#honestly find him kind of wooden

[s0dium]

Douchebag

A/n: This is honestly the BEST fic I've ever written! I took a lot from prompts I found on this site and the smut scene is inspired from a book called "The Kiss Quotient." (It was just so damn good). This fanfic is also inspired by my original fanfic, "Douchebag" Tengen x Reader. ALSO, I AM WORKING ON YUTA FICS, SO DON'T WORRY! Word count: 3.5k

Synopsis: Gojo Satrou was a man of many things. It would be hard to find anyone in the jujutsu world who hadn’t heard of his name before, whether that be through his many wins in battle or his reputation as an A-class player. Some describe him as eccentric, and others (mostly girls) describe him as irresistible. You? Well, you on the other hand would describe him as nothing else than an utter, complete,  douchebag. Warnings: Enemies to lovers,  teasing, fingering, intense kissing for a sec, squirting, use of pet names, belly bulge, cervix fucking, breeding kink, virgin!reader, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, choking ~

You scoffed, watching through the classroom window as a clearly frustrated old man stormed out of the building, no doubt a higher up. No doubt the work of Gojo Satoru. "God I hate him." You hissed, turning to face a dozing-off Shoko and your other friend Haibara. The classroom you sat in was almost empty, bathed in the soft light of midday filtering through large windows. Sparse shadows stretch across the well-worn wooden floor. Rows of desks, mostly unoccupied, face a dusty chalkboard at the front. "Who Satoru?" Shoko yawned, leaning into the palm of her hand to face you. Haibara lets out a loud chuckle. "Why? Because he's an ass to higher-ups?" He nods to the window and you click your tongue against the rough of your mouth. "No, it's because he is an ass in general. His whole 'holier than thou' attitude, and don't get me started on the way he treats girls." You practically shiver as you remember the time you saw some poor girl from Kyoto Jujutsu High profess her love to the white hair man, only to run away sobbing. "I swear to god it's like he expects us to kiss the floor that he walks on, he's.... infuriating" "Who's infuriating?" Oh god, you knew that stupidly deep voice anywhere. You whipped around to find yourself face to face with the very tall white-haired man you were talking about; a shit-eating grin spread across his infuriatingly handsome face.

“You couldn't be talking about me, could you?” Satoru's voice dripped faux shock and you rolled your eyes.

“Well you know what they say, speak of the devil and he shall appear.” You spat.

“That must be why you love using that pretty mouth of yours to talk about me so much.” Satoru lowered himself to close the provoking height difference between the two of you until your noses were inches away from touching. “Cause ya love having me around  doncha.”

In that moment you have to conjure up every ounce of self-restraint to not spit in his face there and then, and luckily your friends catch the drift. "Hey Satoru! What are you doing here?" Perked up Haibara who reached out his hand to dap Gojo up. "Well, Suguru and I are heading for a night out today, small club, and I thought, out of the kindness of my heart," You scoff and Gojo merely grins and continues, "I'd invite you all. Drink on me of course." As Satrou's invitation lingered in the air, you noticed Shoko's ears perk up. Her curiosity was piqued, a subtle lift of her eyebrows betraying her interest. You bit your tongue, the taste of reluctance sharp against your teeth. The idea of going anywhere with Satrou was far from appealing, but knowing your friends might join made it harder to outright refuse.

You crossed your arms defensively, leaning back slightly as you fixed Satrou with a skeptical look. "And why would you want me there?"

Satrou's lips curled into a half-smirk, his eyes lighting up with a mischievous glint."You're annoying, I'll give you that," He took a casual step closer, and leaned in closer, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper, "but I never said you weren't fun."

His words, intended to irk you, did their job well. You glared at him sharply, the frustration evident in your furrowed brows and the hard set of your jaw.

Satrou chuckled.

“Great, I’ll take that as a yes then, I'll text you guys the details.” He turns around to walk out of the classroom. “See you guys there!”

There was a silence as you all watched Satrou walk away before Haibara turns to look at you. “So are you going to go y/n? Come on it will be so much fun!”

“Yeah no way in hell.”

~ You were a liar. You were a liar because here you were, leaning over the counter of a bar in a club that was far from "small." The nightclub was a pulsing, chaotic hive of activity. Neon lights flashed in syncopation with the deafening throb of electronic dance music that shook the very air. The club was jam-packed with bodies moving rhythmically, the heat from the mass of humanity palpable as the scent of sweat and sweet perfumes mingled. The bar surface was sticky under your arms, and the occasional spill from a too-hastily poured drink added to the chaos of sounds and smells around you. You lazily stirred the thin red straw into your drink, trying to politely ignore the creep who wouldn't stop talking to you.

Somehow, in the maze of gyrating bodies and blinding strobe lights, you had lost both Shoko and Haibara, leaving you stranded at the mercy of this clueless conversationalist. Despite the roar of bass and the chatter of dozens of conversations, his words seemed to bore into your ears, relentless and unyielding. He leaned in closer than necessary, trying to make himself heard over the club's cacophony, not realizing or perhaps not caring, that you were more interested in plotting an escape than in anything he had to say. "And might I say you look gorgeous tonight." It took everything you had not to scoff at this creep's words, but before you should shut the man down, you felt an arm wrap around you. "Everything alright love?" Oh god. You knew that voice anywhere. As you turned, you were met by Satrou's piercing blue eyes, their color vivid even behind stylish rectangular sunglasses. The multicolor flashing lights overhead caught in the threads of Satrou’s light blue button-up, making it shimmer subtly, and the fabric clung just right to his broad shoulders and tapered waist, hinting at the well-defined physique beneath. You hated the fact that your brain immediately noted how damn good he looked. His arm was wrapped around your waist drawing you close and you had to bite your tongue from frowning at the pet name he had given you As he leaned in, his voice was low, a soft murmur over the noise of the club, "This guy bothering you baby?" His tone was teasing, and you could detect the challenge in it, as if daring you to admit that his closeness and pet names affected you just as much as he knew it did. "Of course I'm fine baby!" You smile brightly and for a second you think Satrou looked a bit taken aback. If playing along got you out of this situation so be it. "This guy, I'm sorry, what's your name?" You glance back at the creep who had turned bright red. "I'm sorry, excuse me." You watched as the man disappeared into the throng of the bustling crowd, your attention fixed until he was well out of sight. Only then did you turn back to Satrou, the false warmth on your face instantly transforming into a cold, hard glare.

"Thanks for that, but you can get your hand off me now," you said, your voice icy as you tried to wriggle out of his hold. Despite your efforts, Satrou’s grip on your waist remained firm, unyielding.

"And why should I? I think we made a fantastic couple," Satrou cooed, a teasing lilt in his voice. His eyes sparkled with amusement, clearly enjoying the moment far more than you.

You rolled your eyes, exasperation seeping through. "You really think I would fall for something like that?"

"Why? Did you?" he probed further, his smile widening, eyes searching yours for any sign of genuine affect. Anger started to boil up inside you as your attempts to escape his grasp remained futile.

"I don't think you understand the dynamic here very well, Satoru," you began, your voice low and deliberate, each word punctuated for emphasis. You stepped closer, invading his space as much as he had invaded yours, your eyes never leaving his. "Let me make this crystal clear, I'm not someone you can just fucking conquer, and I'm certainly not one of those girls who's gonna kiss the ground you walk on with your whole 'I'm the strongest' act," you seethed.

Your face was mere inches from his now, your breath mingling, the tension palpable. "Because I know what you really are, Satrou," you hissed, the anger in your voice barely contained. "You're a fucking douche bag." "Oh? Is that so."

Satrou's expression shifted subtly, the amusement fading into something more measured, more cautious. He studied you for a moment and you took the chance to wiggle out of his grasp and make your way through the crowd on the dance floor toward the door. The beat of the music pounds in your ears and throughout your body making your synapses jump like beans in a tin can. You can barely see the floor, only flashes of bodies you frantically tried to push past. Before you can make it to the back door, a hand grips your wrist tightly enough to halt your forward rush. Above the din of the pulsating music and amidst the strobe-lit shadows of dancing figures, Satoru's face comes into view. You feel your breath catch in your throat. God his is beautiful. Strobe lights catch and accent every one of his sharp features alighting them in a multicolor color hue. He pulls your wrist to him so you're close, too close. You can smell the old spice shampoo from his hair mixed in with some sort of sweet cologne. It's a smell that makes you want to bury your nose into him over and over again. "Jesus fucking Christ y/n" he breathed his eyes searching yours. "How long are we going to keep this thing of ours going?" You furrowed your eyebrows. “Our thing? What thing?”

“The thing where we act like we hate each other but actually want to fuck the brains out of each other.” Your eyes widen and you feel your face grow deathly hot. You try to step back, get some space, some room to breathe, but the hand on your wrist keeps you from doing so

“I-fuck you” the words come out of your mouth more soft and meager than you intended to, and you find yourself locked into his blue gaze.

“Believe me, I've thought about it.” His voice is low, and his face isn't painted with a shit-eating grin like it so usually is, he's serious and his eyes are soft. Fuck it. You can no longer hear the lyrics to whatever song was playing, only a soft dull hum of the beat in your ears. Immediately your lips are on his. The kiss is frantic, hot, messy. The club's pulse thrummed through you like a second heartbeat, the noise and chaos all but forgotten in the singular focus of his presence. You could feel one of his large hands on the small of your back, drawing you in until there was no space left between the both of you. Your mouths clashed against each other as if you were both seeking something vital, something long-denied. Satoru's lips were insistent against yours, moving with a fervor that matched the pounding bass surrounding you. You whined as his tongue slipped into your mouth, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, the firm press of his chest against yours. The scent of his cologne mixed with the smoky air around us, intoxicating and heady.

Your mouths separated with a soft pop, and Satoru is grinning while you're left dazed, breath heavy and chests rising and falling after it. "How bout you say we get out of here Princess."Gojo's voice was a low murmur, his breath warm against your ear as you broke from the intense kiss.

Before you could even respond, a dizzying rush enveloped you. The loud club vanished in an instant, replaced by the quiet, dimly lit ambiance of his bedroom. You were suddenly on his bed, the soft duvet beneath you a stark contrast to the hard dance floor we'd just left. Right, he can teleport. You forgot about that. Wait was he... where are you going to... Before you can get a word in, he’s once again engulfing your lips with his and pulling you into a feverish kiss in which the two of you can’t seem to get enough of each other. The moment one pulls away to breathe, the other is immediately searching for their lips again; intertwining tongues and teeth clashing together recklessly.

Your hot, everything is hot, your body is burning up by the second and there’s a sickly sweet feeling in your stomach that keeps on expanding as time passes. You whine into his mouth when you feel a hand slip under your skirt and lightly trace the outline of your slit with his index finger. You're painfully wet; your arousal has made a large spot on your underwear translucent. “Just touch me,’ you whined, arching impatiently against his hand. He couldn’t make either of you wait any longer. Slowly, he brought his middle finger down and slid it gently over her folds. You threw your head back. "Ahhhh, more please." He did it again, this time his fingertip slipping between and gathering your wetness. He parted you with two fingers. You let out a gasp when he hit your clit and started to rub it in small circles. You tried to say something, anything to explain how hot you were feeling right now, but your words were lost against his soft lips. The taste of him, the smell of him, the feel of him so close against you, skin to skin. Time and space had no meaning anymore. There was only you and Satrou.

“You feeling good baby? Satrou speaks slowly, breath on your neck and voice in your ear making you shiver. You bite your lip and nod like any words that came from you would ruin it. You almost wince when you feel two fingers slip into your tight hole. "Jesus, fuck. You gotta relax princesses." He chuckled, knowing far to well that the tightness was going to feel delicious around him. Two fingers worked into you, and your eyes rolled back into your head. He began a steady rhythm as his tongue nipped and sucked the tender skin of your neck. You couldn’t prevent her hips from rising to meet his thrusts. Oh God, you were riding his hand. That had to be bad. You told herself to stop. You couldn’t. Somehow, you found your hands tangled in his short white hair. Your body was coiled tighter, grasping at his fingers, so wet now you could hear the slippery sounds every time he drove back into you. "Hnghhh.... so good." You squeezed your eyes type, becoming focused on the tightening feeling of your core and the blossoming warm pleasure. Your legs started to tremble under the unbearable pleasure and your back arched against the bed as if your body was trying to escape the euphoric feeling that coursed through your skin. "That’s it, fuck, beautiful girl... such a natural submissive...." You want to tell him he's wrong, all this pleasure wasn't because of his egotistic ass, but it'd be a lie. And as if on command, all feelings come to a heightened crescendo; explosions of euphoria clouding your brain causing your toes to curl from pleasure and your body to shake like a leaf.

It takes a couple seconds after you calmed down to realize you squirted all over Satoru's hand and all blood rushes to your face turning you a bright red.

“Oh my god in so sorry I didn’t-”

Your voice dies out as you watch Satrou pull off his shirt, revealing his extremely built body and toned muscles, to wipe the liquid off his hand. You don’t even notice that he had pulled out his dick until you feel something pressing against your entrance, making you look down and your eyes widen as you do so. Your stomach inwardly twisted,  filled with the sickly excitement and your breathing started to quicken. "Shhhhh baby," Satoru cups your cheek and kisses your forehead. It was a sweet gesture despite everything happening right now, a gesture that made your heart swell and your mind yearn for Satoru. The stretch of his dick spreading your walls is insane. No amount of preparation could've prepared you for the length of Satoru's dick. You feel it heavy inside you and Satrou pushes into you until he can't push anymore, until his hips are flush against you and the tip of his length is smushed against your cervix. The pleasure of that alone felt numb, unbearable, you needed friction, you needed him to move. You practically faint when he first thrusts into you in earnest. It's euphoric; the curvature of his dick digging itself against your g-spot, scraping against your vaginal walls every time he backed his hips up. His cock pulsed inside of your silky walls, stretching you to the fullest capacity as he bottomed out again and again. "Oh fuck." Satrou groaned. He was no longer grinning, Satoru's playful resolves vanished and his smile quickly dropped. He knew you'd feel good, but he didn't expect how good you'd feel. The feeling of his hand he had fucked himself to the thought of you for so many nights was nothing compared to the real thing. It was too much, the feeling of your wet soft walls gripping him so tightly. How was he able to live without your pussy in the first place? The pleasure built rapidly, too potent, too insistent. He kneeled over you, a groan escaping his lips—a raw, primal sound that vibrated through the charged air between you. Satorus thrust your quick and hard, a clear display of strength and endurance he had gained from years of jujutsu training. "Been thinking about this, so long, bet you have to have ya~"

As Satrou's long, deliberate fingers encircle your neck, a thrilling chill races down your spine. He applies pressure gently at first, then with a firmer, insistent grip that gradually restricts your airflow, sending a wave of exhilaration through your senses. The world around you narrows, focusing intently on the point where his skin contacts yours, heightening every other sensation that courses through you. His other hand slips under your bra bra to grab and massage your breast, his thumb flicking over your nipples.

"Satoru..! Ahhhh..! I..I, fuckkkkk can't handle this.." You had no strength to answer him, only offering wanton moans in retort as he continued to wreck your body with his completely brutal thrusts. The pain of him hitting the tip of your cervix nearly every time mixed with his hand squeezing your throat it was just all too much.

Satoru. Satoru. Satoru

"Slow down.. please im gonna ahhhh~" Drool slipped passed your lips and you writhed and squirmed at the feeling of hot euphoria passed over your body in flesh arrow. "Gonna cum? Fuck baby, let's... let's come together m'kay?" Satrou almost stuttered. His body had kicked into autopilot, and a deep primal need for you settled in as he thrust in and out, creating a methodical rhythm that echoed in your ears. Your ankles lock around his lower back and you cry out when the head of his cock kisses your womb, your legs shaking as you feel yourself start to be thrown into an intense orgasm. You want to say something about the weird feeling in your stomach, how your skin is buzzing but it's all too much, and before you know it your tumbling toward the edge. It feels like your whole body was shot with electricity and color dances in your eyes as you float in ecstasy.

"Sh-Shit, shit, fuuuuck~" He chuckles into your ear, choking over his words as his hips sputter inside of you, hot cum fills you as much as you can hold inside of your stuffed cunny. Satoru doesn't pull out as you both come down from your high, instead watching you intently as you ride through the aftershocks of your orgasm. "Wanna do this again?" He chuckles.

"Fuck, yes, please."

[fandom-go-round]

Realizing They're in Love: Reader x BG3

Warnings: Implied Internal Trauma, Personal Relationship Issues, Gross Stuff like Falling in Love

Astarion:

            He argues with himself for a long time before love comes to mind. It’s bad enough that he’s starting to like you but love? That’s just going to make things even harder. Astarion feels like the more he tries to talk himself out of it, the worse it gets. You corner him after dinner one night and he smiles, turning up the charm. You ignore his nervousness, giving him a simple wooden box. He immediately fills with dread; you want something. Of course you do. He’s not expecting there to be a book inside, the next one in the series he’s reading. You assure him that you don’t want anything in return, giving him a gentle smile before heading to your own tent. His heart thunders in his chest, fingers trailing over the cover. He’s not in love, Astarion tells himself as he goes to start the book. He can’t be but… if he is, it’s not the worst feeling in the world. Not with you.

Gale:

            He’s not against falling in love per say, Gale just isn’t looking. Honestly he’s not. This is more social interaction than he’s had in years and he’s not trying to fuck it up, thank you very much. That doesn’t mean he can’t forget himself, especially when you start asking him questions about magic. Gale loves magic most of all and he only realizes he’s been ranting after twenty minutes. He winces, scolding himself mentally and turns to you. You’re both sitting on the floor of his tent, sipping tea in the early afternoon. He fully anticipates that you’re going to half awake, bored to tears and doing something else. Instead, you’re staring at him with rapt attention, eyes bright and small smile on your face. When he’s silent for too long you ask him to keep going, asking if he’ll keep explaining. Gale is more than happy to continue, something warm in his chest. He hopes that you’ll keep looking at him that way even after he stops talking. And you do.

Halsin:

            Loud barks and hoots draw Halsin’s attention, the druid looking up from his papers. You’re a bit away from camp, Scratch and the owlbear cub playing with you. The three of you are chasing each other and wrestling, the cub slamming into the back of your knees. Halsin watches you go flying before laughing and grabbing the cub as best you can. You half swing him around, Scratch barking as you send his friend flying. The owlbear cub gives a roar, rolling through the grass and you laugh, chasing after the dog now. Halsin can’t help but smile; you’re so kind of everyone around you and he enjoys that you can relax. He hasn’t been ignorant to the feelings developing in his chest, just focusing on different things. The warmth he feels only grows as he watches you and he vows to talk about it. Halsin is sure he recognizes the looks you send him; he just needs to find the right time.  

Karlach:

            She realizes she’s in love after a tough fight. Her blood is still pumping and she wants more enemies to show up so she can have an excuse to go wild. You’re joking around with Wyll on the other side of the battlefield, the warlock turning to say something to you. You offer a smile and begin to hike up the slope and trip. Karlach watches in slow motion as you land hard on your ass, sliding down mud straight into the river. Wyll is frozen on the edge of the bank and she quickly makes he way over, worried that you’re injured. By the time she gets over there, you’re laughing loudly, head thrown all the way back. Her heart skips a beat; you’re covered in blood and mud and all sorts of gunk but all she can see is the right smile on your face. She’s in love.

Lae’zel:

Lae’zel doesn’t call it love. It’s admiration, respect for your skills. There are very few people she would follow verses leading herself and she admits that you’re good at it. She also enjoys the sex and that’s always a bonus. The sun is just beginning to go down and you stop on the edge of a cliff to watch. Lae’zel turns to scold you (the group needs to get back to camp) but she’s struck by your figure. You look like a painting, noble and steadfast. Your face is determined but not tense, taking in the sunset. There’s something in your eyes, something softer than she expects and it takes her breath away. She swears to herself and turns away, missing the affectionate look you send her. She’s doesn’t call it love, even if deep, deep down she wishes she could.

Shadowheart:

            Night has finally fallen on a long, long day. Shadowheart is thankful that you’re the one with her on first watch tonight; your silence isn’t looming as she prays and the sound of sharpening blades is soothing. There isn’t the need to fill the silence with noise and it feels calm in a way that’s unfamiliar. Usually she finds the night comfortable but cold, like an winter breeze. You’re like the night but warm, a balm on an open wound. She smiles as she watches you, not looking away when you meet her eyes. You smile and she’s filled with affection, even as her hand throbs. The pain is worth it; you make her feel truly seen.

Wyll:

            You’re crouched by a small cave, voice low and arm outstretched. The group had just finished a fight, a camp overrun with bandits. Wyll scowled to himself, looking over the bodies strewed over the ground. The people had been innocent and he wished he had been faster. Movement catches the corner of his vision and he turns, watching as, slowly, a child comes out of the cave. They’re covered in dirt and blood but you smile and they take you hand. Wyll can’t the stop the soft look from coming onto his face as you begin the check for wounds. The world can be a dark place but you give him hope; it’s more than he deserves.

[shuichi-sama]

scoring a date

volleyball captain! sunghoon! x manager! reader!

description: if someone had told you that after becoming your high school's volleyball team manager, you would capture the attention of it’s captain, park sunghoon, you wouldn’t have believe them. but as he charm’s his way to your heart, you just might.

or in which, sunghoon attempts to woo-you, seem to be working in his favor.

warnings: fluff! overuse of the word cute! (i swear i wrote it like 6 times)

note: inspired after watching en o’clock episode 87! i couldn’t help but picture all of them as a volleyball team!!!! LOWER CASE INTENDED!!!

___________

honestly? if someone had told you, that you would have volleyball captain, park sunghoon wrapped around your finger you would laugh at their face and certainly not the cute and giggly kind.

but as you watch him come up to you for like the nth time today, similar to every other day, you would be the fool not to believe them at that point.

“hi, y/n.” he says a smile gracing his face.

��sunghoon, you do know this like the fifth time you’ve come up to me during practice just to say hi right? and that’s not counting the four other hand waves you’ve given me.”

sunghoon, cheeks burns pink, it was a force of habit at this point. no matter how much he tried to avoid you, not like he wanted to anyways, if it wasn’t his eyes, the boy would physically gravitate towards you every single time without even noticing.

“well, i have an excuse this time. i actually came up here to ask you something.” If the blushing of his cheeks weren’t a quick give away of his nervousness, the cute tremor in his voice surely was.

“oh, what is it then?” without looking up from your clipboard, sunghoon take it as an opportunity to ask you what’s he’s been dying to ask you for a couple of weeks now, if you looked him in the eye at that moment he wasn’t so sure he would be able to go through with it, no matter how confident he was.

“go on a date with me.”

what? you were not death so you were sure you heard him correctly, but still.

“uh, you want me to go on a date with you? but why?”

confusion and hurt etches on his face at your question, as you prance on realizing just how bad your words had sounded. “i mean, why me?” the tilt of his head encourages you to elaborate.

“i’m socially awkward, i don’t really get along well with people outside of my friend group, i have a bad attitude, and there is a line of pretty girls who would kill to go on a date with you.”

sunghoon finds your rambling rather cute, it’s not like he didn’t know any of this information already. the both of you coming from very different social status at school, while sunghoon was very social, popular and very much liked at school, girls lining up just to get a glimpse of him throughout the halls, you were quite opposite of him.

you were a loner aside from your two reoccurring friends he would see you at lunch with. you weren’t not like at school but nobody really knew who you were, always keeping to yourself. as for your bad monotonous attitude? he thought it was cute, knowing full well it was only because you weren’t the best at expressing yourself, always giving everybody the wrong impression or idea, which may have lead to some very offended students.

sunghoon likes you just the way you are, so it irks him just a bit to listen to you list all these, qualities you deem flaws, but he wouldn’t tell you that at least not yet, he rather tease you first. “well, i think you would be the prettiest girl in that line.”

even if it wasn’t the first time for sunghoon to call you “pretty,” or even “cute,” you could just never get used to it, he simply has a way of making you dig the sole of your right shoe into the glossy wooden floor of the gymnasium bashfully.

“i-i never said i was in that line.” sunghoon eyebrows quirk at that.

“i would like you to be though.” even as his confidence seems to deter, he presses on, wanting a proper answer from you, hopeful it was one that invoked a late night date, that ends with a stroll at the nearest park while eating ice cream, possibly holding your hand if you allow him to.

“is that a no to the date?” his question, has your down cast eyes shoot up suddenly just for them to look away just as quickly. sunghoon can’t seem to take his eyes off of you making you want to turn into a putty right in front of him.

“o-oh, i never said that either.” every time sunghoon ever held a conversation with you, it always seemed like a push and pull feeling. it left him confused many times but a part of him knew that’s just how you are, and honestly? he found it cute, you were cute, so he would willingly pull you as much as he could and would take as many pushes as you want to give.

“so, is that a yes then?” he grins at your lack of eye contact, cute.

“uh-maybe.” he chuckles at your response, it being so you. as much as he wants to press on for a definite answer, he doesn’t know the full extent of your limit. no matter just how much he would love to tease you to find out he doesn’t, as you pull a strand behind your hair, the red tips of your ear giving away your embarrassment.

he chuckles, reaching for the top of your head, before he could ruffle it into a mess, you flinch not used to the physical contact of a guy.

“oh, i’m sorry. i got a head of myself, i didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” sunghoon retracts his hand to his side. distress with the idea of making you uncomfortable unintentionally, he only wishes he could kick himself for his bad habit of not keeping his cool whenever you were around.

raising your clipboard to cover your tainted cheek, you shake your head, to make him understand he misunderstood your actions. the frown forming on his face, has you clearing your throat, and pulling down the clipboard to speak much more clearer than you have been doing this whole time.

“no, it’s not that-i guess you you can say-that perhaps you just make me just a bit nervous in a good way is all.”

sunghoon’s frown ebbs away, only to switch to a look of widen eyes, and disbelieve at your clear confession. “oh.”

“why are you smiling at me like that?” you ask his looked of disbelieve turns to another of happiness, as if he had hit the jackpot, and in his world he did.

“cause you just told me i make you nervous.” well not that he didn’t know, if he wasn’t so sure he would have thought you were either nervous all the time, or simply emotionless, but you confirming that his presence made you nervous in a “good way” as you said, he was first pumping the air in his head.

“is it that shocking?” you asked out loud, more to yourself really.

he didn’t respond to your question either way. opting out to make a deal with you instead, evident that this conversation would see no end. no matter that he just wants to talk to you for the remainder of the hour, he couldn’t. if coach catches him slacking, sunghoon would be running endless lap around the the school til he saw fit, especially as team captain.

“how about we make a deal? if my team wins the mock game by 5 points difference, you’ll let me take you on a date.”

you didn’t have to consider much, but you firmly believe in his capability to score more as team manager. “if you score a difference of 10 i’ll go on a date with you.”

“you must really not want to go on a date with me, uh?” he jokingly asks.

“no, i just have faith in your abilities to beat them with a 10 point difference.”

“okay, a 10 point difference, and i also get to hold your hand after practice, it’s only fair if we both add something, no?”

sure it was fair, but now you were blushing again. “okay, deal.”

“perfect,” just before he could turns to go back to his team, he speaks again, “just so you know, i’m not going easy on them.”

“well, as team manager i would be upset if you did.”

with a beaming smile he directs at you, he reaches over your head once again unconsciously, still out of bad habit thought this time you don’t flinch away as he ruffles your hair.

you were unsure who was more nervous leaving the gymnasium, but as you walk hand in hand with sunghoon, he blames practice for his sweaty palms even after he had taken his shower. Though truthfully, he thinks it might just be too early to tell you just how nervous you make him feel, he still has to take you on a date first!

SCOREBOARD: 30/15

[lelengerine]

pairing. jeno x reader

synopsis. based on this req <3

genre. friends to lovers au, very much situationship vibes at first, a LOT of overthinking being done >:D, honestly they're a little dumb for not realizing eo's feelings... lmk if anything was missed!

wc. 1.0k words

notes. ahhh i absolutely loved writing this TAT i really feel like jeno would be the type of person you'd be in this kind of situation with,, u are so right for this anon!! likes and feedback are highly appreciated!

m.list

it was one of those things you never gave much thought to in the beginning—a brush of fingers as you passed jeno a drink, the occasional accidental graze of hands when you walked side by side. but lately, it was happening more often, and the frequency was something you noticed more often than not. your pinkies would always linger in each other’s proximity just a beat too long, like they were waiting for permission to stay, yet despite this, neither of you ever said anything to address it. what was there to say? you told yourself not to overthink it. jeno was your best friend, and best friends were allowed to be close. right?

but now, the subtle touches had turned into something else. you’d been holding hands, and not just in fleeting, momentary grasps, but in quiet moments where neither of you dared to pull away. it started with using little things as an excuse—safety while crossing the street, blaming the chill of the weather, sitting close enough that his hand would somehow find yours, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world. 

that also meant it had become impossible to ignore. 

today, you sat across from jeno at the café you both loved, the one with the worn, wooden tables and the smell of fresh pastries that made the place feel like home. the late afternoon sun filtered through the large windows, casting a soft golden glow over everything. it should’ve been relaxing, like usual, but today there was an undercurrent of something different in the air. the conversation flowed like usual—random topics, the comfortable back and forth you both were so good at, but you kept getting distracted.

your hand rested next to jeno’s on the table, the space between them feeling charged with unspoken words. you hadn’t noticed it at first, but now every shift, every little movement, felt like a dance—as if you were both painfully aware of how close you were but too afraid to do anything about it. 

your gaze eventually flickered to the sight of your hand, coming to realize that your hands were unknowingly inching closer to each other again. jeno had large hands, littered with callouses from countless hours of playing video games at midnight. yours were much smaller and had that delicate look to it, but somehow the contrast seemed just right when they were together.

you shook yourself out of your thoughts, forcing your attention back to what jeno was saying; something about the latest hobby he picked up from his friend, photography, and how he was trying to capture the little details that people often overlooked for the past week. you tried to focus—you really did—but the weight of your own thoughts kept pulling you back.

“hey,” the sound of his voice cut through your reverie, and you blinked, startled to find him watching you. his eyes, which were usually playful, held something deeper, like he was trying to figure something out. “you okay?”

“yeah,” you replied too quickly for your liking, feeling your pulse quicken. “just... spaced out for a second.”

but jeno didn’t seem convinced. his gaze lingered on you a moment longer, then drifted down to where your hands still rested—close, but not quite touching. his lips quirked up into a small, almost nervous smile. “can i ask you something?”

“sure.” if his goal was to rub off his nervousness onto you, then he surely succeeded because you were beginning to sweat buckets on the inside, a painful anticipation bubbling within you.

he rubbed the back of his neck in that way he always did when he was about to say something serious. you’d seen that look before—before exams, before difficult conversations about the future, but this felt different. “what are we?”

“what do you mean?” you asked, your voice betraying the calm you were trying to project. you knew exactly what he meant, but hearing it out loud was something else entirely. it was the question you had been avoiding, the one you thought maybe, just maybe, would never need to be asked.

jeno's eyes searched yours, as if he were looking for the answer that neither of you had dared to say. he hesitated, his hand finally shifting closer, fingers brushing against yours so lightly it sent a shiver down your spine. “i don’t know,” he admitted softly, “but we’ve been—” he stopped, glancing down at your hands again. “we’ve been coming to cafes together, sharing bites of our meals, even holding hands in public and... it doesn’t feel like something best friends normally do anymore.”

“i noticed,” you admitted quietly, your breath catching as your thumb brushed over his without thinking.

he nodded, his gaze never leaving yours. “so… what are we doing? are we just—” he paused, searching for the right words, “—pretending this doesn’t mean anything?”

you couldn’t help but laugh softly, though it was tinged with nervousness. “i don’t know,” you whispered. “i don’t know what we are.”

your mind was racing, trying to piece together all the feelings you’d been pushing down. you’d convinced yourself that it was nothing, that you were just overthinking things. but now, looking at him, feeling the way his fingers curled around yours like he was afraid to let go, you couldn’t lie to yourself anymore.

you closed your eyes for a brief second, willing the courage to surface. “but i do know that i like you,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. “probably more than i should if you only see me as a friend.”

the weight of your words hung between you, and for a terrifying moment, you thought you’d made a mistake—that maybe you’d just ruined everything. but when you looked up, jeno wasn’t pulling away. if anything, he was leaning closer, his expression softening in a way you hadn’t expected.

“more than a friend?” he asked, his voice tinged with something between disbelief and hope.

you nodded slowly, your heart in your throat. “yeah. more than a friend.”

jeno was quiet for a long moment, his eyes never leaving yours, and when he finally spoke, his voice was gentle. “good,” he whispered, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “because i feel the same.”

[goquokka00]

The Little Things (Minho Ver.)

The small things he does every day that make you feel oh, so special.

Bangchan | Minho | Changbin | Hyunjin Jisung | Felix | Seungmin | Jeongin

| Cooks For You |

It's no secret that Minho can cook. And that he also enjoys cooking (at least I think he does). And so when it comes to cooking for you, he always will. It doesn't matter whether or not you know how to cook, too. He'll always be in the kitchen, making you something delicious to feed you.

I feel like there would be times where the two of you would cook together. Minho would give you a few tasks to do while he did others, and the meal created would be filled with love and would taste even better. But most of the time, if you offer help, Minho would deny it. Hell, I bet you $5 that he wouldn't even let you step foot into the kitchen, not wanting to take the risk that you might help him.

But you want water? Yeah, or you want water so you can add it to the rice cooker to get the rice started. You'd have to just ask him if you could have a glass of water from where the wooden floor met the tile of the kitchen. That way you wouldn't be threatened to have your mouth stuffed with tissues.

| Kisses the Boo-Boos Away |

I get this sneaky suspicion that Minho, who's usually a bit colder than the other members, is incredibly soft and mushy towards you. And that includes when you accidentally hurt yourself. You got a papercut, or accidentally got a rug burn somehow, or your hand is hurting from a pinched nerve, leave it to Minho.

He'll patch you up, and then kiss wherever you got hurt. Every single time without fail. If he wasn't around when you got hurt and saw you with a bandage somewhere on your body, or bruises, he'll tell you to sit down or go to him so he can kiss the area you got hurt.

Now, let's say you broke a bone or sprained something, or had to get surgery for whatever reason. Do you honestly think that would stop Minho? No. No, it wouldn't. He'd kiss wherever those stitches were, or plant plenty of kisses on the cast on your arm or leg or wherever. He just wants you to be okay, and know that he loves you.

| Holds Hands |

Whenever the two of you are out in public, Minho always wants your hand. He wants to make sure that you won't leave his side no matter what. And it doesn't matter where you are. Your hand is in his, period. You think it's letting people see you're a couple and it's a bit embarrassing to see all eyes on you? Good. They'll know who you belong to. Your hand is getting sweaty? Too bad.

I feel like Minho will also hold your hand if you're nervous. Mostly because I think that Minho is so used to dealing with Jisung when he's nervous and spiraling. He'll always give you his hand to hold onto so you can be a bit more grounded.

And if it's really bad? His fingers are intertwining with yours, baby (no because I'm actually a sucker for this shit like OMG-). He's keeping you close, squeezing your hand tighter, making sure that you know that he's here for you, and he's not letting you go until you're better.

| Spoons |

Spooning is SUCH a big thing with Minho. He loves holding you close and feeling your back up against his chest. Being your big spoon is so nice. He's fully aware that it helps you relax and makes you feel nice and safe. Though, I feel like Minho would also be the little spoon sometimes, too.

If Minho's had a tough day at work, let's say practice didn't go well, he's in your arms the moment he gets back home. He won't really talk, just hums and grunts while guiding you back to the couch. And then, the next thing you know, you're holding him to you.

It's just something about the way he can curl up against you, and feel your arms around him while you whisper kind words in his ear, kiss his head and the nape of his neck, even how your hands will go and find his, intertwining your fingers together. His cold facade just melts when you hold him to you. It's just...so easy to relax in your arms.

| Touching Foreheads |

I feel like touching foreheads with Minho isn't really something anyone would expect. But again, I stand by the whole, Minho's putting up this big guy act and then when he gets back to you he's a wittle baby, ordeal. And touching foreheads falls under that.

I think he'd do this when he's having a tough time. Like, if something happens, or if he needs to be serious about a hard topic to talk about, he keeps his forehead on yours. It helps Minho feel closer to you, and he can speak quietly and not have to worry about you not hearing him. And the same goes for you, too. He feels like it's easier to comfort you if something did happen.

But I also think that this is something he'd do if he had to apologize to you. It's more intimate and heartfelt to him. Let's say you both got into a nasty argument, and the aftermath is him going and staying at the dorms for a while. When he comes back, he's apologizing by putting his head on yours, holding you close, and speaking in such a soft but modest voice. And it warms your heart every time.

Hey! Firstly, thank you so much for reading this post, and I really hope you enjoyed! If you did, please like, reblog, or comment so I can see how I'm doing with writing and getting feedback! I hope you have a lovely day! Sleep well, stay in good health, and eat something if you haven't! ❤️❤️❤️

[giuseppe-yuki]

I really love your shapeshifter series, i’m honestly just wondering how the conversation between the reader and the drivers would go when they find out about her ‘special talent’ 🫣

Also is the shapeshifting thing genetic, like is it passed on from the parents or is it totally random like a mutation?

i'm glad that you liked it! :) to answer your question about the origin of the shapeshifting thing in the au, i'm going to be honest and say i actually haven't thought a lot about the specifics 😭 i think i'm just going to leave it up to the reader's own interpretation!

about the shifting ability, let's just say some of the drivers had quite the shock, and some the complete opposite...

ka12, cl16, lh44, aa23, mv1, ln4

andrea kimi antonelli

“you’re kidding!” kimi exclaims, raising his head from your lap. 

"i'm not," you reply nonchalantly, like you hadn’t just dropped the world’s biggest bomb on him. you continue to scroll through your phone with one hand and comb through his messy curls with your other. 

he scrambles up, batting your hands away from him. “no! i don’t believe you- you have to be lying! 

you gently place your phone next to you on kimi’s soft bed, and direct your full attention at your confused boyfriend. “why would i be lying, kimi?” you ask. seeing his nervous expression, you smile at him in a teasing way and continue, “what, you scared of tigers?”

he responds a little too fast to be telling the truth. “no! i’m not scared of tigers, i swear!” he backs up from you the tiniest bit, but you still notice. “their teeth are just a little too- um- sharp for my liking.”

you scoot off of kimi’s rumpled bedspread and distance yourself a little bit away from the bed. keeping your eyes trained on your boyfriend, you shift into your tiger form, making sure to exaggeratedly yawn, showing your sharp teeth. 

kimi immediately starts shaking like a leaf, eyes wide. “mamma mia-“ he stutters out, unable to believe that there was a huge white tiger standing in front of him where his girlfriend once stood. 

you let out a low growl of amusement towards your boyfriend, who promptly bolts out of the room. 

after sending a quick thanks to the heavens that his parents weren’t home, you carefully pad out of the room towards the direction he ran out. your sharp nails noisily clack against the wooden floorboards as you saunter forwards. almost immediately, you hear his heavy breathing in a coat closet near the front door of his house. wow, he is lowkey kind of bad at hiding, you think. you raise your paw and bat open the closet door. 

he cowers in the corner, face half covered by his pillowy merc-logoed jackets and his mother’s thin patterned shawls. “please don’t eat me!” he mewls out. 

it was pretty funny seeing your pretty boyfriend scared half to death, but you didn’t want to go overboard and give him ptsd.

you quickly shift back into your human form, jump through the coats, and into his arms inside of the cramped closet.

“aww, kimi,” you tut, brushing back some of his curls from his face. “don’t be scared, it’s just me!” 

he lets out a shaky sniffle, still in shock from the scary tiger that you just turned back from.  “i definitely believe that you can shift now,” he says sullenly, “and i promise you that i’m never gonna doubt you again.”

you reach over and place a small kiss on his cheek, leading him to smiling shyly at you. 

suddenly, his mother pops up into the intimate scene- she must have come home when you were distracted. 

shooting you both questioning looks, she gestures towards the piece of furniture around you.

“so… why are you kids hiding in the closet? and kimi, are you crying???”

charles leclerc

"YESSSS!" your boyfriend shouts, partly deafening you.

pleasantly surprised and just a tiny bit relieved at his positive reaction, you smile at him. "i hope yo-"

before your sentence is even finished, he excitedly cuts in.

"what can you shift into? a crocodile? oh, i bet something really cool like shark or something so you can eat arthur when he's being annoying!”

flash him an unamused look. "i tell you that i can shapeshift and your first response to this newfound information is to ask if i'm a shark so i can eat your brother?"

charles blinks at you, slowly, big brown eyes wide with innocence. "er yeah?"

“wow,” you mutter, pouting jokingly. “is that all i’m good for?”

he immediately surges forward to comfort you, wrapping your body in his muscled arms. “no, mon coeur! you are so smart, and pretty, and done so many great things-“

you stop him by pressing kisses along his jawline while laughing. “i’m joking with you, charlie!”

a relieved look crosses his face, and he smiles at you looking up at him adoringly.

it’s a simple, sweet moment, something you cherish, until he opens his mouth again. “you don’t have to eat arthur if you don’t want to, baby.”

you push away from his embrace, crossing your arms. “i shift into a hedgehog, charles.”

seeing the cogs turning in his head, you quickly add on, “and no, i’m not going to poke him to death or whatever outrageous plan you are thinking up.”

lewis hamilton

“yeah, i know,” lewis says simply, continuing to chop the tofu into small cubes. “baby, will you also get the soybeans out of the fridge for me?”

you don’t move, body frozen in lewis’ state-of-art kitchen, trying to process how your boyfriend found out your carefully guarded secret.

“love, the soybeans please??” he exclaims, wildly stir-frying the tofu and vegetables. “it’s going to burn!”

shoving your questions aside, you turn to the gleaming silver fridge behind you and pull out a bag of organic soybeans. you toss it to him in a perfect arc, bag spinning in the air. he catches it with one hand, rips open the package with his teeth, and pours it into the pan in one smooth movement. watching him cook shouldn’t have felt so spicy and passionate. once he plates the dish on a sparkling white plate, wiping away the excess sauce, you decide that it would be a good time to bring up his surprising reaction.

“so…what did you mean you know?” you question him carefully.

lewis slides your portion across the island counter, along with a serving of rice.

“well,” he replies, “it wasn’t that hard, since your fur got literally everywhere, and you tend to forget i’m downstairs when you get the zoomies in the upstairs bedroom.”

“oh,” you respond. it kind of made sense, considering the mysterious packages of lint rollers and trinkets that could double as dog toys that were constantly being delivered to your house. he wouldn't tell anyone, though, would he?

he spears a couple of cubes of his stir-fry and raises it to his mouth before answering your internal question. "don't worry, baby. i won't tell anyone- as long as you give me something in return."

you watch in amusement as he wiggles his eyebrows seductively at you. abandoning the hot food on the table, you seize one of his tattooed arms. "i will be more than happy to," you giggle, before unceremoniously dragging him to the bedroom upstairs.

alex albon

it was not an ideal situation. you were currently flitting near the ceiling, fighting for your life to not get smacked by the dusty old broom that your boyfriend was hoisting.

talking about said boyfriend, he was jumping up and down on his driver room sofa, yelling and screaming with his broom in his hand like a witch that was one second away from going mentally insane.

"there's. a. fucking. bird. in. my. room." he yelps, swinging his weapon-like tool a little too close to your fragile body.

you originally planned on surprising your boyfriend and revealing your special talent by transforming from bird to human. you naively thought your sweet boyfriend was going to scoop you up ever so softly, place a kiss on your head, and you would have a nice talk about you both were going to move on with this piece of information. but no, the moment he saw you perched one of his spare race suit, he started swinging. where he even got a broom, you didn't know.

when you spot a moment of hesitation from alex, you take your chance and quickly fly towards to the opposite side of the room from where he was, feathers whipping in the wind. you land on his desk and shift back to your human form. you take a chance to catch your breath, chest heaving. if looks could kill, your glare at alex would probably put him six feet under within seconds.

he gapes at you, broom now forgotten on the floor. "w-w-what? but.. the bird- you-?"

"i was the bird, you twat!" you snap, pushing yourself off the table. "you almost murdered me!"

he rushes over to you, wrapping his long arms around your body. the familiar scent of his cologne and clothing detergent almost makes you forget that he tried to kill you a moment ago. "i'm sorry!" he stammers, petting your head. "i didn't know you could-" he lowers his voice to a whisper- "shapeshift!!"

you smile into alex's team kit, head still buried against alex's body. "i guess i forgive you," you mutter.

alex takes a look around the room, your extra feathers littered across the floor and room in disarray from him leaping around, and hugs you tigher. "oh, i'm so glad i didn't accidentally end my own girlfriend."

max verstappen

"hmm," was all your boyfriend said when you nervously exposed your life-changing secret to him on a random saturday morning.

you stutter nervously and wring your hands, trying to decipher the look on max's face. "a ragdoll cat, to be exact- like um, i can change whenever i want, like this-"

shifting into your cat form, you blink your signature blue eyes at him. your boyfriend looks at your form on the ground curiously, and then pulls out his phone. immediately, thoughts race across your mind. what if he hated you? was he exposing your secret to this internet right now? what if he was so disgusted that he wanted to break up with you?" thoughts overcoming you, you high-tail it in between max's legs underneath the sofa.

a few minutes later, you watch as max's socked feet approach the couch, leading you to shrink back more. his face appears a moment later, eyebrows creased with worry. "schatje, come here!" he encourages, large hands beckoning you forward. "i won't hurt you, i promise."

padding forward cautiously, you place yourself within his reach.

true to his word, he softly slides you out from under the couch, and holds you close to him, patting you comfortingly. once your initial fear subsides, he places you softly next to him. you awkwardly shift back, trying to ignore eye contact with max. "you're not mad at me?"

he tilts your head towards him, and grabs your hand. "baby, i would never be mad at you! i'm glad you trusted me enough to tell me your secret! i was just processing everything."

"really?" you sniff, looking into his big blue eyes.

"positive." max says candidly.

you nod, satisfied. "okay then."

he shoots you a small smile, and then gives you a light kiss on your cheek. after he pulls back, you ask him one last question.

"so, why did you pull out your phone then?"

surprisingly, he lets out a laugh. "oh, that!" he pulls his phone out of his jeans, and tilts the screen to show you. multiple luxury pet supply websites were pulled up, showcasing the latest beds and scratching posts. you think you could spot a $7,500 gucci pet beds in one of the tabs which you will probably have to forbid max from buying later. he shoots a grin at you. "now i know your secret, i feel like its only fair that i have to spoil you within an inch of your life!"

lando norris

"you what?!?" lando says, jaw practically on the floor.

"i can shift into a ferret," you repeat, watching your boyfriend try to grasp the meaning of your words.

"like, the animal ferret?" he questions, still unbelieving.

you sigh exasperatedly, "no, everybody's favorite fruit, the ferret- yes, the animal ferret!"

climbing off of the high stool in lando's kitchen, you walk towards your stunned boyfriend on the nearby couch. sebastian vettel yaps about the bees on the tv in the background. as you come closer to lando, you shift to your ferret form, and scamper onto his lap.

looking at you with wide, glazed eyes, he hesitantly extends his hand towards your furry figure.

when he fails to make contact with your soft fur, you push your head upwards so he rests his hand on the top of your head. taking it as an invitation, he strokes your fur and inspects your little paws. he even pokes your stomach, which you rebutted by snapping your jaw at him.

once you feel like he had enough "examine the ferret" time, you jump off of his lap and shift back into your human form.

"wait no, go back!" he begs, "i didn't get to see your tail yet!"

you shoot him an annoyed look. "you are not allowed to be going anywhere near my tail today."

he pouts, scowling at you. "this is so not fair!! why do you get to be a ferret? i want to be something too!"

it was clear that your boyfriend never had the experience of being snatched out of a bush by random kids on the street and straight up being squished and prodded at by their inquisitive hands.

"yeah, you are something," you shoot back. "a clown!"

lando jerks back and places a hand on his heart. "that was mean!" he protests.

"okay, okay," you give in, "sorry..."

he mutters lowly and sneers at you before whipping out his phone. fingers flitting across the keyboard, he rapidly searches something up.

you slightly lilt your body and peer onto the screen. catching a glimpse, you burst out laughing.

"lando, there's no way you just googled, 'how to turn into a ferret!'"

a/n: if you liked it, make sure to check out the au series that this blurb takes place in :)

shapeshifting!reader au blurbs

[cottagec0relover21]

Hiii!!! How about Chilchuck teaching you how to pick locks after you got locked inside a chest and the party couldn't find you? This is how he shows that he cares and worries about the reader lol.

With a halfling reader if that's oki with you....

Bonus points if after chatting for a while, they both started talking about locks and keys, not realizing it sounded like a sexual innuendo, then it got awkward lol

"Lost and Found"

[Chilchuck Tims x gn!half-ling!reader]

Warnings: slight sexual innuendo - fluff

You had gone missing. Missing. In the dungeon. From one moment to another you had disappeared from everyone's sight. You had been walking around with the group when you'd spotted a room full of chests and decided to enter to take a look around.

Chilchuck had groaned loudly at all the work Laios intended him to do to open every single one of them.— First of all, what if one of these is a mimic?!— Chikchuck protested, pointing a finger up towards the tall-man's face. Honestly he had a really good point.

That's when from behind them, they heard (y/n)'s voice speak and a sudden slam. Everyone turned around to see they were gone.

—(y/n)?— Marcille spoke up. Calling them a second time, when they didn't speak up everyone started to panic and look around. Were you outside of the room? Maybe on a room next door? but nothing, you had just dissapeared in the blink of an eye.

Groaning in discomfort and some pain, (y/n) rubbed the back of their head, where they had collided roughly against the inside of the wooden chest. Chilchuck fumbled to grab his tools as Laios, Marcille and Senshi looked at him expectantly when they had heard (y/n) knock from inside of one of the chests, making him even more anxious.

—Let's try this one!— pointed Laios.

—No! I think it's this one!— the mage contradicted him.

—Everyone shut up! Let me hear!— Chilchuck yelled, agitated as he stood silently in the middle of the room.—(y/n) can you knock once again for me?— he raised his voice so they could hear, trying to speak calmly, hoping you were still conscious.

When they knocked on the inside of the chest they had fallen into, Chilchuck hurried to help to unlock it and get them out.— It's okay, I'm here! Can you breathe well? I'm going to get you out! Don't panic!— no one had ever seen Chilchuck so... worried before. So seeing him stumble with his words and fumble with his lockpicking tools made everyone stare at him with curiosity and worry for (y/n).

After a minute or two Chilchuck successfully opened the chest to find them curled up inside. He helped them up and out with a worried expression on their face as he looked over their features. Where you hurt anywhere? How had that even happened in the first place? Was it a monster? Did someone accidentally push you? Did you fall??

—Uh– Chil, I'm okay...— they speak softly, reassuring him as he squished their cheeks to move their head to the side.— I saw a chest was slightly open and I wanted to take a closer look, but somehow I kind of fell in...?— they sheepishly admit with a chuckle.

Chilchuck hits their shoulder, protesting that he was worried. The faint redness on his cheeks didn't go unnoticed by the group as he fussed at them. How sweet. And grumpy everyone thought as they watched the scene unfold in front of them. (y/n) couldn't help the giggle that erupted from their lips and hugged Chilchuck by the neck.— It's okay now, thank you for saving me— they speak sweetly, which only makes the half-foot more red in the face as he reciprocates the hugs slowly.

—Don't do that again or I'm not getting you out...— he mumbles, obviously not being serious. They would save them a thousand times if it was ever necessary.

Much later, when dinner was almost served, (y/n) and Chilchuck were sitting aside on the ground, legs crossed as he held up his lockpicking tools for them to see.— Why does the tip look like that?— (y/n) pointed at something the group could not see, for they were sitting with their backs facing them. That made half of the party look up with wide eyes in their direction.

Chilchuck calmly explained— Every keyhole is different, sometimes you need a bigger one, sometimes you need it to curve or to lay flat— he grabs (y/n)'s hand and brings it closer— Here, feel it— as soon as he says that, Senshi coughs loudly, catching their attention.

Both of them turn around— Are you okay, Senshi?— (y/n) asks, noticing everyone's flustered look—...what?—.

—Kids, you should look for some privacy if you're going to be doing such a thing. I understand you're curious, but please respect everyone else in the room— the bearded dwarf speaks, returning his attention to the food. Their cheeks become as red as a pomegranate as Chilchuck protests that, first of all, they're not kids, and second, that's not what's happening at all.

One can't even explain lockpicking in peace anymore, geez.

[serawritesthings]

WHERE THE DEERS REST, first part

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Arthur!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t-” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s happening?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

“Don’t run away,” Arthur muttered as his gaze stayed on you, warning laying deep in his voice.

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

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

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

“The law, I already told ya,” 

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

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

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

“And the man in my be-”

“Jesse.”

“Oh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mmh.” 

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

“Come here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“If you only knew.”

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” he said.

“You killed their leader, you mean.”

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

“And the law?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nodded.

“How did you know I was in Blackwater?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[the-avengers-not-the-nazis]

Bad moon rising II

Summary: After a nasty divorce, you and your family are forced to live with your Grandpa in the lovely notorious Santa Carla, California. Filled with punks, geeks, surfer nazis and apparently all kinds of creatures of the night.

Word count: 2.9k

Poly!lost boys x Emerson!reader

[1] [2] [3] [4]

A/n: I am gonna be 100% honest with all of yall, I have cried, yelled at myself, and threaten to throw my phone across the room. Because I had no idea how to get the reader and the boys to meet. So, this honestly will probably suck, but I have tried my hardest. Spent too many hours deleting and rewriting for this to be bad. So please enjoy if can

The board walk was unlike anything you’ve ever seen before. It was packed full of bustling people, everyone wanting to go through all the rides, shops and games that they had on display. 

Lights came from all around, aluminating your way through the crowd as you tried to decide what to do first on the boardwalk. Screams and laughter sounded from the rollar coaster ride, the bumps and spins tempted you, but you knew that you’d need to ease your way into everything. 

This would be the moment when you’d wish that Sam or Micheal had come with you, they would try to do everything at once. But, unfortunately, right as you three had arrived; the boys had caught wind of a concert, ditching you to go watch Timmy Cappello perform. 

Treacherous dicks. You called them, wishing that at least one of them would have stuck with you as you ventured where you’d be spending the remainder of your summer. 

You wiped your palms against the fabric of your shorts, the heat of the night air causing a faint sheen of sweat to coat your body. After you’d finished unpacking all the necessities from the car, you’d taken a quick shower and changed for a night out on the board walk.

And thankfully so, the gentle breeze against your bare legs cooled you down enough for you to actually enjoy the night out. 

Chimming bells suddenly grasped your attention, facing the noise, you saw a small shop that was isolated from the others. One of the stores windows was cracked, a piece of cardboard covered the inside to prevent the glass from falling out. 

It was a music shop. 

You remembered when your dad would take you as a kid, letting you pick out cassette tapes, and vinyl records for your room. The old record player would run all day from how many times you would listen to Elvis, Buck Owen’s, and The mamás & the papas. 

It was such a shame that you had to sell the record player and half of your vinyl collection to help out after the divorce. With such little money, you had to make sacrifices for your family. No matter how much you regretted it afterwards.

You glanced up at the sign above the door, a wooden guitar with the words Soundscape etched into the body, swayed against the gentle breeze.  A young couple walked out of the store, hand in hand, a paper bag with their purchase held tightly as they ambled away. 

Reaching into your pocket, you felt around for your wallet. The small leather bound material felt weighted as you pulled it out, the sudden urge to spend your money caused you to open the door of the shop. 

The bell rang above you, and a quick greeting sounded from the cashier. You politely greeted him back before wandering throughout the store. 

It was decently clean, a few stray cd’s littered the ground and a couple display posters were a bit too crooked. But, overall, it was perfect for you. 

You trailed your fingers over a couple of vinyls, picking up a few before putting them back in place. Not really looking for anything specific at the moment, you just tried to find something that would catch your eye. 

Stopping infront of the cassette tapes, you let yourself go through each row, the soft clicking as the cassettes bumped against each other drifted up towards your ears. That and the sound of Jeff Lynne’s voice singing Don’t bring me down, was the only noise that filtered throughout the store. 

Your finger graced an Elvis cassette, the image of him and his infamous guitar sat in the clear case. Picking up the tape, you flipped it over reading the listed songs that went with each side. It had a couple good ones; like Blue Suede Shoes, All Shook Up, Return To Sender, Burning Love and of course some others. 

It was his top greatest hits from each album. 

You tapped the plastic against your palm, debating if you should spend the money just to add to your Elvis collection. You actually had a lot of collections that you needed to complete, but, with this specific artist you only had small handful left to find. 

Kinda like Sam’s Batman comics that he’s been trying to find at every book store that you’d passed on the way down here. 

The bell suddenly rang once more, dragging your attention away from the shelf infront of you. A group of men walked in, each leather clad and mullet wearing. The smell of smoke drifted off of them, wafting through the store. It made you scrunch your nose in disgust. 

“Welcome to the SoundScape,” The Cashier told them, the rehearsed words falling easily out of his mouth. “If you need any help, please let me know.”

None of the guys acknowledged the worker, or, they did though they just didn’t pay him any mind. You watched as they each dispersed from one another, going to different displays around the store. Picking up random items before putting them back where they originally were. 

One of the guys walked down the same row you were on, his eyes trailing over the selection of cassettes. You returned your gaze back to your own tape, not wanting to be caught staring at the guy like a creep. 

Eyeing the rack infront of you, wondering if you should buy the Elvis tape or possibly another. If you’d had enough money on you. You kept your eye on a Boney M. cassette, the item practically calling your name. You reached forward fingers less than an inch away from the plastic when a sudden commotion caused you to freeze. 

BAM!

Your head instantly shot up, the sudden noise disturbing the once peaceful silence. It came from a guy in the leathered group, the small one with curly hair, he stood over a fallen display of cd’s. His hands held up in the air, a small smug grin tugging on his lips as he turned to the stores worker. 

“I’m sorry, man.” He told him, his apologie laced with sarcasm. “It just started falling.”

The cashier let out a deep sigh, his smile turning from genuine to forced as he eyed the scattered items. “It’s alright, accidents happen.”

You watched as the curly guy bent down and picked up the stand, purposely hitting the one right beside it as he did so. He let out another fake apology before the worker shooed him away, picking up everything himself before curly messed up the entire store. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the movement of the blond beside you shove something in his pocket. You turned you head slightly, to get a better view, and you watched as he took another cassette from the shelf and put it on the inside of his jacket. 

You glanced between him and the other three guys that he came in with, noticing that with the worker busy they were taking items off of their display and stuffing them deep into their clothes. Hell, the curly guy was trying to fit a whole vinyl record in the front of his shirt. A very prominent square outlined for everyone to see. 

It was a diversion, knocking over enough stuff for the counter guy to get pissed and pick everything up himself. It was clever, but still wrong. 

With your attention kept on the tapes infront of you, you opened your mouth. Voice low enough so that only the blonde next to you could hear. “You shouldn’t do that.”

The man glanced up at you, not at all ashamed of what he was doing. “What’s that?”

“You shouldn’t steal.”

He let out a quiet laugh, leaning his upper body against the shelf. “Oh, really?” He asked, voice drawing out into a tease. “Wanna tell me why I shouldn’t, babe?”

You gestured to the store around you, eyes meeting his. “Because, its wrong. And, just because you and your friends can’t see that, doesn’t mean that it’s right.”

“Well, me and my friends seem to think it pretty damn fun.” He told you, pushing off the shelf as he took a few small steps towards you. “So, your reasoning is pretty much useless in this case.”

The guy stood a mere foot away from you, his eyes trailing across your face. His smile growing ever so slightly as he took you in. “So, watcha gonna do about it?” He asked, voice soft and teasing as he held a tape infront of you. 

“Put it back.”

“Why? There is no fun in doing the right thing.” He waved the item in your face. “Is there, babe?”

You snatched the cassette from his grasp, eyes not once leaving his as you placed it randomly on the shelf. “Put ‘em all back.” You scolded, voice rising ever so slightly. “It’s shitty and disrespectful for the ones that try to make a living working in places like this.”

He glanced over the top rack, eyeing the worker with disinterest. “Yeah, but, it’s also disrespectful to have to work at a place like this.” He turned back to you. “So, if he gets fired then he’ll come and thank us.”

You opened your mouth to retaliate, wanting to tell him how much his point didn’t make since. When you notice how quiet the store had gotten, the music coming from the speakers and the worker picking up the cds were the only thing. Glancing around you couldn’t see the guys friends, all of them gone from where they originally were. 

“Yeah, Paul, put it back.” A voiced suddenly called from beside you, arm slinging itself across your shoulder. 

Peering beside you, you saw the curly haired guy, his eyes dancing between both you and Paul. You didn’t even hear him come up behind you, in fact you didn’t even know that he had moved from where he was across the store. 

You pushed off his arm, the feeling of his body pressed up against your own made your face heat up. Looking back at Paul, you noticed how his body seemed to get more ecstatic, smile forming into a friendly tease. “Oh, yeah? Why don’t you put up that vinyl of yours.” He tapped against the cardboard beneath the fabric. 

Curly swatted his hand away, pulling the vinyl from beneath his shirt and dropping it on the floor. You eyed the disc on the ground, annoyance seeping into your chest at the disregard of store. 

“Pick it up.” You told the smaller one, side stepping away from them both to give yourself some room. 

He tsked, eyes roaming your body up and down. “Well, aren’t you a bossy one.”

“I wouldn’t be bossy if you’d stop fucking-“

“Watch your mouth.” A different voice spoke up, stopping you from finishing your sentence. You glanced over at the voice, taking in his long overcoat and bleach blonde hair. “It’s not nice to treat strangers that way.”

You furrowed you eyebrows, “If your saying I’m being rude, than that’s really the last thing I care about right now.”

A few small snickers came from around you, causing you to look around at each men that surrounded you. The two blondes stood the closest to you, giving you just a foot of breathing room. Then there were the the bleach blonde and brunette. They stood the furthest from you, but their stares alone were enough to make you feel like they were everywhere at once. 

Your body felt like it was on fire underneath their gazes, that and your dignity slowly burning away as realized how much of a fool you must look like right now.  You quickly crouched down, picking up the vinyl and gently setting it on the shelf. Not really caring that it’s not where it belongs right now. 

Someone cleared their throat. You and the guys turned your attention towards the worker, who stood behind the counter with a wet rag. “We’re closing.” He told them, nodding toward the door with little patience. “If your gonna buy something, now is the time.”

You gave him a quick ‘ok’, forced smile gracing your features as you turned to face the men. You eyed them wearyingly, knowing that they could just easily walk out of here without doing at all what you’ve been asking. 

A soft chuckle came from the bleach blonde, a smug smirk playing on his lips as he placed a hand on Paul’s shoulder. “C’mon, Paul.” He said, turning to walk out of the store. “Put ‘em back, we got places to be.” 

You watched as he pulled out a cd, the front of the case covered in a band called Scorpion. He set it down on the shelf, his eyes not once leaving your own. “We’ll see you around.” He muttered, voice low and mesmerizing to hear as he spoke.

It was almost like a fly getting caught in honey. Alluring and sticky, but, it’s just a trap for the prey. 

You didn’t acknowledge his words, instead you just watched as he walked out, the others slowly trailing after him. The brunette hadn’t muttered a single word since entering the store, and apparently didn’t feel the need to as he stepped outside. 

Curly slowly wandered towards the door, turning swiftly to wave his fingers at you before disappearing behind the glass. A simple ‘Have a nice night’ spilling from his lips as he did so. Paul then turned to walked out, his arm resting across your shoulder slide off. Hand coming up to pinch your nose. “Yeah, we’ll be seeing ya around.” He told you, voice indicating that it wasn’t a suggestion, but more of a promise. 

Swatting his hand away from your face, you watched as he chuckled, walking away as he went to join his friends. Leaving you all alone in the isle, with nothing but your Elvis tape and flustered face. 

Engines revved outside as you walked up to the cashier, the sound of the fading bikes meeting your ears as you tossed the cassette on the counter. The worker rang you up, placed your item in a paper bag and thanked you for your purchase. You quietly wished him good night, before turning on your heal and walking outside. 

You were quickly met with the warm night air, the loud noises coming from the boardwalk surrounded you once more. You held on tightly to the paper bag, the cassette softly rattling inside as you quickly walked away from the Soundscape. 

You were still flustered from your interaction with the four boys. The feeling of their bodies pressed up against your own made the night heat all the more unbearable. What if I would have just left them alone? You thought, swerving through a group of people that waited patiently for the carousel. 

They still would have taken from the shop, and that guy would’ve probably lost his job from all the items missing. But, you wouldn’t have lost some of your dignity whilst doing so. 

A sigh left your lips, unoccupied hand going into your jacket pocket. Though instead of the feeling of the scratchy fabric, your fingers graced against a peice of cold plastic. You stopped walking, standing by your lonesome in the middle of the boardwalk as you pulled out whatever rested in your pocket. 

It was a Scorpion cd. The same one that you saw the bleach blonde pull from his coat. You hadn’t even felt him slip the item in your pocket, was it when you were getting on to him or when he was leaving? Was he even the one that slipped it in?

Stupid prick, you thought. Stuffing the disk into the paper bag with your Elvis one, there was no sense in returning it now. The shop was already closing up and how would you even explain that to the poor worker. 

You shook your head, the events of the night tiring you out. 

From a distance you could see both Sam and Micheal standing in the middle of the boardwalk, their attention caught on a girl and little boy. You made your way over to your brothers, the paper bag swaying in your hand as your feet picked up. 

Sam greeted you when you came near, his long over coat brushing against his shoes. “He’s been following her since the concert.” He told you, gesturing with his hand towards the pretty girl. 

“Mmh, hey, peeping Tom.” You tugged on Micheal sleeve, trying to pull him away. “I’m ready to go home.”

He didn’t acknowledge you, his eyes staring longingly at the back of the girls head. You pulled once more at his arm, barely getting him to move when the sudden loud noise of multiple vehicles rushed on the boardwalk. Glancing towards the disturbance, you watched as four familiar bodies stopped infront of the girl and boy. 

They each revved their engines, purposely scaring away anyone that too close. You watched as the little boy made his way over to one of the motorcycles, the brunette pulling him up to sit behind him. 

The girl placed her arm across the bleach blondes chest, hosting herself onto the back of the motorcycle. “C’mon, man, she played you.” Sam told his brother, pulling him away from his rooted spot on the deck. You stayed put for a second, slowly trailing after your brothers as the engines of the bikes faded from earshot. 

Your mind going to when exactly you’d be seeing them again. 

A/a/n: Like I said, this took so long to figure out how exactly the reader and the boys would meet each other. So, I honestly would understand if y'all don’t like this, but, trust me the other chapters are going to be a whole lot better.

[saucymunch]

yuta okkotsu x reader , fluff, a bit of angst, slight megumi x reader, demon slayer references , NOT accurate to manga (changed a little bit to better fit my story) , CONTAINS MANGA SPOILERS

the moment you overheard maki, panda, and toge talking about yuta’s missions abroad you froze in place. you were eavesdropping on their late night (2am) conversation. you wouldn’t call it eavesdropping, you were simply gonna go get a glass of water when you decided to wait and see what they were talking about (u were totally eavesdropping).

the three second years were carelessly chatting for hours on end in the common room. toge sprawled out on the couch, panda who melted onto the rug, and maki who was rocking back and forth in the giant lazyboy rocking chair that they had convinced gojo to buy one day at the mall. it was pouring rain outside, with thunder occasionally rumbling.

the sudden strike of lighting made you flinch a bit, as your hands gripped the wooden frame of the wall. but in this moment, you were hyper fixated on the fact that your boyfriend was going to be gone abroad in a couple of days. how could he not tell you? shouldn’t you be the first person he wants to go to? you were more confused than angry. honestly, you were more defeated.

your immediate reaction was to break into yuta’s dorm, and demand answers out of the boy. but before you could lash out, you took deep breaths, just as shoko had taught you. although you possessed the rare ability of the reversed curse technique, your regular technique forced you to visit shoko more often than the others. your regular technique was a powerful defensive cursed technique that depended heavily on your breathing abilities.

you mumbled to yourself in anger with tears of frustration spilling out of your tired and puffy eyes as you quietly retreated back to your dorm, deciding to just deal with this tomorrow morning.

the next morning came too early. before you knew it, you were standing in front of yuta. you had asked him to meet him, and he invited you over to his dorm room. his bags were already packed.

“why didn’t you tell me you were leaving?” you asked, avoiding eye contact.

okkotsu’s eyes widened. he pursed his lips. his hand immediately reached for the back of his head as he scratched his head.

“y/n… i was going to tell you.” he stammered, jittery and clearly heart broken.

you match his gaze. “why didn’t you tell me first? why did i have to find out from the others?” you asked, holding back tears and biting the inside of your cheek.

“i- im so sorry! i was just so scared. even the idea of leaving you had me going crazy. also, gojo-sensei told me it would be a good idea to tell you as late as possible!” he reached for your hands, grabbing them for reassurance.

you grimace at the mention of gojo. “okkotsu! you don’t listen to gojo when it comes to this kind of stuff.” you scoff, and squeeze his hands.

you decide to forgive yuta, not like you had much time to be mad at him anyway. his plane left in four days, and on sunday morning, your lover boy would be headed to africa. gojo had to watch you and yuta kiss and coo and hug each other in the airport, which is behavior the bright red flustered spiky haired boy would typically shy away from because of his timid nature, but he didn’t know when he would see you again. he told you a couple of months, but you both knew it would stretch longer.

—

after yuta had left, you had slowly fallen into a slump. your training gradually got sloppier, you barely made it out of missions, you neglected your friendships with the other second years as you were locked away in your room most of the time. this went on for a month. even though you called and texted him, there was no facetime feature on yuta’s phone, and nothing was the same.

everybody was worried for your health, both mental and physical. you became even more frail as you skipped meals and had a difficult time breathing as you weren’t training your cursed technique as efficient as before. shoko had reported to gojo that your physical state was borderline self harm, as you hardly survived any spars or missions. a special grade sorcerer was rare and extremely valuable in the jujutsu world. when the higher ups had learned about your current condition, they were furious.

after one horrid month, gojo had finally dragged you out of your chamber known as a dorm to meet the new first years.

“okay! time for introductions~” gojo grins.

the three first years were sitting on a road curb as they stood outside of an abandoned school.

“y/n, this is itadori yuji. sukuna’s vessel!” your sensei explained.

the pink haired boy waved, sending you a bright smile.

“nobara kugisaki! a country bumpkin that uses a hairpin technique.”

the girl greets her coolly, saying something about how there aren’t enough girls at school.

“and finally y/n, this is megumi fushiguro, he possesses the famous ten shadows shikigami technique!” gojo beams, poking and prodding the boy.

your eyes visibly widen as you make eye contact with the spiky jet black haired boy.

“is something on my face?” your kouhai asks, face heating up as he brushes off his chin.

you shake your head. “sorry, no you don’t. you just have the same hair as someone i know.” you reply, chuckling softly at your foolish thoughts.

gojo forces all four of you into the abandoned building populated by curses.

“he told me to kill all the curses, right?” you ask the three first years, who were instructed to just watch.

they all nod as they run behind you, trying to keep up with your pace.

“y/n-senpai! how old are you? if you don’t mind me asking!” itadori curiously exclaims, causing nobara to nag him while fushiguro facepalms.

“i’m fifteen. why?” you inquire, looking back at him.

“woah- you’re the same age as us? just asking.”

you laugh and continue running through the building and up the stairs all the way to the rooftop just to be met with a crowd of curses.

“fushiguro. what’s your favorite color?” you ask as you unsheathe your nichirin blade from your pocket.

he furrows his brows, puzzled.

“hurry.”

“sorry- um, blue?”

you rapidly mutter a water breathing technique, releasing seemingly infinite ribbons of water to kill off all the curses in the building in a split second, afterwards causing the entire school building to be flooded with shimmery water that evaporates in less than a second.

the three first years just stand in awe. when they make it back down, they’re met with a proud gojo.

“so that’s the power of a special grade.” itadori admires.

nobara and itadori can’t stop cooing about how cool your technique is, while gojo explains your other breathing styles and techniques as you guys make your way to a sushi restaurant.

as you all get seated, nobara mentions something about how you need to fix your heavy eye bags and overall dead looking face, talking about how girls need beauty sleep. you simply smile and nod, but too tired to actually respond. if you were healthy, you would be overly excited at nobara’s words and you two would probably be inseparable. but you just don’t have enough energy. and gojo knows this. he knows how much you have been wanting to meet the first years. he knows that you need whatever help you can get. and he hopes that a fresh batch of friends will help.

“order whatever, it’s on me!” gojo shoots you all a tooth-achingly sweet grin.

nobara and itadori smirk as they bicker over what they should order for everyone.

a few months go by, and ever since your mini mission with the first years, your mental and physical health had drastically improved. one could say itadori, nobara, and megumi had saved you. you were now hanging out with the second years and first years often, and yuta’s calls and messages were becoming more and more rare. gojo had noticed you had taken a specific liking to megumi, and he had also been fond of you. the two of you would hang out separately, even spending some of your winter break together. gojo walked in on the two of you laying together, borderline cuddling, on HIS couch too. he didn’t know if you two were dating, so he resorted to asking the two first years. who both denied his suspicions. the white haired man asked maki, your best friend, and she had also denied it.

and it wasn’t like you loved megumi like you loved yuta. you loved megumi like a best friend. he was so easy to talk to, and was actually surprisingly really funny when you got to know him better.

nonetheless, you were able to reclaim your spot as one of the most powerful sorcerers in history, as you trained ten times harder than before. you were officially back to your normal self.

—

shibuya. nobody had suspected that halloween night would be so gruesome. you wondered if yuta was here, everything would be alright. the last time you two contacted each other was three months ago.

you were walking with yuji and megumi through the eerily empty streets of shibuya, the only sound filling ears were the echoing crunches of rubble beneath your feet. you quickly duck behind a flipped car to use your reverse cursed technique to heal a small wound on your foot, as yuji and megumi patiently waited in the middle of the road.

all of a sudden, you hear sparring noises. but spars dont last this long, and nobody was here to spar, they’re all here to eliminate, you think as you finish up healing your foot.

this cursed energy feels all too familiar. one you haven’t felt in over a year.

you turn around, to be met with yuta okkotsu.

your dark and tense expression brightens, eyes wide. you take in his almost unapproachable appearance. the once timid and sickeningly warm and sweet face was no longer there. instead, a cold, dark, exhausted, and straight up creepy face was standing just a couple feet away from you. his eye bags are heavy. his hair has went from spiky and messy to flat and styled into a side part.

but for some reason, the boy you once had to order for at restaurants, the boy who would hide behind you every time he hd to interact with anybody, the boy who was always uptight and nervous, was trying to kill your kouhai, yuji.

shoving personal feelings aside, you charged towards yuta, unsheathing your blade, as you held your katana up horizontally to protect yourself and your two kouhai’s, who were on the ground, coughing up blood, from getting killed.

yuta’s tired eyes had shot wide open, brows furrowing, as his katana had stopped pushing against yours. you used his moment of shock to try and sweep his feet off the ground, but unfortunately, he blocked your attack and hesitantly kept blocking and dodging your blade.

“y-y/n! y/n, listen to me. you need to stay out of this.” he orders, voice slightly shaking.

“those are pathetic words to say to your girlfriend who you haven’t seen in over a year.” you reply stoically.

all of a sudden, megumi appears next to you, with his frog shikigami, that get killed in a split second by yuta.

“leave her alone okkotsu-senpai.” the shikigami user says, attempting to deliver punches to the special grade, which were embarrassingly too slow for yuta.

“megumi-kun! it’s been too long. gojo had told me you and y/n were getting oddly closer during my absence.” the special grade boy uttered, smiling as he attempted to kick fushiguro in the stomach.

you grabbed yuta’s leg, and slammed him to the concrete.

“megumi, go check on yuji.” you instruct, as you held yuta to the ground.

megumi hesitantly left, and you released yuta.

“why are you trying to kill yuji? because if you keep trying, i’m not gonna hold back on you.” you firmly state.

“the higher ups want me to. y/n, i’m gonna kill itadori-kun and then revive him with my reverse technique.” he briefly explained s through labored breaths.

you eye him suspiciously. but seeing him so roughed up and exhausted broke your heart. you’ve dreamt of this day ever since the day he left. you wanted nothing more right now than to hug the life out of him and litter his bruised face with kisses. you wanted to take in every part of him.

he finally stood up and before he went to “execute” yuji, he whispered into your ear, “i love you so much. stay right here and don’t turn around until i tell you, okay?”

you comply and nod, unable to move because of your boyfriends suddenly dominant and confident behavior.

“just wait a little more sweetheart.” he commands, his lips grazing your neck as you feel his smirk against your skin.

your body tensed up at his words, and you were left paralyzed from his disgustingly sweet tone. eventually you shook your head and waited until yuta gave you the okay.

part 2?

[wroteclassicaly]

18+

A/N: Just a little blurb to kickstart my writing for this character off ;)

Pairings: Eric x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut, vaginal fingering, NSFW.

He’s always like this with you. Gentle, clarifying your wants and desires without words — your consent. That’s never changed, even when the silence has to begin again, when no one knows how safe this island can be. There’s a stillness to your candlelit nights - this one being no different. It’s been a few weeks since you’ve settled into your small tent, most residences being established for those that have come a new.

But having a skylight zip in the roof of your tent and a relatively soft mattress, knowing you’ll have fresh water and food, light conversation in the mornings, a sunrise above water, and a makeshift family — you consider yourself amongst heavenly luck.

With Frodo out frolicking tonight with your neighbor’s cat Prudence, it leaves you and Eric alone in the tent for an hour. He’s been reading his book by the candle light, alternating between drawing his fingers down the wooden sconce, to staring at you through hooded, enriching pools of chocolate. All of this is still new, your two year long online relationship, various letters and video chats, with the arrangement to meet in New York in person, only to receive a text that sounded like a goodbye, hours after landing, but then the invasion happened and you had zero time to look for him, assuming the worst, to ultimately meeting again on the boat. He still looks at you as if he’s known you his whole life, in person. With newly shared trauma, to old shared conditions - you’re honestly not sure you’d be sane right now.

Tap. Tap.

A warm hand pinches the skin of your calve. It causes you to look up from your mindless doodling. He’s got that little soft smile, the flame of the candle dancing in the blown expanse of his pupils. His brows pinch together, his curls drooping over his forehead as he nods for a confirmation in his request. He comes closer and your agreement, knees rustling the sheets and the comforter.

He props himself beside you, one hand cupping your jaw, bringing you in to nuzzle your nose. With the exception of fires crackling, crickets chirping, some residents still up, and the distant sound of the water lapping at the shoreline — all remains a comfortable kind of tranquil. You feel his mouth on your jawline first, fingers tilting you to maintain direction. You push your book aside, listening to the light smacks of his lips as he sucks in the flesh of your neck, lightly biting down, only to release and soothe. His spare hand, it finds its way up your nightdress, resting on your knees, kneading, rolling his palm, until it splays, his dipping fingers tapping your skin.

He pulls away from the divide between your neck and shoulder, mouth red and panting, licking his teeth as his hand leaves your land and his pointer and middle finger make a spreading motion. Your heart drops into your guts, entangled and stifling the air in your lungs. You can’t tug your panties down fast enough, sliding against his chest, taking his own stubble bitten chin into your grip for a kiss as he lets his hand cup your heat, a groan slipping into your mouth. It gets harder to cover when you feel him press at your entrance, teasing the muscle, getting you so worked up that you have to stare him down with your pleading eyes that he’s so fond of. You take two digits with ease, rocking your hips, taking what you need from him, letting him spoil you.

It’s a lewd sound, one that someone couldn’t miss if they were to pass your tent. Eric’s breaths are coming out choppy across your lips, his lap swollen with need. But sometimes, it’s about giving you pleasure that gets him off the most. And you, you’re sure every creature across the world can hear how fast your heart is beating. Your body zoned out, only honing in on Eric, facing him as you near your climax.

It’s going to be strong, you both know it. He sees through his haze enough to cup your mouth with his spare hand as you tighten around his fingers, crying into his rapid pulse, that is buried beneath his wrist. You’re trembling, whimpering, and it attacks that aching fire in his belly, licking, and causes him lower his face into your jugular, warmth spurting from between his thighs and into his boxers. You hold one another through it, smiling against a sweaty daze, and he kisses you again, one finger dropping to write I Love You inside of your wrist.

[geesenoises]

DnD: dungeons and draco

for @quail-in-red. this is just further proof that if anybody shows even the slightest interest in one of my dumb jokes, i crumble and perform like a silly jester at once. based on this post i made last year and rediscovered today about hp wizards playing DnD.

Dean didn’t give a lot of details when he invited Harry to his weekly dungeons and dragons game, but the last person Harry expected to see at the table was Draco Malfoy.

“We started a game together when we were, er,” Dean trailed off.

“When we were prisoners in Draco's house!” Luna finished for him brightly.

Malfoy didn’t say anything, just met Harry’s eyes stolidly and then went to fuss with the small pile of papers and cards in front of him.

Harry shared a look with Ron, who was already sitting between Dean and Hermione, and then sighed inwardly and took the last remaining seat between Seamus and Luna. He pulled out the premade character sheet Dean had owled him last week. It was wrinkled from having nearly been lost in a pile of post and then hastily shoved in Harry’s pocket before flooing to Dean’s flat. 

Harry looked around the table. Malfoy’s stack of papers was bigger than anyone else’s, even Hermione’s. And why did he have so many cards? There was a little wooden tray in front of him too. The dice in the tray looked iridescent, catching and reflecting the light. Trust Malfoy to have expensive poncy accessories. Why was he even here? Did he even like DnD? He’d grown up around magic his whole life; what did he need to pretend for?

“And so let’s go around and introduce our characters,” Dean finished. Harry had missed his whole introduction. “Since Draco and Luna have played before, we’ll start with them.”

Malfoy straightened up a little, carefully picking up his character sheet even though it seemed like he was so familiar with it, he didn’t need to reference it. “I’m Mike, a level three call center operator. I’m twenty-three years old, originally from Essex and just moved to London. I played football in uni, but am feeling less fit now that I have a job where I sit all day.”

Luna went next and spoke in a surprisingly deep voice. “My name is Archie, and I’m a level six IT consultant. I’m forty-six years old, originally from Norwich, but I moved to London for uni and never left. I’ve been married to my wife, Evelyn, for twenty years and we have two children and a cocker spaniel named Rosa.”

Harry stared down at the character sheet in front of him. He hadn’t looked at it before grabbing it in his rush to get here on time. It told him he was meant to be playing Grace, a 29 year old paramedic who’d grown up in London and recently broken up with her fiance after finding out he had cheated on her. She had a cat named Pomegranate. Harry didn’t know much about tabletop games, but there had been a group of kids that Dudley’s gang would sometimes target instead of Harry who had played. And what he’d overhead from their games didn’t sound anything like this.

“Hang on, these are just normal people; we’re all humans with muggle jobs. I thought we were playing dungeons and dragons, you know, with magic involved.”

Malfoy glared at him. “Weren’t you paying attention, Potter? Dean just explained the premise of our campaign.”

Harry didn’t want to admit to Malfoy he’d been too busy wondering what his dice were made of. He looked away from Malfoy to Dean. “Er, sorry. I was… distracted.”

Dean sighed but looked more resigned than irritated at having to explain again. “When I started the game with Draco and Luna, they got confused by the magic system because actual magic doesn’t work the way it does in DnD, so I made up a slightly different game we could play. We’re a group of Londoners in a recreational dodgeball league.”

“And honestly, Harry, it doesn’t feel right pretending to be of magical creature heritage for a game,” Hermione added. “Think of what kind of hurtful stereotypes we could fall into.”

“Okay…” Harry said slowly. It still felt strange, but now that he thought about it, he supposed he didn’t need to spend his Thursday evenings pretending to be part of a group camping out and hunting evil. Once per lifetime was enough without having to do it recreationally in the realm of imagination.

Harry smoothed out his character sheet again and introduced the group to Grace.

not sure if there will be more, but we're all shipping mike/grace right?

[impishjesters]

hii can you please do jax x shapeshifter reader hcs/short story (your choice)... like they dont have a "normal" form nn can turn into anything they wanted to i think thatd be cool /nf

warning(s): Jax, mentioned using someone's fear as a prank note(s): I wasn't sure how to list the prank, it's probably considered particularly cruel given it's using Ragatha's fear of centipedes as entertainment A/N: I think having the ability to shape-shift and be friends with Jax is such a violently chaotic blend, and honestly I'm here for it. Gotta get your fun somehow.

To be honest, Jax questions whether you’re actually a human or not at first

It wouldn’t be the first time Caine decided to throw something new at them, though usually it’s a game or activity and not another…person?

Like obviously you don’t look like the wooden doll NPCs, but you can just uh, change what you wanna look like?

He’s entirely convinced you’re just some fancier NPC for a hot minute before you start to react in a very non-NPC way

Those wooden dolls don’t particularly do much, and they sure as hell can’t speak

The first thing Jax tries to do is rope you into his messing around with the others—just think of it, you can turn into whatever you want which means even more hilarious possibilities for pranking the others!

Now if you aren’t like Jax and deny helping him, he’ll still find ways to use your shape-shifting abilities to his enjoyment.

Even if it doesn’t result in a prank, it’d still be hilarious to see you shift into something that ends up scaring someone else or just overall causing chaos to whatever awful domino effect might happen (I mean look at the Kaufmo situation, shit went downhill real fast unintentionally)

He’s not going to be aggressive or forceful but he’ll still throw out that the two of you would make a great team in entertainment

And if you like causing hell then this baby is just like a kid on Christmas, as mentioned above he’ll use your ability to shape-shift into things that’ll entertain him—and well by proxy you

Like the time you guys fucked with Kinger

He had you shape-shift to look like himself and engage in a convo with Kinger, and when the convo ended he came over and started up a conversation, acting as if he hadn’t seen the old coot in a hot minute. Kinger was very very lost—Ragatha didn’t find it that funny

Nor did she find it funny the time you turned into a large centipede-like creature and scared the ever-loving shit out of her

Okay maybe you felt a tad bad, and sure it definitely had her loathing you for a bit—but she’s definitely grown more on guard with you around

Overall Jax finds it kind of interesting that unlike them, you are able to sort of pick and choose what you wanna look like. The two of you no doubt spent hours just watching you cycle through and test just what kind of stuff you could change into.

Caine still isn’t sure how that happened to be completely honest, you’re an enigma to him and he doesn’t like that

Jax won’t say it but he’s only a little weirded out when you’ve made yourself look like him, he knows what he looks like—there are reflective surfaces, but it’s just…weird

[lieslab]

Nothing new

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Minho X gn reader

Summary: Minho finds you on the porch when the hurt from the issues your father gave you tends to bubble up and fizz over.

Genre: Comfort/hurt

Word Count: 1.3K

Trigger warning: Daddy issues, grief, depression, anxiety, mentions of physical violence and emotional abuse.

A/N: I forgot that I wrote a daddy issue post like a week or two ago because I have the memory of a goldfish. I haven't done a Minho drabble in a while and honestly, this was one hundred percent completely self-indulgent and I cannot lie about it. I was spiraling and this was what conjured up in the middle of my grief. I'm so sorry if you can relate, we deserve better <3

_ _ _

"Why are you hanging out here alone?” Minho plopped down beside you on the back wooden porch. 

You couldn’t remember how long you had been here. Maybe it was mere minutes or maybe it was more like hours. Time seemed to blend together out here and you let it. 

The sun was starting to set. It painted the sky with roaring reds and bright oranges. Streaks of clouds were beginning to fade further and further away into the distance. Soon the sun would set and the moon would begin to climb the darkened skies. 

“I’ve been calling your name for a while. I thought you were in our bedroom, but you didn’t respond. I even thought you were showering until I found the bathroom empty. I was starting to think you had been kidnapped or something.” 

You shrugged, “I’m just here.” 

“So what are you thinking about?” 

“Noth-” 

“Bullshit. You don’t turn into a recluse unless you’re truly struggling with something. You know that I’m not going to judge you, so what are you really thinking about?” 

“Everything all at once.” 

“Anything specific?” 

“Family.” 

His face softened at the mention of your family. Life with your family has been chaotic. He knew the stories, you always told him about them. More specifically, he knew the issues that you had with your father. 

“Daddy issues again?” 

“Or perhaps my brain is the issue.” You shifted and leaned back. Your legs hung down the descending stairs, but your upper half clung to the deck. “I just…I just wish I could stop making it a big deal. I wish things didn’t affect me so much. I wish actions and words would run off me like water instead of sticking.” 

“It’s not wrong to mourn the things you missed out on. I understand that it must be hard to deal with the cards life gave you. Everyone has struggles and yours just happens to be your father.” 

“You’d think it’d stop once you grow up.” 

He paused for a moment and his eyes went out to the backyard. Off in the distance, the shared vegetable garden bloomed. Bright grown plants flourished in every direction. Two white cabbage butterflies chased each other around and around. Soon they’d land on an outer cabbage leaf and begin to munch away without a care in the world. 

“I think realizing it when you get older makes it worse. You become aware of the injustice and hurt which causes a cognitive disconnect. It makes it cut that much deeper. You don’t have to feel bad for feeling something so natural.” 

“You know what the worst part is?” You finally got out. The sting of tears began to collect in the corners of your eyes. “He’s not even a good man. We’re talking about one of the worst people out there and yet I still feel myself chasing after him.” 

“The kind of person who picks strangers over his own children. The type who spends money on stupid things instead of the youngest child’s needs. The kind of person who has no issue yelling and screaming in someone’s face. The kind that lets their anger control them and make all the decisions.” 

“But yet…I keep chasing. I keep hoping and praying. I’ve started to talk to God,” a tearful snort fell from your mouth. “I don’t even know if I believe in him, but I’ve talked to him. I keep asking for a better father, but all I hear is silence.” 

“They say you should stay in contact with your parents because they’re your parents, but what if a parent is making you so stressed and upset, your hair falls out? What if it leads to sobbing and emotional distress? What if it leads to screaming and fighting? What if trying to love my father is what kills me?” 

Minho’s heart broke apart at your words. He knew it was bad and it had been for a while, but he didn’t know it was this bad. His hand instinctively reached out for yours. The warmth of his palm connected with yours and curled around your fingers. 

“And you know what the worst part is?” 

“Hmm?” 

“If I leave him, that’s it. He won’t change and try to become a better person. He won’t think about his actions and go out of his way to change. He’ll just point the finger and belittle me. Run my name through the mud to every family member. He’ll belittle me, turn me into an outsider, pull the curtain over everyone’s eyes again. He’ll always be the good father in his eyes and I’ll just become another asshole that did him wrong. Just like the hundreds of other people that he once upon a time knew.” 

Narcissism was deadly for some. Too much of an ego and too much self-imposed-importance left people craving attention. No matter whose character they had to rip apart, they’d do it. Whether that meant belittling them to everyone they knew, screaming at them, or even assaulting them. 

Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. 

All the attention had to be swallowed by them. Like some sort of powerful sun, the rays never knew how brightly they burned. Any ounce of criticism was a pot of boiling hot water. 

The huffs and puffs. The finger in your face. The yelling and screaming as spit flew everywhere. The broadening rage that seemed to fill the room without a single sound. The angry marching from them as you tiptoed along on eggshells. Just when you let out a breath, they snapped and lashed out. 

You didn’t have time to react before you became a victim of another episode. Another rage fest where things went flying. When the refrigerator door slammed shut so hard that the shelves full of condiments shook. The way that cupboards were dented from the force of wood slamming against wood. 

Your dad would always be your dad, but he’d never be a good father. You could cry and cry and cry. You could cry enough tears to create an ocean, but it’d never be enough to wash the hate out of your father. That realization caused your heart to break apart. 

Your biological father would never love you, at least, not the way you loved him. Your chasing was starting to slow down. You could spend a few more years chasing his love and begging on your knees for it, but when was the last time your father said he loved you? 

When was the last time you were your father’s child? When was the last time that your father seemed to give a shit about you? Did he know your favorite color? Did he know the songs that caused your heart to boom with adrenaline? 

Better yet, did he know something as simple as your birthday? Does he know or does he laugh as he asks you because it’s not such a big deal to him? So when he hands you a card from the dollar store with his name, does it feel just as worthless as his love for you? 

“Is it wrong to want to be loved?” 

“Never. It’s never wrong to be loved and I’m sorry you don’t have that kind of love. If you want me to, I’ll share my father with you.” 

“I haven’t even met your father.” 

“Oh, I was talking about Bang Chan.”

“Minho!” You leaned over to lightly slap his shoulder. Before you could reach it, he jerked out of reach. His hand grabbed your wrist and he jerked you closer. 

“Hey!” 

Your annoyance instantly dissolved the moment his lips met yours. Your body relaxed and you began to kiss him back. At this moment, none of your father’s lack of love mattered. Right now, you had this and what a fool you’d be to ever give it up.

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

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[coriosbunni]

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ - sugar rush

pairing: senator!coriolanus snow x baker!reader warnings: fluff , slight ooc!coriolanus snow, i was listening to laufey so soft coriolanus snow hehehe authors note: so sorry for the late post pls ive been so busy w life </3 summary: prompt is from this request ! i hope i do u justice anon <3

the smell of the freshly baked goods fills his nose as he enters a beloved bakery in the heart of the capital. coriolanus has made it a habit to come to your bakery after every media engagement for his campaign.

he always bought the rich chocolatey brownie topped with a raspberry either for his grandmaam or for himself—always finding a way to support the beautiful girl who runs the bakery.

he has admired the owner of the baker since the early days of his academy. as snowflakes dance through the air, blanketing the capital in a soft, white layer, your bakery stands as a warm, welcoming haven. coriolanus upon seeing the cozy scene inside, decided to do a pit stop to avoid the strong wrath of the snow storm.

the windows are fogged with condensation, offering glimpses of the cozy interior lit by the gentle glow of pendant lights. the bell rang as he entered the shop. the aroma of freshly baked bread, sweet pastries, and rich coffee mingles with the scent of cinnamon and vanilla, creating an irresistible invitation to coriolanus.

he took a moment to appreciate the comfortable environment of the bakery; candles gleaming, wooden tables and countertops to match the white framed countertops, and baked goods encased in glass.

behind the counter, you stood. your eyes, a warm, inviting shade, locked onto his, and time seemed to slow. your smile was soft and genuine, lighting up your face and radiating a kindness that made his heart skip a beat. it was as if the storm outside had ceased to exist, leaving only the two of you in this perfect, serene moment.

ever since then he had locked eyes with you, he couldn't stop thinking about you. the way you light up every time you see him enter your shop. you have memorized his order by now, he was also consistent with his brownie and black coffee.

one late evening, coriolanus decided to help you clean up after the last customer left. it wasn't unusual for him to be the last customer there, you always were grateful for him.

you were putting away coffee cups on the table when you stopped to look at the snowy atmosphere outside your shop.

the lack of noise filled his ears and he stopped cleaning the countertop to look if you were alright, "are you okay darling?" he asked softly. coriolanus often called you pet names and to be honest you didn't mind it at all.

you didn't look back at him and continued admiring the snow gently falling, "you know every time it snows i think of you," you admitted to him.

he walked to you to admire along, "why is that?" he curiously asked as his heart fluttered at your declaration of thinking of him.

"it reminds me of when we first met, i was setting up the sign outside the store when I slipped on a frozen concrete and you caught me. " you reminisced

"you're honestly my knight and shining armor" you joked as you looked up at him, suddenly right beside you. he was already looking at you and you noticed this longing look on his face and it made your heart skip a beat. he was way too gorgeous to be looking at you like that.

all of a sudden you got shy and looked away, "why are you looking at me like that snow" you said flustered. he smiled softly at the change of your attitude

"like what rose?" he places his finger under your chin to make you look at him. the eye contact was different with him this time. he was looking at you with an intense, almost aching desire in his eyes. it tugged at your heart and you couldn't help but look between his lips and his eyes. longing for his lips to connect with yours.

and like he read your mind, he tilted your chin up and leaned in. time seemed to stop as your lips finally met, a kiss that was both gentle and passionate, filled with the unspoken emotions that had been building between you. it was a kiss that spoke of longing, desire, and the sweet relief of finally giving in to what you both wanted.t

[thesuperiorrobin]

“Crazy idea let’s make out”

❥ Pairing: Damian Wayne x Fem!Reader

❥word count: 900

❥summary: teens being teens ya’know?

Warning: 16+, description of making out, both Damian and reader are 17/18.

Requested!

Damian isn’t good at taking hints. That’s a surprise considering he was raised by the dark knight of Gotham who is also a great detective. He’s riling you up purposely just to see you crumble—you know it. Damian is more focused on his math homework. His math homework! Can you believe it? You don’t understand why it’s taking him so long to do it when you know for a fact that that boy can do it in his sleep. Damian can feel you burning holes in his face as you sit in front of him.

He can hear you sigh heavily—sigh annoyingly and tapping your pencil against the small floor table that is laid in the middle of his bedroom. A few more minutes and you’ve had enough. You flip your pencil—hitting Damian in the arm.

“I have a crazy idea” you say leaning over the table “let’s make out” now that catches his attention.

His head snaps up and his green eyes stare at you. He grips the pencil tight, almost snapping it in half.

“Excuse me?” He says and you scuff rolling your eyes at him.

“You heard me” you lean even closer—your palms placed up against the wooden borde supporting your upper weight “Lets. Make. Out.”

Damian can feel your soft breath against his lips as you lean closer with each word that leaves past your lips. He glances down at your lips then back up at your eyes.

“Do I have to repeat myself again? Wayne?” That sends him over the edge and he smirks up at you. His green eyes are shining with mischief. Damian is no longer losing the pencil—instead he pushes his homework and the pencil aside as his arm reaches up, his hand finding their place firmly against the side of your face. You can see him shake his head.

“Not at all. You asked and you shall receive, Beloved” in one swift motion he leans forward smashing his lips against yours—it takes you by surprise at first but you quickly push it aside as you lean into the kiss.Somehow you two end up on his bed—you laid underneath him as Damian hovers slightly on top of you. He’s using his arms to surpass some of his weight so he doesn’t crush you—how thoughtful.

This kiss—no make out is truly something. It’s messy. Your hair and his are a mess as your fingers tangle in each others hair, clothes wrinkled as you grip the back of his black shirt shirt tightly—occasionally bringing his body closer to yours (no matter how close he was it wasn’t enough) as you eat each others soft groans and whines. Now Damian can go long minutes without taking a single breath, but he knows you can’t and seeing as you're not tearing apart first he has to do so you don’t pass out on him (even though that’s probably a way you’ll like to go out). Damian sets himself up and takes a good look at you. His pupils dilate and the sight is one he mentally takes a picture of. Dazed—tired out eyes, skin warm and drool coming from the side of your mouth. Damian wipes drool from his mouth using the back of his hand and you do the same.

“Why’d you stop?” You breathe out, Damian lets out a chuckle

“you need a breath” his hand goes up and pinches your nose slightly “I don’t want you passing out on me” you mumbles something under his breath that he can’t quite catch. He resides a brow at you and leans closer “what was that beloved? I couldn’t hear you” you shake your head

“I wasn’t done” you mumble up at him and he sighs

“What has gotten into you today? You’re usually not this….bold” and he’s right normally you don’t initiate this kind of behavior—most of the time that is. Not saying he doesn’t like it—no he loves it! It’s just odd.

You shrug “I don’t know honestly. I just had the sudden urge to have your mouth against mine and your tongue down my throat” Damian rolls his eyes as you giggle. You tug at his shirt to catch his attention and it works “but I seriously wasn’t done”

“Neither was I '' Damian smashes his lips against yours once again and you two are at it again.

“What if someone comes?”

“I’ll hear their footsteps before they even enter the room. Don’t worry about it”

Yeah well he didn’t hear and he didn’t hear the door open. But you two did hear the horrific screams that made you pull apart quickly.

“Damian!?” Of course it was Dick.

“The little Demon spawn from hell has a girlfriend?!?” and Jason

“Seriously what the fuck ?” And we can’t forget poor ‘ol Tim. You slap both of your palms against your face out of embarrassment. Damian lets out a growl at his brothers and points at the door

“you three out know! This isn’t the time”

“clearly” Jason mumbles as he stares at you two up and down—like a judgmental stare. Now you're praying Damian’s bed eats you up whole and never spits you out when Damian brings out Katana.

“Alfred wanted us to get you two down for lunch because you two were working so hard—but clearly you two were working hard on something else”

“Did it honestly need all three of you to tell us?!”

“Yes”

“Aw Little D has a girlfriend! Finally!” Dick cheers.

“This is so embarrassing,” you say.