation both men commenced in a battle where neither held back, undeterred by the odd unspoken connection between them. Thor especially remained in the dark as he found certain attacks hitting harder when the blonde had a cold expression on his face; as though he was holding back. It only seemed to click when his trusted hammer seemed to trill when his opponent successfully caught him. It was so apparent it caused the warrior to pause. 

“Who are you?”

It was obvious he was the enemy king…which would mean:

“(Y/n)’s father.”

The immense shame that came over him was devastating. They were no longer fighting but it worried him that he hadn’t recognized the similarities before. It was silly that he hadn’t noticed how MjonIner was behaving the way it did when fighting his beloved. 

“Don’t get cold feet. I’m proving your worth.”

Similar to his battles before he found it dragging on, but unlike his battles with his love he was filled with the nervousness of a groom. The battle only slowed when Adam pulled away standing with a bored expression as he looked at the dwindling armies.

“Fine. I guess I’ll admit you are strong.” 

Thor didn’t relax his stance. The animosity teeming off Adam wasn't ceasing.

“If you wish to leave them with your life this is your chance.”

“Excuse me?’ 

Adam put an indignant hand on his waist. 

“If you want to leave them. Now’s the time. I’ll release you back to your army, and (Y/n) will never see you again. You can avoid the drama, the accusations, just agree to leave them.” 

The tension between the two was palpable. A withstanding obstacle that kept their armies far away. 

“I’m not leaving (Y/n).”

Adam scoffed,” So you say.”

“I promise it. I’ll abandon my duties to be with (Y/n). I’ll leave all of that behind. I’ll kill anyone who stops me.”

Their silence returns. The kind that came before a great storm. 

“....”

“...Good. I’d want nothing less.”

Or a great agreement.

Adam was quick to demand Thor leave immediately. He had an inkling something had happened and that was all Thor needed. Before he took MjonIr he bowed his head, darting in the direction of Adam’s army. More accurately past them at speeds rivaling their horses. 

“That boy better better protect them.” Adam turned his disinterested gaze at the remaining army.

“So who’s dying first.”

__________________________________________________________

When the Norse warrior first laid eyes on his beloved, he knew he’d never forget them. The warmth overtook his already aching body when they called to him. Or the way MjonIr trembled when they withstood its electric blast. 

It was perfection incarnate.

Even better, their affection was like air. Thor found his mind wandering to them when his army was desperately calling out to him. Or when he faced a barely equal opponent he could hardly refrain from thinking of their arms, their praise.

This is why he immediately aimed to slice off Loki’s arm at the prospect of his love being unsafe.

“I-I-I was only trying to do what was best for our k-k-kingdom!”

His lies were of no comfort encouraging Thor to raise his hammer and begin to swing down. 

“WAIT! Wait! I know where they are b-but you have to be calm!”

“Speak or I’m going to kill you.”

“R-r-right! Well—”

Loki told of a defective group on the enemy’s side that seemed to worship him. In their various interpretations of his vague orders, they required a sacrifice chosen by him. It was a passing punishment. One he wasn’t sure if it’d kill the ‘hero’  or not. Admitting to his weakening of the fighter he suspected that within a few hours, they’d ritually burn the incapacitated hero. 

Thor could barely keep still when he was told. He graciously sliced the adopted mage’s arm instead of killing him. He marched out of the ruins determinedly; he had to save his beloved before it was too late.

______________________________

Waking to the muffled sounds of chanting and fire roaring was never a good sign. The humid enclosure of a woven bag around your head made it hard to breathe. Closing your eyes was a better option than the odd passing of light within the small holes. 

It didn’t help that you could feel your body weighing heavy, a constant reminder of the drug-induced sleep you endured. The unfamiliarity that comes with your forceful sleep. The burn of new cuts kept the feeling fresh, feeling them littered all over your body. It didn’t make it better when you realized there was the chilled coolness of something wet. 

No doubt your blood.

The cacophony of different voices rang out, eventually joining together to chant a name that left you like this. 

“Loki! Loki! Loki!”

Feeling yourself being laid down you could recognize the biting knot around your wrists and feet being reinforced. Getting small touches of your bound hands you could feel wood, curved into a pole. From there you could guess the fate these people had in store.

As you were made to stand up straight on a pile of wood, you naturally thought about your plans to escape. The poison you’d been given might have put a wrench in your usual plans. Which would just be you easily kicking those handling you and snapping at your binds. 

But you couldn’t do that. 

Hearing the chants get louder you figured that your best bet would be to run the second you felt the rope and subsequently your body catch fire. Doubting you’d come out of this unphased, you prepared yourself for the searing pain to be. Minor burns when cooking would be only a small taste of what you planned to survive. You were sure you could.

You only wondered if Thor could love you charred. 

Speaking of him, you were sure you could hear the beating of Mjonir…or was that you’re own heartbeat? It couldn’t be because you could feel your heart speed up as you realized the hammer was actually here. 

The joyous rambling of the crowd became a hoard of gasps and questions. It desperately had you wishing someone would lift the bag from your head. Alas, you could only garner Thor’s entrance from the crowd’s reactions. While it was surprising it’d be expected, rarely do others after seeing Thor, believe they can attack him to any degree. For as comforting as you’d find him, his hulking size, giant hammer, and stoic expression make him intimidating long before the fight begins. 

You expected a few war cries before the slam of their deaths. Then a scream would ring out and all would disperse in a panicked flurry. 

Except that’s not what happened. 

You felt the warbling heat of a fire being ignited at your feet. In seconds, there was a gust of wind that killed the slowly increasing warmth. The previously hushed crowd began to devolve into screaming. You could feel what remained of your clothes to warp and pull in the direction of the wind. 

Along with slicing, there were crackles of thunder and the furious thrum of MjonIr. Hearing the wet sounds of blood splattering and the thumps of flesh falling to the ground. The smell of iron filled your nose and the screams continued to ring out. 

For people as touched in their minds as they were, you felt pity for them. Hoping to quell your love’s anger you called for him or you tried. The pain in your throat was something you’d never felt before. Feeling as though a thousand pins were stabbing you from within. When you did muster the strength of your voice, the screams had stopped and the wood around you was crunching under a boot. 

Hearing the rope around you snap and unravel you let your hands naturally reach for the chiseled face of Thor. Already looking in his direction as you felt the bag on your head pull away. It is then you feel the cool and sticky coating on your lover’s face along with with the desperate look in his eyes. Wide and distraught, his eyes looked as though you’d be gone any second now. His arms wrapped around you expressing the same sentiment. You held onto him just as tightly bringing your lips closer to his, happy at the reunion alone. 

Entwining your fingers in his vermillion locks, you pressed your forehead into his. Filling your vision you were surprised to have him draw you into his body once again, hungrily biting at your lips.  

The love of your life was insatiable as always even among the corpses of your people.

He is your world. 

And it will forever be comforting to know he’d do anything to keep it that way.

[divinelolita]

2010 TOM KAULITZ X M! READER: CAR SEX

nsfw content below cut, dont like don't read

"Shhh, baby, stay quiet. You don't wanna get caught do you?"

Tom asked you with a raspy voice, his pierced eyebrow raised as he pushed you to the door, your hands pressed against the (thankfully) dimmed windows. You winced gently, the cold temperature making a shiver run your your spine.

You tried to focus on Tom's instructions, steadying your breathing as he rubbed his hands down your thighs, need and lust taking over your body as you let out a soft whimper. His hands were cold and calloused from playing the guitar. You sucked in a sharp breath as his fingers traced your ass, startled as his fingertips teasingly dipping into the crevice. Oh fuck, fuck..

"Oh..." You let out a breathy moan, your hips grinding as you tried to receive more friction, get him in you- anything to help your throbbing member reach your high. You looked into the window, the faint reflection of Tom's smirk showing up as he slowly slipped his fingers into you, spitting on them so the process would be less painful.

You were so fucking hard right now you really wouldn't have cared either way.

You let out a loud gasp followed by a moan, your hips jerking up and your thighs shaking slightly. He had barley pushed in and you were so worked up, your hole clenching harshly on his fingers. He left a small slap on your thigh, making you hiss out and unclench for a second. With that moment he was able to push in another inch, almost knuckles deep into you.

"Didn't I tell you to be quiet?" He asked, his voice calm but firm, his fingertips gently tapping onto your prostate. Oh, he was cruel.

Your whole body jerked, your lips parting as you let out whimpers and whines, biting your lip harshly to try to muffle your noises. Tom licked his own lips, slowly thrusting his fingers in and out, spitting on his fingers again so they could move more freely.

His fingers slowly picked up pace, going faster as he scissored you, stretching you out. You let out little gasps, but other than that you stayed quiet. Tom smiled as you followed his orders, rewarding you with faster thrusts to see how far he could push you.

With each thrust in he would curl his fingers, making you see stars and moan loudly, which earned you another slap; this time on your ass. "C'mon, gorgeous. You were doing so good for me, I know you can be quiet.." He whispered into your ear, puncturing each word with a thrust into you making you whimper out, shaking against the door.

You whined softly, you really were trying! You bit your lip harder in an attempt to be quiet, trying to focus on the pleasure. He suddenly rammed his fingers right into your prostate, making you let out a choked cry followed by a whimper.

This time, however, he didn't try to shut you up, instead chuckling deeply as his eyes darkened with lust and continuing his pace. His fingertips scratched and banged into your sensitive spot over and over, making tears flow your vision and gasps escape your lips.

"Oh I'm gonna- I'm..oh my god.." You whined out, eyes rolling into the back of your skull as you clenched and unclenched on his fingers, the pleasure almost overbearing. He cooed gently, slipping his fingers out of you when he felt your body tense up, feeling your prostate gently throb at his touch.

You let out a whine of need and confusion as he pulled his fingers out with a soft pop, wanting to cry as you had been denied. He shook his head even though you couldn't see, a smug look on his face.

"Not yet. You need to follow orders..maybe I need to teach you better, huh?" he hummed deeply, fingers running down your spine making you shudder. You heard a belt click, followed by the sound of clothes being taken off. Your body twitched in anticipation, your cock painfully hard.

Tom would surely be the death of you.

[infamous-if]

O kay okay okayaoakayasysayas Since Rowan isn't going to be a LI can we please get his POV reaction (deep crush stage) of MC going over to him to tell him that MC is in love with one of the other ROs? Pleasee I need the angst and I love Rowan and am sad we won't be able to romance him!!

I was listening to favorite crime and kind of went a bit overboard. Please excuse this lengthy and angsty-ish drabble. Aha.... 🤒 ill keep it short next time

The soft notes of Rowan's guitar--affectionally dubbed 'Betty'--rises above his head, filling the silence of his hotel room. He strums aimlessly, absently, his fingers having a mind of their own as they move, creating a random melody that's oddly soothing. Or maybe it's the very essence of his guitar--he always feels more grounded, centered, with Betty in his hands.

Rowan's gaze remains unfocused as he plays, his head tilted, legs crossed on the balcony that overlooks the sleepy streets of their latest tour stop. A soft, pleasantly warm wind curls around the messy strands of his hair, locks sweeping across his forehead like a caressing hand. As the melody takes hold, going from mindless practice to something that sounds like it can be the bones of a real song, he closes his eyes.

Rowan has never been a good singer, but you don't need to be a good singer to make people feel something. He's learned that from the best of them.

I wonder if MC would like this.

The thought of his best friend makes a low groan sound in his throat, and with a huff he pauses the recording of his phone. Suddenly Betty's romantic notes feel like a taunt, a blade to his heart with every reminder of what he and MC are not. They're not together. They're not anything more than friends.

They're not what he wants them to be.

He knows he shouldn't feel this way about them. They're friends. They've been friends since he still thought fart jokes were funny and he had no bass in his voice. That's all they've always been and all they will be: friends.

The word has never sounded so terrible.

Still. If only...

His phone buzzes with a text and he sets Betty down. That blade in his heart only twists when he sees who it's from.

Of course. Did my thinking manifest them? The thought induces both a laugh and a sharp hint of misery from him.

He reads the text: Open your door.

He turns his upper-body to face his door, bursting up once the realization flows through him. He glances at himself in the mirror on his way there, making sure his pajamas are at least semi-presentable. It's MC; they've seen him in worst states, but level of comfortability changes when you want someone to see you in ways they've never seen you before.

In other words, he needs to look good.

Rowan heaves a breath before swinging open the door, remembering to keep the easy smile on his face. MC still looks good even at twelve a.m. after an entire day on the road. It's almost unfair.

"Heyyyy." He grins, trying to appear light. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

MC rolls their eyes. "You're not busy, are you?" They lean over to peek behind Rowan's shoulder, their eyes settling on an abandoned Betty. "Working on something?"

"Nah." He scratches his neck, self-concious. "Just fooling around. What, you need to talk about something?"

MC pushes past Rowan's shoulder to breeze inside, throwing themselves on the bed with a huff. "Iris and Devyn are out and I need to talk to someone."

Rowan takes a seat next to them, snorting. "So I'm the third choice?Wow."

They prop themselves up on their elbows, strands of hair falling in front of their face. Rowan has the terrible urge to lean over and push them away. "You're not exactly the 'serious talk' kind of person."

"Serious talk?" He gapes. "Yes, I am! I'm capable of being serious, you know. I'm not an asshole."

With a laugh, MC rolls over on their stomach and groans into Rowan's pillow. Now his curiosity is officially piqued. What could have MC so...like this?

"What's up?" Rowan's following laugh is both nervous and amused. "Did something happen with Seven?" Seven and MC have been a bit...all over the place since the beginning of the tour. He hardly knows what to call it. "Or did Orion lecture you again?" Orion is another one. That man has been relentless since tour started.

MC shoots him a look before sitting up, copying Rowan's position. His eyes flicker down to where their knees touch, to the proximity that's gone from the size of the bed to none at all.

They've been close like this before. No, scratch that. They've been closer, but this is different. This is different because everything is different.

"You know you're my best friend, right?" MC says, putting their hands on Rowan's.

He clears his throat, the skin under theirs burning with their touch. "Yeah...?"

"And we can tell each other everything?"

"Yeah." He quirks a brow at them, trying to stifle their humor. "Are you dying? Please don't tell me you're dying. You haven't even gotten rich yet to leave me anything in your will."

MC laughs but it comes out a bit uncertain. High-pitched. Rowan knows them. The same way he knows Iris and Devyn. He knows all of them like the back of his hand. So it only takes him another second to realize it.

MC is nervous.

His heart does a weird somersault in his gut.

"I have a secrettttt," MC sing-songs. Even as a joke they still manage to sing with perfect pitch.

The four words are enough to shake his very world, but he manages an eye roll. "Fucking hell, we're not twelve. Just spit it out."

"Sorry." MC palms their face, a nervous laugh escaping them. God. This must be serious for MC to be nervous in front of him? Rowan has never really gave anyone the impression of a harsh judge. Hell, he's always been an open book. "I just...I'm in love with [RO]."

He wished he didn't rush them. He wished he didn't hear those words at all. He's half tempted to grab it from the air and shove it back into MC's mouth so they can pretend it never happened.

"What?" is all the fuzz in his brain can spit out.

MC throws their self back, a wildly breathless laugh escaping them. The sound is even better than Betty's notes. "WHEW. That felt good to say it. Is anyone hot in here? I know I am."

MC keeps babbling but all Rowan could hear is a white noise in his head. MC is in love with RO. MC is in love with them.

MC is in love with someone that's not him.

"I just needed to let that out." MC huffs, gazing around the room. "You should invite me next time you play. You know I like seeing you finger Betty."

Rowan can't even laugh at the dirty inside joke they've had between them since he bought Betty years ago. It suddenly makes him feel wholly small and largely ridiculous: Rowan will never be the person for MC. He will always be the goofy best friend that makes stupid, childish jokes about fingering his dumbass guitar and the one MC goes to when Devyn and Iris aren't available.

He's not even the second choice. He's the fucking fourth.

As if noticing the change in atmosphere, MC awkwardly purses their lips and says, "I should probably get back to my room and get some sleep. We have an early start tomorrow."

He blinks, managing a small nod. "Uh-huh." He runs a hand through his hair, feeling naked without his hat. "Right."

They stand and shoot Rowan a final look. "Thank you," they say after. a moment, "for being my friend."

He's really starting to hate that word.

But he smiles anyway. "Yeah. Ditto."

MC grins, spinning on the heel of their foot to leave the room. Rowan follows, waving lamely at them and watching as they disappear down the hall, whistling a merry tune. It's true; it does feel like a weight was lifted of their shoulders. They walk with a hop in their step. Rowan hates knowing it was RO that is responsible for that.

With a sigh he closes the door, leaning his forward against it. Spinning on his shoulder, he looks up at the ceiling.

"I need to get laid," he mumbles.

Though he has a feeling that won't do much to solve the problem in his heart.

[deuxcherise]

Rebirth Pt. 2

C/w: Unhealthy behavior, mentions of life and death, mentions of resurrection, explores human things, probably OOC Dottore (?), yandere Dottore, gender neutral reader A/n: So I’m back with a continuation of Rebirth, eheh~ Like with the previous one, this one is also quite experimental (compared to how I usually write). In addition, I wanted to kind of touch on some philosophical concepts since… well, we’re dealing with a resurrection here. So! Here, we’ll have you explore your surroundings for a bit before your favorite doctor comes and finds you, okay? Enjoy~ Masterlist | Part 1, Part 2 (you're here!)

There are many inquiries that continue to boggle the greatest of minds throughout time. Questions such as, “Do ghosts exist?’ or “How much of an object can you replace before it becomes an entirely new object?” or “What came first, the chicken or the egg?” or, following that line of thought, “Why did the chicken cross the road?”

But none elicits as many emotions among both the rich and the poor, the fortunate and less fortunate, the mighty and the weak, as the question, “What happens after one dies?”

You gasp, eyes open as needle-like sensations prick and stab all over your being. You claw at your body, accidentally scratching some of the delicate skin with your dull fingernails as you will the pain to stop. Instinctively, your mouth opens wide and your throat relaxes, finally allowing air to flow in. Once your lungs have gotten their fill, you cough and accidentally hack up some kind of thick, red substance onto… What are you looking at?

Various words flow into your head. Body. Head. Shoulders. Arms. Fingers. Legs. Knees. Feet. Toes. Yourself.

That last one is an odd word. But it’s one of the things you know, and that’s better than knowing nothing… right? … You don’t know… Oh well. What can you do?

You look at the red substance. There is an urge to touch it. How do you touch it? One of your limbs begins to move. It’s one of your arms. Your entire arm moves and flops around, bending and locking up at your joints. The sensation of tiny sparks pulsating from your head to the tips of your fingertips is ticklish, pulling the corners of your mouth outwards and upwards, exposing your teeth. The more you will yourself, the more those little sparks form and flow, and your fingers begin to move in a wave-like manner starting from your index finger to your little finger. The more you wiggle your fingers, the more control you begin to have until finally you’re able to pick up your hand and curl every single finger except for your index finger, and poke the red substance that you coughed up onto your legs.

It’s sticky. You don’t like the way it feels. And you don’t like the way it smells. It smells like iron... Tastes like iron… Blood?

Do you have blood? It came out of you, didn’t it? Living beings have blood. Do all living beings have blood? What an odd concept. What is a “living being”? Are you a “living being”?

You grab at your head, trying to will yourself away from this strange line of thought. Unfortunately, the more you try to avoid the subject, whether by pressing your fingers against your skull or shaking your head, the more thoughts appear in your mind regarding the concept of living. You know you should… be, but at the same time you know you shouldn’t… ? What is this contradiction? It’s… horrible. Horrible horrible horrible horrible horrible- “Ach!”

In your erratic movement, you’ve accidentally thrown yourself off your bed and onto the cold, hard floor. It is painful, especially the areas where your body had collided with the surface. Pain is often a clear indicator that one is living. You don’t know how you know that, but it’s one of the truths you know. So if you are feeling pain, you must be alive. Problem solved. Congratulations.

“Congratu… lations,” you sarcastically applaud yourself verbally, though the way those words feel like a pile of smooth pebbles tumbling around on your tongue.

Utilizing what little motor skills you’ve coordinated earlier, you slowly but surely push your top half upwards. You can feel those tiny sparks travel past your chest and torso and down towards your longer limbs. Unlike earlier, the sensation of your lower nerves might take a while. In the meantime, your eyes are captured by your strange surroundings.

The walls are lighter than black but darker than white. Grey. That’s the word. Grey. The walls are grey. And the floor is also grey. And the weird objects in the room are… also grey. There are just shades of grey everywhere, save for the few accents of black. Along with a really large curtain in front of you… that is unsurprisingly grey.

“How… boring…” you murmur, testing out your voice again. Your pronunciation is getting better, but it tires you out having to use your voice.

You would have liked to see… what’s that color again? It’s not grey, although the… Huh. What is it called? The “up”? No… agh, I can’t remember. Let’s go with the “up”. The “up” can be a grey of the color. Especially when it rains. The color of sadness. The color of water. What’s the name of that color again…?

You grimace. It hurts your brain trying to remember. Whatever it is, you know what you should know but it’s not coming to you at the moment and it’s making your chest pulsate warmly. And green.

With one arm holding your weight up, you make the other poke at the middle of your chest where it is glowing green. It disappears. You pout. Just as you’re wondering about what it is, the green glow reappears. Your eyes glitter with curiosity, as you’re unable to grab a hold of whatever it is. A morbid idea appears in your mind, but some other thought, probably your common sense, suddenly occurs to you that you would be an idiot for trying to rip your chest open. Because you would probably die. Again.

Again? Living beings only die once. How can one die again? You poke at your head, wondering why your brain is saying weird things.

You try out your legs by wrapping them underneath you, struggling to straighten your back but eventually managing to sit up straight in a kneeling position by leaning back on your hands.. Then you press your hands on the floor in front of you and try to push with your feet to hold up your bottom half.

You end up in a downward dog position.

That’s… not what you were going for. Why is standing so hard?

You huff and bite your lip with scrunched eyebrows, head forward as you try to figure out how to move your arms to your feet, failing to take note of the green in your chest growing brighter. You try bending your knees but that does nothing. The green flickers out. Then you begin to tilt your weight forward onto your hands and then tilt back towards your feet, and again until you manage to lift your upper half up with a backwards tilt. The green glow flickers back on. You celebrate being bipedal by raising your arms in a victory pose.

Just for a second, until you discover the concept of momentum.

“Ugh!” You fall flat on your butt, and the green glow immediately goes out. But not to fear.

The amazing thing about the human body— are you human? …You’re pretty sure you are one, but in the meantime you’ll be taking advantage of the concept of bodily memory. You were able to stand for a moment. Now you just need to figure out how to keep standing!

It takes you a few more tries, being in weird positions, but you finally manage to stand on your two feet. Now… how do you move without falling…?

-----

Somehow you find yourself outside. Ignoring the shallow lacerations from the broken glass on your arms and knees, and the cold outside air that’s making goosebumps appear on your bare skin, you look up and— “Oh… how…wonderful,” you can’t help but whisper.

The vast blue up above, where white fluffs float across like slow moving ships in a sea. The bright ball of light burns to look at but its rays look pretty as it falls upon the earth around you.

The sky. That’s the word you were looking for. The sky. It’s blue, so blue. It’s so…

You feel something wet go down both of your cheeks. When you touch your face, the wetness transfers onto your fingertips. It is a clear, warm liquid. Strangely, your throat and  nose seem to clog up. What’s happening to you? And why does your chest feel heavy when you look up at the sky?

The green glow appears at your chest again and this time you notice it. It seems to appear whenever you’re experiencing… something. You don’t quite understand it, but what can be more important than that you’re feeling right now?

You sigh. If it wasn’t for the beautifully blue sky, you would not stick around. Outside of the grey walls you woke up in, it’s just white. Soft white and yet painfully cold underneath your feet, and then far, far, far across the land where you can see is a dense forest. Other than that, if you turn around, there’s just a very large building with some admittedly nice architecture.

A building in the middle of nowhere. You have no idea where you are but you’re quite sure that if you have been anywhere in the world, this and the inside of that building are probably the most boring places you’ve ever been. You sigh and look around so more, hoping to see something interest-

A person. At least, you assume that’s a person, because other than their inhuman face, they’re bipedal with two arms and two legs. By how their face is pointing towards your direction, and considering you’re the only one here, you assume they’ve taken notice of your presence. But you feel a shiver wrack up through your body that isn’t related to the cold temperature.

Run, the feeling says.

You immediately make a break for it in the opposite direction. Unfortunately for you, that person starts to chase you, like a predator after a prey. They shout something you don’t understand.

“(Y/n)! Stop! (Y/n)!”

Whatever that person is saying, it’s making your head hurt and you hate the feeling of dread that accompanies that weird sound.

Run run run run run! you shout at yourself in your head. The faster you run, the more your legs burn. Much to your chagrin, the person is keeping up with you and for some damned reason, keeps shouting, “(Y/n)” over and over. If you could only make that person stop saying-

Your foot accidentally catches on something and your entire being crashes down onto the blanket of snow. Luckily, it is soft enough that your body doesn’t sustain any damage other than some bruises, but your pride was definitely wounded! For that, you lie still and wait for your second death to take over.

Footsteps come to a halt once they reach next to your body. “(Y/n)! I can’t believe it… why… Are you okay?”

Perhaps it is too much to hope for death when you’ve just started living. You keep your head down, averse to interacting with this stranger. Maybe if you don’t respond, that person will just go away.

“(Y/n)?” At your lack of movement, the person flips you over and picks up your body like a weightless sack of… anything that would normally be heavy, much to your shock. Seeing your wide eyes and agape mouth, the person whispers, “Oh thank goodness...”

The stranger collapses onto his knees while still holding your body. His body shakes as he hugs you tightly, almost to the point of crushing your bones. Once he rips off his face, revealing a different face underneath, to hug you closer, your eyes go wide.

Oh… Well now. What a handsome fellow~ You have no idea what a non-handsome face would look like, but this is definitely a handsome face! And his voice~ When he’s not saying that dreadful word “(Y/n)”, the words coming out from his mouth are quite pleasant on the ears. And the way he holds you, goodness gracious-

“(Y/n)?”

That sound again! You slap a hand against the man’s chest and push him away, scrambling just a few feet away on your hands and knees. This action of yours isn’t taken in a positive manner by the man, evident by how his face seems to scrunch and his teeth are bared towards you. This is a face of anger, your mind processes.

“(Y/n)-”

You wince at that damned word, covering your ears and screeching, “No!”

“Huh? (Y/n)-”

“Stop it!”

“What?” The man kneels in front of you, holding your wrists and trying to uncover your ears. “Stop what, (Y/n)-”

“That word! Stop it!” you shout, trying to wrangle out of his grip in vain. Your eyes are scrunched shut.

“What word?”

Oh, he’s playing dumb now? “That word!”

“(Y/n)?”

“YES,” you scream. “STOP IT! STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT!”

“.....”

You open one of your eyes and meet the man’s red eyes. You watch as his eyes slowly soften and his grip becomes loose. You open both of your eyes and uncover your ears, curious of this expression of his. Then you start to become conscious of his gaze. Now that someone is looking at you, you find the urge to cover your indecently naked body with your arms and legs. Unfortunately, his hands may be soft but they haven’t let go of you just yet, so you just hold up your knees.

“(Y/-” he catches himself. “Do you… Do you not recognize me?”

You give him a look of disgust.

Does he think you have the memory of a goldfish? How in the underworldly realms could you forget a handsome face like his? It would be- It would be blasphemy! You aren’t an- “Idiot,” you say in a small voice.

“What was that?”

But you do try. You squint at him. He's… a very good looking man with light blue hair that reminds you of the sky and red eyes that remind you of blood. His outfit looks quite fancy with all of the frills and buttons and gold. Nothing comes to mind though; you haven’t seen him before. “No…” you answer, despondently. 

The man’s eyes widen and he looks everywhere in a manic way, as if looking for something that isn’t there. Then he closes his eyes and gives a heavy sigh with head fallen back, facing the sky. “I see.”

He places you on the cold snow and takes off his white coat to wrap you up before he replaces his mask on his face, picks you up again and begins trudging back to the building. You don’t question his actions, finding comfort in his arms and his coat. He doesn’t seem to want to bring any harm to you… Then again, what if he’s one of those weirdos who like to prolong one’s death? Handsome faces can be real liars!

Hesitantly, you ask, “Who are you? Do I know you?”

The man pauses in his movement and faces you, an uncanny grin spreading across his face. “I’m your lover, silly,” he answers before continuing on his way.

“My lover?” THIS HANDSOME MAN IS-  “… What’s a lover?”

He pauses again, to contemplate his answer. “A lover is… someone you cannot live without.”

“... So I can’t live… without you?” you ask, confused. A living being doesn’t need another being to live, do they? You are sure you’ve been doing quite well before he entered the picture.

“That’s right~ And I most certainly cannot live without you.”

“Is that so?” you whisper, voice already tired again. “ … That’s sad…”

He grits his teeth and tightens his grip around you. “And why is that?” he spits.

“Because if I die… then you’ll die. That sounds… ” Sad.

You don’t know what his eyes look like underneath that mask but his mouth starts to relax before his lips close gently. You feel the urge to caress his exposed cheeks. However, you don’t, unsure if this stranger would take too kindly to the gesture.

“It certainly is… sad,” he says, heavy-hearted. “For one’s lover to die, it is… true agony. Like the sky has fallen.”

The sky falling down!? You gasp. “That sounds horrible. I don’t like that! Don’t say that!” you want to say, but nothing comes out of your mouth so you instead cover your ears dramatically.

The man chuckles and continues walking. “Alright, alright. I won’t say anymore. Now let us go home, angel.”

Home, you repeat in your mind. With your lover. That sounds lovely…

[thydungeongal]

I can't believe you'd just drop that Rolemaster has "very unique metaphysics" and leave it like that. Could you talk a bit more about it?

So okay. At the heart of Rolemaster there's the fact that it was made by a bunch of guys who thought D&D wasn't crunchy and "realistic" enough. These people also thought that D&D clearly didn't have enough stats. They were also obsessed with symmetry. Now that I've laid the foundations, let me go further in depth:

D&D was clearly unrealistic because it only had six stats. There needed to be more. The way they decided to go about this was to divide each of D&D's stats into two pairs of closely related stats. They first paired off Strength and Constitution, and then went to work: splitting Dexterity into Agility and Quickness, Intelligence into Empathy and Reason, Wisdom into Intuition and Memory, and Charisma into Presence and Self-Discipline.

Now, at this point in time it had already been established in D&D, that Intelligence was the stat related to Magic-User and Illusionist spells (which would later come to be known in D&D as Arcane magic) and Wisdom was the stat related to Cleric and Druid spells (which would later come to be known in D&D as Divine magic). Rolemaster implemented those types of magic, calling them Essence (the "Magic-User" type magic, the rawest form of magic in the fiction of Rolemaster, its governing stat being Empathy [a really weird name for a stat that actually is, like, how well you're in tune with the world?]) and Channeling (the "Cleric" type of magic, magic that flows from the divine, and magic closely related to life, its governing stat being Intuition).

At this point one of the designers probably went "Wait a minute this fucking sucks: why isn't there a third type of magic that is governed by the Presence stat?" After the dust settled following what must have been a pretty epic brawl between Coleman Charlton and Terry Amthor, Amthor was tasked with coming up with a realm of magic tied to the third stat pair. He came back with Mentalism, which is kind of like D&D psionics, but also not really.

So okay, Rolemaster has three different realms of magic, and not only are the mechanics of how their users gain their spells explained differently and their spell lists unique, they also come with unique sets of restrictions. The flow of Essence is disturbed by dead matter, including metal and leather. That is why Essence users need to go unarmored, wearing heavy robes at most. Channeling, being the magic of life, can't flow properly through metal, so Channeling users need to eschew metal armor (which became hilarious once they introduced the Paladin profession and needed to come up with a way for the knights in shining armor to still be able to cast Channeling spells). Mentalism, being mind magic, flows from the brain, so Mentalism users can't cover their heads.

There are some other interesting specifics: in the versions of the game where they've gone even deeper into distinguishing the three realms of magic by the actual gameplay mechanics Essence users have benefited the most from flamboyant gestures, 'cause the best way to throw fireballs is to do cool firebending motions; Channeling users have benefited from SHOUTING while casting their spells, because I guess the gods can hear you better that way; and Mentalism users have been unique in that their spells require no movements or words, just thoughts.

It's wild! And this is only scratching the surface of it, because there's also stuff like the very specific demon types in Rolemaster, evil spell lists being their own thing, hybrid spell users who combine two realms of magic, and Arcane magic which is like ancient proto-magic from which all the other three types of magic come from.

[cymk8]

op…. talk about your shadowheart/karlach brain thoughts rn….

sometimes you gotta be the change you wish to see in the world and s o the ourobouros of serotonin has begun and here I present:

Figure Skating AU (that I slapped together because the brainworms cannot be stopped):

Shadowheart stares out into the open ice, the hairline grooves left from a busy day at the public rink glittering silver under the lights. At least she got here before the owner closed up shop for the night. She glides in on unsteady feet, willing herself to focus on the sound of the ice, the scent of the crisp cold air, anything but the fact that it’s been months, that she’s already fallen and that she’s already lost it all. She glides in, willing herself to forget.

Eyes closed, she shuffles the music on her phone until it lands on a familiar melody. The chords are light, airy in the way that takes the breath out of your lungs and makes you think of flying. Her body moves in answer, letting the sweep of the music pull her across the ice. She revels in it, relaxing into aimlessly meandering. The music guides her, ebbing and flowing in time with the motions of her skates. 

It’s a conversation she’d missed having, the feeling of speed and weight and weightlessness on the ice. She spins. She feels free. 

Yet she’s wholly unprepared when everything rises to a crescendo, her heart pulling tighter with every note. Her mind wants to follow the music, tells her to jump, to let go —   

“— atch! Scratch! Get back here you slippery bastard— “

“Boof,” Says the big ball of fluff. Oh no. Now that’s not fair, they’ve got a dog with them. Any anger Shadowheart has quickly evaporates when the dog attempts to scoot towards her before tripping over itself. Unfortunately for everyone, the big red ball next to it decides to open its mouth.

Shadowheart’s eyes snap open just fast enough to see a big ball of fluff skid across the ice — and an equally big red body scramble after it. Everything comes to a full stop, her skates kicking up a small dusting of ice that falls right on the two very unwelcome guests. Adrenaline has Shadowheart keyed up, ready to snap at the idiot for not being able to read until she makes eye contact with a pair of big beautiful brown eyes.

“Sorry about that princess, Scratch’s never been to a rink before. All the ice was probably —”

“Like I said, I’m sorry…” 

‘Princess’? Shadowheart levels them with a withering stare. “And it seems like you haven’t been to a rink either. Who brings a dog out here? You don’t even have a leash. He could have gotten hurt.” She skates over to the dog, cooing at it. The owner dusts the ice off of herself before getting up.

Shadowheart turns to see the most infuriatingly charming smile on the biggest woman she’d ever seen. Fantastic. Now she has to deal with this blockhead. 

[mushroomwoods]

amidst the lonely nights

he would always remember your presence, and somehow it never got better like you said it would.

character — Fierce Deity, romantic/platonic.

cw — death/suicide, hurt/no comfort, confusing timeline.

oh haha, the hurt never gets better boys, it will actually eat you inside out and make you cry like i was while writing this. ;)

anyways, don't know what made me write this, but still, the food is served.

His being would forever be bound to loneliness, but that he had already acknowledged.

Many humans had seeked his presence before for many other reasons, power, allegiance, death and even friendship, and of course he always found those things utterly ridiculous, however there was something about you that just drew the deity closer.

Living a quaint, lonely life in the outskirts of some forgotten land, somehow reminding him of himself. The peaceful night's you spent laid under the sea of stars, the mundane routine followed every other day, the new practices you caught up after reading a worn book left behind at some abandoned cottage. It all only served to make the deity even more mesmerised by you.

The first time he appeared before you, was in a time you held yourself to learn how to brandish a greatsword, it wasn't uncommon or unheard of for common people to start learning how to use weapons, especially with the many wars that started raging around the world, but somehow he doubted someone like you would even be able to kill someone should the need arise.

It was a surprise however, how instead of running at the sight of him, you instead glared, lifting the greatsword enough to reach his waist line.

When he didn't react for many minutes tough, your only reaction was to sigh, turning your back to him and going back to practice. Not a single glance back at him.

The next time he reappeared was a week later, this time you only glanced at him once, before going back to washing a set of clothes you held in your arms.

And then it was three days later.

And when he got to himself, everyday, for at least a single hour he was there to observe you.

It wasn't until the second month that you talked to him.

“What is the war deity purpose for visiting my unbecoming presence every day?” Your voice scratched at the back of your throat from the disuse, but it sounded just perfect to him.

He shook his head, there was not a motive, at least not one know by him.

That day he was invited to sit beside you, while you flipped through the pages of a children tale you found in a rotting inn.

The war was slowly taking those lands, but you didn't seem to mind, living your life at leisure and all alone, refusing to move even if the world around you tried to force you to do so.

He envied you.

This type of freedom you gave to yourself. The lack of fear even when faced with the greatest of the dangers. The devotion you had to yourself and thus living your life to the fullest.

It was only a matter of time.

Until they got there, until they saw you as the enemy, until they tried to pull you away from him, as they always did.

But you were always an enigma, the interesting kind, the one who never lacked surprises, and ever the only one with the ability to break him whole.

The guards hadn't even unsheathed their weapons when he saw you, a bright smile crossed over your face, as if you regretted nothing, as if it was only right for you to part this way.

And thus his sword, the one he trained you with, the one he saw you brandishing every single day with some kind of newfound joy, the sword which he could finally use to save someone instead of killing. This sword that swore to protect you, killed you.

His sword painted in your blood, while the people stared at the scene both awe and horror. It was ethereal.

You were dashing, even in your last moments.

And possibly you'd always be, the only being that could plague his mind like that even in the break of dawn as he could only watch as time continued to flow even without you, not a single soul able to remember the pure joy that you could bring to another with a single tilt of your lips.

Even when you always reminded him that everything in life was fleeting, he always told himself that everything could be fleeting but the memories of you, which he would carry for the rest of his lonesome and immortal life.

[neverchecking]

May I request cockwarming with yandere legend like reader and legend are in a inn and when they touch like hand holding things start to escalate like hand holding turns to cuddling and cuddling turns into kissing and which ends up with legend cockwarming reader

You absolutely can! I can't explain it but cockwarming is literally my favorite thing. Especially with Legend? That Rat? Yum.

Sorry I'm not very active tonight, I'm at a concert! Feel free to shoot me some thoughts though for when I'm back

Smut so MDNI! 18+

Smut CW: Cockwarming, Legend makes fun of Reader just a bit, AFAB! Reader.

Chicken.

It started off slow.

He would lay his hand out, taunting you, with his fingers outreached and his shiny rings on display. He knew they caught your attention with the way your eyes would follow the curve of his knuckles, trailing down the ridges of the back of his palm and along the way to his wrist.

He would watch your own fingers twitch and jolt before you were holding them with your other hand, hiding them from his view. You would move your eyes back and forth, as if scared of being caught, before letting your hand go. From there, you would gain a bit of confidence, laying your own hand on the table not too far from his. He would eye it himself. From the soft texture of your skin to the flow of your bones and joints. Your hand looked just as soft as the rest of you.

It was a game of chicken from that point. He would inch his own hand closer, throwing it up in a random gesture before it was falling just inches from your own. You would feign playing with something, scratching at dirt that wasn't on the table in a way to close the distance. It was just a matter of who would break first.

Legend wasn't ashamed to admit it was him. He was impatient and you were acting far too coy.

It almost irked him. So, when he waved off some mindlessly nonsense Wind was spouting out, he brought his hand back down to lay on top of yours, hooking his fingers under your own to hold your hand close to his palm. Your own fingers had locked around his own, thumb fiddling with one of his rings.

Then from there was another game between the two of you. Hand holding was now on the table, something that Legend abused quite a bit (it didn't matter what was going on, if he could hold your soft and gentle hand he was going to), and now he had his eyes set on the next best thing.

He wanted to feel your weight on his lap, feel your warmth and hold you close. To be able to smell the shampoo you used and hear your heartbeat. Even just feeling the gentle up and down movements of your breathing was something that he needed to experience.

To he went from holding your hand to hooking your arms together. Then, when you no longer jumped at that, he took to sitting as close as possible to you everywhere you went. Close enough your hips would touch and he could lean his head on your shoulder.

And when you seemed okay with that, he went about scooping you into his lap. That was quite the jump, which meant it took time for you to grow comfortable with that. Which was fine. Legend got to hold you, feel you. Have your physical weight rest against him. Ma-She was much less receptive to touch. As if she knew she wouldn't last.

Knowing that you let him hug you and hold you meant you were real. You were real and you were here.

He wanted to kiss you.

He wanted to feel the silky plumpness of your lips against his, to feel you move against him and to steal your breath from your lips. That sounded like true heaven if you asked him.

But kissing was a much further jump than cuddling. Cuddling seemed less...intimate, in a way. Friends could cuddle. Friends didn't kiss.

But he didn't want to be friends.

He wanted to be more. He already saw you as his other half. His missing piece. Perhaps a reward for all of the Goddess forsaken adventures he had been on.

Maybe that was it. You were both a reward and an apology for the shitstorm his life had been! You were Hylia's pathetic attempt to get back into his good graces. That wouldn't be happening any time soon, but he would accept you by his side.

And friends didn't cover that.

It happened when they had found an inn to stop in. It was a...weird inn in the sense that it didn't have rooms. No, it had huts with beds and dressers spaced out far enough away that they were relatively sound proof. Which was perfect because if the night went the way Legend had planned, and he was a great planner, it would be needed.

He just needed to convince you.

You had agreed to room with him, something he had worked hard to achieve, none the wiser to what he had planned.

It was easy, really. Pulling you into his lap was something you were well acquainted with by this point, simply taking it in stride. He kept your attention on him with simple talking points, watching your lips move and contort to pronounce every syllable. Goddess, he just wanted to kiss you.

And so he did. He had spent too much of his life not doing the things he wanted because...why? He was scared? He had been on Goddess knows how many adventures. Nothing truly scared him these days.

That was lie. The thought of loosing you scared him. It scared him deeply. Even just the thought of you getting a splinter had him burning with the feeling that something was wrong.

But kissing you did not truly scare him. He knew you were meant for him. Just as he was meant for you. It was as simple as that.

Which was why he wasn't surprised when you began moving against him the moment the shock wore off. You reciprocated anything he gave you ten fold, lacing your fingers in his hair as you pushed against him. His every move seemed to flow perfectly with yours, like you two could telepathically communicate what the other was about to do. When your hips moved to better straddle him, he was pulling you closer by your thighs. When you broke for air, he followed your lips, truly addicted to the way you tasted.

Everything you did, he would return.

Well, almost everything.

He had to savor this moment as he wasn't sure when he would get another chance like this. He had to feel the way you melded against him, walls constricting before relaxing as he gently hushed you. Cooing delicate praise into your ear as you whined and whimpered above him .

"That's it, angel, nice and slow. Let me feel you." He hummed, running a hand up your back as you quivered just a bit. Every time you had tried to move, to bounce or grind against him, was rewarded with a heavy smack against your ass, rendering you helplessly endowed to whatever he wished.

And right now, he wished for you to sit your pretty ass still and let him memorize this moment. Ensure he would never forget and neither would you. He needed you to remember the way he felt. To absolutely ruin you for any other wannabe trying to get a taste of what was his.

His. Only his. He needed to brand you as his. Enough so that you wouldn't ever even think about someone other than him.

Carve out his fucking spot because no one else would ever get that privilege.

He'd make sure of it.

Another slap rang out in time with a sweet cry from your lips when you tried to rush him.

He'd make sure you knew exactly who you belonged to. He had worked too hard for anything otherwise.