#i miss it when i had a stomach made of steel

[zhenne]

boss’ daughter - pt. 2

dr.zayne + f.reader

syn. you find yourself at the hospital to return the coat zayne had kindly lent you a week prior. what was meant to be a quick exchange unfolds into a quiet divulge of insecurities and biding tension, all under the looming curiosity of a single question: what does dr zayne see when he looks at you?

wc. 1.2k

warnings. not proofread, possibly ooc, reader is not mc, slight (implied) age gap (reader is 20-23, Zayne is 28-30: pick your poison), use of y/n & l/n

<- pt. 1 pt. 3 →

The hospital lobby buzzed with its usual controlled chaos—doctors rushing between rounds, patients checking in, and the faint murmur of announcements over the intercom. You felt out of place in your tailored coat and heeled boots, clutching Zayne’s jacket like some kind of flimsy excuse. Maybe you really were just a fool.

You glanced at the coat again. It was an ordinary dark gray, the kind of thing that blended in. But to you, it carried an unexpected weight—a reminder of that night on the terrace. The night you’d stupidly thought a cigarette would calm your nerves, only to find yourself face-to-face with the hospital’s most celebrated surgeon (naturally, considering your luck).

You strode up to the reception desk where a young woman sat, typing away on a computer. Instantly, she recognized you, having seen you come in and out for meetings or hospital events. You noticed the way her eyes widened when they land on you, and the reflexive reaction made your stomach twist with something ugly.

“Could you point me towards Dr. Zayne’s office, please?” You ask before she could get a word out. She hesitantly nods, as if in a stupor as she checks something on her computer.

She’s pretty, you think to yourself, as she likely checks to make sure Zayne isn’t in a meeting or surgery. You watch the way her lashes flutter softly as she scans the screen, and a pang of envy makes your fingers grip the jacket in your hands to ground yourself.

She looks back up, a faint, polite smile on her lips as she confirms your suspicions, “He should be free right now, his office is just down the hall and the last door on the left.”

You offer your thanks and begin what feels like a death march down the very corridor you’d been avoiding for weeks. You don’t even make it to his office to steel your nerves when you spot him.

He was walking from a perpendicular hallway, speaking to a colleague with his characteristic professionalism. They come to a stop in front of what was undoubtedly his office door. He looked the same as ever: tall, sharp-featured, with an air of effortless authority. For a moment, you hesitated. But then his gaze flicked to you, recognition lighting his eyes.

He said something to the other doctor, handing off a clipboard before walking the few short steps to you. “Miss Y/N,” he said, voice calm and professional. “What brings you here?”

“I came to return this,” you explain, holding out the neatly folded coat like a peace offering.

Zayne’s brows furrow, but he accepts it. “You didn’t have to. I wasn’t expecting—“

“To see me?” You cut in, a small, wry smile on your lips. You understood what he meant—most people would assumed you’d have the coat handed off to an assistant to return—but your words held an underlying impression.

He opened his mouth to respond, but you pressed on, emboldened by the restless tension that had been simmering since that drive in his car. “May I ask you something?”

His eyes narrowed slightly with curiosity. “Why don’t we step into my office?”

You oblige, following in after him. The space is exactly as you would have expected it—simple, efficient, and not without that faint scent of him.

“You seem like you have more to say than just a simple question,” he said after a moment, breaking the silence.

You glanced at him, “I don’t mean to take up your time,” you said quickly. “I know you’re busy.”

“I wouldn’t have brought you in here if I didn’t have a moment,” he replied, his tone patient but firm.

He’s about to make a gesture to sit, but you speak before he has the chance to offer, keeping your back toward him as you seemingly inspect the details of the space.

“What do you think most people see when they look at me?”

“You’re Y/N L/N,” he began, his voice low, measured, as if explaining to himself as much as to you. “You’re the chairman of Akso Hospital’s daughter. You’re highly educated, successful, and respected.”

“And?” You challenged. “Is that all you see when you look at me?”

You hesitantly find his eyes, holding your breath when you feel his gaze searching yours with a sincerity that leaves your heart fluttering. Whether it’s out of fear or denial, you cut him off before he has the chance to answer.

“Why don’t they see me?” You whisper, your voice quieter but no less pointed.

“People see you,” he said carefully, as though testing the weight of his words. “You’re not exactly invisible.”

“No,” you said bitterly. “They look at me. There’s a difference.”

A pause. A beat of silence, and then:

“Dr. Zayne, am I ugly?”

The words slip past your lips effortlessly, startling even you. You wanted to take them back, to laugh it off as a joke, but your voice had been too soft, too earnest to dismiss.

Zayne straightened slightly, his expression unreadable. “What makes you ask that?”

You turned your back to him, staring at the bookshelves again. “Because I feel like people look at me and only see what they expect to see. The chairman’s daughter. The pretty face at the gala… Nothing more.” You swallowed hard. “I thought maybe you’d be different.”

Zayne froze, and you don’t miss the way his hand tightens slightly around the coat. He couldn’t pretend to misunderstand your implication.

“Y/N,” he finally said softly, stepping closer, and it jolted you to hear your first name, and only your first name, slip past his lips. “It’s not about you being the chairman’s daughter.”

You turned to face him, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself. “I know it’s ridiculous,” you said quickly, trying to diffuse the tension. “But sometimes I just wonder… if I were someone else, someone ordinary, would anyone even care enough to look past that?”

“Anyone who only sees what’s on the surface isn’t worth your time.”

“And what about you? What do you see when you look at me?”

Zayne looked at you then—really looked at you. He saw the frustration in your eyes, the vulnerability beneath your usual confidence. And for a moment, the boundary he’d tried so hard to maintain wavered.

The words hung in the air like a fragile thread between you. Your lips parted, but before you could respond, a nurse called his name from behind the door, urgency laced in her tone.

You stiffened, the spell of your conversation shattered.

Zayne straightened, his expression shifting seamlessly back to his professional calm. “One moment,” he called, his gaze flicking back to you briefly.

You forced a small, tight smile. “I should go,” you said quickly, moving toward the door.

“You don’t have to,” he began, but you shook your head.

“It’s fine,” you wave it off, voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you. For… listening.”

Zayne didn’t stop you as you opened the door, stepping aside to let the nurse in. But as you slipped into the corridor, heart still racing, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he had seen you—really seen you—even if just for a moment.

[dandelioneffect]

Jannik relating to the tummy ache girlies i really wish i could say it isn’t me

Source

[charlietheepicwriter7]

"Grandfather."

Ra's knew who the boy was the moment he'd snuck into the room. He'd allowed the child--more man than child now, but everyone was a child compared to him--moments to steel himself while Ra's refrained from acknowledging his presence. The boy's breath was barely audible but unsteady, and a drop of something fell to the floor.

His grandson was injured. "Danyal," he greeted and finally gazed upon him for the first time in seven years.

Danyal had grown into his father's height, yet stayed lean in regards to his musculature. His black hair had grown out of the League-regulation haircut, held back in a messy braid. He held himself as strong as he could, but kept an arm wrapped around his stomach. His shirt--standard American teenage garb, he dismissed--was spotted with blood and he could see bandages poking out from under the cloth.

With great care, Danyal knelt before the Demon Head and recited the Oath of Loyalty.

Ra's watched.

The boy's tongue, fat with English, spoke the League's variant of Arabic with the grace of a mace to the head, yet his words were clear. He took his time speaking the oath, carefully sounding out words, working hard to avoid mispronunciation. The Oath in question was the older version, from before Deathstroke's insurrection, but Danyal spoke it with a calm certainty that it would be accepted.

And without a doubt, it would be accepted.

Talia's eldest son had been born from her body instead of through science, a mistake that nearly cost her the child and damaged him upon birth. While the best doctors in the world saved his life, Danyal Al Ghul would always be weak in a fight, always prone to illness, always struggling to excel. When it became clear that the boy couldn't become the next Demon Head, Ra's sent Talia to create a replacement while arrangements were made for her first child to be taught business and science, for the betterment of the League. Danyal, very much his father's child, thrived in his intellectual pursuits while Damian grew and developed into a budding assassin.

But Danyal was more like his father than he'd ever knew. Ra's couldn't miss the signs of one of his family turning away from the League. Not the mission--Danyal had written several university level papers defending the environment by the time the boy was 10--but Ra's methods...

Ra's had a conundrum. Danyal was a dedicated conservationist; once the boy was an adult, Ra's was certain he'd take the world by storm and bring the League to new heights. But if he forced his methods onto Danyal, he could create an enemy of him, just as his father was.

Ra's gave Danyal an offer; Danyal would be allowed to leave the League and live a normal life if and only if he faked his own death in such a way that reinforced Damian's loyalty to the League of Assassins.

Danyal had been hesitant at first, but past his test with flying colors. Instigating one of the more unstable assassins into organizing a coup, cutting the insurgents off near immediately, but "dying" protecting both his younger brother and mother. It was a masterful performance. Even Talia hadn't known about the deceit.

And yet, here he was, on his knees, pledging loyalty. Danyal knew what that meant, knew what he was returning to, which morals he would be allowed to keep.

"And what do you bring with you, child of no one?" Why should the League accept the return of this child, who left once before?

Danyal met his eyes. "I bring with me, my team, who are loyal to me and me alone. I bring with me, research surrounding the Lazarus Pits, in origins and further uses for the waters." Ra's raised an eyebrow, and Danyal smirked. "I bring with me, my knowledge, nurtured within this very home and sharpened in the world outside. I bring with me, my weapons, built with my own hands. I bring with me... my body, finally healthy and whole." He brought his head down to the floor, trembling with pain. "I bring my whole self to the Demon's Head, for Him to accept or reject."

Ra's smiled. "By the shadows that guard our order and the blood that binds us, I accept this oath. From this day forward, you are an instrument of the League, a harbinger of justice, and a weapon in the hand of Ra's Al Ghul."

Danyal returned to his feet, swaying percariously. He needed immediate medical attention. Despite this, he continued, "Long live the League of Assassins. Long live Ra's Al Ghul."

And he collapsed onto the floor.

[am-i-interrupting]

Across the River | Prologue

Viktor x Jinx’s Older Sibling!Reader

You were thirteen when your parents died.

Your little sisters on either side of you as you gripped their hands tightly. The dust left lingering from explosions fell like your heart did to your stomach, slowly but with a weight which made it harder and harder to breathe.

The sounds of the few still fighting was like nothing but background noise. The world felt surreal. Nothing had any meaning but everything had so much weight.

You squeezed Vi’s hand as you came to a halt. “Powder,” you softly as you knelt down on her level, “can you put your hand in front of your eyes? Yeah, just like that.”

She didn’t need to see this. None of you did. You were all too young, too innocent.

You bit your lip and continued forward. You were tempted to call out for your parents or anyone you knew but no. Instead you stayed quiet because your voice simply refused to work.

“Dear friend across the river,” Powder’s voice began to sing, shaky and off key.

You rubbed your thumb along her hand. It was so small in yours.

Her voice echoed in your ears like a haunting lullaby.

You pulled your sisters closer.

Grunts and a familiar figure were soon in front of you. Your parents’ friend, Vander punched down on an enforcer until he no longer moved.

Vi took a step closer. Your arm extended out with the movement. Powder’s hand slipped from her eyes.

“Where,” Vi began but stopped when Vander’s head turned to the side.

All three heads turned to the rubble. Vi’s hand went slack in yours. She took a breath and tried to steel herself but failed as it came out shaky. She turned and threw herself into your body. On instinct you wrapped your arm around her. You felt Powder’s arms wrap around both Vi’s and your legs.

Your heart stopped in your chest. You couldn’t look.

“Vander,” you said in a wobbly voice.

A million questions and worries expressed in the two syllables of his name. The main one being, “What do I do now?”

His gloves fell to the ground.

Later that night, while Vi and Powder slept in The Last Drop, you stayed awake, staring at the wall.

The door creaked open. Footfalls were heavy against the ground. A glass was placed in your hands and an arm thrown against the back of the couch you sat on.

You were eighteen when Vander died and so did two of your friends all on the same day on of your sisters went missing.

Your legs were trapped, caught under rubble after an explosion which came out of nowhere. You just wanted to stop Vi and her reckless behavior. You should have been faster.

You grunted as you pulled your leg. You felt resistance both from the mass on top of you and the socket of your hip. A scream ripped through you as you pulled anyway.

You collapsed on the ground beneath you, panting and letting noises of pain leave your throat only through clenched teeth. Your eyes stung with tears.

There was moisture on your pants. You turned your head— eyes squeezed shut for a moment, too fast— only to be met with the sight of your pants rapidly turning red. A large gash went from your mid thigh all the way down to your ankle.

A different scream seemed to almost respond in kind. Your head snapped toward the sound. You ignored how the world seemed to teeter. You knew that voice.

On shaking hands you pushed yourself up. As you put pressed on your leg your teeth clenched hard enough to chip.

“Powder!” you yelled at the top of your lungs. You could feel your vocal cords vibrate harshly against each other from the sheer desperation in your voice. “Vi!”

You called both their names as your voice slowly went hoarse.

The breath left you as a body slammed into you. Knocked to your ass, your hands scrapped against the concrete. You looked down and saw blue hair.

“Where’s Vi?”

“She left,” Powder sobbed into your chest. “She’s not my sister anymore.

Later that night, Powder’s head was cushioned with your wet jacket on the other side of the bridge.

Your hands trembled as you used a needle and thread to stitch your own skin back together. Only the rain was used to clean your wound, nothing else available to you.

Of course, it got infected.

You were twenty-five when a new life was something to look forward to.

You straightened out the vest of Jinx’s uniform. It was a second hand, a bit too big for her but you made it work. You fixed her collar. You placed a hand on her cheek. She leaned into it for a second but seamlessly made it seem like she was just reaching around you for her drink.

She took a swig and bounced from one foot to the other. Her boots, properly laced today through your tiring work, were a bit too loose as well but she fixed it with extremely thick socks. Metal was fixed to the tips, after one too many sprained toes, making them improvised steel toed.

“Are you done fussing over me?” she asked. She blew her bangs out of her eyes. “I’ve got places to be, you know.”

“I do know,” you replied, “but yes.”

“Worry wart,” she said.

You rolled your eyes and shook your head. “You have places to be?”

Jinx stuck her tongue out at you but spun on her feet and pushed open the door. You didn’t have to worry about her braids getting caught today. They were pinned up in a bun at the back of her head.

You stood with a groan (that cut never did heal right) and got yourself prepared for work. Hours later you were back home when Jinx burst open the door.

“I got the internship!” she yelled at the top of her lungs.

She kicked the door closed with a large grin on her face you couldn’t help but match as she went over to the few records you had. She bopped her head to the tune inside it as she reached for the pins holding her braids in place. They fell to the ground as she grabbed a record and put it on.

She started to move her hips to the upbeat music. Her legs soon followed. Then came in her arms. What she was doing was less dancing and more so just flailing but it was a good way for her to use her energy.

You flipped the bread you were toasting in the skillet and let her have her moment, so very happy and proud of your little sister.

[thesecondhandwoman]

FRACTURED STEEL

Sevika x f!reader

(Part Two)

Summary: It’s been days, nearly weeks, since you had confronted Sevika about the attack she led without you knowing, leading to the argument that separated the two of you. However, Sevika misses you far too much and tries to get you back.

The rain outside continued to fall, drowning out the sounds of the Undercity. Sevika sat there in silence, the weight of her guilt pressing down on her like a crushing tide. And for the first time, she wondered if she’d finally broken something she couldn’t fix.

The bar felt emptier without you. Sevika sat at her usual spot, her hand curling around an untouched glass. Days had passed since your confrontation, but the echo of your words haunted her like a ghost she couldn’t exorcise.

She hated how quiet it was now, the hum of machinery outside doing little to distract her from the gnawing ache in her chest. You were gone, and Sevika wasn’t sure she had the right to get you back.

But you were all she could think about.

She didn’t bother to finish her drink before standing abruptly and throwing a handful of coins onto the counter. The bartender raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Sevika pushed out into the rain-soaked streets, her cloak pulled tight against the cold. She had spent too many nights running from this, burying her guilt in alcohol and fights. Not tonight.

She had to see you.

You weren’t expecting the knock at your door. You had spent the past few days burying yourself in work, anything to keep your mind off Sevika and the sting of her betrayal. But when you opened the door and saw her standing there, soaked from the rain and looking uncharacteristically unsure of herself, your stomach twisted.

“What do you want, Sevika?” you asked, your voice sharper than you intended.

Her jaw tightened, and she hesitated before answering. “I need to talk to you.”

You crossed your arms, leaning against the doorframe. “I think you’ve said enough.”

She didn’t flinch, though you could see the flicker of pain in her eyes. “You’re right,” she said quietly. “About everything. About Silco. About me.”

You stared at her, taken aback by her vulnerability. Sevika was never one to admit she was wrong, let alone so openly.

“I don’t deserve your forgiveness,” she continued, her voice low and strained. “I know that. But I can’t stand knowing I let you walk away without telling you how much you mean to me.”

Your heart ached at her words, but you kept your guard up. “You think words are enough to fix this?”

“No,” she said firmly. “But it’s a start. And I’ll do whatever it takes to prove to you that I can be better.”

The sincerity in her voice caught you off guard. For a moment, you just stood there, staring at her. You wanted to be angry, to hold on to the hurt, but the sight of Sevika standing in the rain, her eyes filled with regret, made it hard to keep the walls around your heart intact.

“Come inside,” you said finally, stepping aside.

Sevika hovered awkwardly near the door as you handed her a towel. She dried her face and ran the towel over her short, damp hair, her movements tense. She looked out of place here in your small, cozy apartment, her broad frame dwarfing the modest furniture.

“Sit,” you said, motioning to the couch.

She obeyed, perching on the edge of the seat like she was ready to bolt at any moment. You sat across from her, your arms crossed, waiting for her to speak.

“I didn’t tell you because I was scared,” she admitted after a long silence. “Scared of what Silco would do. Scared of what it would mean for us.”

You raised an eyebrow. “So you chose him.”

“I didn’t choose him,” she said quickly, her voice thick with emotion. “I chose survival. That’s what I’ve always done. But…” She hesitated, running a hand through her hair. “But I should’ve chosen you. I know that now.”

The raw honesty in her voice softened something in you. You wanted to stay angry, to protect yourself, but Sevika’s regret was so genuine, so palpable, that it was hard not to feel the cracks in your armor widen.

“I don’t know how to fix this,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I’m willing to try. If you’ll let me.”

You studied her for a long moment, searching her face for any hint of insincerity. But all you saw was the woman you had fallen for, stripped bare of her usual bravado.

“It’s not going to be easy,” you said finally.

Sevika nodded. “I don’t expect it to be. I just… I just want a chance to make things right.”

You sighed, leaning back against the couch. “You hurt me, Sevika. You let me down when it mattered most. I can’t just forget that.”

“I’m not asking you to,” she said softly. “I’m asking you to let me prove that I can be better. For you. For us.”

Her words hung in the air, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, slowly, you nodded.

“Okay,” you said. “But if you ever pull something like this again…”

“I won’t,” she interrupted, her voice firm. “I swear.”

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “You’re lucky I still love you, Sevika.”

The faintest smile tugged at her lips, the first you’d seen in days. “I don’t deserve you,” she said, her voice heavy with emotion.

“No,” you said, a soft smile playing on your lips. “But I think you might be worth it anyway.”

The tension between you eased as the night went on. You talked for hours, unraveling the pain and anger that had built up between you. Sevika didn’t shy away from your questions, no matter how difficult they were, and for the first time, you felt like she was letting you see her completely.

By the time the rain stopped, you were curled up next to her on the couch, your head resting on her shoulder. Her metal arm wrapped around you carefully, the cool steel a comforting weight.

“I missed this,” you murmured, your voice muffled against her jacket.

“So did I,” she said, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head.

For the first time in days, the ache in your chest began to fade. It wasn’t a perfect resolution, and you knew there would still be challenges ahead, but for now, you let yourself savor the warmth of Sevika’s presence.

It made you realize, as you laid there with her in the comfort you missed desperately, that, sometimes, steel wasn’t meant to remain fractured. Sometimes, it could be reforged.

Just like your love for one another.

[surielstea]

Blade Bound

Based on a request!

Pairing: Cassian x Pregnant!Reader

Summary: Cassian walks his wife home, and then some.

Warnings: Pregnancy | Slightest bit of angst

3k words.

The glow of the forge warmed my cheeks as I flicked my mask up, wiping at the thin sheen of sweat on my brow. My eyes scanned the steel daggers in front of me, the heat of the fire still making the blades gleam red-hot. The rhythmic hum of hammers meeting steel and the hiss of blades meeting water filled the air—a sound I'd grown to love. This was my sanctuary, my space.

I was so focused on the metal that I nearly missed the soft creak of the workshop door. Nearly.

My head lifted, the sound cutting through the symphony of my work. My lips curled into a grin as I saw the tall figure step into the dim light of my forge, wings peaking over his broad shoulders. "You didn't tell me you were coming, Cass," I called out, my voice teasing but warm.

Cassian stood there, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he shoved his hands into his pockets. His hazel eyes glinted in the firelight, and the sight made my stomach do the slightest flip. "Hey, love," he said, his voice low and rich, his grin deepening as he took in what I was working on.

I turned my attention back to the sword in my hand, its unfinished hilt still warm against my gloves. "You come to give me a hand?" I asked hopefully, plunging the glowing blade into the barrel of cool water. Steam rose in a furious hiss, curling around us like a phantom.

"You know I'm terrible at making the weapons, much better at wielding them." He grumbled, approaching the countertop and drumming his fingers along it.

"Correction," I said as I removed the blade from the water. "You're terrible at the fine details. But you're great at the grunt work."

Cassian huffed, but I could see the corners of his mouth twitching upward as he tried not to smile. "You married me for my muscles, didn't you?"

"Partially," I admitted, sliding the unsharpened sword back into its mold. "Why are you here then? I thought you had a meeting with Rhys." I pulled my mask fully off and ran a hand through my hair, shaking out the strands that clung to my skin.

"He called it early," he said, stepping past the counter, his large frame seeming to take up all the available space in the room. He leaned casually against the workbench, his arms crossed, but there was something about the way his gaze lingered on me that made the air between us feel charged. "Besides, I didn't come here for weapons tonight."

I quirked an eyebrow at him, already knowing where this was going. "Oh?" I leaned back against the anvil, folding my arms across my chest to mirror him. "And here I thought you couldn't resist testing out my new blades."

He chuckled, the sound low and warm, and it sent a pleasant shiver down my spine. "Don't get me wrong—your work is as flawless as ever," he said, his gaze flicking briefly to the daggers on the bench before returning to me. "But I came here to walk you home."

His words hung in the air, soft yet firm, and I found myself momentarily caught in the intensity of his stare. "Home?" I asked, tilting my head. "Cassian, I'm fine. Just a few more hours and I'll—"

"You've been at this all day," he interrupted, his tone gentle but insistent as he pushed off the bench and stepped closer. He reached out, his rough, calloused hand brushing a stray streak of soot from my cheek. "Take a break. It's getting late."

I huffed a laugh, though my cheeks flushed at the tenderness of his touch. "The weapons won't forge themselves, you know."

"They'll still be here tomorrow," he said, his fingers lingering near my face before he dropped his hand back to his side. His voice softened as he added, "You won't do anyone any good if you work yourself to exhaustion."

There was no arguing with Cassian when he used that tone—the one that was equal parts concerned and endearing. He knew I could hold my own, but he also knew exactly when to step in and remind me to take care of myself.

I sighed, the tension in my shoulders easing under his steady gaze. "Alright, General," I said with mock seriousness, pulling off my apron and hanging it on the peg beside me. "What do you propose we do instead?"

His grin turned roguish, his hazel eyes lighting up with mischief. "I told you I want to walk you home, maybe take the long way just to stare at the stars a little longer. You've been cooped up in here all day—I think some fresh air would do you good."

"A walk?" I teased, though I couldn't help the smile tugging at my lips. "You're practically courting me."

His laugh was deep and infectious, rolling through my workshop like a melody meant only for me. "We've been married for centuries," he shot back, his expression softening as he looked at me, his grin a mixture of teasing and devotion. "So trust me when I tell you—you're worth courting."

The sincerity in his voice caught me off guard, freezing me in place for a beat too long. Cassian, with all his swagger and bravado, stood in the middle of my cluttered workshop, looking at me as though I were the only thing holding his world together.

I cleared my throat, shaking off the warmth unfurling in my chest. "Alright, you win," I relented, grabbing a rag to wipe my hands clean, but the skin remained stained with charcoal and soot. My voice came out steady, even if my heart wasn't. "Let me grab my coat."

I turned toward the rack, but before I could untie my apron, I felt the familiar warmth of his hand at my waist. He loosened the knot with an ease born of centuries together, slipping the apron over my head with careful precision. His touch lingered, just long enough for the air to thrum between us.

"Take your time," he murmured dryly, his voice a low rumble.

When I glanced back at him, he was watching me with that quiet intensity he so rarely let show—like the chaos of the world had stilled, leaving just us in the glow of it. For all his fire and fury, Cassian had this way of grounding me, of reminding me of the steady flame that burned beneath the warrior exterior.

I leaned in, brushing my lips against his in a soft kiss.

His grin was as wicked as it was endearing. "Save that for tonight," he said, pulling back just enough to tease.

I rolled my eyes, but a smile tugged at my lips. Rising onto my toes, I pecked him again. "Fine, fine," I huffed, waving him off as I grabbed my coat from the hook, swapping it with my apron.

Reaching for a small glass case on the workbench, I handed it to him. "These are for Az," I said. "He requested them—something about restocking the nursery." I arched a brow, skepticism dripping from my tone. "Can you tell me why Azriel needs daggers in our child's room?"

Cassian's grin turned sheepish as he shrugged. "He likes to be prepared."

"Prepared for what? A rogue teddy bear attack?"

"Hey, I don't question his methods. I have yet to find one around the house, and it seems to keep him happy so I let him."

I groaned, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Cass, we're going to have a child. Daggers hidden anywhere in the house isn't exactly baby-proof."

"I'll talk to him," he promised, holding his free hand up in surrender.

I sighed. "I suppose if I haven't found any yet, he's hiding them well. Just make sure he keeps them out of reach, okay?"

"Of course, love. No need to worry."

I gave him a long look, trying to decide if he was genuinely serious or just placating me. Probably a bit of both.

"Alright," I muttered, sliding my arms into my coat. "Let's get out of here before I start overthinking the entire safety protocol of our house."

Cassian chuckled, tucking the case of daggers under his arm. As we stepped out into the crisp night air, he slung his other arm around my shoulders, tugging me close. The world felt lighter with him beside me, the stars above brighter somehow.

The walk back to our house was comfortable, Cassian's hand never leaving the small of my back as we made our way through the city. It was late, far past sundown but Velaris was alive as always, the streets bustling with fae chatting, laughing, and living as though it wasn't nearing midnight.

When we reached the house, Cassian held the door open for me, his teasing grin softening into something quieter. "I'll drop these off with Az. You head up—unless you want to supervise the handoff?"

I snorted, shrugging off my coat. "I trust you to make sure he doesn't immediately shove one under the crib mattress."

"Funny. That's the first place he'd hide one."

"Cassian!"

He laughed, planting a kiss on my forehead before disappearing down the hall. I climbed the stairs, my steps slowing as I passed the nursery. The room was still a work in progress the walls half painted and the dresser dissembled, but the crib stood at the center, its dark wood gleaming in the moonlight.

I stepped inside, running a hand along the curved edge. The weight of everything settled on me in that moment—the good and the terrifying. A child. Our child. I could already feel my heart making room for them, expanding in ways I hadn't thought possible.

The sound of footsteps drew my attention. Cassian appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed. "You're worried," he said softly.

I nodded. "It's, a lot. Everything's going to change."

He stepped inside, closing the distance between us in a few strides. His hands found my waist, grounding me in that effortless way of his. "You're not in this alone, you know. We're a team. And if anyone dares to mess with our family, well—" His grin turned wicked. "We've got Az's nursery daggers for that."

I laughed despite myself, leaning into his chest. "We're going to be fine, aren't we?"

"Better than fine," he promised, pressing a kiss to the crown of my head. "I promise."

And in his arms, I believed him.

Cassian's arms tightened around me, his warmth sinking into my skin as I breathed him in. For all his teasing and chaos, he always had this way of making me feel steady—of reminding me I wasn't just a blacksmith pounding out weapons in a forge, but someone who mattered to him, to our court, and now to the tiny life growing within me.

After a long moment, I sighed and stepped back, my hand lingering on his chest. "Speaking of Az's daggers, you'd think the Spymaster would have a little more patience," I muttered. "I'm running out of ways to make his blades sharper, lighter, or deadlier. At this point, I'm half-convinced he's just trying to keep me busy." I drone, thinking of the recent orders he's been making for no real reason.

Cassian chuckled, his hand drifting to rest on my belly, a gesture so absentminded and natural it made my heart clench. "Azriel keeps you busy because he's secretly terrified you'll run out of projects and get bored. And we all know what happens when you get bored."

"Oh?" I cocked a brow, crossing my arms over my chest. "And what exactly happens, General?"

"You invent something," he said solemnly, though the sparkle in his hazel eyes betrayed him. "Something new. Something terrifying. Something that usually involves explosions or blades that even Rhys has to veto before you can patent them and start selling to Lord Devlon."

I rolled my eyes, though I couldn't help the small smile tugging at my lips. "I've only had two experiments blow up in my face this year."

"Three," he corrected, a teasing grin spreading across his face. "Don't think I've forgotten about that flaming sword incident last spring."

"That wasn't an explosion!" I shot back, pointing a finger at his chest. "It was a controlled combustion—completely intentional, I might add. You're the one who decided to put it down on a wood surface."

He laughed, the sound rumbling through the quiet nursery. "It only burned down a countertop before we got the fire out. No harm, no foul."

I gave him a playful shove, but the warmth in my chest wouldn't go away. For as much as I loved the forge—the smell of molten steel, the rhythm of hammer against anvil, the satisfaction of shaping something raw into something powerful—moments like this reminded me why I'd taken the risk of opening my workshop in Velaris in the first place.

"Do you ever regret it?" I asked after a minute, my voice softer now.

Cassian tilted his head, his expression shifting to one of curiosity. "Regret what?"

"Falling for someone like me," I said, gesturing vaguely toward the soot still staining my hands, despite my earlier attempt to clean them. "Someone who spends most of her days covered in ash and sweat, hammering out weapons instead of wearing gowns and sipping wine like a proper lady."

He stared at me for a long moment, his golden eyes unreadable. Then he reached out, taking my hands in his. His thumbs brushed over the calluses on my palms, the rough patches I'd earned from years at the forge.

"I've never regretted a damn thing about you," he said, his voice low and fierce. "Not the ash, not the sweat, not the fact that you could probably forge a better sword than all the Illyrian smiths combined. And definitely not the fact that you're about to be the best mother in Prythian."

My throat tightened, and I blinked quickly, trying to keep my emotions in check. "You're just saying that because you like getting the first pick of my weapons," I muttered, my voice breaking on the last word.

Cassian grinned, pulling me closer. "True." He smirks. "I love well-crafted steel. But I love you more."

I leaned my forehead against his chest, letting his steady heartbeat calm the storm inside me. After a moment, I pulled back, brushing a stray lock of hair out of my face.

"Well, in that case," I said, my tone lightening, "I suppose I could work on a few more of those experimental blades for you. Maybe even something you'd actually be able to wield without slicing off your own hand."

"You'd patch me up." He says confidently.

I rolled my eyes, but the smile tugging at my lips refused to fade. "Come on," I said, taking his hand. "It's late, and if we don't get some sleep, you'll end up snoring in the training room tomorrow."

We left the nursery behind, the soft glow of starlight spilling through the hallways of the house. The quiet was soothing, the faint hum of magic in the walls a reminder of the safety we'd built here. Cassian's thumb traced absentminded circles over the back of my hand as we walked, his touch grounding me in a way that words never could.

When we reached our bedroom, I let go of his hand to start unbuttoning my coat. Cassian, ever the helpful mate, came up behind me and slid the coat off my shoulders, brushing his lips against the nape of my neck as he did.

"Careful," I warned, though my voice lacked any real bite. "You keep that up, and neither of us will be getting any sleep tonight."

His chuckle was low and rough, sending a pleasant shiver down my spine. "Noted," he murmured, hanging my coat on the nearby rack.

I crossed to the dresser, pulling out one of his old, oversized shirts to sleep in. As I tugged it over my head, I caught Cassian watching me from where he stood by the bed, his hazel eyes dark and unreadable.

"What?" I asked, tugging the hem of the shirt into place.

"Nothing," he said, though the softness in his voice told me otherwise. "Just, you're beautiful."

My cheeks warmed, but I rolled my eyes, trying to deflect the compliment. "You're just trying to butter me up so I'll make you another sword tomorrow."

"Maybe," he admitted with a grin. "But it doesn't make it any less true."

I shook my head, pulling back the covers on the bed and climbing in. Cassian followed, sliding in beside me with a contented sigh. He stretched an arm around my shoulders, pulling me into his side as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

I rested my head against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lulling me into a sense of peace I hadn't felt all day. His fingers traced lazy patterns along my arm, and for a while, we lay there in comfortable silence, the weight of the day melting away.

"Do you ever think about the future?" I asked quietly, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Every day," he replied, his tone just as soft.

"What do you see?"

He was quiet for a moment, as though he were choosing his words carefully. "I see us," he said finally. "You, me, and the little one. Maybe a couple more, if you're feeling ambitious."

I laughed softly, the sound muffled against his chest. "Ambitious is one word for it."

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. "Whatever the future holds, I know one thing for sure."

"What's that?"

His arms tightened around me, his voice filled with unshakable certainty. "I'll love you and fight for you—always."

I closed my eyes, letting his words wrap around me like a warm blanket. "Always," I echoed, my voice heavy with sleep.

Cassian shifted, pulling the covers up around us before settling back down. His warmth and the steady rise and fall of his chest were the last things I felt as I drifted off, safe in the knowledge that no matter what tomorrow brought, we'd face it together.

Comment or reblog with a “💙” to be added to the general taglist!

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[callsigns-haze]

hi, I was wondering if you could do a one shot, where the reader and tyler are storm chasers, but the readers ill and tyler makes her sit this chase out so she can get better. so she watches the live stream, when boone shows the tornado and it looks really bad, when suddenly the camera cuts and the reader can't get a hold of tyler or anyone else. you can pick the ending, and you don't have to do it. thank you x.

Unanswered

Pairing: Tyler Owens x Reader

Summary: Y/N anxiously monitors a severe tornado chase from the sidelines due to illness, fearing the worst when the live stream abruptly cuts off, only to be relieved when Tyler, her partner, returns safely.

Chapter Warning: Descriptions of illness, anxiety, and intense storm danger, including a brief moment of panic.

The rolling plains stretched out endlessly under a steel-grey sky, the air thick with the tension of an impending storm. Y/N sat in the passenger seat of their truck, her usual excitement for the chase dampened by the persistent ache in her chest and the fever that refused to break. She had been trying to shake off the flu for days, but it clung to her like a stubborn cloud.

Tyler, her partner in both storm chasing and life, shot her a concerned glance as he steered the truck down the dusty backroads of Tornado Alley. They’d been tracking a supercell all morning, the energy between them usually electric during these chases, but today it was different. The worry in Tyler’s eyes had grown more intense with every cough she tried to stifle.

“Y/N, you’re in no shape to be out here,” Tyler finally said, his voice firm but gentle. “I need you to sit this one out and rest. You can follow the chase on the live stream, but I can’t focus if I’m worried about you.”

She wanted to argue, to insist that she was fine, that she could push through. But the truth was, she felt awful, and the thought of being a liability to the team gnawed at her. Reluctantly, she nodded.

“Okay,” Y/N agreed, her voice raspy. “But you have to promise me you’ll be careful. This storm looks like it could be a monster.”

Tyler gave her a reassuring smile, leaning over to press a quick kiss to her forehead. “I promise. I’ll keep you updated, and Boone will keep the live stream going so you won’t miss a thing.”

He pulled the truck to a stop near a small diner at the edge of town, where Y/N would wait out the chase. As much as it pained her to let Tyler go without her, she knew it was the right decision. She grabbed her laptop and settled into a booth, her eyes already glued to the live stream feed.

The storm was already gaining strength as Tyler and the team pushed deeper into the heart of Tornado Alley. The sky darkened ominously, and the wind began to howl, whipping dust and debris across the road. Boone, their seasoned cameraman, narrated the scene for their live stream viewers, his voice steady but tinged with excitement.

Y/N watched the stream intently, her pulse quickening with each update. The camera captured the swirling clouds, the lightning flashing in jagged arcs across the sky. The radar showed the supercell tightening, the classic hook echo indicating a tornado could drop at any moment.

Suddenly, the feed shifted, and Boone's camera zoomed in on the horizon. A dark funnel began to descend from the clouds, twisting and turning with terrifying speed.

“There it is!” Boone’s voice came through the speakers, the adrenaline evident in his tone. “We’ve got a tornado on the ground, folks. It’s a big one!”

Y/N’s heart pounded as she watched the tornado touch down, tearing across the open fields with a ferocity that made her stomach churn. The massive twister seemed to devour everything in its path, growing larger with each passing second.

Tyler’s voice crackled through the feed, giving commands to the team as they maneuverer to get a better position. But just as the team closed in, the camera suddenly jerked violently, the screen filling with static. Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as the stream cut out entirely, leaving her staring at a blank screen.

“Come on, come on,” Y/N muttered, frantically refreshing the page. But the stream refused to return. She grabbed her phone and dialled Tyler’s number, her fingers trembling with fear.

The call went straight to voicemail.

“No, no, no…” Panic began to claw at Y/N’s chest as she tried Boone’s number, then the rest of the team. But every call went unanswered, the dread growing heavier with each failed attempt.

She could barely breathe as she stared at her phone, the silence around her deafening. Every second felt like an eternity. Images of the storm, the twisting tornado, flashed in her mind, and all she could think about was Tyler out there in the path of destruction.

Y/N’s mind raced, torn between the urge to jump in the truck and drive out there herself, and the knowledge that she was in no condition to help. But sitting here, doing nothing, was unbearable.

Just as she was about to give in to despair, her phone buzzed with an incoming call. Her heart leaped into her throat as she saw Tyler’s name flash on the screen.

“Tyler!” she answered, her voice choked with emotion. “What happened? Are you okay?”

There was a brief pause, and then Tyler’s voice came through, slightly shaky but alive. “Y/N, I’m okay. We’re all okay. The tornado got too close, we had to take cover. Boone lost the camera when we were scrambling to get to safety.”

Y/N exhaled a shaky breath, tears of relief streaming down her face. “I was so scared, Tyler. I thought… I thought I lost you.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Tyler said softly, his voice filled with regret. “I didn’t mean to scare you. We’re safe now. The tornado’s moved on, and we’re regrouping. We’ll be back soon.”

She closed her eyes, trying to calm her racing heart. “Just come back in one piece, okay? No more close calls.”

“I promise,” Tyler replied, the sound of his voice steadying her. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

Y/N held onto the phone long after the call ended, her heart still pounding but slowly settling back into a more normal rhythm. The storm was still out there, but knowing Tyler was safe brought her a sense of calm she hadn’t felt all day.

Hours later, the door of the diner swung open, and Y/N looked up to see Tyler walking in, looking tired but unharmed. She rushed to him, wrapping her arms around him tightly, the relief overwhelming her.

He held her close, resting his chin on the top of her head. “I’m sorry you had to go through that. I should have kept you updated.”

She pulled back slightly, looking up at him with a small smile. “I’m just glad you’re okay. That’s all that matters.”

Tyler cupped her face in his hands, his eyes full of love and concern. “Let’s get you home. You need to rest, and I need to take care of you for a change.”

Y/N nodded, feeling the exhaustion hit her all at once. But now, with Tyler by her side, the fear and worry of the day seemed to fade into the background. They had faced the storm and come out the other side, and now all that mattered was that they were together.

As they left the diner, the storm clouds were already beginning to clear, the first hints of twilight breaking through. The danger had passed, and with it, a new appreciation for the quiet moments they could share, far from the chaos of the chase.

Requests for Tyler are open be free to send in as much as you wish!

tagging some:

@senawashere

@saviorcomplexrry

@cevansbaby-dove

@saynotononsense

@missdottie

@willowisp7

@taorislover94

@eloquenceinpurple

@86laura11

@rosiahills22

@jessicab1991

@kmc1989

@shanimallina87

@eternalsams

@teen-antisocial

@katiemcrae

[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

could you do a Peter steele x fem reader? <3

A/n: every now and then I’m reminded of how much I love this man he’s so pretty like I can’t

Warnings: smut, size kink bc you legally can’t write Peter without it I refuse, fingering (f receiving), I wrote this over a few weeks and forget what I wrote so if I missed something please let me know otherwise enjoy!

You'd been hired to help out with Type O Negative's new record. They'd rented out a place with a recording area and some rooms, a kitchen and a few bathrooms. You were just there to cook, clean, help out with what they asked.

When you were looking for a job this description was strange but the money was good.

You didn't know who Type O Negative was or the members so you were terrified to find out that the lead singer and bassist was 6'8. He dwarfed everyone, made you feel miniature.

You tried your best to avoid him and barely made eye contact, mostly because you didn't want to hurt your neck. Also because Peter had a habit of standing too close to you, anytime you tried to look up you were in a shadow under his chest.

It terrified you.

What's more is you couldn't shake the thought of him sneaking into your room late at night, covering your mouth with his big hand so he could bruise your insides without a worry that others would hear you.

The band was currently recording a song, you had heard Peter's deep voice vibrating the walls earlier, since then it was mostly instruments.

Kenny had asked you to make some pizza, "we thought about ordering but we couldn't decide which place to get it from." He'd told you. You accepted the request and got to work on their food.

You were just pushing the meal into the oven when you heard a voice that made you jump. "You dance when you cook?" You had a hand on your chest as you turned to see Peter leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest as he looked down at you with a smirk, eyeing your body.

"Huh?" You asked, acting dumb. You'd always been told to make food while you were in a good mood, some old thing about bad energies burning food. So, you'd put on the radio and dance.

Peter chuckled and shook his head. "Pizza's almost ready?" He asked. You nodded.

"Just give it a few minutes." You went to the fridge to get yourself something to drink.

You felt Peter come up behind you, towering over you and leaning down to your ear. "Why do you do that?" You didn't say anything, staring into the fridge with wide eyes as Peter's hot breath fanned over your cheek. His one hand went to your hip, giving it a gentle squeeze while his other arm leaned on the fridge above your head. "always avoiding me, you get quiet and cold." He said.

"Why?" He was like a growl in your ear. His tongue moved past his lips and traced the shell of your ear, drawing a shaky breath from you.

Peter let out a soft hum. "Oh, that's it, huh?" He trailed his tongue down from your earlobe to your collarbone. "Needy little thing, aren't you?" The hand that rested on your hip moved to your stomach and dipped under your waistband and into your panties.

You gasped, your back already arching in anticipation. Peter grinned and started kissing up your neck. He pulled you away from the fridge and closed the door. He held you close with his strong arm while his calloused fingers started toying with your clit.

His kisses became more aggressive, so did the movement of his fingers and his grip on you got tighter. You could feel his hard-on against your back, thick and lengthy.

Fuck, he was so hot. His grunts as he rubbed himself against you, his firm hold on your body and thoughts. You wanted him inside you. You needed him inside of you.

You could feel a knot building in your gut but before you came Peter pulled his hand out of your pants. "Naughty girl, thinking she could just cum like that?" You shook your head, tears welling in your eyes. Peter chuckled at your obedience. "Good girl, now on your knees." He smacked your ass.

It took you a second for you mind to catch up with you and you got on your knees in front of him. Peter pulled his hard cock out of his jeans and tapped the tip against your cheek. He was so big, so big you were scared to think of how it would fit in your mouth, never mind you cunt...

"Just open your mouth and try not to gag." You had no idea how you were supposed to take him and not gag. You didn't get a chance to think too much about it before Peter pushed himself past your lips. You only managed to take half of him before your had to push him back.

His low chuckle sounded again. “Don’t worry, I’ll be careful.” His hand cradled the back of your head, he used your mouth as his own fleshlight. You gagged around him even though he asked you not to, he didn’t same to mind as every time it drew a guttural moan from him.

He twitched down your throat, a wetness pooled between your thighs.

Before he came he pulled out, you coughed and wiped your mouth.

Peter pulled you up, aggressively ripping your clothes off and tossing them aside as he bit up and down your neck, your collarbone. Leaving dark marks with two prominent teeth marks, like a vampire.

You could barely keep your mouth shut with how much you were moaning, how good he made you feel. Small, fragile. His.

He hoisted you up and held you close and he pushed his tip into you. You gasped loudly and shook your head. “S’not gonna fit, too big” You whined, Peter just laughed and pushed deeper into you, only stopping when he was halfway.

He stretched you out so much, he hit every spot without even trying. “See?” He asked, sweetly kissing your cheek. “Not that bad, hm?”

Your arms wrapped around his neck. You were mesmerized by his perfect green eyes, sharply drawn face and those fangs.

You nearly came as he bottomed out. You could feel him pushing against your stomach, making a bulge which you just had to feel.

There was no grace period. Peter pushed you against the wall and slammed his hips into yours over and over again. The kitchen filled with your loud moans and skin slapping skin.

Peter had your legs over his shoulders, his teeth practically sunk into the space where your neck and shoulder connected, drawing lewder sounds from you as you begged and begged even when your brain couldn’t comprehend words anymore.

You clenched around him as the knot in your stomach quickly came undone. Pleasure shot through you, rocking your body and you clung to Peter, clawing at him all while he laughed with a tone that carried such pity.

Tears dripped down your cheeks when you realized he wasn't stopping. Your head fell to his shoulder and you watched as the bump on your stomach returned before leaving again and again.

Peter's deep grunts in your ear had your mind spinning as he continued to pull more sounds from you, promising that every time he got you over the edge it would be the last just for him to tell you another one when you were barely over that one.

This was exactly what you wanted. Your body hurt but your cunt kept sucking him in, tears streaming down your cheeks as you begged for more.

Finally, after the nth time you'd cum, you felt him twitching inside of you. Wanting to help him you tried kissing his neck, instead ending up just weakly licking him. It didn’t matter and soon you felt his hot cum hitting your gummy walls.

It was really only then you realized you hadn’t used protection. You couldn’t bring yourself to care, your body was too weak to do anything about it even if you wanted to.

You’d thought he’d just drop you and walk off. Instead he carried you up to his room, gently setting you down on his bed before he went to get a wet rag to clean you up.

He was so gentle. Even with his big hands, littered with callouses, he was so sweet with you. He was especially careful around sensitive areas, making sure to praise you all the while until he crawled into bed with you.

He held you close, holding you on top of him like he was your mattress. You cling to him as he continues to praise you. “I knew you’d be loud.” He muttered.

Tiredly you looked up at him. “Why’s that?” You asked, voice soft.

“We we’re looking for something to put in the background of a solo.” He explained. You wanted to ask questions, be mad, but his hand was playing with your hair, lightly scratching you scalp and you just couldn’t keep yourself awake.

Sure enough when you woke up later Peter wasn’t there. You thought about going back to sleep but you wanted to know more about this song you were supposedly in.

You took the blanket with you as you made your way through the house and to the recording room. Peter was on the couch and gestured for you to sit with him so you did, curling up in his lap and nuzzling into him as his arms wrapped around you.

“Hey, play the song.” He said. Your eyes were closed and you were about to fall asleep again. The song started nice and soft which didn’t help, Peters deep voice echoing in your head. Right up until you heard yourself calling out for him.

Your eyes shot open and your cheeks heated up. You looked up to Peter who was just smiling proudly at his work. “Don’t worry, you’ll get paid your fair share.” He promised, moving your head back to his chest and letting you sleep some more.

[kakujis]

you only call me on the weekend.

warnings: afab!fem reader, situationship, unrequited feelings, oliver can't admit he loves you, praise, creamp*e, implied multiple rounds, that should be it! not proofread.

ft + wc: oliver aiku hehe. around 1.6k

a/n: THIS IS A REPOST! I'm trying to get back into the swing of things, but alas, I am extremely busy with end of semester stuff. This got fl*gged so I'm hoping this repost can make it to more ppl, mwah to all the new Oliver lovers!!

you hate oliver aiku. you hate the missed calls, the times he’s stood you up, and the amount of times he’s left you on read. but when your phone chimed that night and you saw his name etched across the brightly lit screen of your phone, you didn’t hesitate to open it. 

oliver♡: hey baby, you free tonight? 

don’t respond. don’t fall so easily. don’t give him what he wants. this is the mantra that you tell yourself every time he pops up, whenever the other girls he pursues turns him down and he tries to come crawling back to you for the sake of getting his dick wet. 

but you’re weak for him and that’s why you respond without fail every time. 

y/n: i might be. why? 

you bite your lip, fuck, you know why. 

oliver♡: i miss you, pretty girl. that’s why. let me come over, yeah? 

that stupid phrase has your thighs rubbing together and you can feel your resolve, what little you had anyway, cracking. 

y/n: mm, dunno. 

oliver♡: you don’t miss me? 

say no, your mind screams, for once, don’t let him get his way. 

y/n: …maybe a little. 

oliver♡: be there soon, <3. 

y/n: that doesn’t mean come over! 

you sigh, frowning and turning your phone off before tossing it to the side. you try to immerse yourself back into the show you were watching, but the prospect of oliver coming made your hands clammy and you’re unsure if it’s due to nerves or excitement.

there’s a knock on your door and your stomach drops, fuck that was fast. of course he was nearby, he knows you can’t say no. and that's the annoying part, that he was waiting nearby, planning, no, knowing that you would let him in.

as you walk over, you steel yourself, you’re gonna give him a piece of your mind this time. if he wants to keep fucking you, then he needs to put a little more effort in. yeah, that’s it, that’s what you’ll say. 

but as soon as the door opens, he’s on you. you can’t even get a syllable out before he’s slamming you against the wall and crashing his lips onto yours. he kisses you like he’s starving, like you’re the first meal he’s had in years.

you can barely breathe, the air sucked out of your lungs as he picks you up, your legs naturally curling around his waist, while your nails are digging into his shoulders as he turns and kicks the door shut. 

he’s fast, barely stumbling down the hallway as he walks you to the bedroom. throwing you down onto the bed, you’re given a moment of respite, gasping. 

“oliver-“ you try, but he’s back on you instantly, slipping his tongue in, while some drool runs from your mouth. he tugs at the waistband of your shorts, before sliding them off.

his fingers ghost your clothed pussy, groaning when he feels the wet patch on your undies. he leaves your mouth to leave sloppy, wet kisses across your cheek before he’s growling in your ear, “you’re always soaked when i’m around, aren’t you?” 

you whine out a needy and breathless, “mhm,” mind already hazy and resistance long gone. you tug at his shirt and he gives a light laugh, that makes your heart ache, before pulling it off. 

“your turn.” he says and you scramble to take yours off. “god, you’re so pretty.” he hums, hand trailing through the valley of your breasts, making you tremble. you burn under his hungry gaze, trying to look away, but he catches you. your chin caught between the pad of his thumb and pointer finger, “eyes on me.” 

you watch as he takes your panties off next, another hum of approval from him when he sees your glistening folds. he was right, you were soaked and eager, your body reacting to every touch or word he gives.

you hate oliver aiku. you hate how he makes you burn with the desire, how every touch of his hand across the expanse of your skin has you whimpering. you hate that he always knows what to say to keep you wrapped around his finger, his words keeping you collared to him. 

but god do you love the stretch of his thick cock as it slides into your dripping cunt, mewling as he sinks down, inch by inch. he grits his teeth as he bottoms out, stilling a bit to let you adjust, before he’s driving into you like he hasn’t seen you in years. 

sometimes, you think you were made for him. the way no other fling ever brings you as high as oliver does. his cock hits all the right places, your face contorted in pleasure as the slap! of skin against skin reverberates within the room. or maybe, you think like that because he tells you that. “fuck baby,” he hisses, “ah, you were fucking made for me, shit.” 

oliver knows you like the palm of his hand. he knows when you want him to talk to you sweetly. he knows when you want him to growl obscenities in your ear. but most of all, he knows you always want him to fuck you stupid. 

your whines are like music to his ears, as he thrusts into you, heavy balls against your ass. your head falls back against the pillow, eyes closing as you let the pleasure wash over you. but oliver tsks, hooking his thumb into your mouth and jerking it downward. your eyes fly open as he grunts, “i said, eyes on me.” 

“s-sorry,” you whimper, trying to maintain eye contact with him, “ah, fuck!” but you just can’t, each thrust against your sweet spot has your eyes rolling back. you feel his hand on the back of your head, making sure you can’t throw it back, he wants to see it all, every fucked out expression you’ll give him. 

it’s part of his ego to see you come undone on him. he loves that such a pretty thing like you lets him ruin you. in fact he craves it so much that he’s basically stopped sleeping around with others. he thinks you’re the cutest thing to cream on his cock, especially when you paw and whine that “ts too much!” 

unfortunately for him, he’s not gonna be able to hold back this time. the noises you’re making are too pretty and the clench of your pussy feels too good. he’s sure this is the closest to love he’s ever gotten. 

“‘m gonna,” you gasp, glassy eyes gazing up into his, “oliver, i’m-“ 

“i know, baby,” he coos, “you’re, ah, gonna cum right? cum for me, yeah?” 

it’s embarrassing how quickly you do, the legs wrapped around him trembling as you clench down on his cock, vision blurring. 

“that’s it,” he praises, fucking you through your high, “good fuckin’ girl.” and it’s not long til he’s coming undone too, groaning as he fills your pussy up, painting it in hot white ropes. 

he pulls you in and you squeak, before he’s pressing a deep kiss into your lips. it’s the first time he’s done this and you’re caught off guard by the intimacy. but you don’t fight it, closing your eyes as he gives you kiss after kiss. 

“let me stay the night.” he says in between kisses and you pull away, pushing his face back with your hand. you blink at him, perplexed. did he get hit in the head? not only has he not pulled out, but he’s even asking to stay the night? 

“… who are you and what have you done with oliver aiku?” but he laughs at your confused expression. 

“c’mon, i drove all the way here princess.” he teases and you tilt your head, brow furrowed. it’s annoying, as if you’ve never done that for him before. he’s not sure you notice the way that turns him on, but the blood’s already started rushing to his once softening cock. 

you do notice and you frown, “you just wanna fuck me again.” 

“what’s so wrong with that?” he asks and you groan, pushing him off hard enough that he slips out of you. you roll over, curling up into your side, feeling his seed drip onto the sheets. 

“ugh, just go away oliver. i need to take a shower.” you feel stupid, dumb, and a little used but you refuse to cry in his presence, making a mental note that you really need to cut things off. but settles in next to you, throwing his arms over you and pulling you close. 

“that’s not the only reason,” he sighs and your heart flutters,  “besides, have i ever told you you’re my favorite?” 

“not funny.” you deadpan, it’s stupid but your heart does feel a little lighter. you feel his hands wander over your body and you curse yourself for being so weak, feeling his stubble brush against your skin before he presses a kiss to your shoulder.

“i just wanna spend some time with you, i missed you.” he murmurs, breath hot on your ear. your breath hitches as he finds your puffy clit, rubbing slow, sticky circles. 

“fine… but only because i love you.” you whimper as you spread your legs for him again, giving in for the nth time. you hate oliver aiku, but only because you’re so stupid in love with him. he knows, but he bites back the urge to say it back and let you know that you don't have to worry about it. you're not just his favorite, but his one and only.

“good girl.” he growls, before hooking a hand on the back of your knee, spreading you wider. maybe one day he’ll say it back. 

[lex-the-flex]

Eating Him Away

A/N: Thank you guys so much for all the likes on everything! This might be my favorite version of Logan tbh. (And I'm aware of the perspective change in this).

The moment Logan laid his eyes on you, he instantly knew he had to keep you safe in the hellscape of the void. You didn't belong here. While you remained the same in Wade's universe, you were dead in Logan's.

Just seeing you alive and thriving meant the world to him. It made him want to worship at your feet.

From the moment you were captured by Cassandra Nova's men, he didn't let you out of your sight. Even to the point when you woke up tied up to him. Having your lips just inches from his made his heart race beneath the yellow suit.

"Hi." You whisper.

"Hi, darlin'." He replies low enough for Wade to miss.

"What happened?" You ask, looking around in the circular cage.

"We got captured and you fell asleep." Logan states.

A sly smile appears on his chapped lips and you glance down at them, only to feel embarrassed seconds later.

"You two gonna kiss or what? The suspense is killing me!!" Wade rebuttals from his spot on the floor.

"Leave them alone, Wilson. This is the most peace I've had in five years." Johnny interrupts.

"If I were too, it definitely wouldn't be with you in the same room, asshole." Logan answers, restraining his claws from coming out.

Feeling your brows scrunch together, your next words become hitched in the back of your throat, unable to come out. Glancing back at you, you can't help but look away, not wanting to give Wade anymore fuel to the kindling.

Following in Logan's direction, he leads you and Wade to an old and forgotten diner. Opening the door, the three of you step inside, and Logan keeps sniffing the air every few seconds.

"What are we doing here?" Wade asks.

"I smell food. Besides, I can hear Y/N's stomach growling from a mile away." Logan replies, already searching the cabinets for any kind of food.

Standing the middle of the diner, Logan almost instantly finds the jackpot: three cans of Spam. Tossing one to Wade, he joins you, and hands the second can to you. Touching his fingers with your own, you forgot how much his touch had on you. And it was the exact same for you.

"Thank you." You say, cracking the tin open.

Taking a few minutes to fill your empty stomachs, Logan can't seem to stay still. Knocking over countless bowls, cups, and other dishes, he frantically searches the tiny fridges and cabinets for something. Coming up empty, he furiously punches the stainless steel fridge, causing both you and Wade to jump.

"Fuck!" He shouts.

"What are you looking for?" Wade asks, recovering from the quick shock.

Discovering a small First Aid Kit below the register, Logan quickly opens the aluminum box, and finds two tiny bottles of rubbing alcohol compound.

"Oh, shit." He blurts out.

Walking towards you with the two blue and white mini bottles in his hands, both you and Wade begin to protest.

"No, no, no, no, that's rubbing alcohol. You don't want to drink--" He starts.

"Logan, please don't--" You advise.

But your words fall on deaf ears as he chugs the first bottle in one big gulp. Sighing in relief, Logan subconsciously leans closer to you before rolling the other way.

"Fuck that liver." Wade jokes.

Feeling ten times better, the three of you return to your quick snacks, and you take one of the empty seats at the counter. Glancing over to you, Logan can't help but admire how good your suit looks on you. The dark grey and green set of robes compliment every part of your body, from your hips to the tips of the combat boots.

Noticing this, Logan's light hazel eyes reflect off your e/c orbs, staring into his soul. Having this other version of you in the same room with him was eating away at him.

Standing from his spot at the booth, Logan walks up to you and takes you by the hand.

"Come with me." He orders.

Leading you into the back of the diner, you don't ask any questions, you just follow right behind him. Closing the office door behind you, you turn around to face Logan.

"Logan, what are you--?" You start, but you don't get very far.

Pouncing on you, Logan holds either side of your face, and frantically places a much needed kiss to your lips. Passionately moving his lips against your own, you let go of resisting and melt into him.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, Logan picks you up from your hips and gently sets you down on the desk. Guiding your legs around his waist, you run your fingers through his short brown hair. Moaning into your mouth, Logan longed to kiss you again. Just to have you in his arms once more made his heart soar.

Breaking the kiss, he leans his forehead against yours.

"Do you know how long I've been waiting to do that?" He declares.

"Too long?" You ask.

"Too long. It's been eating away at me." Logan repeats.

Hearing Wade knock at the door instantly kills the mood and Logan groans in disappointment.

"As much as I'd like to watch you two fuck, we really have to get going." He says through the door.

Holding your chin, Logan brings you to face him.

"Wanna grab a drink when all of this is over?" He asks.

"I'd love too." You reply with a shared laugh.

wolverine taglist ~

@dreamliners

@miss1sarcasmo

@yellow-eyed-sams-wife

@lost-in-horrorland

@peterparkernotfound

@pcrushinnerd

@foursthemagicknumber

@quillycrow

@till-hes-90

[ccazimi]

Milk

CW: smut, thighriding, dubcon(?), premature ejaculation, male lactation, breastfeeding, namecalling, 18+ MDNI

wc: 2.8k

A/N: legit no one asked for this im just having a self indulgent moment

You were contentedly sprawled across the cool silk fabric, the massive sea of dark red that made up the expanse of Sukuna's luxurious bedding. It carried his scent - faint notes of charred pine, incense, agarwood with just the slightest hints of his musk.

Such a delicious scent-

"Stop smelling my sheets." His disapproving voice came from somewhere behind you in his chamber.

"The come get in so I can smell you instead." You twisted your neck to search for him in the warm lambent light of the standing oil lamps.

"I'm...not tired." He was sitting on a cushion, draped in the black haori that encased his bare chest nearly entirely.

You narrowed your eyes in suspicion.

Sukuna had been absent more than usual the last few days - you thought he was avoiding you on purpose so you gave him his space. But four days was reaching the limit and eventually you steeled yourself and marched to where his personal quarters were located in the back of the estate amongst a forested patch of land, and confronted him.

Upon seeing you he caved in and let you into his room, denying that there was any issue. You weren't the type that cared to play guessing games so you took his word for it and invited yourself into his bed that you'd missed terribly.

Sukuna was never especially talkative and there was a mutual tacit agreement that silence was perfectly fine between the two of you - comfortable, even. What was odd right now, however, was his physical proximity.

If there was one thing to be known about Sukuna, it was that he was a man of the senses - your time with him may be spent in verbal silence but his hands were always on you, nose in your hair or the crook of your neck, the tongue on his stomach idly tracing patterns on your skin whenever and wherever it got the chance to do so.

So why was he being so off right now? Practically hovering since the moment you'd arrived, almost strategically keeping some distance from you at all times.

Oh.

Sukuna's brows furrowed slightly in confusion as he watched your default mischievous demeanor fall.

"Have you...grown tired of my body, my Lord? Do I not please you anymore?" You asked quietly, suddenly feeling out of place in this bed that was too big for you.

"What?! No." Sukuna's eyes widened slightly as he abruptly stood up, pulling his haori closer together like he was cold. "What a stupid idea. Why would you think that?"

You looked up at his genuinely perplexed face, only adding to your own confusion. "Well...you haven't been around lately, and now you refuse to lay with me-"

Before you could even finish your sentence the futon was dipping from his weight beside you as he climbed in. Your face lit up at the welcome heat which always radiated from his body, sinking into your naked skin.

You turned back on your side so you could curl up as usual by his chest, waiting for him to settle in completely so that you could fall asleep - taking naps next to him in his bed was one of your favorite guilty pleasures.

Except he didn't settle in, opting to stay about an inch or two away from pressing his chest flush against your back. You realized he still hadn't taken off his haori either - odd for a man that preferred to be bare-chested most of the time.

In an almost reflexive action, you closed the small distance, finally relaxing all the way when you felt the support of his large muscular frame behind yours even though it wasn't skin to skin with all four of his arms around you like you would've ideally preferred.

But for a second you could've sworn you felt Sukuna tense, possibly even jolt slightly when you pressed yourself into his clothed chest.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes." Sukuna snapped. "Why wouldn't I be?"

You rolled your eyes where he couldn't see, faced away from him. "Then why are you being so jumpy? Are you hungry or something? Seriously, what's the ma-"

"Shhh." A large hand clamped onto your mouth, effectively muffling your chatter. "Give me some peace, just for once."

You had half a mind to nip at the skin of his palm but being here in his bed after days felt so good, too good, and you found yourself quickly becoming drowsy.

A few minutes passed by, and from the hand loosening its grip over your mouth you knew Sukuna was relaxing as well, falling into his "resting" state as he would call it (he personally believed he was above actually sleeping like humans did, and considered himself above such inane needs). You were half asleep yourself, body settling in and molding into his by instinct until you were encased by the warmth seeping from him through the fabric of his haori.

And then you felt it.

"What is that?" You sat up to find all four of Sukuna's eyes wide open.

"I have no idea what you're talking about. Can you just go back to sleep?" He raised an arm to shove you back down to the pillow.

"I felt something wet on my back." You squirmed against his hold, managing to twist your torso over to face him. "Were you drooling on me?"

Sukuna scowled, huffing in indignation. "No, I did not drool on you. Do you always have to be odd, woman? You're making a fuss over absolutely nothing."

You sat up fully, about to retort back when something caught your eye.

In his agitation, Sukuna hadn't noticed a rather noticeable wet patch had formed on the breast of his haori.

"What-" Before he could say anything you yanked the collar of his robe aside, your eyes widening at the sight.

Small pearlescent beads of a liquid had formed on his skin, around a pink nipple that had puffed up slightly.

"Are you... Is that..." Before he could do anything you quickly swiped away the other side of his haori, peeling it away to find the other nipple was inflamed slightly as well, with a sheen covering it indicating that-

"You're lactati-"

Sukuna pulled his haori to cover his pecs again, another hand once again closing over your mouth to keep you from speaking. "Shut. Up. Do not say a word." He growled through a jaw clenched so tight it looked like someone had burned him.

But it was too late, an impish grin unfurled across your lips under his hand, eyes shining in mischief at the state your king was in. You swiped a tongue across his palm before biting it, not hard enough to draw blood but enough for him to quickly draw his hand back in surprise.

"Fucking- you little fucking shit. What the fuck is wrong with you?!"

You were irritatingly fast when you wanted to be, swinging a leg over his body to climb atop his lap. Now you straddled him, the smug smirk on your lips growing by the second.

"Is that-"

"Don't say it."

"-milk?!"

He slapped a hand on his face, letting out a low growl of frustration. "Yes, its milk. If you say a word about it to anyone else I'm going to slice off your tongue and make you eat it. Now leave me alone." He demanded.

But neither his sharp glare nor threats could stop you as you opened his haori to expose his chest, gentler than before this time. "Don't worry I don't intend on telling anyone. It's not like I want to share anyways."

"Share? What are you..." Sukuna caught the look on your face. "No. Don't even think about it, I am serious- ahh"

His sentence ended with the closest you've ever heard Sukuna come to whimpering as your lips descended onto the ring of his right nipple. His reaction only spurred you on, and you quickly lapped up the droplet of milk that had collected and swallowed.

You weren't sure what you expected it to taste like, but it certainly wasn't this.

It was ironic how a man as angry and violent as Sukuna produced such a lovely tasting substance. His milk was mildly sweet with a slightly bitter aftertaste, like burnt sugar in the best way possible.

So fucking good.

His hand knotted in your hair in an attempt to pry you off from his nipple but your hands were already roaming his pecs, towards the other dripping bud. You rolled it between your fingers as you laved your warm tongue around his areola, feeling his chest heave under you while he began to pant. "Stop...it. You're so fucking weird-"

You rolled your eyes up at his strained expression and gave his nipple a hard suck before he could react. More liquid filled your mouth, almost as sweet as the look on his face. You greedily swallowed, suckling harder while massaging his full pecs with your hands.

"Mhm." You hummed around his skin as you felt a shiver run down his body.

"God, have- fuck, have some... decorum, woman." Sukuna was trying so terribly hard to keep his voice steady, the feat proving itself even more difficult when you decided to do the opposite of his request and lewdly swirl your tongue around, stimulating the area so more milk would flow.

You looked up at him, eyes hazy now in ecstasy, white liquid dripping from the corners of your lips as you fed. The sight was so dirty it sent blood rushing straight to his cocks and they rapidly hardened under where you were seated.

You released your mouth, detaching it from the wet and leaking patch of skin with a gossamer strand of saliva that broke away before flashing him another devilish look.

"You love this." You teased, with a grinding of your hips for emphasis to let him know his hard-ons hadn't gone unnoticed.

"You're not doing much better yourself, slut." With an opportunity to gain a little leverage over you, he gave a pointed glance to where your pussy sat on top of his clothed cocks, drenched in your leaking arousal.

You couldn't even pretend to be ashamed, though. "I can't help it. You taste so good, and you look so cute when you're embarrassed-"

"I'm not embarrassed," He gritted, "You're just violating me like the little freak you are."

"But you liked it."

"That's enough of this nonsense, get off me."

You pouted. "But your other tit is still full."

He looked at you in disgust. "Do not call it that."

You continued looking at him as he looked conflicted, deciding between his ego and pleasure.

"Fine." He finally ceded, much to your delight. "Do the other one." This time he guided your head to his other breast. "But be gentle for fuck's sake, they're sensitive-"

Whatever lecture he was giving you about being gentle had clearly fallen on deaf ears as you immediately latched your lips around his nipple and began sucking and nipping to no abandon.

You grinded on his cocks as you drank, feeling them harden even more under you.

"Slow - ah - down,"

But you only did the opposite, working over the tender flesh like you were starved. The milk trickled down everywhere, dripping down your chin and you could make out the faintest floral notes in it. The taste of him turned you on even more and you rutted against the outlines of his hard dicks, feeling the mess you were making on his hakama under your slick skin.

"Fuck, you filthy girl." The grip in your hair tightened, releasing an involuntary moan from your lips against his chest amidst the obscenely wet noises of your mouth. "I'm - fuck, fuck-"

Sukuna's hips jerked up, taking you by surprise as you felt his cocks twitching violently before his whole body stiffened as he bit down on his lips to keep himself from moaning out loud. Finally after a few seconds his muscles laxed, leaving you confused for a second before you felt the sticky, hot liquid soaking through his hakama and onto your thighs.

You smiled cheekily upon realizing, "Did you just..."

The look he was giving you was straight up murderous, and might have been enough to actually scare you if it weren't for the flustered pink that tinted his cheeks.

"Stop using your mouth to yap, and put it to use for once." He smirked, regaining his composure and though he'd already came his dicks weren't entirely soft yet beneath you. "Clean it up- since you love milk so much."

It was your turn to feel heat creep into your cheeks as the dynamic shifted and you understood you were being put back into your place with how he was grinning down at you. It didn't help the throbbing between your own legs.

You shifted down till your head was between his massive thighs, pulling off the hakama till his cocks were uncovered, still somewhat hard with blushed tips still sticky with drying cum. A hand wove into your hair, collecting it into a ponytail and lifting it to the side so he could get a good view as you eyes the viscous liquid smeared across the skin on his dicks and pelvis.

You stuck your tongue out, beginning with a single swipe through some of the liquid that had pooled on his skin above his top cock to taste it.

Salty.

It kind of complemented his milk, you thought.

This taste was one you were familiar with, though you loved it just the same. It showed in how you devotedly lapped at his skin, caressing it and closing your eyes to savor the taste of him on your tongue.

He breathed out at the sensation, running his fingers through your hair as he pet you. "Such a needy little cumslut." He purred. "Look at how greedily you drink my milk and my cum. And you were asking me if I was hungry?"

You squeezed your thighs together, trying to alleviate some of pulsing in your clit with the uncomfortable amount of wetness that had collected there. But the ache was too much, distracting you from cleaning the mess on his skin.

You looked up at him, eyes brimming with frustrated lust.

"What's the matter, pet? I didn't tell you to stop."

"I...need to cum. I don't think I can hold on any longer." You admitted breathlessly, looking up at him through your lashes as innocently as you could manage so that he'd forget about how you'd agonized him earlier and show some mercy.

You were met with a wolfish grin. "After what you pulled? I'm not laying a finger on your cunt. Figure it out yourself." He twisted your hair around his fist, shoving your head back down. "And get back to doing what I told you, slut. Do you have a problem following instructions?"

You bit your tongue, feeling irritated and unsatisfied even though you knew damn well you had this coming. You rubbed against his silken sheets as you bent over to go back to licking drying pools of his cum, sure you'd were making a mess on the fabric which provided no relief at all. Your hands roamed, fingertips skimming across the tops of his muscular thighs, tracing the dark tatted band that encircled them when the idea hit you.

You eagerly lifted your own leg to straddle a well toned quad, mouth leaving his skin for a second as you whined at the feel of his burning skin against your sex.

"I figured...it out...ahh, fuck." You bragged through small whimpers and moans as you grinded your sopping cunt onto the planes of muscle that adorned his thigh, tilting your pelvis forward so that your clit could rub deliciously along the firm curves.

Sukuna watched you hungrily, drinking in the sight of you getting off so brazenly on his thigh. "You're so fucking pathetic, you know that?"

"Mhm." You absentmindedly agreed, unable to care enough right now to preserve your dignity because of how good it felt. You dipped your head against and went back to sucking and licking the skin on and around his shaft, tongue dragging along in messy stripes as you humped his leg relentlessly, already feeling your pent up orgasm rearing its head.

"Just like that. Do I taste good, pet?" Sukuna asked though the both of you already knew the answer.

"Yes, yes! So fucking good." You babbled against his skin, desperately trying to get every last drop of his seed, wishing he still had more milk to spare.

He clenched his muscles and the sudden movement against your clit caused your orgasm to finally crash down on you, leaving you slack jawed and wide eyed at how sinfully good it felt.

You rode out your high, hips undulating back and forth until finally the last wave of your climax left your body limp. You collapsed onto his chest catching your breath.

When you felt yourself coming back to your senses, you crawled up to his chest and slapped a pec, earning a strangled noise from him. "So when are these things gonna fill back up?"

[my-castles-crumbling]

sledding - 25 days of Jegumas - Day 15 - @noblehouseofgay - word count: 481

"This is s-stupid," Regulus huffed as he trekked up what felt like a mountain, his feet hitting the obnoxiously large sled he carried over his shoulder.

"It's worth it!" James called to him from a few steps from behind. "Trust me, Reg, you have to try it at least once!"

Regulus let out a frustrated breath, coughing a bit from over-exertion, and focused on making it to the top of the ridiculously high hill.

James had been obsessed with the idea of Regulus trying sledding ever since Regulus had let it slip he'd never done it as a kid. The Gryffindor had pretty much counted down the days until Regulus came home with him for the holidays, not just so they could spend time together, but so he could make sure Regulus got to experience all of those things he 'missed in his childhood.'

Which was all very nice and sweet when it came to things like hot cocoa and matching pajamas, but going on a hike up a hill in six inches of snow while lugging a sled behind him was not on Regulus's bucket list. Still, James was eager for him to try it, and seeing James happy filled Regulus with a mortifying sense of warmth that he refused to discuss with most people.

So as they arrived to the top and looked down, Regulus first reflected on the fact that it felt a lot higher as he was climbing than when he looked down. Then, he looked over to his boyfriend's huge grin. "Alright," he sighed, plopping his sled on the ground and aiming it down the hill. "Hold this so I can sit?"

Nodding happily, James gripped the wood of the sled so Regulus could clamber on top, adjusting the knitted hat and scarf Effie had made him and taking a deep breath. "Okay. Let's get this over with. Let me go," Regulus sighed, steeling himself for the worst as James gave him a small push.

He felt like he was flying. The swoop in his stomach, the way the sled moved under him- it was...it was fun! He let out an involuntary giggle as he felt himself go over a small bump in the ground, adrenaline pumping, cold wind whipping past him and stinging his cheeks. And when the hill smoothed, he still slid. Faster than he thought possible, more than fifty feet past the end of the slope!

When he finally stopped, he turned with a grin on his face to see James still standing at the top, whooping.

"Come down, then!" he yelled, waving him forward and watching in fascination as James zipped down the hill as well.

When the other boy finally stopped near him, Regulus stumbled forward and pressed a kiss to James's cold lips.

"Again?" James asked, smiling.

"I guess we could go once more," Regulus grinned in spite of himself.

[evielmostdefinitely]

I know you must be busy, but i just have to share this with you. You can get to it whenever you want to. Can you write about reader and coryo finding out that reader is pregnant? You can do whatever you want with that. Anyway, i love your work so much and please never stop writing. You write for coryo so perfectly ❤️ thank you

sprouting in spring |coriolanus snow x capitol!reader|

prompt: as requested above, you and coryo find out you're pregnant.

also sorry for the delay, i've just been super busy with life. going to try to update more!

contains: pregnancy. female reader. dark/possessive coryo. mentions of struggles getting pregnant/ infertility. duke reader. language. capitol!reader.

“It will only take a moment, Mrs. Snow.” Doctor Crane nodded, sealing the vial of your blood. You pretended not to see the way his hands shook when your assigned Peacekeeper adjusted the gun in his arms. His uniform had been modified, all the Peacekeeper’s had, the newest order your husband had put out. 

It felt colder somehow when the doctor left, a Peacekeeper following him closely. The sterile room with its too bright lights that made you squint at the harshness, stomach turning with nerves. 

You wished Coriolanus was here. You weren’t sure why this time you were so anxious, why you missed him so. He only came to a handful of your appointments, the ones his schedule would allow for. Since the two of you began trying, Coryo insisted you were to be tested every single day. 

“I want to know the moment it happens.” Coriolanus had rasped, eyes dark with a primal need, still buried deep inside you. “I don’t want a single second to pass by without me knowing.”  

So everyday at three, precisely, the Capitol’s doctor would usher you into the same frigid room, and draw a small vile of blood to test. Each day, so far, he’d come back with negative results. With each passing day, the both of you began to worry. Doctor Crane had mentioned at the last appointment that there were treatments available, other options, if this problem persisted. 

You were glad Coriolnaus wasn’t there for that appointment. You knew he’d be able to sense your upset at the poor choice of words the doctor used- that he’d have his head for insinuating that you were the issue. 

The door latched, startling you from your thoughts, your stomach plummeting at the neutrality on Crane’s face- the same as it was every day, always bringing the news you weren’t looking for. 

“Mrs. Snow,” Doctor Crane sat, the familiar papers in his hands, only this time- they didn’t shake. 

You steeled yourself, a slow inhale to steady your nerves, your emotions, at least until you returned to the sanctuary of your home.

 “Congratulations.” The sigh never came, your breath hitching and halting in your throat with surprise. 

Crane gave a soft smile, passing the papers towards you. “You’ve tested positive.” If his words weren’t enough, there in bold letters were the results- Pregnant. 

“I-I- Really?” You squeaked. You hated how dull you sounded, knowing Coryo would be embarrassed of your lack of composure. 

Crane didn’t seem to notice, nodding instead. “Yes, Mrs. Snow.” He stood. “Congratulations. You’re pregnant.” 

Your ears rang, the new found reality not yet setting in. Crane’s instructions falling dull against your racing mind, thoughts consumed and rushing with only one thing- Coriolanus. 

You couldn’t wait to tell him, nearly running through the halls towards his office, clutching the results neatly in your hand. A shaking hand lifted to knock on the large door of his office. 

“Who is it?” Coriolanus snapped, and you could picture his pinched expression, huffing with annoyance at the intrusion. 

“It’s me.” You called, looking into the camera above the door, biting back your own grin. “Let me in.” 

The mechanical whirr came, unlatching the door before you stepped through, carefully closing it back. Coriolanus stood when you entered, eyes narrowed in a predatory way that left you shivering. 

“What is it, my darling?” Coryo hummed, stepping towards you. “Has something happened?” 

“No- well, yes, but it’s not bad.” You stammered dumbly, head spinning with excitement. “I just came back from the doctor.” 

Coriolanus' face fell. “And?” He rasped, voice dropping to a near whisper. 

You swallowed your own gleeful giggles, lips pressed in a tight line to keep yourself from blurting out the good news. Instead, you handed him the papers, watching as he read it carefully. You didn’t miss the moment his expression fell, eyes widening, sending your tummy into flutterings of excitement. 

“You’re- It’s true?” Coriolanus whispered. Your heart sunk at his words, ached for him- always skeptical, your husband. So cynical in his trust, even with you, that his first reaction was to ask if the news was valid. 

“You’re pregnant?” Coryo’s voice cracked gently, leaving you swooning at the softness. 

“Yes,” You nodded, beaming. You looked radiant to him, so happy, so proud. “I-I couldn’t wait to tell you. I made them bring me here so I could share the news.” You grinned, hands closing over his sweetly. “We’re having a baby, Coryo.” 

Coriolanus nodded, tongue too thick in his own mouth to speak. He knew it was coming, thought about this day since the moment he’d started trying to impregnate you. Still, hearing it, seeing you in front of him spilling with excitement, it left him faltering. Desperate to regain control, to not give into himself and allow him the softness that inevitably always ruined him. 

“That’s wonderful news.” Coryo gave a soft smile. You found it to be forced. “What did the doctor say was to happen now?” 

You frowned, your face falling slightly. You’d waited for weeks to be able to tell him this, and now… this was his reaction? So clinical and cold, it made your stomach twist with nerves. 

“Well, he said I’d start vitamins to keep the baby healthy, and that’d we’d listen to the heart beat soon.” You muttered, your hands sliding from his. “Coryo, are you not excited?” Your eyes shone with a new wave of emotions, upset. “Is this not what you want?” 

Coryo’s heart lurched, pulling his thoughts out of the clouding fog he always found himself into. Spiraling need to have a plan, to be one step ahead of any possible risks at all times. 

“Of course, I’m happy, Petal.” Coryo cooed, hands sliding over your cheeks, cupping your face affectionately. “I’m elated, truly, I am.” 

Your narrowing gaze told him you weren’t convinced. “Darling, don’t be cross with me.” He sighed. “This is… It’s a lot of news to take in for the both of us. Were you not shocked when they told you?” 

You frowned. “Yes.” You muttered, eyes casting down from his gaze. His hands pulled, lifting you back towards him. 

“Then allow me the same grace.” Coriolanus said, head dipping towards your own, so close your noses were nearly touching. 

As if to seal the deal, his hands slid from your face down to your abdomen, spreading across your stomach. Your body tingled with excited heat, squirming under his touch. “We’re having a baby.” Coryo muttered, eyes boring into where his hand laid, as if he could see the baby in there. 

“A baby.” You whispered, hand sliding over his, your wedding ring shining in the low light of his office. 

Coriolanus stood there, holding you in his office, hand still cradling your stomach as his new reality set in around him. That he was to be a father, that he finally had done what he always wanted to- sired an heir. Even after the marriage, Coriolanus was wary that you might leave him. That his reign would end, but now, he knew you’d be with him for life. You and the baby.

[whereforarthur]

"Women weaken legs" 

Pairing: BoxerArthurTv x Gf!reader

Summary: After your boyfriend Arthur was in boxing training camp and was forced to go 6-8 weeks without distractions and sex, he goes feral for his girlfriend when he gets out

Category: Smut

Word Count: 2.4k

*****

"You've got this, Art," Coach Mike's voice echoed through the gym, a steady rhythm to the sound of gloves smacking into the punching bag. Arthur's knuckles were raw, his eyes narrowed in focus. He threw one last jab before stepping back to catch his breath. The air had sweat and the faint scent of antiseptic, a smell that had become oddly comforting over the past six weeks.

"Thanks, Mike," Arthur gasped, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. "Almost there."

"Almost?" Mike chuckled, clapping a firm hand on Arthur's shoulder. "You're more than ready, kid. Six weeks of hell and you're still standing. Give 'em hell out there tomorrow night."

The bell rang, signaling the end of training. Arthur's muscles ached, but he couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. He'd missed her. The countless hours of conditioning and sparring had filled his mind with images of her, her laugh, her touch. The anticipation of seeing her was a driving force behind every punch thrown, every drop of sweat shed.

The next evening, the arena lights bathed him in a warm glow as he stepped into the ring. His opponent was a towering figure, but Arthur's thoughts were elsewhere. He could feel her presence in the stands, her eyes on him. The cheers grew louder, but the only voice he heard was hers, whispering his name like a sweet promise.

The fight was brutal, but Arthur's determination was unshakeable. With every punch thrown and taken, he grew more feral, more desperate for the moment when he could finally claim his reward. The bell rang, signaling the end of the final round. He had won. The crowd erupted in applause, but all Arthur could see was the figure making her way towards the locker room, her hips swaying with purpose.

The moment he saw her, the dam broke. Months of pent-up desire flooded his veins. He didn't bother with a customary hello, instead, he lunged towards her, wrapping her in a crushing embrace. "I've missed you so much," he murmured into her hair, feeling her body melt into his.

The locker room door slammed shut behind them, muffling the noise of the arena. Their kisses grew more frantic as they tugged at each other's clothes, eager to feel skin on skin. The world outside ceased to exist as they explored every inch of each other's bodies, relearning the contours that had been etched into their memories.

Her breath hitched as Arthur's hands slid down to cup her ass, lifting her up against his groin. She could feel the evidence of his need pressing into her, and it made her core clench with want. He began to dry hump her, his movements rough and unbridled, the fabric of their clothes the only barrier to the friction they both craved.

"I'm going to fuck you so hard, baby," he growled into her ear, his words sending shivers down her spine. "I've thought about this every night, dreamt of your sweet pussy wrapped around me." She moaned, her legs wrapping around his waist as she ground herself against him.

"Take me, Arthur," she begged, her voice a needy whine that made his cock throb even more. "I need you inside me."

He didn't need another invitation. He set her down on the cold bench, her legs still wrapped around him. He kissed her deeply, his tongue claiming her mouth as his hands worked on her jeans, desperate to free the prize he'd been fantasizing about for weeks. The zipper rasped as he pulled it down, and the second her panties were in his grasp, he slid them aside, revealing her glistening wetness.

Arthur's cock was a steel rod against her stomach, straining against his shorts. He couldn't wait another second. He pulled away from her, panting, and stepped back, pulling his shorts down to free himself. The sight of his erection made her mouth water; it had been so long since she'd had him, she'd almost forgotten how big he was.

With trembling hands, she reached out to touch him, her fingers tracing the length of his shaft. He groaned, his eyes rolling back in his head as she wrapped her hand around him, her thumb brushing the bead of precum that had formed at the tip. He was so hard it was almost painful, his body screaming for release after weeks of deprivation.

"You're so wet for me, aren't you?" Arthur whispered, his voice thick with lust. "I can feel how much you've missed this cock." He slid two fingers into her, her slickness coating them easily. She was so ready for him, her walls clenching around his digits as she arched her back, gasping for air. "You're going to be so tight, baby," he murmured, pumping them in and out, curling them to hit her g-spot.

Her nails dug into his back as he continued to tease her, her moans growing louder with each stroke. "Please," she begged, "I need you inside me."

"You want this cock, don't you?" Arthur's voice was a gruff whisper, his eyes dark with desire. "You want me to fill you up and make you scream?" He leaned in, his breath hot against her ear. "You're going to come so hard on my dick, baby. You're going to milk every drop out of me."

Her response was a whimper, her hips rocking against his hand. "Yes," she panted, "please, Arthur."

He didn't waste another second. With a grin that was pure carnality, he lined himself up and thrust into her in one swift motion. She was tight, just as he'd imagined, her body clamping down on him like a vice. He groaned, his eyes squeezing shut as he savored the feeling of being inside her again.

Her voice barely a whisper. "I missed this so much."

"Missed what, baby?" Arthur nuzzled her neck, his breath hot against her skin. "Missed me fucking you senseless?"

Her eyes rolled back in her head, a low moan escaping her lips as he continued to pump into her. "Yes," she whimpered, her voice barely audible. "Missed this."

Her nails dug into his back, urging him deeper, her hips rising to meet each of his punishing thrusts. "You're so big," she gasped, her eyes glazed over with desire. "It's been so long."

"Yeah, I know," he murmured, his voice a low growl as he picked up the pace. "But I'm here now, and I'm not going anywhere."

Their bodies moved together in a rhythm that was both fierce and familiar. He whispered filthy words into her ear, telling her exactly what he was going to do to her, and she met each one with a moan of agreement. The bench creaked under their weight, their movements growing more frantic with each passing second.

Her legs tightened around him, her pussy clenching down on him as she approached climax. "I'm going to come," she panted, her voice a desperate plea. "I'm going to come all over your cock."

"That's it, baby," Arthur encouraged, his own orgasm building. "Come for me. I want to feel you come all over me."

Their movements grew erratic, the air thick with the scent of their arousal. He pounded into her, his every stroke hitting that perfect spot that made her eyes roll back in her head. The tension grew, coiling tighter and tighter until she shattered, her body convulsing around him as she screamed out his name.

The sound of her pleasure was like a trigger for him. With a roar that was part victory, part release, Arthur emptied himself into her, his hips jerking as he came harder than he ever had before. They clung to each other, their breaths ragged and their hearts racing, as the aftershocks of their shared climax washed over them.

*****

For a moment, they just stayed there, their bodies joined, their hearts beating in sync. The noise of the arena outside was a distant memory, forgotten in the face of the passion that consumed them. And as they finally pulled apart, both gasping for air, Arthur knew that the weeks of sacrifice had been worth it. Because now, he had her, and nothing else mattered.

He leaned in, his forehead resting against hers, their eyes locked in a silent promise of more to come. "You're mine," he murmured, his voice still thick with lust. "You're always going to be mine."

Her response was a sultry smile, her eyes dropping to his mouth before she whispered, "And you're always going to be the one who makes me feel this way."

Their kiss was slow and deep, a promise of what was to come. Arthur broke away, his eyes dark and hungry. "Take off your shirt," he ordered, his voice a command that sent a thrill down her spine.

With trembling hands, she obeyed, letting the fabric fall away to reveal her bare breasts. He took a moment to appreciate the sight before leaning down to take one nipple into his mouth, teasing it with his tongue until it was a tight peak. She moaned, arching her back, her hands tangling in his hair as he moved to the other one, giving it the same attention.

"You like that, baby?" he murmured against her skin. "You like when I make your tits feel good?"

"Yes," she breathed, her voice barely a whisper. "More, Arthur."

He chuckled, his teeth grazing her sensitive flesh before he straightened, his eyes never leaving hers. "You want more?"

"God, yes," she whimpered, her body aching for his touch.

"Good," he said, his voice a low rumble. "Because I've got plenty more where that came from." He stepped back, his eyes traveling down her body before he reached out to grab her by the hips, pulling her to the edge of the bench. "Spread your legs for me."

The command was simple, but the way he said it made her knees wobble. She obeyed, her legs spreading wide to give him full access to her. He stepped between them, his cock standing tall and proud, still slick with their combined juices.

"Look at how wet you are," he said, his voice a gruff whisper. "Look at how much you want me."

Her cheeks flushed as she did as he said, her eyes meeting his as he stroked himself, her juices glistening on his fingers. "Please," she begged, "I need you again."

With a wicked smirk, Arthur leaned in, his cock brushing against her clit. "You're going to get me," he said, "over and over again. Until you can't walk straight."

And with that, he slammed back into her, their moans of pleasure echoing through the locker room. The only sound was their ragged breaths and the slap of skin on skin as they moved together, lost in the heat of their reunion.

The world outside had ceased to exist, and all that mattered was the feel of Arthur inside her, his dirty words in her ear, and the promise of countless more nights like this to come.

"Fuck, you’re amazing," Arthur groaned, his voice gruff with pleasure. "You feel so good, baby."

Her cheeks flushed, her breathing still ragged from the intensity of their lovemaking.

Their lovemaking grew more intense, each stroke driving her closer to the edge. "You're going to come for me again," Arthur said, his voice a dark promise. "And this time, I'm going to watch you fall apart."

Her eyes locked on his, she could feel the tension coiling inside her, ready to snap. "I'm going to come," she moaned, her voice high and needy. "I'm going to come so hard."

"That's it," he murmured, his hips moving faster. "Come for me, baby."

And she did, her body shuddering with the force of her orgasm, her nails digging into his shoulders as she screamed his name.

Arthur's pace grew more erratic, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. "Fuck, I'm going to fill you up," he groaned, his eyes never leaving hers. "You're going to feel me for days."

Her eyes widened at his words, her pussy clenching around him. "Do it," she begged, her voice a desperate whine. "I want it all."

With a final roar, Arthur emptied himself into her, his cum spilling into her in hot, thick spurts. They held onto each other tightly, their bodies shaking from the force of their shared release.

They collapsed together, their bodies slick with sweat and their hearts racing. The world had stopped spinning, and all that was left was the two of them, in this moment of pure, unbridled passion.

"You're so fucking beautiful when you come," Arthur murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction as he kissed her neck, his teeth grazing her skin. "So tight, so wet."

As they came down from the high, Arthur leaned in to kiss her, slow and deep, tasting the salt of her sweat and the sweetness of her lips. "I've missed you so much," he murmured, his voice filled with emotion.

"And I've missed this," she replied, her voice still shaky from the intensity of their coupling. "It's been too long."

They broke apart, both panting, and took a moment to catch their breath. The locker room was still, the only sound their ragged inhales and exhales.

"We should get out of here," Arthur said, his voice a low murmur. "Before someone finds us."

They quickly redressed, sharing shy smiles and stolen touches as they pulled their clothes back on. The world outside waited for them, but for now, all that mattered was the quiet intimacy of this stolen moment.

The cool London air hit them like a slap in the face as they stepped out of the arena, their bodies still flushed from their passionate reunion. They walked hand in hand through the bustling streets, the neon lights reflecting off their sweat-soaked skin.

"I can't wait to get you home," Arthur whispered, his eyes dark with desire. "I've got so much more to show you."

Her heart raced at the promise in his voice, the excitement of what was to come. "Is that right?" she teased, a mischievous smile playing on her lips.

"Oh, you have no idea," he said, his grip on her hand tightening. "The things I've been dreaming of doing to you."

The night was young, and Arthur had eight weeks of pent-up passion to unleash. As they disappeared into the night, the city of London had no idea of the carnage of love that was about to unfold in their private sanctuary.

*****

Taglist~

@gvf23

@g-xix

[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.

[arixella]

hi! i saw you were looking for angst requests and i thought about your last post with zoro. maybe reader and him were in a relationship before getting separated and the meeting/reunion turns angsty instead? like idk maybe he wants to take a break from the relationship and reader didn’t expect that

thanks ♡

Thank youuu for this request! This was hurting me while writing🥲

Seeing Zoro after the 2 year timeskip💔

Pairing: Zoro x GN! reader Contains: angst Wc: 810

The air on Sabaody Archipelago was humid, thick with the tension of reunions and anticipation. The two years apart had felt like a lifetime. You’d spent every day wondering what Zoro was doing, if he was safe, and whether he thought about you as much as you thought about him.

You had been in a relationship before the crew’s separation—a bond that had been as steady and unyielding as the man himself. Though he wasn’t the type to wax poetic about love, his actions had always spoken louder than words. The way he’d tilt his head toward you when you talked, the rare but genuine smiles he reserved just for you, and how he’d stand a little closer during battles, ready to shield you from danger.

But now, as he approached the Thousand Sunny, something felt... off.

You spotted him before he saw you. His green hair was as unruly as ever, his body broader, more imposing, with that deep scar slashing across his left eye. He looked every bit the warrior you remembered, but there was a heaviness in his steps, a tightness in his jaw that made your heart clench.

“Zoro!” you called, rushing toward him.

His eye flicked to you, and for a split second, you saw something flash in his gaze—relief, maybe—but it was gone as quickly as it appeared.

“Y/n.” His voice was steady, but it lacked the warmth you’d been aching to hear.

You slowed as you reached him, uncertainty creeping in. “It’s been so long,” you said, trying to keep your voice light despite the unease blooming in your chest. “You look... strong.”

He gave a curt nod. “You look good too.”

The formality of his words made your heart sink. This wasn’t the Zoro you knew. Something was wrong.

“Zoro, are you okay?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He hesitated, his gaze dropping to the ground for a moment before meeting yours again. “We need to talk.”

Your stomach twisted. That was never a good way to start a conversation. “Okay,” you said cautiously. “What’s going on?”

Zoro crossed his arms over his chest, his expression unreadable. “I’ve been thinking... about us.”

“Us?” Your heart pounded in your chest, a cold dread creeping up your spine.

He exhaled sharply, like he was steeling himself for a fight. “During these two years, I had one goal: to get stronger. To make sure I could protect everyone—protect you. But...” He paused, his eye narrowing slightly. “I can’t let myself get distracted.”

“Distracted?” you repeated, your voice trembling.

“I need to focus on my goal,” he said, his tone firm. “On becoming the greatest swordsman. And... being in a relationship... it’s—”

“A distraction?” you finished for him, your voice cracking.

Zoro flinched at the pain in your tone but didn’t deny it.

You took a step back, shaking your head. “I waited for you, Zoro. For two years. I thought about you every day, wondering if you were safe, if you missed me as much as I missed you. And now you’re telling me you want to take a break?”

His jaw clenched. “It’s not about you, Y/n. This is about me. I can’t afford to lose focus—”

“Don’t do that,” you interrupted, anger and hurt bubbling to the surface. “Don’t act like this is all for some noble cause. If you didn’t want this anymore, you should’ve just said so.”

“It’s not that simple,” he snapped, his voice rising for the first time.

“Isn’t it?” you shot back, your eyes stinging with unshed tears. “You made me believe we had something worth holding onto, and now you’re throwing it away because you think love makes you weak?”

Zoro’s fists tightened at his sides, his expression conflicted. “I’m not throwing it away,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I just... I need time. I need to be sure that when I’m with you, I can give you everything you deserve. And right now, I can’t do that.”

Your chest ached at his words, but the anger was still there, a protective shield against the heartbreak threatening to consume you. “You don’t get to decide what I deserve, Zoro. You don’t get to make this decision for both of us.”

He looked away, his silence cutting deeper than any words could.

The pain was overwhelming, but you refused to let him see you break. “Fine,” you said, your voice trembling but firm. “If that’s what you want, I won’t stand in your way. But don’t expect me to wait around again.”

Zoro’s eye snapped back to yours, a flicker of regret crossing his face. “Y/n—”

“Good luck, Zoro,” you said, cutting him off. Without waiting for a response, you turned and walked away, your vision blurring with tears you refused to shed.

Behind you, Zoro stood frozen, his hands clenched into fists. He had always prided himself on his strength, but in that moment, he felt the weight of a different kind of loss—a wound that no amount of training could heal.

♡♡♡