#but it's slowing down a little. i'm starting to burn out (mostly bc i'm. running out of things to do akjshfsd)

[byanyan]

when will my motivation & energy for writing return....

[takamikeiigos]

• though keigo tends to be loud, seemingly carefree, and outgoing, he's convinced himself that hero work is his #1 priority and he has zero time to be getting all up in a tizzy about feelings

• this man probably doesn't even know what a long, meaningful hug feels like. but what does it matter because he's a hero, he doesn't have time to be mulling over that kinda stuff

• now don't get me wrong, keigo has all of the basic human wants and needs for love, affection, companionship, etc. but has managed to tuck those thoughts away deep in the back of his mind

• so he spends his free time alone watching movies by himself while eating takeout, or finding somewhere high on the skyline to perch upon while the breeze caresses him and gives him comfort while he's deep in his thoughts

• when it comes to his avian characteristics and needs, he knows many people don't understand so he tends to them himself

• long tiresome processes of preening his own wings, often getting aggravated when he can't reach a spot or can't get certain feathers to lay flat

• or when it's that time of the season and he continuously chooses to go through his ruts alone because he hasn't allowed himself time to slow down and properly take care of it, because he grew up too fast and exploring his own wants and needs was never an option

• let's talk about keigo nesting during a rut bc of pure instinct but suddenly coming to the harsh reality that he has no one to share it with

• ouch

• imagine the first time he meets you

• you think he's probably the most loud and obnoxious motherfucker you've ever met but he grows on you over time

• its only after spending a bit of time by his side that you realize little things about him that kinda break your heart

• he smiles and jokes around a lot, but when you catch him deep in thought or slipping you notice the vacant stares that make him seem far, far away

• or the fact that he doesn't touch people unless they prompt first, whether it's a high five or a pat on the shoulder, but his hands mostly remain in his pockets or by his sides otherwise

• so it breaks your heart even more when you go to give him a quick hug before checking out for the day and he completely tenses up, clearly not sure how to react

• it occupies most of your thoughts that night, before it finally dawns on you that keigo didn't reciprocate because he didn't know how to (not literally, of course)

• from then on you touch him more often - like gently putting your hand on his shoulder when you're reaching over him, or placing your hand on the small of his back when moving around him

• over-all you're in his space more, always standing a few inches closer so your shoulders touch or your hands brush

• but let's talk about that one time you both go on a mission together and keigo gets knocked around a lil bit

• you're finally able to catch up to him and the idiot is standing there covered in bruises, feathers missing and his hero outfit almost torn to shreds, and he has the audacity to smile at you like he didn't just get knocked into next week

• he tenses again when you run up to him and pull him into a frantic hug, worry ebbing from your entire being but grateful that he's still standing and alive

• but the exhaustion finally catches up to him and its then that his wall comes crashing down, his arms wrapping around you like he's clinging to you for dear life, and his head is resting on your shoulder, coming free of all those heavy thoughts he's been carrying with him

• things slowly change after that

• months later you two end up together, like two pieces of a puzzle that were lost but finally found, a relief of a perfect fit

• he texts you constantly - whether it's of things that remind him of you, or a picture of a cat he saw while on patrols, or even just to let you know you mean the world to him

• when you’re both together he almost always ends up being the one to initiate physical contact now, staying close in your space and his hand always rest against you

• on nights after a long day of patrolling, he'll come over and you'll put a movie on, cuddling close together on the couch while eating the most unhealthy junk food you could find to take the edge off

• you catch him smiling to himself one of those times, and when you look at him curiously, he shakes his head and laughs quietly

• "'s nothing baby bird, just nice to finally have someone to do this with"

• on another tiresome evening of patrolling, he flies through your bedroom window (you always leave it unlocked and open for him) and perches on your windowsill

• you can instantly tell something is bothering him by the way he's holding himself, his wings twitching and his body tense

• so you beckon him to come sit on your bed with you, thinking maybe a back rub will ease the tension. but when he finally sits down in front of you, the disarray of tangled feathers is the answer to your unasked questions

• you tell him to relax and he does, but when you hesitantly run your fingers against his feathers he nearly jumps out of his skin

• you pull your hand away as if it was burned and when you ask if you accidentally hurt him, he flushes and avoids eye contact

• "no! no, you didn't hurt me. they're just.. sensitive. 'm just not used to people touching them like that. but it.. it feels good"

• so you continue running your fingers through his feathers gently, making sure they're all in place and pulling the loose ones from his wings

• he’s all breathy sighs underneath your hands and you swear you hear him cooing every once in a while and your heart melts at the amount of intimacy and trust

• it turns into a ritual after rough days, and neither of you mind it

《《 NSFW 》》

• so look, i’m not saying keigo is a virgin but we're gonna keep going with this little needy & touch starved trend we got going. to each their own

• keigo loves being touched, but he also loves touching you

• i’m talking always pressing up against you when you’re both alone, face nuzzled in your neck while biting and licking, hands on your hips and squeezing

• clinging to you when you’re about to get out of bed, or sneaking into the shower with you bc he misses your warmth and is craving some skin on skin contact, his head nuzzled into your shoulder and his arms wrapped around you from behind

• tbh he’s probably still half asleep as he does this, too. you basically have him completely limp in your arms when you turn to start scrubbing his hair

• i’m getting a little off topic, huh?

• he’s always trying to get your attention, especially when he knows you’re busy

• he’s almost always breathless when things get hot and heavy, nearly falling apart over a make-out session

• but when you finally get him out of his clothes and on the bed where you want him, the experience is one you want to relive forever

• he’s got this wonton facial expression, chest flushed and wings puffed out, lips parted with unspoken pleas as you touch him

• the first time you even touch his dick he nearly loses it, head tossed back and fingers gripping the sheets

• "fuck.. fuck that feels so good dove, please don't stop"

• he’s so sensitive, his skin feels like it might burst into flames because of how worked-up he's getting

• the sight of him falling apart from a simple hand job is a sight to see, something you weren't expecting to get you going but it is

• you stroke him slow, your grip just loose enough where he ends up having to work for it, all the while you're gauging his expressions

• keigo is a talker, loud and completely unashamed of the filth pouring from his lips as he fucks up into your fist, his jaw slack and his brown pinched in pleasure and concentration

• "please baby, right there. god, you feel so fucking good, please don't stop. fuuuuck"

• when you decide to touch his wings out of sheer curiosity, you weren't expecting to his reaction to turn you on as much as it did

• keigo arching off the bed with a broken "f-fuck!", yanking you forward into a harsh kiss as he moans broken please and appraisals into your mouth, whining

• he finally comes in thick spurts over your hand, his hips stuttering as he thrusts upward to milk the final drops of his come, chest heaving and breathy pants falling against your lips, his hands tangled in your hair

• touch starved, needy, and sensitive

don't get me started on my man's going into a rut. whoo, good stuff.

sorry this is so long!! i got very carried away once i got into it.

if anyone wants to request anything, please do?? i would love that, especially since I'm trying to learn more about this beautiful bird-boy. nonetheless i hope y'all enjoyed!!

♡ ky

[spencersawkward]

I love your ff first of all, I'm obsessed and second of all I would ask you a suggestion, idk if maybe is that too much and you're totally free to not do that but you ever thought to do something in the line of the knive kink? I think it will be awesome

i'm so sorry this took so long! big thanks to my guardian angel @voidsfilm for giving me inspiration bc i literally struggled with this one more than i should have. never written a knife kink but i’m glad i tried lol.

summary: reader finds an antique knife that Matthew's kept in a drawer.

content warnings: unprotected penetrative sex, fingering, oral (male receiving), knife play (no blood drawn), Soft!Dom MGG, degradation and praise.

word count: 3.6k

masterlist

if there is one thing I absolutely despise, it's working out. getting sweaty, running until my legs hurt and my lungs are burning for air... not really my thing.

but when Matthew brought up the idea a couple months into our relationship, I couldn't say no to him: he had a goofy smile on his face and the kind of look in his eyes that made me relent and ask what kind of stuff he wanted to do.

I think that I've found the one thing that Matthew can't make fun.

"I'm gonna pass out." I bend over and set my hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath. Matthew slows to a stop a few feet ahead, turning around and making a strained expression.

"oh, come on." but his voice is pretty breathless, too. he gently guides me off the path so that we don't get in the way of the other people out enjoying the day. a couple walks by us with their dog, strolling calmly, and I feel a rush of envy. if our workout routine had consisted of a few pleasant ambles around the city, I would have been totally willing.

"Matthew, I wanna go home." I whine impatiently. the only nice thing about this is that he's got one of those stupid sweatbands on his head to keep his hair out of his face, and it makes him look like a 1980's housewife.

"we can go home in fifteen minutes." he smiles, puts his hands on his hips, stretching in an exaggerated way.

"do you promise?" I brush a piece of hair out of my face.

"promise," he's lucky he looks so cute in his workout outfit. "we can even get one of those fancy juices for you on the way back."

"seriously?" I light up. this might actually be worth it; they have this amazing mango and lime combination that I can't ever manage to recreate with our own blender.

"if you beat me to the rock, then sure." he references the enormous boulder in Central Park that we both gawked at on our first date-- ever since then, it's been the end point for our runs. my lips curl into a grin.

"you're on." I take off, making sure to push him out of the way in order to gain a head start. he lets out something of a protestation but is quick to follow. I can feel his feet pounding behind me, trying to catch up.

I may not be good at running long distances, but I'm sure as hell faster than he is.

...

it's quiet when I step out of the bedroom, drying my hair with the towel and wandering into the living room. Matthew is sitting at the table with his sketchbook, drawing god knows what while he waits for me to finish up.

"what are you up to?" I ask softly as I plop down across from him. my head is slightly tilted while the towel rubs my scalp.

"I'm not really sure." he shrugs, frowning and holding up the notebook from a distance as if that'll help him figure out what to do.

"can I see when you're done?"

"of course," he sets it on the table again, then runs a fingertip across his chin. "actually, can you do me a favor?"

"sure."

"I have a set of colored pencils in the desk over there," he points to an old piece of furniture under the window. "would you mind getting them for me?"

"yep," I reply, getting up and leaving the towel on the table. "least I can do after kicking your ass."

on the walk past him, Matthew grabs my waist and pulls me into him, attacks me with tickles. I squeal and hit his shoulder.

"stop!" I laugh.

"you barely beat me!" he gives a dazzling smile and finally lets me go. I lightly smack him upside the head and head over to the desk, rifling through the drawers for the colored pencils he wanted.

as I push around various art supplies, glue sticks and random paintbrushes that look to be on the brink of falling apart, my fingers pass something cool and metallic. I grab the thing and pull it out.

it's a knife; like, a fancy one with an intricately decorated handle and what seems to be a pretty dulled edge. before he can notice what I've found, I start to move the thing between my hands curiously. there's a nice weight to it, but it's definitely old.

"hey, Matthew?" I ask warily.

"yeah?" so unassuming and sweet.

"why do you have a knife?"

there's a scratching as he gets up from the table to walk over to me. I lean against the desk. Matthew doesn't seem too bothered by what I'm saying at all, only gently taking the weapon out of my hands and examining it himself.

"oh, yeah!" he lets out something like a laugh. I raise an eyebrow and wait for him to continue. "do you remember when we went antiquing in Cape Cod, like, a month ago?"

"yeah." I nod at the memory. he'd been lucky enough to get some vacation days and we'd spent them sitting by the water with glasses of wine and nothing but time to talk. it really was a great trip, now that I think about it.

"I found it there." he still hasn't looked up and I realize that there's something he's not telling me. I don't know what I'm missing, but I start to get nervous.

"...why?"

"I was gonna ask then, but I guess I just forgot." his tongue darts out across his bottom lip as he lifts his face to meet my gaze. my heart thuds when he opens his mouth again. "I kinda wanted to try something."

"like?"

"I've been thinking about maybe using knives... in a sexual way."

"what?" I frown, confused by his wording. Matthew seems to realize that he's phrased it awkwardly and shifts his stance. he keeps glancing between the object and my face like he's worried about scaring me away.

"I don't mean I'm gonna stab you or anything," he laughs. "I just mean I think it sounds fun."

my hand finds his, brushing my palm over the steel to touch it myself again. there's a curiosity that burns through me now, something I'm a little unsure about but not enough so to deny the possibility of trying it.

"what do you wanna do with it?" I peek up at him. he bites his lip. we're speaking in gentle tones and I notice that our bodies have gotten closer within the last few moments. a warmth, a tension.

"like, pressing the blade flat against your skin while I fuck you." he takes the thing and demonstrates. the cool silver rests on my neck, too dull to really threaten a serious cut if he were to move too quickly. a shiver runs down my spine at the sensation of the metal.

I gulp, feel the curve of my throat push against it when I swallow. it's nice.

"oh." is all I say. Matthew is watching me intently, but he doesn't make any motion away from it. like he's entranced by the sight of me with a knife to my throat.

"are you interested?" he asks.

I mull it over. on the one hand, weapon play is something I've never considered in my sex life before. Matthew and I aren't vanilla, but this hasn't crossed my mind. that said, now that I can really feel it, there is a desire forming in my stomach. it would be a strange, new sensation.

"yes." the confirmation makes him smile a little. he lowers the thing and instead wraps me in his arms, kisses me passionately until our tongues are dancing over each other. I love how he holds me, our torsos against each other while my body leans slightly back to accept the weight of his touch.

he goes to my head like alcohol. and it's even more surreal when I feel the blade move under the hem of my shirt to rest against my back. I smile into his mouth. he doesn't do anything with it, just leaves it to remind me.

he starts to rut his hips against my lower stomach, getting aroused at the proximity of our bodies and the heated nature of our kiss. there's an urgency to all of it, like he's holding back. I don't want him to hold back; I want him to give me everything he has, everything beneath the surface.

my fingers twine in his hair and tug on the ends, causing him to groan into our embrace. there's no way we're going to make it all the way to the bedroom with the way he's grabbing at my body, so I stumble backwards towards the couch until the backs of my thighs hit the arm of it.

"you're horny." I giggle slightly when he pushes the hem of my shirt up my body, his nails dragging over my ribcage and trailing the object along with it. I feel the excitement growing.

"I'm just glad you're willing to try this." he murmurs the words, holds our foreheads together before his lips eagerly seek mine out, again. somehow, even with a weapon leveled against me, I can sense the love in every single action. I wouldn't have said yes if I didn't trust him to treat me with the utmost care.

I work at the buttons of his shirt, pushing it over his lovely shoulders and arms as he unclasps my bra. we're fervent, greedy in our movements, trying to kiss despite the attention needed to remove our clothes. mostly we just tangle up in each other until there's nothing left but my shorts for him to shove down my legs. he keeps his pants on.

"c'mon, beautiful." he mutters, pushing my legs open so that I'm sitting on the arm of the couch. he tilts my head and leans closer to suck on my bottom lip, and then starts to massage my tits. I can feel the handle of the weapon against my nipple.

when he reaches to slide his finger between my folds, I hiss out a breath at the cold sensation of his skin.

"is this because of me or the knife, baby?" he asks, corners of his mouth twitching up while I moan into his mouth. he starts to rub my clit with the collected wetness, teasing me too much. I want to fall back, but I can't. I won't let myself.

"both." I find myself turned on by the way the blade sits against my ribs again. the edge is just sharp enough to elicit a reaction from my body.

"feel that?" he angles the thing the slightest bit. I exhale and nod.

that isn't the response he's looking for, however, because he moves it so that it's under my chin. goosebumps on my skin while I pant uselessly against the weapon. I can feel it press harder with every breath out of my lungs, and I love it. I love the risk it brings out of me.

while Matthew dips his index inside my pussy, I writhe against it and tilt my head even more so he has better access.

"look at you," he lets out a dark chuckle, thrusts into me to the last digit. "you want more of this, don't you?"

"yes, sir." I breathe. my neck is actively moving against the metal. I glance down at his body and see his erection straining against his pants, craving release but finding none as he plunges his fingers in and out of me. I can hardly breathe from sheer focus on the sensations he's giving me right now.

"what are you looking at, sweetheart?" he quickens the pace of his movements and uses the object to make me focus on his face.

"you're hard." the words nearly die on my lips. he stares darkly at me, lifting his brows just enough to make me question whether I should have spoken at all. I bite my lip in anticipation.

"and what are you gonna do about it?" his voice is raspy as he stands back, removes his fingers from my pussy, and lets me drop to my knees. I'm weak both from the stimulation and from the loss of it, but I make quick work of undoing his belt, pulling the pants down his legs until I'm face-to-face with his cock. it sits against his stomach, throbbing impatiently while he watches. he uses the metallic point under my jaw to angle my face up to his.

"are you gonna suck me off, baby?" he smirks. I nod rigorously with wide eyes and an open mouth, dragging my tongue along the underside. Matthew's nose scrunches up for a moment at the shock of contact when I tease the head. all his concentration is on watching me wrap my hand around the shaft and pumping him gently. "spit on it."

I obey and spit right onto the tip before rubbing my thumb over the top to gather the precum. as I start to swirl my tongue and move my lips onto him, he throws his head back, lets out a wanton noise. it urges me on. I take every moment with a deliberate attention to the veins and sensitive spot he has.

"that's it, that's it." he rasps while knotting his hand in my hair. the other keeps the knife pressed to my throat. he lets me move on my own for a bit, gauging my desires from the way my eyes attempt to memorize the sight of his face above me, that jaw dropped in licentious craving. I can tell that he wants to fuck my face, but I go slow just to draw it out a little. it makes the soreness of my jaw worth it when he gets all impatient and flustered.

I hollow my cheeks and bob on his dick, bat my lashes, pull myself off him for a second just to kiss the tip.

"can I use your mouth?" he asks through a restrained groan. I open it and nod, sighing at the feeling of his fingers twining through my hair again before he pushes back into the opening. now that he's got full control, he starts to develop his own movements, sometimes meeting his thrusts by pressing my face against him.

he gets deep in it, never losing his grip on the knife, until my nose is pressed to his stomach. my throat closes instinctively around him even more tightly, and he lets out a guttural moan.

"such a cute mouth when I'm using it." he thrusts until I gag and then he's smiling. "get up."

he removes himself so fast, my eyes water at the sudden lack of blockage in my throat. I gulp air while he hooks his hands under my arms and hoists me up. I'm about to turn around so I can lift my leg and give him better access, but he sits me on the arm of the couch and parts my thighs.

"I wanna see your pretty face." he leans down and pecks my cheek. I smile at the surprising tenderness-- although it doesn't last long. steel sits against the space between my neck and collarbone. it's only a moment before he positions himself between my legs and slides his cock into me.

my back arches and I look him in the eyes, gasping.

"fuck, baby." he drags out the first word as he inches inside. I mewl helplessly at the way he stretches me out, my pussy clenching every few seconds. he keeps one hand on my lower back to support me and bring me closer to his pelvis, and then we're staring into each other's eyes as he finally settles in it.

his hips start to thrust into me, hopeful for any kind of contact while I accustom myself to the shape of him. it happens every time, despite the amount of times we've done this. and I'm bad at patience, but he's worse. his body stutters against mine.

"is it good enough, sir?" I ask quietly. he tightens his grip on my back and on the blade, the edge threatening my skin the perfect amount. I suck in a breath at the way it stings a little.

"you're doing perfectly." he recognizes what I want to hear as he finds my sweet spot and begins to hit it repeatedly, smoothly works my body. I swear there are planets in my eyes when I stare at the expressions on his face, both of us so wrapped up in each other that every other thought becomes obsolete.

he moves the knife to under my chin to rest on my throat.

"feel that?"

I nod so the edge bites more. he smirks.

"just to show you who you belong to."

my hips push up to meet his thrusts, needing more stimulation, more friction. what I want is for him to be relentless, to slam into my body with the kind of hunger I know he has. there are sounds, movements, that he's made before that make me want him to use them. but he's withholding, probably hesitant about the dangerous object on my pulse point.

"I belong to you, sir." I egg him on. he likes the sound of that, grunting and starting to pound into me.

"yeah? you're my dirty little whore." he speaks through gritted teeth. I shiver.

"mhmm."

"I use you how I want, when I want." his fingertips dig into my skin and he yanks me closer so that he can hit a new angle. I let out a surprised noise when he brushes my g-spot. it's otherworldly and I expose more of my neck to him.

"my little slut likes pain, huh?" he nudges the weapon harder into my skin. it doesn't draw blood, but I can sense the mark it'll leave. I love it.

"yes, sir." we're both getting needy, but we can't hold each other the way that we want to in our given positions. my palms are occupied on the arm of the couch to hold myself up and one of his hands is too busy holding the object for us to fuck as deeply as we need.

"are you gonna take it like a good girl when I cum in it?" he mutters. he runs his tongue over my jawline and the weapon nicks my skin. I moan at the mingling of sensations that's building all across my body.

"yes, sir." I plead. it's nearly unbearable, how much I want him. we're chasing our orgasms and I know what will finish me off. he knows, too.

Matthew drops the knife. it clatters to the ground, but there's no time for me to register it with the way he grabs my hips and lifts me into the air, my legs wrapping around his waist while he keeps fucking into me. he maneuvers us with shocking ease, laying me on the couch and positioning himself at the right moment so that I can drag my nails over his back and keep my thighs locked around him.

"mmm... baby, I'm gonna cum." he drives into me recklessly, both of us finally able to cling to each other. the angle is just enough to stimulate my clit and I nod, using the leverage of my legs to pull myself to him and roll my hips for friction.

Matthew slams my body into the couch, grunting in my ear as he finds his climax inside me. it's so deep, I have to work to keep the yell inside, but he's not done. he rides it out and plows into me while I reach the edge.

"tell me how it feels." he orders in my ear. I sigh.

"so-- so good, sir." my voice is thin. "I'm close."

"show me." he leaves bruises on my hips with his hands. I feel the knot finally snap, every muscle in my stomach spasming chaotically. I finish with a loud moan, begging him to drag it out further. my vision nearly goes black at the tide that threatens to overtake my body.

"Matthew--" I gasp. he moans quietly at the way I say his name, still rocking his body into mine while I come down from the shocks of orgasm. it's nearly overwhelming, the pleasure running through my body.

slowly, we come to a stillness and he drops his head into my shoulder, panting. he doesn't let go at first, but then he withdraws from my pussy and lets me take a rest. I lay there on the couch while he kneels between my legs, pressing gentle kisses to my neck.

"I love you." he repeats it over and over.

"I love you, too," I hope he can feel the meaning, despite the sheer exhaustion in my tone. he runs his fingertips across the red marks where the thing went a little too deeply, but I'm not worried about it. "we should try that again, sometime."

"you liked it?" he smiles brightly. I love the lines by his eyes.

"definitely."

he lets out a cheerful noise and buries his face back into my throat because he knows how much it tickles. I screech and giggle, my legs kicking wildly around me. more contented than ever before.

[the-awkward-outlaw]

Hello! I'm nervous bc i never ask smth like this, but I love your fics, it kept me sane the last weeks! I love whumpy/angsty arthur fics (sorry) and I have so many ideas, but no courage to write. Here is something i literally dreamed: "Arthur getting shot in a shootout and falls in the water, Dutch doesn't know what to do, but (fem)reader dives in right away to save him. She takes care of him, because shot +getting sick from the water" Hopefully it's something. greetings from germany :)

Holy crap, this is my 100th request!!!! I truly don’t know how to feel about this!!!! I’ve thought about maybe doing something to celebrate, but can’t come up with anything. Any thoughts from y’all? I’m hoping I can open my inbox soon.

Anyways, hello Anon! Writing these fics has kept me sane as well these past few months. I don’t like thinkin’ what I woulda done without it, so I guess they’ve been helpful to both of us. I bet you have more courage to write than you think you do! Hello from Utah! 

Masterlist

Read on AO3

“It’ll be fine, darlin’,” Arthur says, grabbing the boat and pushing it closer to the water. 

“I don’t know, Arthur,” you reply, watching him. “I’ve got a bad feeling.” 

“Your girl worries too much, Mr. Morgan,” Dutch chuckles. He bends down to help Arthur and they manage to get the boat into the water. “Y/N, we’re just going off to fish. I know a great place.” 

“I’m sure it is a great place but…” you say. Arthur walks up to you and puts his hands on your shoulders. 

“Sweetheart, I promise nothin’ will happen. What danger can we get from just fishin’? ‘Sides, thought you loved doin’ this.” He gives you a smirk. 

“I do… and I want to. But, like I said, I’m just nervous. Feels like somethin’ bad’s gonna happen.” 

“Well then stay in camp,” Dutch growls, checking the oars. “Arthur and I will go, have ourselves a good time.” 

You let out a small groan, knowing your hands are tied. It was your idea to go on a fishing trip, but you thought Arthur might agree to just staying on shore, maybe even near Clemens Point. Dutch overheard and said he knew a great place where the fish would likely be plentiful and fat. Arthur heartily agreed, saying he needed to get out of camp for a while. You need to as well, but you just can’t shake this strange sense of foreboding. 

“Okay, fine,” you finally say and you clamber into the boat after Dutch, taking the front seat at the front. Arthur gives it one final shove and then hops in, taking the oars as he sits down. He begins rowing and Dutch points him on where to go. 

“It’s a long ways off, but I bet the amount we catch will be worth it.”

“Where exactly is this spot?” you ask. 

“Just near Bard’s Crossing,” Dutch replies, pointing to the massive bridge connecting New Hanover to West Elizabeth, stretching high above the Cumberland River. 

“Seriously, Dutch?” Arthur growls, still rowing. “We couldn’ta ridden there and grabbed a boat? That’s a long ways off!” 

“Oh now Arthur, you’re not telling me you’re adverse to a little hard labor, are ya?” 

You hate when Dutch does this because he knows Arthur will respond in just the way he wants. It’s always bothered you since you saw from the beginning it was a manipulation tactic for Dutch. However, you say nothing, but maybe you’ll talk about it with Arthur later tonight.

Arthur grumbles a bit and keeps on rowing. As time passes, Dutch suggests a song, which you and Arthur heartily agree to. Afternoon sets in and the boat finally arrives at the mouth of the Cumberland River where it flows into Flat Iron Lake, heavy and fast. 

“This is the spot, drop anchor,” Dutch says, rubbing his hands together. You pick up the heavy weight and toss it into the water, watching it sink and dragging the rope behind it. “This place should be great.” 

You silently agree with Dutch, looking out at where the river meets the lake. With the river flowing so fast, it’s surely bringing a lot of food down for fish and they will be congregating down here to meet it. There’s also bound to be plenty of deep channels here for them to hide. The fish that are here will be hungry and looking to feed. 

The three of you stand up and bring out your poles, assembling them and attaching lures. Dutch swings out first, then Arthur, and then you. Slowly, you begin reeling in your line, waiting for something to grab at it. 

You smile as you think on how it was Arthur who taught you how to fish all those years ago. He taught you many things. That was how the two of you fell in love. You’ve never loved anyone as much as him, and you’d been hoping he might ask you to spend the rest of your lives together. But then Blackwater happened and everything fell apart. Surely he will ask when things calm down? 

Dutch interrupts your thoughts. “You know, my mother’s buried in Blackwater,” he says, looking over to the shore where the town sits. He tells about how she and him didn’t always get along but they still loved each other in their own ways. As he talks, the boat drifts, revolving around the spot the anchor lies. Its rear where Arthur stands points towards the nearest shore. 

You’re still feeling nervous, but you’re beginning to doubt yourself. Maybe you’ve just been expecting something bad to happen for a while now. After all, plenty already has. First the Blackwater heist, then being threatened by the Pinkertons. Cornwall arriving in Valentine and driving the gang out. You’re not the only one wondering what will fall on the camp next. 

“Y/N, I ever tell ya about my dog Copper?” Arthur asks, leaning his head forward to smile at you. You shake your head. 

“You never had control of him,” Dutch says, almost darkly. 

“Ah he was a good dog, though. Never lost the puppy in him. But one day we all came back from this fishin’ trip. I turned my back for one second and Copper hopped up, ate all the fish in one go. I never seen Hosea so mad in my life.” 

You laugh heartily, easily able to imagine it. “Would you ever consider getting another dog?” 

“Maybe. Not now though. Things are too hectic,” he says. 

“Well, we got Cain,” Dutch says. “Though I suppose he’s more Jack’s dog than anyone else’s. I haven’t seen a boy love a dog so much since, well, since you were a boy, Arthur. Y/N, Arthur ever tell ya about his adventures as a boy? Oh I got some good ones to tell!” 

“Don’t do this, Dutch,” Arthur pleads, casting out again. 

“You gotta tell me now, Dutch!” 

He chuckles. “Well there was one day he came back from town with these big beautiful bass. He was maybe twenty, and we congratulated him all night. Made toasts to him. Well, next day we go into town and-” 

Dutch is suddenly cut off by a spot in the lake directly in front of him exploding, water shooting up into the air, a sound like thunder ripping through the air. All three of you know the sound too well: someone is shooting at you. 

“What the…” Arthur says, dropping his pole and whipping his gun out.

“O’Driscolls!” Dutch hollers, shooting at the shoreline. Down the upgrade in the land leading to the bridge, men are running down. Some are on horseback, but there’s no denying it. They’re from Dutch’s rival gang run by Colm O’Driscoll.

You drop your pole with a clatter and yank out your pistol, returning fire to the men. You try to ignore how seriously outnumbered and outgunned you are, trying to reassure yourself with the thought that Dutch and Arthur are some of the best gunmen you’ve ever known. Your aim isn’t bad either as you take down three O’Driscolls on the shore. 

One of the men shrieks something and walks into the lake, going all the way up to his knees. “You’re dead!” he screams and fires. You and he shoots at the same time, but as he falls, you hear Arthur give a pained grunt. He drops his pistol, clutches his ribs and hunkers down. The redistribution of his weight is too much and the boat tips, making him topple out. 

“Arthur” you scream. “Dutch, Arthur!” 

“Just shoot, Y/N! We’ll worry about Arthur as soon as these bastards are dealt with.” 

Typical Dutch. Ignoring Arthur when he needs his help the most. You look at the black water of the lake where Arthur fell in, expecting his head to be bobbing out of the water. But it isn’t. There’s only a small cluster of bubbles. 

“Goddamn it, Dutch!” you hiss and you put your pistol back. Dutch says your name but you ignore him, diving into the water. 

It’s freezing in the lake. Not surprising since the water where you are is from the river, which is mostly runoff from the frozen mountains. It doesn’t help that the sun was just setting beyond the horizon when the O’Driscolls attacked. You try to scan the deep water, but your vision is heavily blurred. Then you see a flicker of blue in the area where he went down. It must be Arthur. 

Quickly you weave your arms and kick your legs, swimming over to him. You’re not the strongest swimmer nor do you have the greatest capacity to hold your breath, but none of that matters. All you care about is getting Arthur. 

As you get closer to the blue flicker, the rest of his body forms. Swirling with the column of bubbles is a trail of blood. Finally you’re close enough to wrap your arms around his bulky chest and you start trying to swim back to the surface. It’s harder than you expected now that you’ve lost use of your arms. Your legs kick as hard as they can, but your lungs are beginning to burn. You wish you could beg Arthur to help you save him. 

As though he can hear your thoughts, his arms suddenly begin flapping through the water, slow but strong. He kicks with his own legs and since they’re much longer and more powerful, you move much quicker. 

It seemed like it took minutes to get from the surface to him, but now you make the return trip in seconds. Both your heads break through the water and you gasp for breath, coughing a bit. Gunshots still echo overhead but the boat isn’t too far away. With all your strength, you begin kicking, heaving Arthur over to it. 

“Dutch,” you gasp. “Dutch, help me get him into the boat.” 

“Can’t you see we’re still being fired on, Y/N?” he roars as he shoots again. He’s got both pistols out now. 

“Goddamn it, Dutch! Arthur, hang onto the boat.” 

He doesn’t say anything, but his hands latch onto the boat. You keep one arm on him, anchoring yourself to his body, and then reach into your holster, pulling out your gun. You fire and nothing happens. Shit. The gun powder’s too wet. You holster it and look back at Dutch as a shot splashes not too far from you.

“Dutch, give me one of your guns!” you shout, but he either can’t hear you or he’s ignoring you. “DUTCH!” He finally looks at you and you repeat your request. 

“I can handle them just fine, Y/N.” 

“Obviously you can’t, otherwise they’d all be dead. Just give me your damn gun!” 

Grumbling, Dutch tosses you one of his pistols and you turn your arm, returning fire on the remaining O’Driscolls. There’s only three of them left, all standing on the shores. One of them has a rifle, but the other two have pistols. You shoot at them, taking one down, but then you run out of ammo. 

“Dutch!” you holler, feeling truly desperate. There’s a decently sized pool of blood around Arthur now that’s beginning to worry you. Dutch growls incoherently and shoots in quick successions, finally taking down the last two O’Driscolls. He holsters his gun and turns towards you, bending down to grab Arthur by the arms. 

“Come on, big boy,” he grunts, heaving as you push him from the water. You’re not much use though as you’ve nothing to anchor yourself on, your legs still kicking through open water. Arthur’s not so badly wounded he can’t help himself though, he helps to hoist himself up with the arm on his uninjured left side. 

Finally, you somehow get him into the boat. He falls onto his back, coughing and spluttering. Dutch bends down and grabs your arm, lifting you up, which is much easier. Ignoring the exhaustion from the fight and your swim, you bend down and inspect Arthur, fumbling with his soaked shirt to get it unbuttoned. You manage it at last and expose his wound. It’s not good, but you don’t think it’ll be fatal as long as it’s treated quickly. 

“Quick, Dutch, take us back.” 

You half expect him to argue, to say something that will uphold his pride, but luckily he sits in Arthur’s previous spot and begins rowing, leaving the shore littered with bodies behind. Just before he sets off, you reach down into the lake and grab Arthur’s hat. 

As Dutch rows, you try stemming the flow of blood from Arthur’s wound, but there’s not much point as that bullet needs to be taken out. You look up, towards your destination, which looks miles away. Hope begins to fade away, quickly being replaced by fear. 

Arthur’s hand suddenly wraps around yours. “Stay with me, darlin’,” he pants. 

You look down and squeeze his hand. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere. Just focus on me.” You run your free hand through his damp hair and he smiles a bit, looking into your eyes. 

After what seems to have taken a lifetime, Dutch pulls the boat ashore at Clemens Point. He immediately calls for aid and several of the others come running over. You grab Arthur’s arms and heave him up, but your exhaustion has properly set in and Arthur weighs more than you do. You can only manage a few steps, which are made extremely awkward by the curve of the boat’s bottom before the others reach you. Charles and John grab him, taking on the burden, and they help heave him from the boat. 

“What the hell happened?” Hosea demands, walking over and being closely followed by Grimshaw, who barks at Charles and John to get Arthur to bed. 

“Dutch is an idiot, that’s what happened,” you snap, bending over to try and catch your breath. 

“You’re out of line, Y/N,” Dutch says sharply. “I had no idea those bastards would catch us there.” 

“I told you I had a bad feeling about it! But did you listen to me? No. You never listen to me!” Rage courses through you. You can’t shake the image of Dutch just standing there on the boat, watching as Arthur fell in, and then him not responding. “You’re always sayin’ how Arthur’s like your son, Dutch, but when you’re required to act like a father to your metaphorical son, you are the worst-”

“ENOUGH!” he shouts, glaring at you. You’ve crossed a line. “That is enough, Y/N. Those bastards would have killed us all, and I knew Arthur would be fine. Because you were there. I knew you would save him.” 

“Typical,” you hiss, your teeth shivering from both the rage and the cold caused by your soaked clothing. “You let everyone else do your dirty work all because you didn’t want to get your hat wet.” 

Without waiting for him to respond, you stomp off towards yours and Arthur’s tent. You know you were out of line with Dutch, but you’re so angry and scared you don’t care. In the tent, Arthur’s surrounded by the other girls who are busy working away. He’s grunting and writhing in pain, his legs being pinned down by John and Karen while Tilly holds a thick stick in his mouth. Grimshaw and Mary-Beth are busy trying to get the bullet out of his torso. 

“Let me,” you say to Tilly, taking her place at his head. She nods and stands up, letting you kneel down at the head of the bed. Your fingers brush through his hair and you try not to look at what Grimshaw and Mary-Beth are doing. You’ve seen an innumerable amount of gruesome things happen to people, but you can’t stand watching it happen to the man you love. 

Arthur seems to calm down a bit when he feels your fingers in his hair, but he’s still in a lot of pain. You grip his shoulder and one of his hands comes up and grabs yours, crushing it. You let him though. 

“There,” Grimshaw finally says, holding up the long pair of thin tongs, a bloodied bullet clamped in them. “It’s over, Mr. Morgan.” 

He lets out a long breath, his face, neck and chest coated in sweat. Grimshaw turns away and Mary-Beth and Tilly immediately begin stitching and bandaging him up tightly. After a few minutes, they state there’s nothing more that can be done. 

“Those bandages will need to be changed after a few hours,” Strauss declares, inspecting the girls’ work. “The bleeding should stop soon though.” 

You pat Arthur’s shoulder, your other hand still clamped in his firm grip. You bend down and kiss his forehead, noting his closed eyes. Poor man is beyond exhausted. “Get some rest,” you whisper. 

“Stay with me,” he mutters. 

You promise him you won’t leave his side, but you get up and close the tent flaps, wanting some privacy. Then, gently as you can, you remove his soaked clothes. He shivers lightly when he’s fully naked, but you drape him in the blanket. When you’re changed from your own wet clothes and into a light, dry nightdress, you climb under the blanket and huddle close to him, trying to keep him warm. Despite his obvious discomfort, he holds you close. After a short period, you hear him grunt in his sleep. Feeling that the worst is behind, you close your eyes and drift off as well. 

*****************************************

A few days pass. Arthur gets a bit feverish, but you manage to keep it down to a fair minimum. Reverend comforts him a bit when he voices his fears that he might not survive by telling him you won’t let him die, not even if he wanted to. 

Dutch has been very respectful of the space around your tent. It’s almost as though he’s afraid you might start screaming at him again, which you’ve half a mind to. He even lets you butt in front of him at the line for dinners to get Arthur food, which he’s never done for anyone. 

Hosea cam and spoke to both you and Arthur the day after the ambush. He said you were right to get after Dutch, that he’s often let Arthur take the worst hits, but he also warns you not to go ribbing Dutch about this. 

“I’ve talked with him, he feels terrible. He knows he should’ve been the one to save Arthur, not you. He’s very sorry.”

“Well, I hope he doesn’t expect me to forgive him until he tells Arthur to his face how bad he feels about the whole thing,” you say proudly. Arthur chuckles from the bed. Hosea does too, but then he leaves. 

After only a week, Arthur’s greatly improved, much quicker than anyone could have predicted. Hosea teases that it’s your stunning work that has done the trick and that under your care, Arthur will live beyond a hundred. You doubt this, though you appreciate it all the same. Arthur’s always been a fast healer, and you take into account the fact that the bullet didn’t hit any of his bones nor puncture any vital organs. 

Arthur’s already been moving around camp, though he still moves quite gingerly. He tries to do regular work, but you quickly stop him from doing the straining stuff like chopping wood. “You’ll rip out your stitches,” you scold him lightly and make him sit down to help you with knitting. He complains but doesn’t refuse the work. 

Night falls, and you’re both sitting on the log near the campfire. Your head’s lying on his shoulder, your hand clasped in his. It’s late. Much later than you usually stay up, but you’re not ready to go to bed yet. 

John, who’s been sitting on the other side of the fire for a while, stands up and stretches, yawning. “Think I’m gonna turn in,” he says before leaving. Now you’re alone with Arthur. 

After a few moments, your hand leaves Arthur and you wind it up his body, hovering lightly over his wound. 

“What you doin’?” he asks softly. 

“Just makin’ sure. Don’t want you bleeding.” 

“I ain’t bled there in days, darlin’.” He kisses your head and then winds an arm behind you, allowing you to cuddle into him better. A few more minutes pass and it feels like he’s got something heavy on his mind. 

“Y’know, I have to apologize to ya, darlin’.”

“What for, Arthur?” 

“I ain’t… I ain’t appreciated you properly. Ain’t done for you what ya deserve. These past few days have shown me that.” 

“What are you talking about?” you ask, looking up at him. Arthur’s the best companion you’ve ever had. He’s always been protective yet gentle, thoughtful and passionate. You’ve never wanted to devote your life to a person so much ever before. 

“I mean… you deserve so much more than I given you. I shoulda done this months ago, but… well, I always blamed Blackwater on it, but truth is, I was scared. Then I told myself I wanted to wait until I could do it properly, make it special.” 

“Arthur, what are you going on about?” 

He hesitates for a second. “Darlin’, I wanna marry ya.” 

Your heart stops for a second and his words echo through your mind. “M-marry me?” 

“Yes. Listen, I… if you decide it’s dumb or that you don’t wanna, I understand.” 

You wipe your eyes and sniff. “Shut up, Arthur. Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for you to ask?” 

He smiles a bit, his eyes shining with tears. “Too long, I’m guessing.” 

“Your damn right,” you say and you stretch up, kissing him hard. His arms wind tightly around you, holding you firmly against him. As you sit in his arms, pressing your lips to his and truly appreciating the form of his body against your own, your mind wanders to how wonderful it will be to spend the rest of your life with him. You’ve never wanted anything more. 

[vocalxtributes]

[Tw// Violence, mentions of blood and death]

13 tributes. No guaranteed number of winners.

No more practices or do overs. This is it.

This is the beginning of the Décès Match.

The first batch of tributes were revealed to the whole nation. The reigning champion. Académie céleste, in other words, Yoon Jeonghan's team.

Trumpets were blaring. Camera's were flashing. Cheers could be heard everywhere. People were excited for this year's match. Almost everyone was watching the match. It would be the first ever match where all four of the cursed abilities would be present. Three of which Jeonghan had.

To say that the tributes were nervous was an understatement. Almost all of the five tributes were being affected by pressure and worry. Jihoon was pacing back and forth the waiting area, Joshua was muttering words to himself, Seungkwan was bouncing his leg up and down, and Seokmin was already crying while talking to someone on the phone. However Jeonghan... He seemed the most calm out of all the tributes but if one looked closely, they would see the leader's eyes constantly flashing from red and black as his fingers twitched, small amounts of smoke appearing and disappearing.

It was not until it was announced that the tributes would be transported in five minutes that Jeonghan snapped out of his little moment and walked towards his members.

"Gather around everyone. I have a few words to say to all of you."

Everyone did as the leader said, gathering around and linking arms with each other. "I want you all to remember that the first thing we have to do is find each other okay? We need to stay alive and find each other. That's our best straight to keep everyone alive", The leader reminded. "And please keep in mind that no matter what happens out there, I am proud of you. You've all come such a long way to be as amazing as you all are right now. I'm sure everyone will do great. And... You all mean a lot to me. Let's all survive yeah?" His members nodded and hugged each other tightly, "We can do this! We've trained hard for this!" Jihoon exclaimed, trying to hype up the others, the healer smiled "We'll win. We have the best team ever."

"Yes we do. They should be nervous." Seungkwan joked. The team was in good spirits, ready for the game when a staff member approached the team, informing them that they would be transported to the arena now.

One by one the tributes were taken to random safe places in the arena where they would wait.

10. 9. 8. 7. 6. 5. 4. 3. 2. 1.

The buzzer goes off.

The match has officially begun.

Each of Jeonghan's members spread out, doing their best to locate each other without having to run into the other tributes. All his members were doing well, some of them pausing the search to create weapons for themselves, some trying to look for food.

[The paragraph after this will be focusing mostly on Jeonghan.]

Jeonghan sprinted into one direction, fast enough to explore the area quicker, while still trying to be quiet in order to not attract the attention of others.

Slash.

A sharp wooden spear came flying from nowhere, grazing the leader's arm. Jeonghan hissed in pain, there was no way that that was a normal knife. He gripped the wound and looked around before he was tackled to the ground, the spear pointed against his throat.

The leader looked up at his attacker, reading the name and position embroidered on the male's uniform.

'Xu Minghao/The8'

Jeonghan met the eyes of the attacker, a merciless glare in his eyes. "Would you rather die here right now from this spear? Or would you like to suffer and die from my poison that entered your body him?"

"How touching that you're letting me choose how to die in such a threatening way." Jeonghan chuckled. "You have no idea who I am don't you?"

"And why would I care about who you are?" Minghao replies, pressing the spear harder against the leader's throat, puncturing Jeonghan's skin. Jeonghan let out a gasp as he felt a sticky substance from where the spear was at, he didn't need to see it to know that it was his own blood. "Well, you should care about who I am because if you knew who I was, you would've known better and just leave me be." He smiles and uses his ability to stop Minghao from moving, paralyzing him temporarily and getting him off of his body.

"You're t-the cursed one-" The attacker mumbled.

"Indeed I am." Jeonghan says as he ripped the sleeve of his uniform, tying it around his neck to slow down his bleeding. "Lucky for you, I'm not in the mood to kill yet. I'll leave you alone. You'll be able to move in a couple hours. Goodluck." He says, chuckling as he walked away from the attacker.

The leader continued to explore his surroundings, only to be caught in an illusion just a few hours after his first encounter with another tribute.

Hours into the match, the exact moment the leader was caught in an illusion, Seokmin felt an intense feeling that his leader was in danger. And he set out to find him.

Only to cross the paths of two other tributes.

He was sent into a fit of panic, and he froze on the spot.

"See hyung? I told you there was another tribute around here." The Oracle snapped his head towards the owner of the voice, seeing a male with dark brown hair, on his uniform the word 'Oracle' and the name 'Dino' were embroidered, the other male having 'Leader/Healer' and 'Hoshi' on his uniform.

Seokmin calmed down a bit after knowing that he encountered two people who were the least likely to attack him.

He was wrong.

The two ganged up on him and it all happened too fast. Seokmin was on the ground clutching his eyes that was burning in pain.

"You're a h-healer- You're supposed to h-heal people. N-not hurt them-" Seokmin says once he's steadied his breathing. "Sometimes you just gotta do what you gotta do." Hoshi shrugs as he nods at Dino, giving him a knowing look. Dino grabs a vial of water and opens it, splashing water on Seokmin's face. "The water will help with the pain." Hoshi mutters, a slight smirk appearing on his lips.

The Oracle removes his hands from his eyes, opening them slowly once the pain has subsided. But... He couldn't see anything.

He was blind.

"How dare you take away my sight..." The oracle weakly spat.

The two teammates erupt in laughter. "We wanted to have our fun with you." Dino says, trying to calm himself down as Hoshi crouched in front of Seokmin, holding onto his jaw.

"Fun time is over."

Snap.

Meanwhile, Jeonghan was still trapped in the middle of the illusion, a scene that Jeonghan had always dreamed of was happening to him right now. He was seated on a swing, next to the love of his life. And slowly they both leaned in. His wildest dream was about to happen, he wanted to stay in the moment forever.

A loud canon sound booms through the entire arena, followed by a robotic voice.

"Two Oracles have been eliminated."

That statement snapped Jeonghan out from the illusion. He realized he was in the match and what has happened was all fake. Rage and worry filled his system and he unleashed his smoke, hearing the screams of the trickster responsible of the illusion. And he kept going. Until the illusion was gone and the screams were no more.

The leader walked up to the dead body hidden by some fallen trees, reading the name of his first victim.

Wen Junhui.

Another canon.

"A trickster has been eliminated."

He suddenly remembered the robotic voice alerting them of the elimination of two oracles and he started running frantically looking for Seokmin.

He stumbled and fell, landing next to a body. Eyes pitch black, neck snapped. He propped himself up, looking closely at the body, and then realization struck him.

"SEOKMIN NO!"

[This is based from a story that admin wrote. Everything is purely fictional.]

[PS. Don't come @ me]

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