#let me give a little story time for the sudden change

[moonstrider9904]

Never eat a furry beet and other valuable life lessons

Chapter 4 of Le Coeur

Series Masterlist | Read on AO3 | Next chapter (coming soon!) | Previous chapter

Chapter summary: When Nea invites Steb over to her apartment for the first time, a quiet movie night results in both Nea and Blu getting tipsy.

Tags/warnings: Steb x Original Female Character, other OCs are in the fic as well. Canon divergence, flirting, pining, crushes, teasing, fluff, alcohol consumption and mild drunkenness.

Word count: 7.2k

Music: how many times, le coeur

A/N: Happy new year 2025, everyone! Sorry for taking longer with this chapter. I would have written this quicker, but I got a gigantic cold and only had so much brain space. Anyways, thank you to everyone who reads this and to the lovely people who comment. You all give me so much life 💖

To be the pastry chef of the Coffeewick meant being up considerably earlier than most of the people in Piltover. Blu was so used to it that she would often be awake that early even if it was a day off, and while most would whine about an early schedule, Blu cherished the opportunity to see the sky getting brighter with the sunrise. Her fuzzy, mouse-like ears would twitch in the direction of bird song, and her feet would carry her around in little dances in front of the oven while the pastries baked, oftentimes without her even realizing her acts. She could tell what time it was by the amount of people walking outside the coffee shop and the sounds that came from the street as well as from the Coffeewick's second story; Blu was all too familiar with the sound of water running through the pipes within the walls letting her know that Nea was already awake.

On that particular day, the water began running through the pipes about an hour sooner than it usually did, and the moment it began sounding, Blu stood completely still and stared at the spot in the wall where the pipes hid behind with her brows furrowed together like her own knitting needles. Had Nea mentioned she'd be up earlier? If so, for what? Blu could recall every detail from her century-and-a-bit-more of life, but she didn't recall Nea mentioning anything about getting up exactly one hour before she usually did on that day. Blu shrugged it off and continued her own activities, figuring she'd eventually find out the reason behind Nea's sudden change in habit.

But the next thing that caught Blu's attention was that, despite Nea having gotten up a whole hour before, she didn't head downstairs to begin prepping the Coffeewick earlier. It would seem that Nea's spare hour would be dedicated to her place, and Blu could pick up sounds of steps and shuffling from upstairs in the meantime, but it was hard to guess what Nea was doing without getting too creative or too dull. She could have been doing anything from getting a head start on cleaning to rearranging the apartment to house a dragon egg—one wouldn't know until they saw Nea's place.

There was some idle time in which her pastries would only sit in the oven and bake, and Blu decided to head up the stairs and figure out what was going on with Nea. She gave three gentle knocks on the door before opening it and letting herself in, and at first glance, Nea's apartment was unchanged. Squinting her eyes in mild suspicion, Blu stood under the doorframe and looked around, finding telltale signs of Nea's antics from furniture surfaces without a spot of dust on them to the faint scent of cinnamon-apple that filled the apartment. Finally, Nea emerged from her bedroom looking fully ready to head down to work, and she smiled brightly at Blu when she noticed the Yordle standing there.

"I'm just about to head down," Nea said.

"I heard you were up earlier," Blu stated.

"Yeah," Nea confirmed nonchalantly.

"So, what gives?" Blu put her Yordle paws on her hips. "You never clean before work, and even when you do clean, you never leave the place looking so..." Blu looked around the apartment again as she searched for the correct words. "Effortlessly perfect."

"Thanks," Nea smiled. "I was going for that."

Blu raised a brow. "But why?"

Nea's look of relaxed confidence turned into that of a puppy who'd just made a mess on the carpet and knew he was in for a spanking. "Okay, I have a confession to make."

"Oh, yay," Blu deadpanned.

"I couldn't exactly leave this cleaning for after work because, well..." Nea began as her cheeks started getting pink. "I'm gonna need the time after work to touch up my makeup, do my hair, change clothes, lay out snacks..."

Blu tilted her head. "Impromptu movie night?"

"Yes," Nea said. "But... not with you."

"Oh, just say who you invited," Blu blurted.

"Steb."

Blu's eyes widened in shock and a hint of protest. "Um... what?"

"I invited him over," Nea said. "He's coming here tonight and we're just gonna hang out."

A series of emotions ran past Blu's eyes from curiosity to distaste.

"Um... how did that happen?" Blu walked herself over to stand in front of Nea.

"Well, you'll be pleased to know that despite the bird incident, your party wasn't a failure," Nea began.

"None of my parties are failures," Blu intervened. "Go on."

"And judging by the fact that he felt he needed to bring someone to a large gathering, I figured maybe something more lowkey would help Steb feel more at ease," Nea explained. "So a simple night to hang out and talk seemed alright. I was waiting for him to know when he'd be off duty so that he could hang out without any pressure, and, well, tonight's the night."

"The night for what?" Blu pressed.

"For us to finally be alone together for a bit," Nea replied calmly. "Get to know each other."

"Unchaperoned?" Blu questioned.

"Oh, unclutch your pearls," Nea snickered. "You sound like a first generation councilman."

"Look, he seems nice and I get you like him but don't you think it's a little soon for you two to...?" Blu asked, and her eyes suddenly widened in shock before she ran herself to Nea's bedroom. Nea followed after her and saw Blu was searching the top of her made bed and her bedside tables as if she were looking for clues in a crime scene.

"What are you doing now?" Nea leaned on the doorframe and crossed her arms.

"Trying to find rose petals, aphrodisiac scented candles, anything that might suggest-" Blu paused to shudder. "I don't even want to think about it."

"Okay, just stop," Nea reached for Blu on her bed and set her down on the ground, kneeling in front of the little Yordle. "I'm not planning on getting into bed with him tonight. So you can stop worrying about that. All I want is to spend some time with him. But if it makes you feel better, you're invited. I'm sure he won't have any problem with you being there, and neither will I."

"Really?" Blu frowned, but Nea could pick up on the softness hidden behind her furious mask.

"Really," Nea replied. "If he's gonna come here more often, he'll have to get used to you either way."

"Get through me first is more like it," Blu muttered.

Nea leaned in and hugged Blu tight, just enough not to squeeze the air out of the Yordle. "Thank you for looking out for me."

Blu finally softened and leaned her head on Nea's shoulder. "Can I pick the movie?"

"Only if you don't hog the potato chips," Nea replied softly.

"Deal," Blu gently pulled away from the hug. "Now, I have to get back to check the oven."

"I'll be right down," Nea replied. "And don't you worry about a thing. I'm the one who should be nervous for tonight."

Blu giggled. "Wait 'til I tell Donnie and Lily about this."

Nea chuckled. "Knock yourself out."

Feeling mildly less distaste for what the night had in store for her, Blu retreated downstairs one more time and checked on her pastries. Not long after that, Nea went downstairs to open the Coffeewick, and from that moment on, it was business as usual. Blu kept a close eye on Nea, finding that even with the plans she had for the night, Nea was fairly focused on the job. She wasn't giggling like a schoolgirl or constantly blushing, she wasn't confused or off in a daze. She was simply Nea, the trustworthy, professional barista acing every order in the queue and brewing every cup with the same intent and passion.

For a moment, Blu felt as if her best friend wasn't being taken away.

Still, the day went by quickly, and it was time to close in what felt like a blink of an eye. Surely, the hours had zoomed by as quickly as Nea had wanted them to, and with the Coffeewick closed up, Nea was ready to head back upstairs to her apartment. She changed into one of her nicest sweaters, a fitted black one that was more like a wool blouse that greatly enhanced her silhouette and had a wide outstanding neckline that nearly reached her shoulders and showed off her collarbones. She styled her short hair into curls rather than the usual waves, and she touched up her eye makeup and lipstick. She didn't add any blush to her cheeks. It was enough simply to think about Steb for her to feel the apples of her cheeks turning pink, and if she dwelled on the thought of her welcoming him into her home and sitting next to him on the couch, she'd be flustered enough to be on the verge of swooning.

Finally, Nea sprayed herself with her favorite perfume. She took one last look at herself in the mirror and feared for a moment she may have dolled herself up a little too much for a simple night watching movies on the couch, but she brushed off the thought. As simple as the encounter would be, it was worth cleaning up nice. Steb was worth it. And with a little smile at her reflection, Nea wandered from her room to the kitchen and set out all the snacks that they would need on the coffee table in front of the couch, making sure not to neglect the bowl of chips specifically meant for Blu. Outside, the sun was beginning to set, indicating that the time for the date to begin was near—was it really a date? Nea still wasn't very sure what to call it. Either way, Steb would be there soon, and Blu would probably be at Nea's doorstep in mere seconds.

When the sky outside was almost dark, Nea heard the doorbell ringing from downstairs. Coming to a brief halt, Nea looked around her apartment to make sure one last time that everything was in top shape, and in her stillness, she could feel her heart beginning to race. Finally, she let herself out the door and down the stairs, approaching the Coffeewick door. Nea couldn't help the wide grin that appeared on her lips when she opened the door for Steb, and when he smiled back at her, she let out a little giggle.

"I'm so glad you made it," Nea said as she invited him in.

"Thanks," Steb said, making the one-syllable word sound elegant in his thick accent. "I just still think it's lucky both of our days off lined up for tomorrow."

"That just means we can enjoy movie night even more," Nea said, her tone shy and hopeful as her eyes appeared to shine at Steb.

In return, Steb gave her a chivalrous smile. "I'd like that."

As Nea closed and locked the door again behind them, the two shared a gentle look in silence. It let Nea observe what he chose to wear that night, dark trousers and a gray wool sweater with a white collared shirt underneath. She could feel the words glaring behind her lips, aching to come out, but it still felt too soon to utter how handsome he looked. For that night, she'd continue keeping that fact to herself.

"You look..." Steb began, contradicting Nea's inner decisions. "You look nice."

Nea's eyes widened slightly in surprise, but she smiled at him in return. "You think so?"

"Yes," Steb smiled shyly, wondering how much further it would be appropriate to take the compliment. "Curls suit you."

"It's one of my favorite styles," Nea gave her head a wiggle, and the curls crowning her head followed. "You, um... you look nice too."

Steb opted to remain silent this time, but the gentle look in his eyes spoke of gratitude and undeniable affection. The tender nature of the moment made it feel like they had lingered on each other's gazes for an age, and Nea began to feel like perhaps it was time to move things to the apartment. She gestured to Steb to begin moving deeper into the Coffeewick, and she led the way past the darkened coffee shop to the staircase until they made it to the second floor and were just outside Nea's door.

"This is it," Nea said, reaching for the doorknob.

"It felt... strange, seeing the Coffeewick empty and from the inside," Steb observed.

"Oh, I know what you mean," Nea said. "I feel it too. But the Coffeewick deserves her rest too."

"Of course," Steb agreed as Nea opened the door, and when he was granted a clear sight of the place where she lived, he found himself unable to focus on anything other than the Yordle who stood on the coffee table with her back turned on them as she reached into the bowl of chips.

"Hands up, chip thief," Nea joked.

Blu turned around on the coffee table and shoved one last handful of chips into her mouth, after which she hopped from the table to the sofa and plopped down on it. "I picked the movie."

"Good," Nea stepped inside and let Steb in as well. "I told Blu she could join us, I hope that's okay."

"Of course," Steb smiled at her. "It's nice to see you again."

Blu seemed to hesitate for a moment, a sight so rare for someone as sharp-tongued as her, but she gave Steb a cheeky little smile.

"Of course it is," Blu said. "I'm a delight."

Nea playfully rolled her eyes and started making her way toward the kitchen, but first, she gave a quick glance at Steb. "Make yourself at home. Do you want something to drink?"

"Sure, I'll come with you," he said as he began to follow.

"'Kay," Nea smiled. "Blu, do you wanna put the movie in?"

"Yep," Blu hopped from the couch and went towards the television.

Meanwhile, Nea made her way swiftly towards her kitchen, knowing the steps all too well, but Steb inevitably lingered in his pace, observing as many details as he could. He found himself comforted by the earthy colors of the walls and the forest greens of the blankets and cushions on the living room. He found the warmth of the apartment enjoyable, and even with the snacks that had already been laid out, the place quite obviously smelled of coffee, though the scent was delicately mixed with the aroma of flowers, mainly lavender and rose. He stopped and looked, though not for too long, at the different potted plants around the apartment, each one well taken care of, and overall the cozy aura of the place was enticing, inviting him to spend his days and nights there.

Of course, the company he'd find in that apartment was very inviting as well, and when his thoughts circled back to Nea, Steb observed her as she took out a bottle of stout ale from the fridge.

"Blu, do you want a beer?" Nea called.

"You know which one I like!" Blu replied from the living room.

"What about you?" Nea asked Steb.

"I wouldn't mind one," he replied somewhat shyly, feeling out of place for a moment between these two lifelong friends.

"Light or dark?" Nea asked.

"Light, please," Steb said.

"Okay," Nea said as she took out one more bottle of dark beer and one of light.

"You and Blu drink stouts?" Steb's voice carried obvious surprise in it.

"We like our beer like we like our coffee," Nea said. "My liver's used to it by now, but don't be surprised if Blu begins asking some very forward questions halfway through the second bottle."

"Yes, fear me," Blu mumbled from the living room.

Nea giggled and acknowledged Steb again. "Would you like a glass?"

"Bottle's fine," Steb replied.

With little more, Steb and Nea made their way back to the living room, drinks in hand. As Blu finished setting up the film, Nea handed her the bottle of stout, which Blu took with a little grin.

"Why, thank you," Blu looked adoringly at the bottle. "Come to mama, my sweet, bitter little baby."

Nea chuckled when Blu began drinking from the bottle, and even Steb couldn't help but laugh softly at the sight of the little Yordle gulping down beer from the bottle angled nearly vertically as she held it in her little paws. Then, Nea and Steb sat side to side on the sofa, facing the television, and once more their gazes met, prompting a shy little smile from one another. On the screen, the film was just starting, followed by Blu pit-pattering her way around the coffee table with her beer in hand. She set it down on the coffee table and hopped on the couch, shamelessly sitting herself between Steb and Nea, and when she was fully seated, Blu made grabby hands at her beer on the table.

Steb and Nea shared another look, this one full of mischief and amusement at the Yordle's antics. Steb reached for the beer before Nea and handed it to Blu, who looked at him with a certain degree of approval.

"Hm," Blu said as she took the bottle. "Good move, officer. Pass the chips."

"Blu, say please," Nea reminded.

"I'll say thanks for the chips," Blu added.

"Here you go," Steb said as he gave her the big bowl of salty snacks.

"Thanks," Blu said and snuggled into Nea's frame.

"So, what movie did you pick?" Nea asked her.

"Only a timeless classic," Blu replied as a delicate piano melody began playing on the screen.

"Oh my," Nea giggled. "You actually picked Arrogance and Prejudgment?"

"Yes," Blu snickered. "You remember the tradition, right?"

"When it gets to the potato scene, we both quote the phrase in unison," Nea recited.

"And then we drink," Blu snuggled deeper into Nea. "I like movie night."

With a little giggle, Nea looked at Steb again. "Are you comfy?"

He nodded. "Yeah, thanks."

Nea blinked with a little grin. "Let me know if you need anything."

He gave her a quiet smile in return, and though they would have loved more conversation, both Steb and Nea felt that if they talked during the movie, Blu would have their heads. The movie played its course, and as it was with every rewatch, Nea enjoyed every bit of it the way she always did. The only difference was that Steb was present; knowing looks and lingering gazes were exchanged, and even with Blu sitting between them, Nea and Steb could feel how close they were to one another. It added a sweet variety of tension to the hours as they passed by, and even in the absence of words, it was what Nea had wanted—time spent near him, and the fortune of gazing upon him simply by looking at her side.

The movie eventually came to its end, and each one in that living room had roughly two drinks down. Even with the quantity being the same, the three were all at a different level of inspiration, with Steb being fully in his five senses, Nea with a faint sensation of lightheadedness she wasn't sure came from the ale or the extended proximity to Steb, and finally, being the worst of all, Blu quietly giggling to herself as multiple thoughts crossed her mind.

"We should watch that again," Blu slurred as she tumbled off the couch, falling with a light thud on the carpet. The sight prompted a laugh from Nea, one that brought to light just how tipsy she was.

"Oh my gosh, are you hurt?" Nea asked as Blu stood up and began a wobbly stride towards the kitchen.

"Yes," Blu mumbled. "On the inside. It needs alcohol."

Nea snickered.

"Are you sure you can handle another drink, Blu?" Steb asked when he noticed the Yordle reaching into the fridge for another three bottles.

"What, you wanna give me advice?" Blu challenged as she closed the fridge and made her way back to the sofa. She gave Nea one of the bottles and kept the other two for herself, giggling as she climbed on the coffee table and took a seat. "Fun game. Gimme advice, fishy boy, I dare you."

Steb turned towards Nea, his aquamarine eyes full of concern. In her lightheadedness, Nea suddenly wished he wasn't looking at her like that, but then again, any expression he could adopt would have the same effect on her. She wasn't fully sure she'd be able to resist him, and against her will, she grinned widely at Steb, and a dreamy sigh left her as she unconsciously stirred on the sofa and shifted her weight towards him.

"She's fine," Nea said. "She'll mumble nonsense and then pass out, but we're at home, so there's nothing to worry about."

"If you're certain," Steb told her, not at all oblivious to the change in Nea's aura.

Slowly, Nea nodded and smiled at him. "I am. But thanks for worrying. Now, please, humor her."

Steb chuckled, and he figured he'd enjoy himself as well. By logical deduction, he'd determined that the third bottle of ale was meant for him, and he reached across the coffee table in an attempt to take it only to earn himself a fluffy slap on his hand coming from Blu's hand. When he met eyes with the Yordle, she was frowning, looking about as ruthless and menacing as a marshmallow.

"Valuable piece of advice number one," Blu slurred, pausing to hiccup. "Never take a bottle from a Yordle."

"I thought—" Steb began.

"Never," Blu reiterated.

"Behave," Nea reminded her friend.

"Valuable piece of advice number two!" Blu enunciated as she attempted to stand up on the coffee table, only to quickly find out she was too woozy to properly keep balance and sat down again. "Never—hic!—ever eat a beet if it's furry."

Steb laughed softly and tilted his head. "Why?"

Blu directed an unamused look at him. "What do you mean, why? It's a beet! It's not supposed to have fur." Blu looked at Nea. "Can you believe this guy?"

Nea quietly chuckled and looked over at Steb with a little spark in her eyes. As Steb looked at her too, he felt a sensation in his chest, perhaps that of his heart swelling at the sight of her curled up on the couch hugging one of the cushions and looking up at him in adoration. He couldn't help but smile softly at her, and he found himself controlling the urge to reach out and take her in his arms—not only would it be wrong in her current state, but he didn't need Blu lunging toward him in an attempt to end him, funny as that would be.

"Valuable piece of advice number four!" Blu said as she tried to hop from the coffee table to the armchair.

"You skipped a number, genius," Nea said as she reached out and helped Blu get on the chair.

"Valuable piece of advice number five," Blu continued, unbothered, as she found a comfy seated position on the arm chair, holding her beer not unlike a child would hold their sippy cup. The Yordle looked over at Steb and, for a moment, an unavoidable seriousness peered through the tipsy cloudiness of her overall aura. "Don't you dare break this woman's heart."

In the few seconds it took for Blu's words to sink in, Nea felt herself sobering up as well. An alarming embarrassment threatened to creep up on her, and just before she could slip into overdrive and erupt in attempt after attempt to convince Steb that Blu didn't know what she was saying, the Vastaya let out a deep, soft laugh and he too straightened his posture, looking deep into Blu without a hint of hesitation.

"I wouldn't dream of it," Steb assured.

With his words, the plethora of worries that had invaded Nea vanished. Her features softened and her chest sank with the soft exhale that left her as she turned around to face him, and for a moment, she didn't know whether to thank him or to confess her feelings to him. But even in her lightheadedness, she knew that worrying or speculating, much less hiding from him, wasn't an option anymore, and with that realization, a smile curved her full lips. Steb's gaze then landed on her, smiling softly at her as well—if she had looked beautiful before, the current sight of her had Steb feeling as if he'd swallowed a box of fireworks, about to burst in the many things she made him feel.

"Then my work here—hic!—is done," Blu said and brought the beer bottle up to her snout, downing its entire content before setting it aside. With one more hiccup, she curled up on the armchair facing away from them and mumbled a few things no one else was able to make out, and in seconds, she fell asleep.

Giggling softly at the sight of her furry friend sleeping like a baby—as if she hadn't just chugged a whole beer—Nea turned around on the couch and faced Steb again. As she looked at him, she could feel her entire guard being let down, and she smiled dreamily at the man in front of her. Everything around her seemed blurry, but no less enchanting, and Nea felt her heart skip a beat when Steb shifted closer to her on the couch. His eyes held a blend of concern and affection in them, and the first thing he did was reach for the bottle in her hands when it tilted in a perilous angle that would let all the liquid drain from it, a fact that had been irrelevant to Nea before he reached to grab it. He took it from her and set it on the coffee table only to look at her again, managing a soft smile.

“Are you okay?” Steb asked.

Nea smiled and hummed in approval, feeling her body angling itself closer to Steb as his deep, rich voice allured her not unlike the song of a siren.

“Yeah,” Nea replied. She looked at him and her hopeful grin widened and a shimmer adorned her gaze. “Did you really mean that?”

Steb chuckled and found no harm in answering. “Every word.”

With another soft hum, Nea found herself ever closer to Steb. Her hand hovered over to his forearm and delicately brushed down toward her hand, lingering on the sensation of the wool beneath her fingers. The bottles of beer finally caught onto her, dimming her senses, and she was barely able to register the flash of recognition in Steb’s eyes when she leaned even closer to him and perked her lips up, intent on sealing the space between them and indulging in the perfect first kiss she’d been yearning for. But instead of feeling his lips on hers, Nea suddenly felt a force applied against her shoulders followed by the sound of Steb’s voice hazily filling her ears.

“No, darling,” Steb said as he gently kept her at bay.

“What?” Nea whimpered. “Steb…”

“You’ve had too much to drink,” he stated.

“No…” Nea’s whole face dropped into disappointment, well near breaking Steb’s heart, but a kiss in those conditions was out of the question for him. Delicately, Steb took Nea in his grip and helped her up to standing, and his own resistance built tension up in him as he looked at Nea, so beautiful yet so far off in a distant world.

“Oh, dear,” Steb said so quietly, just barely above a whisper. “I don’t know if I’d rather you remember this when you’re sober or not.”

“You don’t want to kiss me,” Nea mumbled.

Steb felt the words she spoke burning through his skin. “I do. Believe me, I do…”

From the couch to her bedroom, the only thought Steb could register was how much he’d only wanted to kiss her since he met her, how it ached to long for her embrace, her dark brown eyes gazing into him, waking up beside her in gentle sunlight… It hurt to even think that any part of Nea might suspect he wanted anything other than that, but now wasn’t the time to prove her wrong. When they arrived at her room, Steb sat Nea down on the bed and he kneeled in front of her.

“Hey,” Steb said. “I’m gonna get you a glass of water, and I’ll be right back, okay?”

Nea nodded softly, but she didn’t say anything else. Steb got up to head to the kitchen, but he stopped in his tracks when he felt Nea grabbing his hand.

“Wait,” she said, with a brief hint of desperation in her voice.

“Yes?” Steb’s whole frame softened when he looked at her again.

“Don’t go,” Nea pleaded.

“I’m just going to the kitchen,” Steb reassured her. “I’ll be right here with you until you can fall asleep, okay?”

Nea gave a soft nod and let her hand drop, letting go of Steb. Through the buzz, she could recognize the tenderness of Steb’s gaze as he looked upon her, and with a few quiet steps, he was out of her room. As he made his way through the cozy little apartment, he didn’t forget to check on Blu as she slept on the couch—she was still positioned on her side and her breathing was deep and steady, giving no reason for concern. Steb then finished his way into the kitchen and, though he didn’t love the idea of rummaging through Nea’s cupboards, he found a cup and filled it with water to take it back to her room.

When he arrived, Steb was greeted by the sight of Nea sleeping already, curled up on her side in a fetal position facing the bedside table. Of all the ways Steb had pondered on the slightest possibility of seeing her sleeping soundly near him, he didn’t think it would involve her being drunk. In fact, he would have hoped it wouldn’t be the case had he ever stopped to consider that course of events. But things were as they were, and all in all, Nea did look adorable. With a soft smile, Steb set the glass of water down on the bedside table and turned off the lamp, and he reached for the blankets on the opposite side of the bed, folding them over to cover Nea so she’d be warm. He then left the room and opted to leave the door open, making it easier for him to hear if she needed him throughout the night.

When Nea had fallen asleep, she had no recollection of what time it was, and no such conscience until the first moment she felt sunlight gleaming on her eyelids the following morning. She didn’t even remember at what point during the night she’d gotten up to drink the now empty glass of water that rested on her nightstand, but as soon as she’d remembered who’d left it there for her, all the embarrassment returned. With a grimace, Nea pulled her blanket over her face and pressed her palm to her forehead in an effort to soothe the cringe and the piercing headache, and the realization that she couldn’t do anything to undo the way she drunkenly came onto Steb plunged a void right in the middle of her chest. She hoped to avoid facing anything and anyone that day—thank goodness it was the Coffeewick’s day off—like a troll retreating to a cave for as long as the sun lit the sky.

Nea got up from her bed and decided not to open the curtains just yet. As she made her way to the door, she wondered a lot of things, mainly how she would ever make it up to Steb. Now in the living room of her apartment, Nea squinted and used one of her hands to shield her eyes from the natural light that peered in through the windows, and her feet carried her over to the armchair where Blu was still sleeping as soundly as ever. Nea remembered seeing Blu curled up on one side, but in that moment, she was splattered face down with a blanket covering only half of her body, and Nea couldn’t help but laugh quietly at the sight. Blu looked as if the three bottles of beer she’d had the night before were actually full of hard liqueur.

When Nea laughed, she quieted down instantly when she heard a deep, sleepy moan coming from the ground, and she quickly faced the direction of the sound to find Steb sleeping on the carpet, his head and lower back supported by the cushions from the couch. One of his forearms covered his eyes, shielding him from the light, and he was almost entirely scrunched—Nea feared he’d been cold all night. She then looked at the coffee table and realized it was spotless. The empty bottles had been rounded up and placed next to the trash chute, the bowls of chips had been emptied and cleaned, and whatever droplets of beer or crumbs had been lying around the furniture weren’t there.

Nea looked at Steb’s sleeping figure and it dawned on her. She realized the motivation behind all his actions, particularly—and perhaps, especially—his decision to not kiss her the night before when she wanted to. Though part of her would have wished he would have left to avoid further embarrassment, now she was happy he’d stuck around if only to thank him for tidying up when he didn’t have to. She smiled at the sight of him and controlled the urge to plant a gentle kiss of gratitude on his forehead, and instead, she turned towards Blu.

With the lightest touch, Nea lifted the blanket off of Blu and draped it over Steb, hoping to give him some sort of comfort in what clearly was not an ideal sleeping position, and then she picked Blu up from the couch and headed for the door. In little time, Nea was in Blu’s apartment setting the Yordle down on her bed for her to keep sleeping to her heart’s content, and Nea then returned to her own apartment, taking her time with each step she took. Perhaps she’d brew a pot of coffee—whether it was for the hangover or to cure a night of poor sleep, coffee was never an inadequate form of gratitude. She reached for the doorknob of her place and twisted it, pulling the door open with her gaze trailed on the living room where Steb was sleeping, and when the scene was revealed to her, she found he wasn’t there anymore.

“Good morning,” Steb’s deep, rich voice emerged from her bedroom.

She found him standing under her doorframe and smiled at him, closing the door behind her.

“I heard the door and thought Blu had gone on her own,” Steb said. “I thought I’d check in on you, but then saw you were gone.”

“Yeah, I took her,” Nea said, giggling at the memory of how she found Blu on the couch. “There’s no way Blu’s gonna move on her own.”

Steb laughed softly and walked over to Nea. “And… how are you?”

When she saw how tenderly he looked at her, Nea nearly broke into a flustered amalgamation of embarrassment and thanks. Judging by the way Steb’s eyes softened at her, she knew all the emotions must have manifested in her gaze, and Nea chose to lead with the one thing that was eating her inside, prompting her to cover her eyes with her hands.

“I am so sorry about last night,” Nea whimpered.

“Hey, come on,” Steb comforted. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I put you in a difficult position, and I shouldn’t have…” Nea uncovered her eyes and looked at him again. “It wasn’t supposed to happen, I’m sorry for letting myself go like that.”

“You had a couple beers in your own home,” Steb reassured. “Don’t apologize for that.”

“I tried to kiss you!” Nea blurted.

Steb chuckled softly, his ears giving a faint wiggle. “I’m… honestly flattered by that.”

“Don’t tease me,” Nea looked away from him.

“I’m not,” Steb reached, albeit without thinking, for her hand and squeezed it gently. The gesture instantly brought her eyes to look at him again, and though he considered for a moment swatting her hand away in regret, he kept it there and his ocean eyes softened as he continued to look deep into her.

“I mean…” Nea began. “It’s not like you don’t know how I feel…”

Her words abandoned her mid sentence, but she didn’t need them. Steb knew what she was trying to say, and the only thing that would pain him was for her confession to be clouded by remorse. He’d turn that around if he could, and in his eyes, he still had the chance. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze and smiled at her, gesturing with his eyes toward the kitchen.

“You need to eat,” Steb said. “And hydrate.”

Still holding her hand, Steb led her toward the kitchen and stood in front of her fridge. “Mind if I make us some breakfast?”

Nea smiled at Steb with mild disbelief and she gave a soft nod. With her approval, Steb opened the fridge and looked around before taking out eggs, ham, and cheese.

“Here,” Nea went to the pantry and took out oil for the pan Steb was already putting on the stove, as well as a spatula and a whisk.

“Let me,” Steb smiled at her. “I wanna spoil you a bit.”

Nea felt herself blushing furiously. “Steb, you really don’t have to…”

“I want to,” he emphasized. “Scrambled?”

“What?” Nea asked.

“Are scrambled eggs okay?”

She chuckled and let him take the lead. “Yes, that sounds perfect.”

With that confirmation, Steb ignited the stove top and got to cooking, and in no time, the kitchen smelled amazing. Nea paused for a few moments to watch him move around the kitchen, until she moved on her own and prepped the coffee maker to brew a whole pot.

“So, you also brew coffee on your days off?” Steb asked her, still focusing on the eggs frying on the pan.

“Of course I do!” Nea beamed, walking up to him when she was able to leave the coffee maker to its own devices. “Coffee’s something I love.”

Steb could feel her proximity, and when he noticed the way she was looking at him, he turned off the stove so he could focus fully on her, his eyes beckoning her to speak up in the gentlest manner. Nea smiled softly at him, and her own gaze continued to hold an apologetic tone to it.

“Thank you,” she said, looking around the apartment for a couple seconds before looking at him again. “You didn’t have to clean up, by the way. But… thank you. For everything.”

Steb smiled at her and angled his body to face her. As he looked at Nea, he could see her anticipation growing when her eyes sparkled up at him again and her chest began to heave in soft pants.

“Steb?” She pronounced his name so endearingly, full of hope.

“Yes?”

“I…” Nea blushed. “I can think straight now.”

Steb gave a soft chuckle. “I’m sure you can.”

Nea’s smile widened. “So… Can I kiss you?”

The frills around Steb’s eyes flared in subtle waves as his own smile widened at her, and with a delicate grip, Steb rested his hands cupping Nea’s neck, his thumbs gently brushing the bases of her jaw. The adoration in his aquamarine gaze faded into something quieter, but no less adoring, slowly leaning down closer to her.

“Can I?” Steb asked her quietly.

Nea giggled. “Yes.”

No more barriers were placed, and beaming with joy, Steb leaned down to close the space between them. The initial contact of their lips was warm and unprecedentedly soft, both moving in tandem like waves dancing on a shore. Steb smiled into the kiss when he felt Nea’s chest rising with a deep inhale infused with soft surprise and a tender shyness that faded when she let her hands brush up his shoulders, resting on his broad frame. In turn, Steb took one of his hands to the back of Nea’s head, pressing her closer to him as he kissed with more strength, prompting her to wrap her arms around him. She also began to kiss with greater strength, letting everything—the yearning, the uncertainty, the many beats skipped by her heart whenever she thought of him—rest in that much anticipated kiss. Now that she was with him, she knew she wouldn’t want to let go; she was ready to give herself to him just as she could feel the same from him.

When the time was right, the kiss relented, but neither of them were quick to pull away. With little space between their lips, Nea looked up at Steb, who smiled lovingly at her blushing figure, a sight so endearing it prompted another flare of the frills on his eyes, tickling Nea’s cheekbones and drawing a soft giggle from her. She made no attempt to resist the desire to kiss him again and, wrapping her arms around his back, she kissed him with equal strength and he embraced her waist, gently spinning her away from the stove and swaying her gently to the sides until he pulled away with a final peck to her forehead.

“Sit down,” Steb whispered. “You need to eat.”

Nea felt her cheeks starting to ache from grinning so widely and, enamored by his selflessness, she resolved to let him finish what he started. But instead of sitting down, Nea wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek to his back, hearing his soft laughter rumbling deep in his torso.

“I’m not letting you go now,” Nea whispered, not necessarily intending for him to hear her.

Still, Steb eventually turned around with two plates ready to be served, leaning down to gently kiss Nea’s lips again before leading her to the table.

“I should hope not,” he whispered and took the plates down to the table. “Should I pour the coffee?”

His words slid Nea out of her trance, suddenly rendering her able to stand in the real world where, next to Steb, everything looked far more beautiful.

“No, that’s my job,” Nea smiled.

Like he’d done many times already, Steb watched as Nea expertly poured the cups of coffee, finally for the two of them to sit down and enjoy together. As she made her way back to the table, he took the cups from her hands and set them down, pulling her close one more time to kiss her, and what he’d initially meant to be a quick kiss before breakfast evolved into Nea leading Steb to the couch where they continued, shy yet loving, without any need for fire or rush, merely adoring one another for as long as they’d wanted to since that first encounter, and long enough for the coffee to go cold and the sun to continue its way across the sky.

Thanks so much for reading! Please reblog to help me get out there!

Next chapter -> (coming soon!)

[27demos]

scenerv → a-myg-da-la

[sturniqlo]

I CANT DO IT ALONE- CHRIS STURN

summary: while mom!y/n stays home with their littles all day, chris doesn't see how tired she is and he puts more pressure on her. BLURB

cw: cursing, ANGST; arguing, crying, exhaustion, FLUFF; kissing, comforting, resolved angst

an: not apart of my positive series | lowkey hate this | lowercase intended

masterlist | join my taglist

-----------------------------------------------

"daddy!" the littlest child, leslie, runs to the front door when she hears the door opening. "hey, les! how's my little girl?" chris smiles and locks the door behind him before kneeling down to pick up his daughter. "so so happy that you are home!" she squeals, wrapping his arms around his neck tightly. "yeah, i'm happy to be home too." he kisses her cheek.

"where are your siblings?" he refers to his five year old set of twins and his ten month old baby. "uhm- landon is watching a movie, lia is playing in our playroom and layla is sleeping." she says as chris walks them, and steps over some toys, towards the kitchen where he hears y/n shuffling around. "why don't you go get lia while i say hi to mommy." he puts her back on the floor.

"okay!" she nods, her pigtails swaying in the process. "lia! daddy is home!" the three year old goes up the stairs. chris enters the kitchen and sees his y/n preparing the twins' lunch for tomorrow. "hey, baby." he wraps his arms around her waist from behind. "oh, hey you're home." she turns her head and smiles softly at him. a tiredness in her eyes that chris doesn't seem to notice. "how was your day today?" she asks, going back to making the lunches.

"tiring," y/n almost a scoffs. "i had three meetings for future drops and filmed a video with nick and matt." he kisses her neck. "oh, well, i'm glad you're home now." she closes up the small containers. "hey, is it okay if-" she gets cut off by she yelling of leslie. "mom! lia won't give me the princess pjs!" she stomps into the kitchen. "these are mine!" lia comes in behind her, wearing the pink princess pajamas.

"leslie, you have the same exact ones in your closet." y/n says, opening the fridges and putting the lunches away. "no i don't! mine are dirty!" her lip quivers. "you didn't do the laundry today?" chris says, leaning against the island counter. "no, i had to go grocery shopping, clean the kitchen, our bathrooms, and i just washed everyone's bed sheets." she says, the girls still arguing.

"i'm sure you still had some extra time to do a load or two." he adds on. "no, chris. i had to take care of layla, she's still sick." she sighs, cleaning up a spill of juice from earlier. "hey, mom. can i stay up late and watch toy story 2?" landon comes in. "no landon, you have preschool tomorrow." y/n says for the third time today, he had asked her that earlier. "dad?" landon looks to chris. "of course you can, bud." he ruffles the boys' hair. "you're the best! see mom, dad lets me."

"chris, he has to wake up early tomorrow, he can't stay up late. it's almost time for bed." she looks at chris. "c'mon, just for today." y/n shakes her head. "no. kids, go brush your teeth." chris rolls his eyes at her stubbornness. "why are you being so strict?" he asks. "im not." she practically laughs. "just let landon stay up, tomorrow is friday anyway."

"exactly, he can stay up late tomorrow." she leaves the kitchen and chris follows. she walks into laylas bedroom and checks in on her. she had gotten sick two days ago. "oh my gosh!" chris whispers. "what?" she says. "i forgot to get the medicine for her yesterday." y/n shakes her head. "it's okay, i bought it today." y/n grabs a tissue from the changing table and cleans the snot from layla. "i'm sorry." he says. "it's okay, it happened already." she throws the tissue away and exits the room.

"did i do something? why are you mad." chris continues to follow her back downstairs. "stop it, chris!" she abruptly stops and turns to face him. chris stands there in shock at her sudden outburst. "just stop! i've had the most tiring days- weeks of my life! and you're here saying that you've had a tiring day all because of three meetings and filming video?"

before chris could say anything back, one of the kids upstairs called for y/n. "mom! she spit on me!" y/n sighed and turned back around going back up the stairs to resolve whatever was going on. chris decided to go back into the kitchen and look for the dinner y/n had mentioned earlier.

chris ate dinner alone while y/n was upstairs putting the kids to sleep. he cleaned his used dishes before going upstairs to his bedroom. "wanna tell me what that was all about?" he said when he saw y/n putting on the bedsheets she had washed. "lia had spat on landon." she said. chris shook his head. "not that, i'm talking about what you had said earlier." he walked closer and picked up a pillow along with a clean pillow cover.

"i don't want to talk about it." she mumbled, going back to putting on the bedsheet. "why not, there's clearly something bothering you." he pushes on. "you want to know what's bothering me chris?" she pauses. "i feel like i'm raising these kids all by myself. you're never home! you leave before the twins wake up for school, and you don't return until they're going to bed! on the weekends it's the same!"

"i'm working, you know that." chris says sternly. "i understand that, chris. but does it hurt to take at least one day off? just one day to spend time with them? just one weekend?" she runs a hand though her hair, frustrated. "do you not understand that i'm working my ass off for us! for our kids! for their futures!"

"i know that chris, but you have the privilege to choose to work from home- to stay home and you don't use it!" chris rolls his eyes. "you have the most easiest job in the world, you just watch the kids play, feed them and change laylas diapers!" he raises his voice.

"you're kidding right?!" she scoffs. "you think taking care of four kids alone is easy? i make them breakfast, i take the twins to school, i have to buckle all four of them in the car even with two of them are crying, i have to give a toddler and a baby my attention at the same time, i teach les basic things, i have to clean the whole house, i do the laundry, i cook, i take the trash out, i change diapers, i pick the twins up from school, i help the twins with their homework, i shower all four, i get them ready for bed, i break up arguments, i deal with their tantrums. im tired chris. i have no time for myself."

"i love those kids with all of my heart, but you promised me, chris. you promised me that we would raise them together! it seems like i'm raising them all by myself. and i understand that you're providing financially for us- for them, but i need your help in a non-financial way." she feels tears racing down her face. she didn't even know she was crying.

"y/n.." chris had never realized she was feeling like this. he felt bad, he hated that he never saw this. she was right, he was always there, but never there. he doesn't remember the last time he actually sat down with his children and played with them. "i- i don't know if you actually care about what i just said, but ive kept it in for so long i thought i'd let you know how i feel." with that, she turns around and walks to their bathroom and shuts the door.

chris sighs and runs a hand through his hair, taking it all in. "mom!" he hears one of his kids yell for their mom. without hesitation, he sits up and goes to who was yelling. "layla? you okay?" he sees that her door was the only one cracked open. "daddy?" she whispers. "it's me, why're you crying, sweetheart?" he takes a seat on her small bed when he sees her cheeks are damp with tears. "i- why are you and mommy yelling at each other?"

chris' heart breaks when he hears that his daughter heard them arguing. "we just- we had a little argument- just like you and your siblings have sometimes. but, everything is okay. i promise." the little girl smiles at the reassurance. "oh, okay."

"would you like me to take you and your brother to school tomorrow?" he says after he had been laying with her for sometime. "really?" she gasps. "of course!" he says. "will we pass for donuts? mommy always takes us every friday to get donuts for breakfast." she plays with the hem of his shirt. "we can, does mommy get a donut for herself?" she nods. "mhm, she likes the strawberry sprinkles, she told us you bought one for her on her birthday a long time ago." chris laughs at the exaggeration. "wasn't that long ago, just seven years ago."

chris recalls the time when they had just started dating, it was her birthday and he bought her a strawberry frosted donut with sprinkles and stuck a candle on it. "that's so far ago." she giggles.

he had stayed with her until she fell back asleep again. quietly, he exited the room and gently shut the door behind him. chris headed back to his bedroom where the soft glow of the lamp lit up the room. "babe, are you sleeping?" he says, closing the door and walks over to the bed where y/n is currently laying down. "no." she says and sits up on her shoulder. her hair a bit damp, chris knew she never liked to fully dry her hair with the blow dryer. "can we talk? i don't want to argue, i hate arguing." he tosses his shoes off and situates himself next to her.

"okay." she grabs her glasses off of the side table since she doesn't have her contacts in. they sit in silence for a bit until chris decides to talk first. "'m sorry you've been feeling this way. and- and i cant believe i didn't take notice. i mean everything was right in front of me. i'm never home, you're always alone with the kids, you're constantly tired. i- i'm so sorry, babe. i never meant to make you feel like this- to put you through this."

"it's- it's okay chris. i know you've been so busy with the new drop and everything. but, i just want to let you now that i'm not asking you to drop everything and stay home with us forever, just asking you to take a few days off during the week. i miss you, the kids miss you." chris wraps his arm around y/n and pulls her into his chest.

"'m sorry, 'm so sorry. i'll stay home until wednesday, when i have to film, how's that sound, hm?" he presses a kiss to her forehead. "really?" she looks up at him. "of course, anything for you." he says and lays them both down. "chris!" she squeals.

"let me love on my wife!" he kisses her neck up to her lips. "how about i take you out on saturday night? we take the kids to matt and nicks house. and we go to a nice restaurant and come back here for the night?" he pecks her lips. "i would love that." she hums, kissing him back. they lie together on the bed for a while until y/n speaks up.

"as much as i love being like this, you know i hate outside clothes on the bed." she tugs on his shirt. "i knew i couldn't get away with it." he sighs and kisses her lips before getting up. "i'll be in the shower, choose a movie for when i get out."

[paarksunghoon]

you plus me (teaser)

SUMMARY: it’s been six years since heeseung stopped being your friend and the thought of him tagging along an annual camping tradition makes you feel like the world must be crashing round you. one misunderstanding and one trip later makes heeseung re-evaluate all he knows, and it makes you believe that there might life after love.

PAIRING: heeseung x fem!reader (featuring enhypen)

WORD COUNT: no estimate because who really knows but this baby sits at 28K right now. the teaser stands at 2.7K.

NOTES: usually I don’t post teasers but I’m so proud of this story so why not!!!!!! I don’t think I’m going to open a taglist but that could change. I’ll let you know if I do. :) hoping to publish by October 26! thanks for reading!! xx

GENRE: angst + fluff + smut

edit: it’s out!

***

“Please don’t make me go.”

“Y/N, you already said yes. We’re only gonna be gone for a week.”

“I don’t think this is a good idea, Jungwon. You just said that Heeseung is gonna be there.” 

Your best friend sighs and sits down on your bed, inspecting the duffle bag you have that’s half-packed. Your clothes are haphazardly strewn all over your bedding while you plead with him to no avail. You’re so desperate that you consider getting on your knees to beg.

“I’m sorry for telling you now but he was able to get people to cover his shift last minute and paid for a spot on the kayaking rental.” 

“If he’s going, I’d rather save us all the trouble and stay at home.” Jungwon watches you cross your arms over your chest. “Every time we’re in the same room, it’s just a matter of time before things become awkward.” 

“We’ll be outside in the suuuun,” Jungwon says, tilting his head to the side and giving you those amused eyes that he always gives you when he’s trying to convince you to do something with him. You scoff and look away. It almost works. 

“I bet that it’ll be worse since we have a few things planned with the guys already.”

“So what? You two don’t get along. Big deal. We’ve already made reservations to secure a spot on the campsite and set a deposit for kayak rentals.”

“Won, I think you and I view Heeseung very differently. He doesn’t just not like me. He hates me.” 

“Hate is a wrong word.” 

You huff. “I don’t think you grasp just how weird it is every time we’re together. You could cut the tension with a knife.”

“Seriously, Y/N. It’s one week. I’m sure you can survive that. You’ve never missed a camping trip and it’s the first time all of our friends are coming.” Jungwon deadpans and throws a shirt towards your chest, which you hastily grab after being startled by his sudden movement. You know better than to argue with him when he gets like this. “Just help me pack your clothes, dude. Jay’s gonna be here to pick us up tomorrow morning and you don’t want to be under-packed.” 

You relent and grumble. “Are you still staying over?”

He nods. “My apartment’s in the opposite of where we’re going and I didn’t want to make him drive an extra twenty minutes since he needs to pick Riki up. Just need to drop Maeumi off at my mom’s before coming back here. ” Your eyes fall for a flat second before you squash that feeling down.

“I didn’t invite you over, you know.” 

“No, but don’t pretend like you’re not excited,” Jungwon says with a laugh as he pulls your clothes out of the bag and starts to readjust the clothing you’ve folded poorly. Seeing your best friend smile tugs a bit at your heartstrings and you can’t say that you aren’t happy to have him with you. “We should get you packed now so you don’t stress out later.” 

Begrudgingly, you allow Jungwon to sort out your clothes for you and pull last minute items you’ve yet to pack. It annoys you, watching him be so calm when you’re simmering with worry. But you know he’s right—you’ve invested some money into this getaway and it’ll be the last big outing before you move away from Korea for a year-long job opportunity in Okayama before pursuing your Master’s degree. Jungwon knows you a little too well and sometimes it irks you. 

The end-of-summer camping trip is always one for the books. For as long as you can remember, the two of you have been going camping just before everyone goes back to school to celebrate the beginning of a new academic year with your families. But this time, the trip wasn’t just about continuing an annual tradition. It was also to commemorate a new chapter in your life. 

You’re a year older than Jungwon. He’s known you since you were obsessed with learning how to double dutch and you’ve known him since he first learned how to ride a bike. The two of you started out as neighbors when you moved into the house next to his and his family had adopted your own like old friends, eventually inviting you and your parents into their annual camping tradition. Even when dynamics changed and people had left, the tradition was the only thing that remained a constant for you.

This is the first summer that your loved ones announced they wouldn’t be coming along. They all thought it was time for you to embark on new traditions with new people and nobody seemed to mind the change that much except for you. Jungwon had been ecstatic about it since he invited his friend, Jake, to the camping trip last year. You’d been wary at first since Jake is friends with Heeseung, but he never brought up your confusing arch-nemesis and chose to have a great trip before you all started university again.  

Sure, you had a lot of fun. You might even consider last year’s trip as one for the books. But your mom pulling out of the camping trip and everyone around you agreeing that it was for the best made you feel like your world was crumbling around you.

When you graduated university three months ago (Jungwon swears he didn’t cry but you know better than to believe him) and the weight of leaving your home started to sink in. In the blink of an eye, Jungwon wouldn’t be a twenty minute drive and hanging out with all of your friends wouldn’t be as easy as it once was. You’d be in Japan all alone.

This past summer has been a whirlwind as you tried to do everything under the sun, savoring each moment until you wouldn’t be able to anymore. Jungwon’s been a good sport about it, never once complaining when you drag him to your latest adventure. He deals with your sudden shift in mood from happy to sad, letting you cry on his shoulder and braving the cliche words you say when telling him you’ll miss him a lot. 

Unlike past seasons, this is the first summer you haven’t seen Heeseung very often. Lee Heeseung, who usually keeps his head down and minds his business, always seems to have a bone to pick whenever his eyes settle on you. It confuses you to no end and he keeps his quips to a minimum when your mutual friends are around, but it doesn’t stop you from wondering what you must’ve done to make him act like that towards you. It’s a shame because that small childhood crush you always had on him was squashed the first time he ignored your presence 

None of your friends comment on it much. They’re used to the dynamic between the both of you because it's been years of this. Elementary school saw the two of you become friends for the first time and middle school brought more friends into the group. It was in high school that things changed and Heeseung started ignoring you out of nowhere until one Thursday afternoon when he’d told you to leave him alone after pestering him about his change in behavior. 

The odd tension followed you into university and continued to seep into your life. You don’t think you’ve ever been in a room with Heeseung where he’s been anything but nonchalant towards you, often acting like you aren’t there to begin with. You do your best to put up with it and plaster a smile on your face but six years have gone by and you don’t think you can handle a seventh. All of your friends seemed to have moved past it. You don’t know why you can’t.

“Don’t think about Heeseung,” Jungwon says with a sigh. “In fact, don’t think at all. Let me handle everything and enjoy this trip before you move to Okayama, okay?”

“Okay, fine. But I want to see Maeumi.”

Jungwon snorts. “She’s gonna be real pissed when she doesn’t see you for a year, you know.”

“Don’t remind me.”

Jungwon knows you like the back of your hand and has seen what you bring on these trips enough to know what you like to have in your duffle. He packs things you neglected to pull out because your mind has been elsewhere. As much as he wants to flick your head and tell you to quit overthinking so you can help him, he did tell you to let him handle everything. 

Your best friend makes you triple check that the two of you didn’t miss anything before heading back to his apartment to fetch Maeumi. She jumps into your arms when you squat to pick her up and won’t allow Jungwon to pet her white fur body while she’s nestled against you. This fondness and the familiar jab of Jungwon’s elbow to your ribcage makes your heart ache despite the sweet moment. You’re really going to miss home. 

Ever the concerned mothers your mom and Jungwon’s are, they send you with a tray full of sweets for the road. They make you tell them exactly when you’ll be picked up and by who (“Jongseong, Eomma,” Jungwon says for the umpteenth time) and when you plan to come back. His dad gives you a spare bucket hat for when you’re on the water and an old sweater from his college days when Jungwon complains about how you never pack enough layers. The gesture feels warm since you consider his father to be somewhat of your own.

Leaving them to go back to your house feels a bit bittersweet. A lot of your belongings sit in storage boxes in the garage from when you moved out of your campus apartment upon graduating. Jungwon decided to get an apartment for himself with the money he saved from his part-time job as a busboy at a local chain restaurant. Staying over with you makes it seem silly when you remember he used to live next door. 

It’s nine in the evening when the two of you get ready for bed. Jungwon puts your bags by the front door so neither of you would forget while you finish brushing your teeth. He grabs extra blankets from the linen closet and settles onto your L-shaped couch, pulling the fabric just underneath his chin. Your heart feels like it’s sinking in on itself when you think about how this might be the last time you’re able to be so casual around him. 

“Stop overthinking,” he says in the quiet of the night as if he can hear the thoughts in your head. The living room lights are off and the moonlight is what’s responsible for illuminating the space. 

You refrain from throwing your pillow at him. “I’m not overthinking. You’re overthinking.” 

Jungwon snorts. “We both know that’s not true. I know you’re scared about Okayama and I know that’s why you’ve been on edge about Heeseung. You’re usually never this loud about it.” Like always, your best friend is right. 

“It’s hard not to.” Your meek voice makes Jungwon’s heart lurch. “Everything’s changed so fast. I feel like I didn’t get enough time to properly say goodbye to everyone.”

“You’ll be in Japan, not America. It’s not like we’ll never see you.” 

“Yeah, but I won’t be able to annoy you for boba and you won’t be coming over to have dinner with my mom and I.” Jungwon frowns. Too caught up in making sure you were happy this summer, he hadn’t given it that much thought. “I know I won’t be far but I’m scared that things will change too much.” 

For the first time today, Jungwon doesn’t know what to say to make you feel better. “I’ll miss you a lot.” 

“I know that, dummy. I guess…I feel like I’ve been dealing with a lifetime of shittiness and the universe wanted to throw another curveball at me.” Jungwon’s heart softens at your confession. He’s used to your quick jabs and sarcastic humor. Knowing you’ve more afraid than excited makes him upset. 

“The universe sucks,” he says, happy that it pulled a laugh out of you. “I’ll always be a phone call away and you’ll never have to worry about me ignoring you because we both know I’m gonna blow up your texts anyway.” 

“I can always count on you to annoy the hell out of me.” You can’t see his face, but no you already assume Jungwon’s sporting a shit-eating grin. Even if you both know the main reason why you’re afraid of living in Okayama, neither of you say it. You’re grateful that Jungwon doesn’t bring it up. “Still, though. You know how I am with change. I’m really scared that I’m going to hate it there and not have you to keep me company.”

“Life is crazy and unpredictable but that doesn’t mean you’re going to be miserable. I mean, you did a pretty good job of making sure both of us had happy childhoods even though I know you were hurting when we were younger.” 

“It’s really hard not to have expectations or think badly about the future when I feel like I took everything for granted.” 

“I know, Bug,” Jungwon says, using a nickname from your childhood he reserves for when he thinks you need an extra bit of comfort. “But you’re the best person I know. You didn’t do anything wrong. Life just…gets in the way.” 

“Yeah, I know.”

Jungwon is quiet for a moment. “Just please promise me you’ll try to have fun, okay?”

“I know I’ll have fun, Wonnie. I’m scared that I’ll have too much fun and be a sobbing wreck when we get back.” 

The two of you share a laugh. “Alright, fair. Promise me you won’t let Heeseung get under your skin.”

You groan. “If he doesn’t like me, that’s fine. I don’t need everyone to like me. But why go out of his way to act like I’m scum of the Earth?”

“Just ignore him, okay?” Jungwon pleads. “I know it’s uncomfortable but he paid for a last minute spot. I’ll tell him to be mature about it too.” 

And, well, part of you believes Heeseung will listen to Jungwon. Despite being on the younger side in your shared friend group, everyone seemed to listen to your best friend most of the time. Jungwon has an authoritative aspect to himself when he’s refrained from being the silly, happy-go-lucky guy you all know him to be. 

It’s quiet for a brief moment with the wind gently tapping on the windows behind you. “I don’t know why he doesn’t like me.” 

Truthfully, neither does Jungwon. “I’m sorry he’s putting you in a tough spot.” 

“Won, sometimes I really wonder if he hates my guts. He doesn’t talk to me and he never replies to my messages in the group chat. It’s like I don’t exist to him.”

“I think that might be a little extreme.” 

“It’s not and you know it.” 

Jungwon hums. “Well, at least you’ll get away from him when you move to Okayama.” Just like that, all of your worries come flooding right back.

“Yeah,” you say meekly. “I’ll have Okayama.”

You don’t see him, but you know Jungwon’s smiling since you agreed with him for the first time tonight. “That’s more like it. You have your whole future ahead of yourself, dude. Heeseung is just a blimp. In three weeks, he won’t matter because you’ll be having fun in Japan. Just think about that.” 

You try not to think about the fears and hesitations you have about starting anew. This time, you wouldn’t be going back to university after the camping trip. You’ll have a week and a half back home before you’re boarding your flight and saying goodbye to the place you’ve called home for the past two decades. Thinking about the future keeps you up until you hear Jungwon’s snores from the other side of the couch. 

Unsure of when your mom will be coming home, you snuggle further into the cushions and curl yourself into a ball before falling asleep. 

***

comments and reblogs are appreciated! xx

[brunchable]

This is your boyfriend, Mom? PT. 2

《 Lucas takes Bucky to bring-your-dad-to-school. 》

Pairings: Beefy Bucky Barnes x Single Mom reader. Themes: Comedy. Fluff with Lucas <3 Also Bucky getting cockblocked at the end. Summary: Lucas has an upcoming bring your dad to school day, and he chose to being Bucky with him. A/N: Bucky x Lucas is starting to grow on me help🥲 Parts : 1 and 1.5

Lucas had been suspiciously quiet during dinner. Normally, you’d be hearing about how his day went, including stories about how he managed to outwit his teacher with some clever quip. But tonight, he was pushing his food around his plate like it had personally offended him.

You and Bucky exchange a glance. Something’s up.

“What’s wrong, Lucky?” you ask gently, leaning forward. “You’ve barely touched your mashed potatoes, and you love those.”

Lucas sighs dramatically, not even looking up. “It’s bring-your-dad-to-school day tomorrow.”

Bucky pauses mid-bite, his fork hovering in the air. “And?”

“And… nothing,” Lucas mutters, eyes fixed on his plate.

You tilt your head, trying to decipher the sudden gloom. “Well, that sounds fun. Maybe you should bring your dad. I’m sure he’d—”

Lucas immediately cuts you off with a loud groan, throwing his head back in frustration. “Ughhh, Mom! No! Dad's so boring. He works in finance. All he does is talk about spreadsheets and stocks. None of the kids will care!”

You can’t help but laugh softly. “He’s not that bad, Lucas. He could probably teach your classmates a lot about—”

“Boring stuff,” Lucas finishes for you, crossing his arms over his chest with a pout. “Last time he tried to explain stocks to me, I fell asleep with my eyes open.”

Bucky nearly chokes on his water, trying to stifle a laugh. “You fell asleep with your eyes open?”

Lucas nods seriously, “Mid-sentence, too. I think I went into some kind of boredom coma.”

You smirk, brushing a hand through Lucas’s hair. “Come on, he’s your dad. He’d probably love to come.”

Lucas gives you an exasperated look, then glances over at Bucky, who’s watching the exchange with a mix of amusement and curiosity.

“Well,” Lucas says, avoiding eye contact, “I was kinda thinking… maybe Bucky could come instead.”

Bucky looks surprised, his eyebrows shooting up. “Me?”

Lucas shrugs, his eyes fixed on the table. “Yeah, I mean, you’ve got a metal arm and you work with the Avengers. You’re way cooler than someone who talks about dividends all day.”

You stifle a chuckle, giving Lucas a gentle nudge. “You’re sure? I mean, it’s bring-your-dad-to-school day, not bring-your-mom’s-boyfriend-to-school day.”

Lucas huffs and folds his arms over his chest. “Well, it should be. Besides, Bucky’s basically, like, half-superhero, half-robot, and a little bit grumpy old man.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “A little grumpy?”

“Only sometimes,” Lucas adds quickly. “But the metal arm makes up for it.”

You shoot Bucky a look, stifling a laugh, while Bucky grins down at Lucas. “So, you want me to come, huh? Even though I’m just ‘kinda’ cool?”

Lucas rolls his eyes but can’t hide the small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah, well, you’re cooler than spreadsheets.”

Bucky snorts and leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. “High praise.”

× × × × 

The Next Day: Bring Your Dad to School Day

Lucas had been jittery all morning, and you weren’t sure whether it was nerves or excitement. He kept fixing his hair and adjusting his backpack, sneaking glances at Bucky as if checking to see if he’d changed his mind about coming.

When you finally arrive at the school, Lucas shifts uncomfortably, standing close to you and Bucky with a mixture of anxiety and hope in his eyes. “You’ll come inside, right?”

Bucky crouches slightly to meet Lucas at eye level, offering him a reassuring smile. “Of course. Wouldn’t miss it, buddy. Besides, I’ve gotta make sure I look cool enough for your friends, right?”

Lucas lets out a breath and nods, though he tries to play it off cool. “Just… don’t embarrass me, okay?”

Bucky raises his hands in surrender. “No embarrassment. Got it.”

As you enter the classroom, the air is buzzing with excitement. Kids are introducing their dads, proudly sharing what they do for work—doctors, engineers, even a dad who runs a bakery, much to everyone’s delight.

When it’s Lucas’s turn, the room grows quiet, and he shuffles nervously to the front of the class. He glances back at Bucky, his hands fidgeting at his sides, and when he starts speaking, his voice is barely above a whisper.

“Um… this is Bucky. He’s not my dad, but he’s my mom’s boyfriend.” He pauses, his eyes scanning the room nervously before flicking back to Bucky, who gives him an encouraging nod.

At first, Lucas stammers, his voice soft and unsure. “He… um… he’s an Avenger.”

The entire class gasps, but Lucas doesn't look up. He shuffles a bit, glancing at the floor. “And, uh… he’s kinda cool.”

Bucky smiles warmly, but Lucas’s words grow more confident as he goes on, his voice gaining strength as he talks about Bucky.

“He helps me with my homework, even though he pretends like he doesn’t understand math… but he does. And… uh, he taught me how to ride a bike.”

Bucky’s eyebrows lift in surprise, and you feel a lump forming in your throat as Lucas continues, his confidence building with every word.

“And… one time, when I was scared to sleep because of a thunderstorm, he sat with me until I fell asleep. He didn’t even get mad when I drooled on him.” A few kids giggle, and Lucas grins, glancing at Bucky. “He says his metal arm doesn’t feel anything, but I think he just says that so I don’t worry when I hold onto it too tight.”

Bucky’s expression softens, and your eyes start to well up with tears, your heart swelling as you hear the affection in Lucas’s voice.

“He helps me with stuff that’s hard for me, like when I don’t get something right away, and he never makes me feel bad about it. And… he told me that even superheroes need help sometimes, so it’s okay if I ask for help too.”

The classroom is silent, except for the occasional sniffle from you, tears pooling in your eyes as Lucas keeps talking, his confidence shining through.

“So yeah,” Lucas finishes, smiling now, “Bucky’s not my real dad, but he’s kinda like a superhero at home too. He doesn’t fly or have a shield, but… he’s the best.”

Bucky looks completely stunned, blinking back emotion as he stares at Lucas. The classroom erupts in applause, the kids clearly in awe of everything they just heard. You wipe a tear from your cheek, trying not to let anyone see how much Lucas’s words touched you.

As Lucas walks back to his seat, Bucky watches him with a mix of pride and disbelief. When Lucas sits down, the teacher looks at Bucky expectantly.

“Well, Mr. Barnes, it seems Lucas has given you quite the introduction,” she says warmly. “Would you like to say a few words about Lucas?”

Bucky clears his throat, standing a little taller as he glances over at Lucas, who’s avoiding eye contact, clearly a bit shy after all that. “Uh, sure,” Bucky says, his voice soft but steady.

He pauses for a moment, gathering his thoughts, then smiles gently as he looks at Lucas.

“Lucas… he’s, uh, he’s kind of a big deal, y’know?” Bucky starts, his voice tender. “He’s got this heart that’s… I don’t even know how to describe it. Bigger than anything I’ve ever seen. And he cares about people in ways that… well, I guess you don’t really expect from a kid his age.”

Bucky shifts, his eyes softening as he continues. “He’s tough. And not just the way he talks tough—which he definitely does, let me tell you. But he’s got this kind of strength that’s rare. The kind that makes him want to help other people, even when he’s having a rough day.”

He pauses, glancing at Lucas, who is trying to hide a small smile, his cheeks pink.

“I never expected to be the guy teaching a kid how to ride a bike or helping with homework. But with Lucas… I dunno, it’s different. It’s like he teaches me more than I could ever teach him. He’s patient with me when I mess up—‘cause, believe me, I mess up a lot.”

The class is quiet, listening intently as Bucky’s voice softens even more. “He makes me want to be better. And he never has to say that; it’s just the way he is. I didn’t think I’d be good at this kind of thing, being there for someone like him. But Lucas? He makes it easy. And… well, I’m just lucky I get to be part of his life.”

Bucky glances back at you for a moment, a flicker of emotion in his eyes before he looks at Lucas, smiling warmly. “I’m proud of him. More than I can put into words.”

The room is silent for a moment, the emotion in Bucky’s words hanging in the air, and you have to quickly wipe away a tear before anyone notices.

The teacher smiles, clearly touched. “That was beautiful, Mr. Barnes. Thank you for sharing.” She looks at the class. “Does anyone have any questions for Bucky?”

Dozens of hands shoot up, and Bucky laughs softly, still a little overwhelmed by the moment.

“Alright,” Bucky says, grinning. “Who’s first?”

A kid at the front waves his hand excitedly. “Is your metal arm, like, super strong? Can you crush stuff with it?”

Bucky chuckles and flexes his metal arm playfully. “It’s pretty strong. I’ve crushed a few things with it, but I try not to do that too often.”

Another kid raises their hand. “Do you know Captain America?”

Bucky grins. “Yeah, I know him. He’s my best friend.”

Lucas perks up at that, unable to resist adding, “He beat Captain America once. But that’s only because Steve tripped over his own shield.”

The class erupts into giggles, and Bucky shoots Lucas a mock glare. “Hey, I told you to keep that between us.”

The questions continue, with kids asking everything from how Bucky became an Avenger to whether he can fly. Every time Bucky answers, Lucas watches him with this quiet admiration, a look you hadn’t seen before.

Eventually, the teacher wraps up the session, thanking Bucky for his time. As you head out of the classroom, Lucas lingers by Bucky’s side, still a little shy but clearly proud of the whole experience.

“You didn’t embarrass me,” Lucas says softly, glancing up at Bucky as you walk outside.

Bucky smiles, ruffling Lucas’s hair gently. “And you made me look pretty good in front of your friends, kid. Thanks.”

Lucas shrugs, but you can see the small grin on his face. “Yeah, well… it wasn’t that hard.”

× × × ×

The house was quiet, the kind of calm that comes after a long, eventful day. You’d just finished tucking Lucas into bed, though his excitement from earlier had kept him talking longer than usual. His eyes had sparkled as he recounted every detail of the day, especially how cool his friends thought Bucky was.

Now, you found yourself standing at the doorway of Lucas’s room, watching him sleep peacefully, his small face nestled into his pillow, breathing steady.

Bucky’s footsteps were soft as he approached from behind, wrapping his arm around your waist and resting his chin gently on your shoulder. 

“He’s out like a light,” Bucky murmured, his voice low.

You nod, leaning back into him with a content sigh. “He had a big day.”

Bucky’s hold on you tightened slightly, and after a beat of silence, he asked, “Was it… okay? I mean, I didn’t mess anything up, did I?”

You turn in his arms, looking up at him with a soft smile. “Mess it up? Bucky, you were amazing. You saw how happy he was.” You pause, your voice growing more tender. “And how proud he was to bring you.”

Bucky’s eyes flickered, his usually stoic expression faltering for a moment as he glanced back at Lucas’s sleeping form. “I wasn’t sure… you know, about this whole ‘being a dad figure’ thing. I didn’t want to… I don’t know, overstep.”

You reached up, cupping his cheek with your hand, your thumb brushing lightly against the roughness of his stubble. “You didn’t overstep, Bucky. You’ve been exactly what he needs.”

Bucky looked down at you, his blue eyes reflecting a vulnerability he rarely let surface. “I didn’t think I’d be good at this,” he admitted quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t think I could be.”

You shook your head gently. “You are, though. Lucas looks up to you. He trusts you.” You could feel your throat tighten, remembering the words Lucas had spoken earlier in the classroom, how he’d talked about Bucky with such affection and pride. “He loves you, Bucky.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched slightly, and for a moment, he looked away, as if the weight of your words was too much to take in. But then, after a long breath, he whispered, “Yeah. I think I love him too.”

There was a softness in his voice, a kind of admission that felt raw and real. You blinked away the tears that welled up again, pulling him into a tight embrace. 

“He’s lucky to have you,” you murmured into his chest.

Bucky wrapped both arms around you, holding you close as if grounding himself in the warmth of the moment. 

“I’m the lucky one,” he whispered into your hair.

After a few quiet moments, you pull away slightly, looking up at him with a teasing smile. “You know, you didn’t embarrass him today, but you both did make me cry in the back of the classroom.”

Bucky chuckled softly, his hand gently brushing a stray hair from your face. 

“Yeah, I noticed that.” His smile turned warm, and he kissed your forehead softly. “Didn’t mean to make you cry, but I guess we’re all getting soft, huh?”

You laugh quietly, wiping the last of your tears. “Maybe just a little.”

Just then, there’s a small rustle from the bed, and Lucas’s sleepy voice drifts over to you both. 

“Mom… Bucky?”

You both turn, finding Lucas sitting up slightly, rubbing his eyes with one small fist. 

“Why are you guys whispering?” he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep.

Bucky grins, stepping over to the bed and sitting on the edge. “Just talking about how cool your day was, buddy.”

Lucas yawns, his eyes half-closed as he leans back into his pillow. 

“You were cool today too,” he mutters sleepily, his words slurring a little. “Even if your hair still looks like it’s trying to run away.”

Bucky chuckles, shaking his head. “Thanks, kid.”

Lucas is quiet for a second before he adds, even softer now, “I’m glad you’re here, Bucky.”

Bucky’s expression softens. He reaches out, ruffling Lucas’s hair gently. “Me too, kid. Get some sleep.”

Lucas smiles faintly, his eyes already closing again as he settles back into sleep.

Bucky stands up, and the two of you tiptoe out of the room, closing the door gently behind you. Once in the hallway, Bucky exhales softly, as if letting go of something he hadn’t even realised he was holding on to.

You slip your hand into his, giving it a squeeze. “You’re doing great,” you whisper.

Bucky looks down at your intertwined hands and nods, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips. 

“Yeah,” he whispers back, pulling you closer. “I think we all are.”

× × × × 

Lucas was sound asleep in his room, and you and Bucky finally had the house to yourselves. The TV flickered softly in the background, but you couldn’t care less about what was on. Bucky had already pulled you into his lap, his hands roaming under your shirt, his lips pressing hot kisses against your neck.

You let out a breathy laugh, running your fingers through his hair. “I’ve missed this.”

Bucky smirked, his voice low and dripping with desire.

“You have no idea how much I’ve been thinking about this,” he growled, his hands gripping your waist. “I’m gonna take you upstairs, throw you on that bed, spread you out so wide—"

“Why would you do that to her?”

Both of you froze, and your heads whipped around in sync to see Lucas standing in the doorway, rubbing his eyes and holding his stuffed dinosaur.

Bucky blinked, his entire body going rigid as his face flushed a deep shade of red. "L-Lucas?" he choked out.

You quickly scrambled off Bucky’s lap, yanking your shirt back down while trying to hide your laughter.

“Lucky, what are you doing up? I thought you were asleep.”

Bucky's entire face flushed beet red, and he looked like he wanted to crawl into a hole and die. "I didn't mean-what I said was-uh..." His brain was clearly not firing on all cylinders. 

You bit your lip, trying not to burst into laughter as Bucky squirmed, knowing full well he had no idea how to recover. 

"Why would you throw her? Then spread her out." Lucas asked again, his little face scrunched up in confusion. "She's not a ball or a sandwich.”

You stifled a giggle, watching Bucky flounder. He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to string together some explanation. 

"It's, uh... it's just an expression, buddy. You know, like when people say 'hit the hay' but they're not actually hitting anything?" 

Lucas blinked, unconvinced. "But you said you were gonna throw her and make her spread open. What does that mean?" 

Bucky's eyes widened in horror, and you couldn't hold it back anymore-you let out a loud snort, which quickly turned into full-blown laughter. Bucky glared at you like this is your fault, but you were too busy wiping tears from your eyes to care.

Bucky’s face was buried in his hands now. He muttered something unintelligible into his palms, and you could tell he was dying inside.

“It’s… just an expression,” he groaned, finally looking up, but clearly at a loss.

Lucas blinked, still not understanding. “I don’t get it. Do adults spread each other out when they’re tired?”

You were doubled over in laughter now, barely able to catch your breath. “Oh my God, this is the best thing that’s ever happened.”

Bucky, on the other hand, looked like he was considering moving to another planet. He let out the world’s longest sigh before saying, “No, Lucas, adults don’t… spread each other out when they’re tired.”

Lucas squinted, still confused. “Then why would you say that?”

"I'LL EXPLAIN TOMORROW," Bucky blurted out, clearly desperate to end the conversation.

“Okay. But it sounds weird. Like, why wouldn’t you just say you’re gonna tuck her in? That’s nicer than throwing her and spreading her out.” Lucas nodded, though it was clear he still didn’t get it.

Bucky muttered something under his breath, staring at the ceiling like he was silently asking the universe for strength. 

“You’re right, Lucas. Tucking her in is a much better way to say it.”

Lucas gave him a satisfied nod, as if he’d just solved the world’s biggest mystery. “Yeah. So next time, just say you’re gonna tuck her in.”

Bucky shot you a look that was half I hate you and half I’m going to die. “Sure thing, champ. Next time, I’ll… tuck her in.”

“Good,” Lucas said, completely oblivious to the awkwardness. “Can I sleep in your room tonight? I don’t wanna go back to mine.”

Bucky’s shoulders sagged in defeat. “Yeah, sure. Whatever you want, buddy.”

Lucas turned to head back toward the hallway but stopped just before he left. “And Bucky?”

Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose, dreading whatever was coming next. “Yeah, Lucas?”

“Next time you should say ‘I’m gonna tuck you in real tight.’ That sounds better than spreading her out.”

Bucky didn't even try to respond, but then, after a brief pause, a mischievous grin spread across his face. 

“Alright, Mr. Tuck Expert,” he said, standing up quickly. “You’re gonna get tucked in first!”

Before Lucas could react, Bucky scooped him up like a sack of potatoes, tossing him over his shoulder. Lucas squealed in surprise, kicking his legs in the air as Bucky made his way to the stairs.

“Bucky! What are you doing?!”

Bucky laughed, giving Lucas a playful bounce. “I’m tucking you in, but I’m gonna do it real tight just like you said!”

Lucas giggled uncontrollably as Bucky carried him toward the stairs. “Not like that! That’s too tight!”

Bucky threw you a playful grin over his shoulder. “See you upstairs, doll,” he said smoothly. “Looks like we’re gonna have company in the middle tonight.”

Lucas kept giggling the whole way as Bucky disappeared up the stairs, bouncing him lightly like a sack of potatoes. You shook your head, still laughing, knowing full well that once Lucas was settled in the middle of your bed, Bucky would come back down for some unfinished business.

[soobnny]

dating him | kim seungmin

❝ kiss me first ❞

chan | lee know | changbin | hyunjin | han | felix | SEUNGMIN | jeongin

best friends to lovers type beat

it HAS to be

like seungmin doesn’t give me eager for love

i don’t think he’s ever rly prioritized it

that’s why it’s essential that this is a best friends to lovers love story

bc he would’ve had to fall in love in between the silence of friends

there isn’t even a light bulb moment

more of an “oh” moment really

like oh, i’ve fallen in love with my best friend

bc i think it takes A LOT for this boy to add romance in his life

he strikes me as the type that prioritizes his comfort and his routine

so he doesn’t fall in love easily

but turns out, he’s not so immune after all

seungmin has sudden urges to kiss u too

like woah 😂😂😂 let’s check the label first 😂😂😂😂

YEAH. BEST FRIENDS.

he couldn’t take it any longer tho

he asks u out and long story short

he’s ur boyfriend now

he doesn’t rly change much

seungmin is still a menace

this time he just gets to kiss you

he’s always comparing hand size with u

size kink much ?!!??

teases u bc ur hand is smaller than felix’s

and that boy’s hand … miniature

tbh i think it’s just an excuse to hold ur hand

but once he shows u his palms, u already know what’s up

either hold his hand or COMPARE

is 100% the type to hold ur hand in the pocket of his hoodie btw

his face is nonchalant the whole time

he does it when he notices ur hands r a little cold and trembling

it’s his attempt to warm ur hand up

i think his face is nonchalant bc it’s just natural to him

like he doesn’t think anything of it .. just him helping his partner so they don’t suffer

his favorite date with u would be karaoke dates

u know how in korea, they have karaokes where u can challenge other rooms

yeah u do that a lot

and when u start losing, u just whip out ur secret weapon

aka kim seungmin

what can u say

it’s all about winning

and u are a sore loser

seungmin ofc ends up winning it for u guys so u always get free food bc that’s the wager yall always bet on

he always lets u decide which food too

and if u rlly like the snack u’re betting on, he tries extra hard

(here’s a secret: he thinks of u when he sings love songs so that extra bit of emotion he uses while singing ? lowkey u’re still the reason u guys won)

another favorite date of seungmin’s is visiting dog shelters

you two have successfully named all the dogs in ur local dog shelter

u’d just visit from time to time to check on them and play with them

“hi fang!!!!! where’s ur sister and ur mother!!!! how about berry 2.0 and kkami wannabe!!!!”

eventually, you guys do adopt ur own puppy

he gets jealous at first bc now ur attention is divided

but then HIS attention gets divided

i think u two would be good dog parents

he would activate the puppy’s playful side

you’d swoop in when ur puppy is tired and u just wanna give them love and cuddles

he likes it when u refer to urselves as the parents of ur dog

also loves talking in 3rd person like “mom is mad at me today” to ur puppy

anyways moving on

his love language is for sure acts of service

would fold ur laundry for u

would do ur most hatest chore

he’d make u coffee the way u like in the morning

and it’s all just instinct to him again

like he just DOES it without being told to

HOWEVER

however ….

listen to me

if you ask him to do something for u

kim “kiss first” seungmin spawns

“seungmin, can you reach this for me?”

“kiss me first”

“seungmin, do u know where my shoes are?”

“kiss me first”

like DAMNNNNN taking advantage of the moment, i see

he enjoys it so much

he’d have his lips puckered, knees bent a little to ur height, and he waits

bc he knows u always do it

btw i think he has a secret instagram just full of photos of you ☹️☹️☹️☹️

he’d tell u he has a photography acc

little do u know, it’s just you all over

is that why he loves to bring his camera around in dates ?!?

unlimited supply of his hoodies #2

but unlike chan, he acts like it bothers him

he just likes riling u up

another way he riles up up is whispering dirty things to u in public bc he’s just a little shit like that

would be the type to say “make me”

and also “prove it”

likeeeeee…

have fun with that thought!

third favorite date is driving around

with his arm around your car seat or rested on your thigh 😊😊😊😊😊

i’m totally sane rn

is not above doing things in his car

u didn’t hear it from me

another hot thing he does are slight squeezes on ur thigh or tapping it to the beat of the music

UGHHGHHNGYNFNFNBGBBGBG

btw when U get to fluster him

he suddenly hugs u

and u’re like ?!!????

u try to look up at him but he presses ur face on his chest, his hand on the back of your head

it’s so u don’t see how red his face is

OR HIS EARS

so if he suddenly hugs u for no reason

you already know why

anyways

whatever

u two are each other’s biggest supporters

bc before u were together, u were best friends already

he knows u like the back of his hand

despite being a little shit, u know he’s in love with you

bc u hear him whisper it when he thinks u’re asleep

and he lets it slip out a lot when he’s tired or when he’s a little tipsy

and he holds u while u sleep and kisses you and comforts u

he rly does love u a lot and cares for u

sometimes i think u’d have arguments just bc he cares about u too much

like u could’ve put ur health at risk

and he isn’t all about that

anyways seungmin doesn’t need to be grand and showy about it for u to know

sometimes, all that matters is what happens behind the scenes

seungmin best boy

note. credits to user @.luvknow for the layout of this post! let me know what you think! please discuss these with me i’m crazy

[thelostconsultant]

Secrets

pairing: Lestappen x reader

summary: Charles convinces you to join his relationship with Max.

warnings: Well, not much, except for mentions of sexual activities, unprotected sex (wrap it, guys) and pregnancy.

note: Just little snippets stitched together to give you a glimpse into their life.

The plan began to form in Charles’s head when it was announced you would become his race engineer from the 2024 season. As you got closer and got to know each other better, he began to flirt with you, making it quite clear that he wanted something from you, and when he kissed you for the first time, feeling it in his bones that he got you, he finally told you the truth. 

“There’s something you should know,” he told you softly with his hand resting on your cheek. “I’ve been in a relationship for a good… three years now, but me and my partner are looking for someone to play with, someone who would be willing to be a part of our little secret.”

“Why do you keep it a secret?” you asked him, flashing a curious look at him. 

Charles let out a long sigh as he thought about what to say to that. “We are trying to avoid a scandal.”

“So it’s someone people know. Hmm… If I was held at gunpoint and they told me to name one person you might be in a controversial relationship with, my first guess would be Max, but–” When you came to a sudden halt, he knew his expression gave away his surprise that you figured it out on your own. Well, he wasn’t that good at keeping a poker face after all. “No way,” you said slowly, your voice suddenly dropping. 

He smiled at you after shaking off the bad feeling he had. You wouldn’t rat them out, he could tell, but now he was worried you would say no and it would change the way you work together. “Now you know, but please, this has to stay between us.”

You nodded your head a few times. “Sure, I won’t tell a soul.” There was a short pause, but then you looked back at him and said, “So how long have you been looking for a third member for this relationship?”

“We weren’t actively searching. When I met you, I found you attractive, then I got to know you better and realized I like your personality too. Max heard a lot of stories about you, and he was also attracted, so we just came to the rational conclusion that we would love to have you,” he explained. 

You agreed pretty easily. Sure, you did point out that it was only a pilot period, you wanted to see if this could even work, but that was more than enough for Charles. And soon enough you fell in love with them the same way they fell in love with you, and being together in this relationship became the new normal for you.

During race weekends the two of you could spend a lot more time together, easily slipping into his driver’s room to have some fun, but times like this you usually put extra effort into showing Max how much you loved him when you got him in your company again.

Charles was in an extremely good mood in the evening, and when Max finally arrived, he was immediately pulled into a hungry kiss, his back pressed against the now closed door. “Good drive today, pretty boy,” the Dutchman praised him as he placed kisses along his jawline. “Wish we could talk a little more.”

“We can talk now,” he said before letting out a short laugh and slipping out of his grasp to move towards the kitchen. 

Max shook his head with a smile as he glanced into the living room. “Where’s our princess?” he asked with a confused look as he followed the other man.

“Left to take care of something. Actually, it’s good that she’s not here, because I need to talk to you,” Charles said as he passed his boyfriend a glass of soda, who seemed much more interested in what he was about to hear. Rolling his eyes, Charles reached out to take his hand. “Hey, don’t give me that look, I’m not planning to break up with you. I was thinking about why she wanted to go on a date. Do you think she wants to leave us?”

“No, I don’t think so. But… I don’t know, I once overheard a conversation she had with a friend or relative, and she was trying to explain to them why she hasn’t been in a relationship for a while,” he admitted. 

As he sat on a barstool, Charles let out a thoughtful hum. “It’s a good thing you mentioned this, because my idea could actually help this issue,” he began, earning a questioning look. “Maybe it’s time to make things official for our sake.” Max shook his head, but before he could say anything, he went on. “Not us, dummy. I know we agreed to keep it a secret for a few more years. I’m talking about you and her. Just hear me out. I can be seen in her company because she’s my race engineer and we’re friends as far as people know. But you? You’re on a different team, people think we don’t like each other. So if she was dating you, you wouldn’t have to feel left out even on race weekends, and I could jump over to meet her, even if she’s with you.”

With a thoughtful hum, Max rested his forearms on the kitchen island. “That’s… actually… not a bad idea,” he said slowly. “Have you told her about this?”

“No, not yet. I was waiting for you,” came the response. 

Nodding, he moved to stand behind him and wrapped his arms around his body. “Are you sure about this?” Charles let out a confirming hum in response. “Well, if she’s on board, I say let’s do this,” he replied before placing a soft kiss on his cheek.

Max woke up to the sound of you vomiting in the bathroom. He quickly jumped out of bed to see what was up with you, and when he opened the door, he saw you sitting on the floor with tears in your eyes. With a worried look, he kneeled next to you and kissed the top of your head. “Stomach flu?” he asked you softly. But you shook your head at this, carefully avoiding his gaze. “Tell me, what’s wrong? You’re hiding something.”

“What’s going on?” came Charles’s groggy voice from the door. When Max looked over at him, he saw the way he was rubbing his eyes, but then he focused on the two of you on the floor and quickly woke up. “You okay?”

You groaned, then flushed the toilet and went to the sink to wash your face. “I’m fine,” you replied defensively. 

“What are you hiding from us?” Max pressed on, knowing you well enough to sense there was more to the story. 

A minute or two passed in tense silence while they waited for you to finally speak up. Charles moved to be by your side as support, but he was stopped right away. He meant well, but this wasn’t the time to play nice. Max wanted answers, and if he had to be harsh to get them, he was willing to do it. And his strategy worked, because you finally took a deep breath and turned around to rest your hips against the sink. 

Your eyes moved back and forth between the two of them as you said, “I’m pregnant.”

Charles gasped next to him, barely able to hide his bright smile, but Max was hesitant. You had been with them for almost a year, and you had been publicly dating him for a while too, but this? This he wasn’t expecting. It’s not that he wasn’t happy, because he was. But you looked scared and maybe even ashamed, and this was killing him. So he quickly rushed over to you to cup your face with a smile on his face. 

“Are you sure?” When you nodded, he kissed your forehead. “I love you, sweet girl.”

“You’re gonna be a great mom,” Charles added as he joined you and put his arms on your shoulders. “So… I’m gonna ask. Who’s the father?” he wondered out loud with raised eyebrows. 

Shrugging, you looked down at your hands. “I don’t know. I’m on the pill, but both of you doofuses tend to forget to use a goddamn condom, so it could be either of you,” you mumbled. 

Max looked over at his boyfriend as he bit on his lower lip, feeling guilty since they had agreed at the beginning not to do this. But based on the look on Charles’s face, he wasn’t the only one thinking about this. Of course, this was nothing new for the two of them, they had discussed their preference to fuck you raw countless times, but they never explicitly told you about this. But you weren’t stupid, you just probably loved them enough to let them do what they wanted as long as you all tested yourselves on a regular basis. 

“Are you mad at us?” Charles asked cautiously, but you just shook your head. “Then what’s wrong? I can see there’s something else you’re not telling us.”

“That’s not how you wanted to become parents,” you eventually told them. 

The sentence made Max’s heart clench, and he could tell Charles felt just the same based on the look they exchanged. They had told you about their plan to one day either use a surrogate mother or adopt a child depending on how things stood in their lives. Adoption seemed to be the winning option at the time as they couldn’t decide whose biological child should it be if they chose the surrogacy option. 

But things had changed since then, a lot of things happened and their feelings also changed. Once the Monegasque nodded, Max took a deep breath and prepared to tell you what they were both thinking about at the moment. 

“We love you. Yes, we did have different options in our heads at the time we talked about this, but now you fully belong to us. Our gorgeous and smart girlfriend is pregnant from one of us,” he said with a smile as he tipped your head to make you look at him. “It’s so much better than anything we could dream of. You should be happy now. We’re here, we love you, we’re going to support you the whole time.”

On his side, Charles let out a quiet chuckle, then kissed your temple. “You’re not getting rid of us, baby, don’t even think about it.”

note2: I just wanted a little glimpse into their lives. I don't know if I should write more about them, little snippets or text or idk.

[rubiehart]

JJ and reader sneak away on the island of Poguelandia to get some… “alone time” iykwim

when obx3 first came out this was like my main scenario to sleep lol.. i love u nonnie

all the pogues sit around the makeshift fire, faces illuminated and cheeks blushed from the heat, listening to cleo’s bizarre stories from before she fell in with all of you, but you’re not really listening.

you adjust yourself on the log you’d used for seating, digging your toes into the sun warmed sand as you eyes jj across the flames, he was focused on cooking whatever he’d caught that day, the only thing you were focused on was the way his biceps flexed, deep blues occasionally flitting over and meeting your own eyes before correcting himself when he realised he’d been caught, smirk playing on his lips.

you’d had this arrangement far before this misfortune, stranded on an abandoned island in the middle of nowhere. you’d sit on his work bench, watching him fix up his bike, popsicle slotted between your lips as you watched him. before he’d had enough for your teasing and bent you over the warm metal, denim shorts pulled down to your knees as he pounded into you.

but something had changed ever since you landed on the island, he was so much softer, kinder, a lot less demanding when he’d fuck you. he really took his time with you when he could, he’d make you feel so good, it didn’t happen as much as it used to back home, so you’d learned to appreciate it a lot more when it did.

you clinged onto his tan shoulders, outgrown fingernails digging into the muscle as he finger fucked you behind a tree, the squelch of your wet cunt the only sound heard as he clamped a ringed hand over your mouth, willing you to be quiet with praise as he hit that spot over and over again. his jaw clenched as he kept half on eye on pope and cleo not too far away collecting fruits for your breakfast, fixing you up and giving you a quick peck before sending you off back to the group, strolling back a few after you like nothing had happened.

that was last week, and he hadn’t even touched you since. to say you were desperate was an understatement. sure, the island was desolate but that didn’t mean it was big, and sneaking away to fuck yourself and risk getting caught wasn’t something you wanted to do. so you thought eye fucking was enough of a hint for him, spoiler, it wasn’t.

he kept you on the edge of your seat all night, he knew what he was doing and he loved the power. concealing his grin when he caught you discretely rub your thighs together whenever you’d look a him.

you got what you wanted soon enough, when everyone was pretty much knocked out on their makeshift leaf mattresses, stepping over john b cautiously as you made your way up the sandy bank where you knew he would be.

you were finally at peace when he had you splayed out against a large tree, legs spread around his his head, his matted blonde tresses tickling your inner thighs as he devoured you like a starved man. his cocky persona dropped as he practically begged for you, even though he already had you in your head.

“wanted to taste this fuckin’ pussy all day.” he mutters, tongue dipping into your clenching hole as he brings two fingers up to steadily rub at your clit, your back arching beautifully against the rough bark of the tree, hand forcefully gripping his hair and keeping him right where you wanted him.

“strutting around in that little top, you dunno’ what you do to me, infront of all our fuckin’ friends.” he admits, skilled fingers punching your g-spot, a loud moan leaving your lips as your climax approached, immediately recoiling back into yourself as the sound echoes over the extensive ocean surrounding you, hoping your friends didn’t hear.

jj sensed your sudden shyness and tapped your thigh, one hand shaking up to grasp at your boob, calloused thumb teasing your nipple as he circles your throbbing but with his tongue. “nah- let it all out, wanna hear how good i make you feel.”

“yeah- gooooood girl. you got it.”

[jeoncopi]

• — freedom overseas — •

GET INTO IT: feeling carefree each time he traveled shouldn’t be different for jungkook. as much as he wishes to feel like this back home, he can’t help but restrict himself at all times. - one thing about you working abroad and his schedules matching your timezones (better when it hits same destination), he could only wish and live for the best. ‘cause that’s exactly what he’ll get.

pairing: jungkook x reader.

word count: 3.4k

be aware of: graphic smut and unprotected sex (be always safe). reader can’t resist jk, car sex, jungkook smokes here so uhm.. y-yeah..

author’s note: since this is supposed to be a drabble (lol). hopefully my next work will end up being with more than 2k (lol) kisses and let me know what you think 😇. istg this story changed 2837 times hajaja

when you step outside the restaurant walking towards jungkook who’s smoking, footsteps froze at the sudden image.

he smokes? since.. when?

bewildered, you blink twice as your eyes carefully watch him take another hit of the small nicotine. this is definitely a whole new side of him you didn’t know about.. completely new, but it got you confused. you’re not crazy to remember him talking about his hate for cigarettes because of how much his dad used to do it back when he was little.. right? like that wasn’t a dream. you’re pretty sure he has expressed his disgust to you. almost agreeing with you.

sigh..

the more you look at him as you approach him feels like you can’t even get mad at him.

..why? well.. pinocchio wouldn’t be proud of you if you say he didn’t looked hot doing it.

ugh! what are these thoughts!

you definitely despise the smell of cigarettes! you even hate the sight of it, but why does he gives you quite the view? - you blame it on the way he carries himself with so much confidence yet— is so unbothered when he opens his mouth talking with your friends. his outfit too and how an all black combo always look so good on him.. but then, the simplest thing as him holding that tiny folded paper around his pointy and middle finger touching in between his soft and natural pink lips with a very boyish smile almost made you feel like having a lucid dream. why? because.. well, you were definely wet now.

what..? no!

yes, you are. you could feel it now. if only he could feel it through your panties..

mm.. no!!

mm.. yes!! you hated daydreaming fantasies with him like this but your body and mind could be very uncontrollable sometimes. feeling a single drop down your panties.. what can you do now? aren’t you supposed to hate this? you do! but why is your body reacting this way? it’s not wrong but it isn’t entirely right either considering you don’t like cigarettes.

deciding to ignore all the carnal thoughts running through your mind, you keep walking straight to him. as sticky and annoying as it feels.

“so.. is this your way of getting fresh air?” you start as soon as your friends started parting ways. tone rather calm compared to the troubled mindset you had a few seconds ago.

startling him, softly so. “ah.. ha. this.” he responds. eyes blinking on beat as soon as he grins. you watch carefully as his hand shakes the little tobacco rolled paper.

“yeah.. this.” shyly pointing at it, “how long has this being going on?” voice still calm, you didn’t put too much effort in questioning him. it’s his body at the end of the day and you know just how stubborn your boyfriend can get.

“mm..” smoke exhaling from his mouth and he’s mindfully careful when he does it tilting his head up for the smoke to follow that direction and not be even near close your entire face. “not long ago, actually. taehyung once brought this one vaper and i was curious by its smell each time he used it, so I bought one. strawberry ice cream, to be clear,” he laughed, you do too. “it was weird but I liked it.”

“hm..” slowly crossing your arms around your body you lean against his car in thought. not breaking eye contact even a second, jungkook could feel it. “what made you change your mind? m’not gonna lie. I’m surprised. I remember you once saying you hated it.”

and it’s like your gaze is looking for answers and jungkook can clearly see that. knows you too much. thinks it’s so cute too. the way your curiosity rises each time he takes another hit, he can trust your mind being full of unanswered questions for him. he knows what you mean as well as knowing how much you don’t like it either. but the fact that you aren’t mentioning none of it to him it just makes him look at you with nothing more but warm eyes. thinking he loves you too much.

“so do you.” he states by wanting to make that clear. so you know that he knows. so you know that he won’t and isn’t getting crazy about it, that he’s aware. but you could only understand that if he really explained why.

so that’s what he does.

“remember that day when I texted you about living one life?” you nod. “well, I decided to just give it a try. I want to try everything that I can when it comes to things that I want. be it temporally or not. during my whole life.. as long as I live, there’s probably not gonna be a second chance right?”

“right.”

“at least not in this body,” and he’s so soft spoken that when he shakes once more what’s left of the cigarette’s butt before taking his last hit, the sound of a familiar plastic sound resonates through your ears and that’s when you see him pull two tiny tabs of what seems to be gum off his pocket. and you can’t believe he just did that. suddenly the image you were seeing right now, not matching with his current actions. so you can’t help but give a small smile as soon as he handles one tab for you to take with his pretty big eyes.

he continues, “even though it damages my body a little, there’s a balance thing called in life. i’m not getting addicted and I don’t do it excessively-“

“I was worrying about that, actually..” you voice out, interrupting him. “you tend to get obsessive over things.”

it makes him smile, softly. “I know. but I won’t, I promise. you know my thing is drinking alcohol anyways.. even though that isn’t entirely good either..” making you laugh in unison as you lightly punch him.

“at least you’re aware.”

“hey!” he hugs you side ways. “candy isn’t so much good for your health either..” walking towards the side of his car so you can go.

“but i’m not obsessed.” you huff about it.

“could be. you do get a bit obsessive.” bopping your nose.

“stop!”

making him laugh, “okay.. hop on.”

“I hate you.”

“show me how much.” and.. he closes the door with the biggest playful smile.

oh.. no, not again.

and there you are, left with a big hysterical smile plastered on your lips as you try to breath in, breath out the sudden rush of your body. — come on! it’s not as if you weren’t fucking wet a few minutes ago as soon as you saw him do the things you hated the most.. right? ..you totally got this..

but who.. who were you lying to? it’s not like you could control your body when you haven’t seen him in weeks anyways..

yeah.. you were a mess.

still, you tried to play it cool. “are we heading back towards the hotel, right?” genuily asking.

he responds as soon as he closes his door. “yeah, why?” staring at you now. “wanna go somewhere else?” one palm touching your bare thigh when he asks.. you know there’s nothing wrong with it, and it should be normal at this point of your relationship too, but your hormones were getting the best of you so you just play it off, gently pulling his hand away as much as you didn’t wanted to. deep inside.

“not actually, was just asking.” it’s the truth, but jungkook only squinted his eyes before resting an arm on top of the handbrake, his face’s closer to yours. not enough for you to loose your sanity but close enough into getting a whiff of his rich cloudy scent. although, you can’t deny how fine he looked staring at you like that, his eyes always seemed to shine no matter the situation. only that this time around, everything you could sense from it was nothing more than desire flaming throughout his dark orbits.

“you know we can go wherever you want, right?” staying like that for a couple of seconds, all you can answer is a slight nervous “I know.” and jungkook can sense your sudden shyness. thinking is cute but this could only go one way or the other.. if you both play your cards right.

staring at you for a couple of seconds, jungkook’s piercing gaze switch between your lips along with your boobs and neck before getting ready to turn on the car.. making you exhale a little air after, as if you didn’t know you were holding your breath.

“originally, I wanted to get back so I could brush my teeth or something to be honest.” talking about smoking. “I’m not much of a fan of the aftertaste,” he laughs. “but if you want to go somewhere else,” a hand slides through your thigh.. again. only this time, he squeezes it two times. “I’m down for it too.”

one hand on the steering wheel, another one on your thigh.. it’s moments like these when you question if he knows how effortlessly irresistible he is.. sure, it might be something simple. he’s not doing much either. is just that his side profile and the way his hair lingers in his face and overall the way he’s shaped and how you can literally see the bump of his chest pop for how much he works out mark through his shirt that it makes you want to trace his pectorals with your fingers forever makes you want to eat him and that’s it but.. uh, isn’t that the definition of being so stupidly effortlessly hot?

when you softly press both your legs together, his hand seems to scalate close to your inner thigh..

oh jungkook.. perhaps, are you having the same thoughts as me?

still, you try your best to ignore it. “ah.. so that’s why you have gum with you, isn’t it?”

“caught.” rising both hands up as played guilty.

and as you stare at him.. you notice once again, he looked fine. your legs squeeze and you slightly arch your back when your gaze is back on the street still trying to ignore the finest hottie beside you. - jungkook, on the other hand, just smiles to himself and starts driving. you can’t help but give little sneak peeks at the way he gently but confidently grasps the wheel with one hand.. as soon as the other one approaches your thigh once again.. - he always did this but you were uncontrollable tonight. can’t help but immediately give him those eyes as soon as he reaches your beloved red light.

you swore going back to the hotel wasn’t the main priority. you wanted him now. - so slowly tilting your head to the side, your voice is airy when “babe..”

“mmh?”

and that’s when he sees you. you don’t say a word but he already knows what’s that thing you’re craving the most, and that thing it’s him. he doesn’t speak either. just staring at you under the red light, his hand traces a path towards your slowly opening legs. when you bite your lips into a smirk, his fingers are already pushing your panties to the side. confirming his most prominent thought. you’re wet as fuck.

“were you waiting for this?” eyes gazing up and down your body, his voice is cheeky when he asks. biting down both of his lip rings. “fuck. just how long were you this turned on?” playing with your clit “and why didn’t you told me..” as your body twitches. “it makes me crazy..” whispering more to himself.

—

when you’re gripping the head of his seat increasing the pressure between your arms so you could balance your jumps more deeper and precisely above him, he feels like he could cum in any moment. controlling his breathing, he tries to concentrate in order not to but the way your breast bounce and how you manage to leave quick steamy kisses over his neck makes it so hard. mostly when he has this desire to kiss all over your chest and suck on your titties. but his hands are also gripping so hard at the side of the seat, he barely touches your legs and he feels like a teenager are over again.

the fuck is this coming from him not wanting to last? he blames it on the long time you haven’t seen each other. 3 weeks exactly without your kisses and physical touch.. when he remember fucking almost (if not) everyday when you stayed at his house or he stayed at yours. - there’s always this deep desire whenever you’re close to each other, jungkook doesn’t think it will ever go away and to be honest he doesn’t even want it to ever disappear. always thinking about if it’s you, then everything will be okay.

but as you’re both very into it, something similar like a flash, lights up a little the dark street jungkook managed to set you up. - you both ignore it at first but after two more times, you stop bouncing hard on him switching to slow circular movements that still makes jungkook bite his lips for how good you feel.

“don’t stop.” he’s confident, palming your ass.

“I think there’s someone watching us.”

“I’ve notice too.”

but you both end up stopping your movements regardless.

quickly looking around, the flashes has seemed to be gone but as you keep searching for someone, jungkook just stares at you only to caught your attention back by squeezing your ass two times. making your eyes meet as he mischievously smirks.

“I couldn’t care less from last time, you know it.” sensually kissing your lips. he’s provoking you all over again.. “let them have a show. it’s what they want.”

and you know he’s referring to that one time you both fucked on a balcony being overseas too. - paparazzis had caught you fucking and while you were worried about him getting bashed for it (for the blurry clips that spreaded back then), he ended up being so calm about it to the point of fighting with his company saying he shouldn’t feel guilty for wanting to fuck his girlfriend. - and while he understands the depth of why they asked him to be careful, he still thinks it’s just bullshit and that the people who love him for him, will just accept and be happy that he’s happy experiencing what every normal person does. so why everybody can be happy but him? he’s just the same human with needs and desires..

“but this isn’t-“

“stop worrying about me. I know you can’t help it, so let me just say there’s nothing wrong with us wanting to fuck.. I bet they’ve their own experience so why can’t we have ours?”

when you hold his face, you know what he means. knowing how hard it is for him to tell you to stop worrying about it since he once told you he couldn’t just tell that to you because it make him feel careless about your feelings, but you do really get him this time..

when it comes from his personality, a part of you loved that. love that he doesn’t care, love that he always chooses his happiness because at the end of the day he knows he might only have this one life. and even if he don’t, he still wants to enjoy it at his best and that’s why when he motions your hips to move by gripping the side of your waist, both of your bodies stick so close to each other that the image of him biting his lips as he contemplates your body makes you not want to regret this and so you don’t. realizing you’ll only have this from time to time.

“fuck this.” you moan to his ear when jungkook kisses are needy and steamy, confirming just how badly he wanted to try this.

talking about it it’s something but actually experience this feeling of sex in such a limited place (even when this car is very spacious) was really hot and adrenaline reaching. windows foggy and all, it almost feel like a movie. you believe that at this rate it’s even difficult to look at inside the car so if those strangers were really filming or whatever, they’re footage will be already ruined.

you smiled a little because of that. but it didn’t lasted long when you suddenly feel both of jungkook’s hands around your hips manhandling the way you were going to start bouncing on him.

“let them see if they’re so interested in me. I couldn’t care less.” he just doesn’t give a single fuck right now and that only makes you want him more.

see, whenever he’s on his ‘I don’t give a fuck’ moment.. you believe that’s when he’s the most sexiest and dangerous. - maybe you were too into him but each time he showed this side of himself.. you can’t help but love it and be turned on for it at the same time.

—

while he treats you like his personal fucktoy, he does gives you times were you could move at you own pace. but the sounds and the way he touched you were making it hard for you so there’s nothing left when you say, “I- I want to cum.” with such a tiny desperate voice, it makes jungkook grin.

“do it.” voice tender compare with his hot-messy image. “mm, i’ll cum too if you do.” moaning afterwards.

and the good thing is that he really can make himself cum once you do. all he has to do is concentrate in the way your walls contracts into him as if they were gonna swallow, he loves it each time. say it feels too rich, too tight for him to handle. - so when you’re both done, after driving for a while, you don’t see more cars trying to follow you.

“gonna sleep so well tonight, i’m so fucking happyyy” he singsongs as soon as he lays in bed, pulling you into his chest for a hug. “no more nightmares,” he kisses your forehead. “my princess is here.”

smiling to himself, you feel so shy and loved at the same time. gently kissing his lips. “I can say the same.” lovey-dovey eyes looking at him.

he caresses your hair. ”my pretty little princess.”

you smile. “I hope you don’t go hard on yourself.” saying after knowing what’s coming if there really was someone witnessing what happened earlier.

“don’t worry.” softly smiling, “I told you I didn’t cared, didn’t I?” caressing one of your cheeks.

“hm. but still.”

it makes him look at you with warms eyes. “keep being cute. i’m grateful that you worry this much about me..”

“don’t tease me.”

“I’m not teasing you. it’s the truth.” pause. “I just love how caring you are because that means you really must love me..” tone serious.

“of course I do, silly!” you tease him, making him laugh.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“let’s sleep now. we’ve so much things to do..”

“..and so much little time..” you follow.

“I know.” he sighs. “but we can make it.”

“we always do.” you proudly smile, he does too.

“I love us so much.” he says once again.

you laugh. “okay, let’s sleep sentimental boy.”

“you love me this way.”

“you know I do.”

and after teasing each other for a while, you both end up falling into your sleep for a brand new, busy and maybe more exciting day..

[enwoso]

SUNSHINE — alessia russo x child!reader

*same universe as grumpy. i’ve had a lot of requests asking for more of grumpy so here’s another little one!”

grumpy masterlist

alessia’s day started in a way she was not expecting or wanting and a lot earlier than she would have liked.

"mummy, mummy, wake up!" you shouted jumping on top of the blonde, as alessia lay still asleep. groaning at the sudden weight falling on top of her, rubbing her eyes before opening them to see you sat beaming with a big smile on your face.

"what are you doing up so early, lovie?" she asked, the room still being dark was a clear indication it was early as she rolled over to check the time on her phone. 6:44am was the time it displayed. "it's game day!" you cheered.

since arriving at camp, you had been really excited for the game against sweden. alessia was unsure of why you were but nevertheless she didn't want to dampen your enthusiasm, so she let you be excited. she much rather deal with you being overly excited then sit grumpy all day like a moody teenager.

"lovie, it's still early. why don't you go back to sleep for a few then we can go get breakfast when everyone else wakes up." alessia suggested not really asking more hoping that you would as the last thing she wanted was to be up all day.

your smile dipped a little, "why? me not tired anymore" you spoke quietly playing with the label on your blankie.

"c'mere" your mummy cooed, pulling you into her embrace and under her covers as you snuggled into her as she began to draw tiny little circles on your back. knowing that it wouldn't be long until hopefully you were back asleep.

after wiggling around a few times, you finally settled as alessia relaxed back into the sheets of her bed hearing your breathing begin to get heavier as you fell back asleep. alessia sighing as she knew this was going to be a long day.

after a long morning of you being overly excited and a small tantrum because you had decided to get yourself ready, an england shirt and shorts with your crocs, now alessia wouldn't of minded that outfit if you were on holiday or it was actually hot but it was the middle of end of march and still very cold in england.

however you had demanded that you were a 'big girl who can dress themselves' alessia finally had won the small battle of getting you to change the shorts by telling you that you could change into them later knowing you would most likely forget and alessia would save herself from you catching a cold. it was the small win, but a win nevertheless!

you were now about half the way to wembley on the bus and you had spent most the time watching your ipad much to your mums surprise as she thought you would get bored of watching it after a while.

you'd had a few little fusses and your mum had solved this by letting you out of your seat and giving you a few seconds to wander the isle of the bus which is exactly what you were doing now by chatting beth and mary's ears off about the film you were watching.

"and she becomes a ballerina" you told to two as they both nodded along as you told the story of the film, "mummy says i can start dance lessons!" you smile getting sidetracked as the two gasp as you look at the two with a frown.

"what?" you ask innocently your head cocking to the side slighting in confusion as the two look at each other shaking their heads.

"i'll pretend i didn't hear that!" mary whispers but still loud enough that both you and beth hear her as beth hums in agreement as your eye brows furrow further.

"that i'm starting dance lessons?" you ask a small smile appearing on your face at the thought of joining them it being something you had been asking your mummy about for a few days now.

"i thought you were joining the local football team" beth asks as you shake your head, "no, dancing!" you argued back.

the two older women turn to your mummy, "less! is she actually joining dancing?" mary asks as alessia looks around to see where the sound of her name was coming from before her gaze landed on mary and beth’s head peering over the seats on the bus.

alessia nodded, "after this camp yeah, don't worry it won't last long. it was gymnastics last month" your mummy told the two, saying the last part a little quieter.

it was true, you had begged alessia to let you do gymnastics for three weeks straight and when she finally took you to a session you told her after when she asked you if you enjoyed it that you didn't want to go back because turning upside down made you tummy feel weird.

"well let's just hope she hasn't inherited your two left feet then!" mary joked, looking to you who had returned to your seat next to alessia, as the blonde rolled her eyes at the goal keepers comment knowing she couldn’t exactly argue with the statement.

as the bus pulled into wembley, your excitement levels hit another level, your mummy carrying you into the stadium a huge grin on your face you it was getting more and more closer to the start.

“mummy look there’s stina!” you pointed to the swede as she waved to you before heading to the changing room with her team. “yeah lovie she’s playing with sweden today, cause that’s where she was born!” your mummy explained as you nodded slightly.

“so like i was born in england and im english that makes stina swedenish?” you asked as mummy looks as you with a small smile, “close lovie, stina is swedish” she corrected you as you nodded before feeling someone tap you on the shoulder seeing millie and ella behind you.

“hey!” you frowned, crossing your arms over your chest - well trying to. “hey!” millie mocked you with a grin on her face as your frown deepened.

“oh don’t be all grumpy again, you’ve been little miss sunshine all day” ella commented as she poked at your side as the four of you got closer to the changing room.

“anyways who’s names on the back of ‘ere then?” ella asked pinching your england too you were wearing as alessia placed you down having reached the changing room, moving your coat to your shoulders to show ella, who sat on the bench letting your mummy begin to get ready for the match.

“my name!” you beamed as your back had ‘russo’ displayed on your back but instead of the number 23 you had four, for your age.

“i thought your name was y/n, not russo!” ella joked knowing what you meant but wanted to create a little joke to keep you entertained for a few moments to allow alessia to at least begin to get ready for the warm up.

“it is! russo my last name, like mummy silly!” you corrected ella, shaking your head as the brunette smiled.

“of course, silly me!” ella laughed as you did with her.

alessia had managed to get ready for the warm up as you sat playing with a small ball you had found back at the hotel and being with you, ella had given you a mission to try and see how many people you could nutmeg in the changing room, promising you a prize if you got a few people.

“gotcha!” you beamed, giggling a little as you rolled the ball through grace’s legs. hearing her gasp seeing the ball go through her legs making you giggle more.

“you little troublemaker!” she whispered with a smile, picking up your ball handing it back to you. “you’ve declared war now tiny!” she narrowed her eyes as you took your ball back looking for your next victim.

managing to get a few more people, including lotte, georgia and chloe before you heard mummy shouting your name.

“y/n!” mummy called you over as you ran back to her, as she sat you down on the bench in front of her. beginning the usual routine of telling you that you had to be on your best behaviour sitting on the bench, and to tell whoever you were sat with if you needed anything. you always sitting still, nodding you head along to each thing your mummy said.

"and remember you must stay with leah, okay?" your mummy reminded you, as kneeled down to your small height as she tugged your coat back onto your shoulder before finding the bottom of it and zipping it back up, to ensure that you didn't get cold while sitting in the dugout.

"yes mummy" you beamed, looking around the changing room as the rest of the girls were beginning to get ready to walk out. "are you gonna score today?" you asked, as alessia laughed a little.

"i will for you" the blonde smiled, as you cheered a little before embracing your small frame in a hug as she kissed your cheek. "good luck mummy!" you smiled, the blonde smiling too as you both pulled away from the hug.

"off you go, look, leah's waiting for you!" alessia pointed over to where leah was, standing in the doorway of the changing room. "bye!" you sung out, blowing kisses to your mum until you got to leah who scooped you up and walked you to the dug out.

you watched as your mummy walked out with the rest of the girls cheering your mummy's name as she waved at you at the end of the anthem singing, blowing you a quick kiss before she ran to her starting place on the pitch. you stood tall on the dugout seat. leah holding onto you to make sure you didn't fall.

the sound of the whistle went and leah helped you to sit back down in your seat wrapping a blanket around your legs to stop the cold london air getting to you as you helped to cheer them on.

you were no stranger to sitting with leah on the bench or in the stand when your mummy played for arsenal, the defender often watching you while your mummy played as when was not allowed to play because of a big ouchie on her knee.

you had helped leah making her knee better by putting a peppa plaster on it one day, the blonde admitting it had made it feel a lot better leaving you feeling very accomplished.

but one thing leah did like to do while the girls were playing was talk, she often helped you understand what was going on. but sometimes the blonde would begin to ramble and start with some really technical words and you think she would sometimes forget your only four and didn’t have a clue what she meant.

she often said that some of the front line, like the likes of hempo were a fox in the box but you didn’t know what she meant by that because there isn’t a fox even there nor a box which would leave you confused but you didn’t want to upset your auntie leah by not knowing what she meant as mummy had told you it not kind to upset people so you let her ramble on.

you knew that if the team your mummy was on was scoring then that was good thing and that was good enough for you.

“pass it g, that’s it! keep pushing forwards!” leah was mumbling to herself as the girls pushed towards the sweden goal, it landing in alessia’s feet as she smashed it into the back of the net not without falling on the ground.

you watched intensively your fingers in your mouth, along with leah as you were sat on her lap as she shot up with you in your arms, the two of you cheering for your mummy.

the rest of the game went a little boring for you, no team scored anymore after sweden equalised and your mummy came to sit on the bench with you during the second half of the game and before you knew it you were finally aloud on the pitch.

as mummy and her teammates walked around waving to the stranger in the stands, you running along side with your little ball again trying to see if you could nutmeg anymore people before trying to beat mary and get the ball into the back of the net.

“watch me gee, mummy” you yell, as they stop their walking around the pitch to watch you. you line up the ball and step back and run and kick it as mary moves the opposite way to the ball is going as you cheer and run to where your mum and gee were standing copying the same jump and first bump in the air that your mummy always does when she scores.

“did you see that mummy? gee?” you ask as you run up to them, your mum picking you up in the arm to two beaming with smiles and excitement just as you were.

“that was amazing tiny!” georgia cheers, holding her hand up for you to high five as you did slapping georgia’s hand.

“your getting so good at scoring lovie” your mummy complimented, kissing your forehead as you saw mary jogging over to the three of you. “that was a perfect goal tiny!” mary said ruffling your hair as you gave her a stern look resting your head on your mummy’s shoulder.

“see that was so much cooler than doing a dance lesson!” mary smiled as alessia looked over shaking her head at the goalkeeper a small laugh coming from georgia.

“mary! i’m trying to encourage her to try new things!” alessia scolded as mary shrugged her shoulders as the four of you walked back to their others.

the three began to talk but all you could heard was boring adult talk as your eyes were beginning to feel tired probably from all the running around you had done. having your blankie snuggled up to you, before alessia got to the tunnel you were asleep.

the blonde picking up your little backpack in her hand, as she walked down the tunnel with beth. “is that her down for the count?” beth asked as alessia nodded moving the hairs from your face to behind your ear.

“yep, it’s hard work being four and being and sensational footballer and dancer at the same time!” alessia joked shoving beth a little who rolled her eyes at the comment mumbling something about how you would learn to love football just like your mum.

“oh how i dread to imagine!”

[puckinghischier]

hi there, English is not my first language but I hope you will understand me.I have a request for a nico one shot about reader being in a friend group and slowly getting left out and eventually getting replaced. at first she didn't tell nico bc she didn't want hit to worry but neeks slowly noticing a slight change in a reader behavior and ask reader what's wrong. at first reader don't want to talk about it but at the end the whole bubble breaks and reader is sobbing and crying in Nico's arms. I hope you understand what I mean.Btw i LOVE all your fanfics, I hope it's not too long, thank you in advance ❤️❤️

he had noticed the slight shift in your routine. suddenly you were home more, a little clingier, asking if you could tag along with him and the guys more often. none of which mattered to him. if anything, nico loved the extra time spent with you. but you just seemed…sad.

he realized you hadn’t mentioned any plans with your friends recently, at first just chalking it up to him being on a stretch of home games and you wanting to spend your time with him before he had to leave again. but when he was on the road for the better part of a week, and you were home, in your pjs every night he called you, he knew something was up.

“schatz, can i ask you a question?” nico asked you after dinner one night, having sensed your overall demeanor was off all day.

“sure, you know you can always ask me stuff,” you turn to face him, leaning into the plush couch.

he thinks about how to word his question without sounding accusatory or like doesn’t enjoy the increased time together. “well…i’ve just noticed, you’ve been home a lot more lately and i haven’t heard you talk about the girls much recently. is there a reason? or are you just so obsessed with me you can’t bear to be apart,” he tries to add humor to offset the serious connotation of the sentence.

your body goes rigid, surprising him. you won’t meet his eyes, your hands coming together to pick at your fingernails. he watches the tears prick at your eyes, alarm bells going off in his head.

“i-, no, it’s nothing. just, no plans lately,” you say, voice strained, still not meeting his eyes.

he watches your lip tremble, knowing there’s more to the story, but not knowing if he should push the issue or accept the answer. he brings a hand over to rest on your knee, rubbing his thumb back and forth in a soothing motion.

“okay, i was just curious. didn’t know if something had happened or if you just wanted more nico time,” he chuckles, trying to relieve some of the sudden tension, no humor found in the situation.

his attempts were futile, because the second the words left his mouth you broke down, falling forward into his arms. he held you as you sobbed on his shoulder, slightly shocked at the sudden outburst of emotions.

“hey, shhh. it’s okay, sweet girl. i’ve got you, okay? i love you,” he tried to reassure you, lifting you to fully sit on his lap. he let you purge whatever emotions needed to be let out, not pulling back from the tight embrace until you did.

he’s met with your puffy, red eyes. he can feel the wet spot on his shoulder, but ignoring anything that isn’t you. brining his hands up, he wipes away the wetness on your face, squishing your face together while pulling it forward slightly, giving you a salty kiss.

“you know i love you, right?” he asks you as he pulls back from the kiss, earning a small nod of your head.

“i love you too,” you rasp out, bringing your own hands up to run down your face, wiping your own tears. “sorry about all that i just…been holding that in for awhile.”

nico removes some hair that was sticking to your cheek, shaking his head. “what’s going on, sweetheart?”

you take a deep breath, suddenly embarrassed. “it’s stupid, really. i mean, i’m a grown woman, i shouldn’t be upset over something so trivial,” you start, a humorless laugh escaping you.

“no, we’re not doing that. if it’s making you feel like this it’s important, it doesn’t matter what it is,” nico responds, slightly scolding you. “just tell me, maybe i can help.”

you smile at his words, heart swelling with love for the man in front of you. “well…basically i don’t think i have friends any more? i mean, i don’t know. for the past few weeks i quit getting invites. i thought at first maybe it was a lull in plans with the whole group, but when i saw them posting they were out for drinks one night and i checked the group chat to see that the group chat…didn’t exist anymore, i realized what was happening,” you start, shrugging.

“i messaged each of the girls individually, but no one responded. then it turned into taking digs at me in their captions on their pictures from dinners, nights out, events i was never invited to. no one ever told me why. or if i did something. one night we were at the bar grabbing dinner and drinks while you were on the road and the next, i was booted from the group chat and never to be spoken to again,” you tell him, knowing it’s all over the place and confusing, but it’s the truth. one night you were laughing and chatting with your best friends. the next, you were sitting alone at your apartment, watching them get together without you.

“it’s so middle school mean girl coded, but even at 24, it hurts. i know i don’t need those type of women in my life, but they’re my friends, neeks. at least…i thought they were,” you started tearing up again, feeling nico squeeze the hand he was holding.

nico’s heart breaks for you, knowing how much you loved your girls. he can’t imagine who, in their right mind, would just kick someone as caring, sweet, and loving as you out of their life for seemingly no reason.

“oh, my sweet girl,” he brings you back in for an embrace. “you’re too good for them, you know that?” he tells you, meaning every word.

he always had some issues with your friend group, but he never voiced his concerns, because he didn’t want to upset your or seem like he was being controlling. he could tell they were always just…off though. always wanting to tag along with you to hockey games, wanting a box when you told him you liked sitting down in the crowd better. they always changed plans you suggested, doing what they wanted instead of what you wanted. only ever wanting to attend get togethers at yours and his apartment if other guys from the team were gonna be there.

“it just sucks, neeks. i mean, how pathetic? i’m a grown woman who has no friends and her only social life revolves around her professional athlete boyfriend? i feel like such a leech,” you admit.

nico sees red, wanting to go and give all of those women a piece of his mind for how they’re making you feel.

“listen to me, don’t you ever say those words to me again, do you hear me?” he fusses at you, as serious as he’s ever been. “you’re the farthest thing from a leech. i want you around me all the time. i want you to tag along to every event, every team outing, every game. i enjoy spending my time with you, and getting to have you to myself every night.”

your heart swells once again, having been worried lately you were being too clingy.

“those women? they’re the pathetic ones. if they can’t see the absolute gem of a person they had around them, then they’re the ones who should be ashamed,” he looks you in the eyes as he speaks, willing your brain to soak in and listen to every word.

“i love you,” is all you can think to say in response, not knowing how else to express your feelings in the moment. you lean in to touch your lips to his, wishing to convey every ounce of thankfulness, love, and appreciation for him through the kiss.

he kiss you back softly, pulling back after a few moments.

“so, now that that’s settled, you wanna go out for drinks with me and the guys tomorrow? think a few of the other wives and girlfriends are coming, too. might be fun?” he asks you, already concocting a plan to find you a new, trustworthy group of girl friends.

“hmmmm, let me check my schedule, i might be booked and busy,” you joke, his words having made you feel light as a feather, any sadness working its way out of your body.

he rolls his eyes at you, letting out a playful growl as he attacks your neck with kisses, earning a laugh out of you.

[submattenthusiast]

KINKTOBER christopher sturn cock ring

"no please i'm sorry don't make me" chris tried to make you change your mind. he knew he couldn't control himself in public, especially not with his friends around. "sorry isn't gonna cut it christopher, pants down" you demanded.

you grabbed your new toy and connected it to your phone while he stripped his lower-half. chris stood with his head down. regretting acting out already, he didn't wanna go to the party anymore. not like this.

he squirmed around the whole car ride, trying to adjust to the object tightly wrapped around his dick.

chris tried to relax, you hadn't turned the toy on so maybe you were going easy on him. he began chatting with mutual friends and grabbing a drink. nate, madi, and sam walked over to chris and started talking to him.

you watched chris from across the room, waiting for the perfect time to mess with him. you smirked when his friends joined him at the table. you opened the app phone on your and turned the toy on. you watched chris choke on his drink the small vibration. he brushed it off as it just going down the wrong pipe.

chris continued to converse with his friends as you studied him to find the the right moment to tease him again. he was listening to madi tell a story when you set the toy to the second level. chris jolted forward at the powerful vibrations against his dick. nate gave him a weird look but tried to not to bring it up.

chris gripped the table for stability as the ring sent vibrations throughout his lower half. he made eye contact with you, begging for you to go easy on him. you smiled and motioned towards his friends mouthing a "focus" to him. he nodded and tried to focus on the conversation that was being had around him.

"dude you alright, you actin' funny and nothin' special is in that cup" nate asked, looking him up and down. "just dizzy man" he lied, trying to get the attention off of him.

chris tried his best not to give a physical reaction but it was getting difficult. the pleasure was getting to him and he didn't know how much longer he could last. it was so hard to keep a poker face as the cock ring did it's job. he was holding back and you could see it all over his face, and you didn't like that, you wanted to break him.

you switched it to the highest setting and watched him struggle to keep it together. his nails dug into the plastic cup and he let a moan slip. chris attempted to cover it up by quickly clearing his throat. nate and madi exchanged a look at chris' weird behavior. you looked down at his pants to see the material shaking a little, from the toy and his cock twitching his pants

you laughed to yourself and you watched him attempt to have a conversation with madi. you set the toy back to the lowest setting to let him relax a bit before starting your shenanigans again. he sighed in relief and started speaking "and so i was telling matt–" chris started but couldn't finish as you turned the intensity back up.

"oh fuck–" he moaned as he came in his pants from the sudden stimulation. his body jerked as he came harshly. chris forgot where he was for a second and let himself go fully. his cheeks burned red as he made eye contact with you across the room, you smiled and pointed to his friends, that were looking at him bewilderedly. so much for secrecy.

[anachronismstellar]

I'm still in a weird mood, but at least I'm writing lol

This was supposed to be a fun/cute cumplane fic, but my brain got taken over by @mysteryteacup post about Airplane being a good writer he just couldn't afford the time to write.

Hope you guys enjoy it!

-----------

"Do you think we would have met before?"

The question came a bit out of nowhere, disrupting the soft mood of the bamboo house. The weather was warm, rain hitting the roof in a soothing pattern, the open doors bringing in the green hues inside the living room along with a gentle breeze.

Shen Yuan closed his book, setting Airplane's latest story aside. The plot was not so terrible now that they had stepped down as peak lords. Retirement had a good look on him, made his shoulders relaxed and his posture elegant, as if he had finally made himself comfortable with his body, fear a mask long forgotten.

"What do you mean?" Shen Yuan didn't pick up his fan as once he would, his own insecurities whispers from the past. Instead, he just turned his face at Airplane, both watching as smoke curled up from Airplane's long pipe.

Outside, thunder rolled over them like the Gods were dragging clouds heavy as stones.

"Before," Airplane waved at the scenery in general, and it didn't need much for Shen Yuan to catch what he meant. "I mean, I didn't participate in any of the big conventions they invited me, but..."

Shen Yuan hummed, head tilted to the side, imagining how would he react if he ever met Airplane under other circumstances. It would have been disastrous for sure, both of them struggling with the different challenges of a world without flying swords and demons. Would they even be friends? Probably not. Shen Yuan had spent so much of his time stuck on his own head, going from doctor after doctor, too bitter to enjoy nice things, dedicating his whole life on hating a poorly written book. And from other conversations, he knew that Airplane had been bitter as well, sacrificing his words and his world in the name of the next meal, the next rent.

"I don't see how," he reached for his cup of tea, heating up his cold hands against the warm porcelain. "Like you said, you never went to the conventions. I didn't either, to be honest. Too many people."

Shang Qinghua nodded slowly as he filled his lungs with smoke, letting it go through his nose. Shen Yuan waited for a bit longer, curious to see where Airplane wanted to get with his question. He was almost picking up the story again when-

"I was just..." He started as he put his pipe down to comb his hair with his fingers, putting the strands behind his ears. Another big change from when they had passed their mantle to the next generation: Airplane had started to wear his hair down, Northern braids adorning the sides of his head, silver beads glittering among chocolate brown. "Is the book good?"

The sudden change of topic made Shen Yuan blink. However, it wasn't as if he weren't used to Airplane's mind jumping around, so he just took it in stride, nodding slowly.

"I enjoyed how you developed the main character relationship with his old master, although I still think you should stop killing mothers left and right."

Airplane couldn't help but chuckle, his smile making his eyes curve into half moons.

"Leave some tropes for me to work with, bro, there's so much this poor writer can come up with!"

Shen Yuan could only roll his eyes at the other, picking up the book once more, touching the pages without actually reading it, just enjoying the feeling of paper on his hands.

"Well, it is an improvement. And as always your beasts are impeccable, I'll give you that."

And he regretted immediately the compliment when Airplane dramatically clutched his robes, pretending to faint. The little shit.

"Oh! Oh praised be the Heavens! A compliment from the immovable Peerless Cucumber! Oh my heart! My heaaart-"

Shen Yuan did his best to hold back his frustration and just throw his fan at the writer. Good thing that Airplane calmed down again, chin up so he could stare at the top of the bamboo trees outside. Only then Shen Yuan realized that the entire time Airplane hadn't looked at him.

He felt an uncomfortable weight in his stomach, heart squeezing tight.

"Are you going to tell me what is this about?"

Airplane took a long drag of his pipe, bending his head back a bit further to blow little circles in the air. He should be thankful that Shen Yuan had worked on his patience in the past decades, or he would have been hit with a fan already.

"I was thinking of your first review for Proud Immortal Demon Way," he said as he tapped the pipe on a little vase Shen Yuan had offered him earlier to use as ashtray. "You were so mean... I couldn't write for like two days."

They had commented about their forum fights before, they have even apologized for some things they had said to each other back then, but Airplane had never-

The thought of hurting him so bad to the point of making him give up on writing was-

"Huang Hua..." He whispered as he took the writer's hand close to him, brushing his thumb over the callous on his forefinger.

"Don't look at me like that, bro... Don't mind me, I'm just-" he cut himself off with a sigh, squeezing Shen Yuan's hand back. "I've been in a weird mood that's all."

Shen Yuan understood, he understood a bit too well. For all they enjoyed the benefits of magic and cultivation, they weren't meant for this immortal world, Huang Hua and him, human beings who had always had a clock ticking over their heads. He would get stuck on his own head, too, sometimes; making Binghe walk around him with soft steps and prepare his favorite foods.

He loved his husband food more than anything blessed be Airplane for deciding to make the main protagonist a good cook.

But Binghe couldn't prepare him a burger the size of his head with golden french fries.

"Well, I think the new book is going great. And to answer your question, well-" Then it was Shen Yuan's turn to pause, trying to imagine how their meeting in the real world would go. Poorly, for sure, but also... Shen Yuan was old enough, wise enough to admit that if he knew Airplane's struggles, he would probably have helped. He had been so rash in his comments because he had seen the potential, the grandeur of Airplane's mind, while describing the fauna and flora of Proud Immortal Demon Way.

"I don't know, I think if we had met, we wouldn't become friends," he admitted with a shrug, keeping his face towards the forest, feeling his cheeks burning. "I was... I was going through a lot and you had your own problems too. But depending on the day I might would have asked for an autograph." And what an embarrassing thing to admit. And while holding Airplane's hand nonetheless! Muscle memory made him take his fan and snap it open, the sound muffling Airplane's giggles.

"Well, I can't autograph your Binghe body pillow-"

"Shut up it was a collectable item!"

"- but I can autograph this copy if you want." and then he tapped the book on the table with his pipe, Shen Yuan's eyes going wide as plates.

"What?"

"I had to change a lot of things... Mostly the names and places, but-" Airplane nervously played with his hair, stealing glances at Shen Yuan's direction. "I thought, now that everything is kinda over, why not write it properly, right? Besides, the entire Proud Immortal Demon Way had never had a beta reader, although I thought about asking you sometimes way back but uh-"

"I've could have been your beta reader?!"

"Well, yes, in a way you kinda were- wait. Haven't you noticed?" Airplane let go of his hair to turn his entire body to Shen Yuan, surprise written all over his face. "Bro, you're the only person I answered more than once on the forums. Most of the time I couldn't take your ideas and use them, that would be insane and asking for a lawsuit, but when you gave me writing advice? Or when I needed to remember which wife was which or who had died? I used your comments to remember what had been happening in the last chapters."

Shen Yuan's hands got tingling all over, his face heating up to the point of boiling. He had always thought Airplane had despised him, and it was with reason. He knew he had been a hater, to the point of Airplane remembering his name after years, but he had never known that Airplane actually had paid attention, he had actually-

Wait, rewind, write what properly-

"Hold on, you're telling me that-" he picked the book again, scanning the first page and then the second, recognition downing upon him. It had felt familiar when he read it for the first time, but he had thought it was just him being used to Airplane's stories. But this...

"Proud Demon Immortal Way could have been this good?" He gasped as he turned to stare at the author, shaking the book on his hand. To which Airplane had the audacity to shrug, light pink dusting his cheeks.

"Told you many times, Bro. No time to edits, had to pay the bills."

"Airplane, how many drafts you wrote before posting that monstrosity?"

"Uh." He turned his face away again, scratching the back of his neck, then his cheek. "I mean I didn't have a draft. I wrote it down in one sitting most of the time-"

Shen Yuan was going to pass out. No wonder the story made no sense most of the times! And he still was able to follow some type of plot?!

During their lifes as cultivators, Shen Yuan faced many situations in which Airplane had his turn to shine. He might not be aware of it, oblivious writer that he was, but he could be insanely smart and think fast enough to avoid wars between tribes that any other person would fumble and make it worse. So he knew how intelligent and smart Airplane was, although he wouldn't straight up compliment him like that.

But this... Six thousand six hundred and sixty-six chapters with no draft or beta reader? This... Was insane.

"You better honor Shen Qingqiu's past this time," he heard himself say, mouth moving before his brain could catch up. And funny enough, he had mean it. "You better give him closure so I can at least glare at Yue Qingyuan without feeling guilty."

This time Airplane threw his head back and laughed, hand over his belly, the other tapping the table. Then he turned to look at Shen Yuan with his sly fox smile, forefinger moving side to side.

"Nonono, I'm sorry, bro. I'm not writing to make the readers happy this time," he said with a sharp nod, tapping his fingers against his temple. "There's a story to be told, and I'm not gonna mess up a second time."

And Shen Yuan felt as if he should be angry, he should shake Airplane by his shoulders and scream, but at the same time... He felt like Airplane had passed his test, one he wasn't aware he had set for the other.

He huffed, sliding the book over the table until it was closer to the author, opening the first page.

"You better think of a hell of dedicatory then," he said as he got up to pick writing materials, warmth spreading through his chest to the sound of Airplane's laughter.

--------

Shen Yuan is going to find out some things about Binghe and Mobei in the book lol

Again, thank you for giving it a read!

See you next time~

[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.

[neptuneiris]

detachment (02/03)

did Aemond Targaryen truly loved you?

pairing: prince!aemond × niece!reader

summary: aemond not only breaks your heart after so many love promises, he also breaks his betrothal to you without any justification and announces his betrothal to a baratheon girl. now you will be married soon too.

word count: 7.9k

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hello beautiful people, finally here is the chapter you have been waiting for so long, im so happy, I hope you like it a lot❤ thank you very much for reading🥺

comments and reblogs are always appreciated, thank u, you are all awesome❣

—TWO MOONS AGO.

"I'm so sorry, my sweet girl."

"No, it's all right, mother. Do not worry."

"I know this is not what you wished for but—

"It is my wish."

You interrupt your mother with a small smile that she instantly knows is neither genuine nor convincing, to which she watches you for a few moments without saying anything, watching you intently.

She takes your hand and places the other on your right cheek to come closer and leave a sweet kiss on your left cheek that you allow to feel that love that only she transmits and comforts you.

She then pulls away from you a little without letting go and watches you with a small smile on her lips and a slight gleam in her beautiful lilac eyes.

"You know you have my full support, my love. And don't even think that I will leave you alone in all this," she assures you, "But I know you and you must not lie to me, Y/N."

You know that at this moment your gaze gives you away, as well as all the true feelings you are conveying but you still want to show your mother that you are willing to do your duty.

And it really is your relief that it is this person you are going to marry when it could have been worse.

"Mother, you must not worry about me."

"But of course I do," she tells you instantly, "You're my daughter and I love you."

"I love you too. But this marriage to Cregan Stark couldn't be better not only for me, but for the whole family," you remind her, "He is a respectful and honorable man. I know there will be much respect between us and eventually affection will be born. And we will have all the support of the North when the time comes for you to become queen."

She smiles softly again with that warmth and affection, gently stroking your cheek with her thumb, looking directly into your eyes with all that sincerity and love.

"But he's not the one you wish to marry, is he?"

So all those pent up feelings, they want to come out at that moment. And even more so because of the way she is talking to you and understands you completely.

"Even with all that your marriage to Cregan Stark offers…. it's not him."

You swallow hard and press your lips together, starting to feel the tears want to come out of your eyes, as well as all that feeling for everything that happened and thinking about everything that could have been.

You remember how a while ago everything was fine, how everything seemed fine, how you thought you knew certain things and knew certain people.

However, he broke your heart.

Worst of all, you never knew why. You really wanted to know what had happened, what had changed his mind and if you had done something wrong, but… nothing.

He left you totally in the dark with his reasons. He preferred you to suffer and forget everything as if nothing had happened from one day to the next to accept his sudden betrothal to Floris Baratheon.

And you truly wanted to understand at the time, feeling completely broken and shattered… but he never gave you an answer.

"It doesn't matter anymore, mother. He is betrothed and now so am I. I do not doubt that after my wedding with lord Stark, his with lady Baratheon will happen soon after. He made his decision moons ago and now so have I."

"Very well," she nods at you, "You learned quickly, my sweet girl. Just as I had to when I accepted my fate."

You smile.

"You mean my father?"

"Our story was in short times, always with a lot of duty involved and inconveniences. Until we could finally be together after that horrible night," she tells you softly, "But when you truly love a person, you can't help it and you just want to join your blood with them, no matter what."

You nod, lowering your gaze, understanding.

But really understanding.

You know that feeling and you know exactly who you used to feel that way with. You were even close to being able to bond forever. But now… you're about to do your duty without that person.

"Then, my sweet girl…" your mother says to you, getting your attention again, "I'll just make sure to arrive at King's Landing a day before the wedding, as you asked. Everything will be ready by the time we get there."

You smile softly in her direction, feeling very relieved at that and nod.

"Thank you, mother."

"Anything for you, my love."

After spending part of your afternoon with your mother, you head to another of the great rooms of the Dragonstone castle, where your brothers are practicing High Valyrian and your younger brothers are being cared for by the maids.

You immediately join in caring for your brothers, listening to Jace and Luke's Valyrian, correcting them on some pronunciations and helping them to formulate words correctly.

Then Rhaena enters the room as well to look after and keep little Joffrey company, letting you know that Baela has flown to Driftmark.

Normally as the night draws in, your mother and father also spend time in this Room, all together as a family, a time when Rhaenyra wishes she could freeze and stay all together like this forever.

And that's exactly what she thinks when she enters the Room and sees all her children, or almost all of them, together attending to different duties, with a little smile and loving look on her face.

Daemon is writing something on the large table, to which she turns to him, stroking her barely noticeable two-moon belly, with a new member to the family coming into the world soon, the prince or princess.

"What are you writing, my love?"

Daemon raises his gaze to her, with the seal of House Targaryen about to embed it in the letter.

"The word to Kings Landing with the news of Y/N's marriage to Lord Stark."

"Ah yes, I forgot to do that."

"And that's why I do it for you, ābrazȳrys."

Rhaenyra leaves a soft and loving kiss on her husband's head to continue on her way to her eldest sons, listening attentively to the High Valyrian, just like Y/N, ready to correct them.

Not long after, considering that the distance between Dragonstone and Kings Landing is not too much, the raven arrives at the Red Keep with the new and unexpected news, with Queen Alicent and her father Otto Hightower reading the message.

The Heir, Princess Rhaenyra returns to King's Landing in less than two moons with her prince consort Prince Daemon and her entire family to celebrate the wedding of Princess Y/N Velaryon to Lord Cregan Stark, Lord of Winterfell.

"This is vile and disgusting news."

"Father—

"With Lord Cregan Stark?" inquires Otto, "Do you know what this means, Alicent?"

"It can't be that bad, still Daeron's wedding to Lady Lannister adds soldiers and ships to us for Aegon's claim. So does Aemond's wedding to lady Baratheon."

"Rhaenyra will have the whole North on her side by the time the time comes and you know it. The whole fucking North fighting for her and her bastard daughter!" Otto exclaims in annoyance, "We can't let that wedding happen."

"Rhaenyra must already be getting everything ready at Dragonstone. And to try to stop her the wedding, she could easily marry Y/N to Lord Stark somewhere else," says the queen, "It will be useless."

"Call the Maester. Call the entire Council, immediately," Otto quickly orders one of his guards, annoyed and desperate.

The guard immediately complies with the Hand's order, so that very soon all the members enter and take their respective seats in the Council Chamber.

But not long after, Aegon and Aemond Targaryen also decide to burst into the room, Aemond mostly noticing that something is wrong and Aegon simply following, his grandsire surprised to see him in his five senses.

"What's the matter?" asks Aemond serious, approaching his mother.

But before his own mother can answer him, his grandsire does, only without answering him.

"Your wedding to Lady Baratheon will happen by the end of this month."

Aemond immediately observes his grandsire without any expression, hiding his surprise well, drawing the attention of everyone else in the room.

"We will send word to Storm's End's, Lady Floris should already be here by in less than five days and prepare everything immediately," Otto continues, "Not too soon after, we will send a raven to Oldtown and Prince Daeron's wedding to Lady Cerelle will also happen."

"May I ask, my Lord Hand, why so hurriedly?" asks lord Lannister.

"Yes, why?" inquires Aemond of his grandsire as well, with a tone of voice and a menacingly serious look.

But Otto Hightower deliberately ignores his grandson.

"Are you not pleased with the news, Lord Jason?" he inquires condecently, "After all, it is your daughter who is to marry a prince of the realm, my grandson."

"Not that I am complaining, my Lord, in fact I have been waiting to hear this news ever since we agreed to join our houses. But I was also hoping, just like my daughter, that the wedding would be relevant and not too attached to another wedding also of another prince of the realm. It certainly would not draw the attention of our people."

"This is not about getting people's attention, nor how attractive the union is, Lord Jason," Otto tells him seriously and clearly annoyed, "You should feel grateful that the union is going to happen, because I remind you that this is about Prince Aegon's claim to the Throne, or have you already forgotten?"

"I asked you a question and I'm not going to repeat myself," Aemond speaks again in his grandsire's direction, serious.

This immediately gets everyone's attention, but in the end it is Queen Alicent who responds in a soft, cautious voice.

"Y/N is going to be married."

This immediately gets Aemond's attention and also Aegon behind him, who was disinterested and even annoyed to hear his grandsire's words about his claim to the Iron Throne.

But this definitely gets his attention, he even watches his brother cautiously, waiting for his reaction, just like his mother.

However, Aemond keeps his usual neutral and at the same time serious face, hiding his true emotions very well, starting to feel how those true emotions run through his whole body and want to explode.

Otto watches him attentively, annoyed and serious, instantly knowing very well what he must be feeling. And that is what he, Otto Hightower, does not want.

"Yes, Aemond, with Cregan Stark, the Lord of Winterfell," he tells him seriously, "You too have already forgotten why you are marrying Lady Baratheon precisely?"

Aemond clenches his jaw, immediately this getting his attention and watching his grandsire with a deadly and threatening look, all this together with his posture showing that he is losing his patience.

And that everyone notices.

"Aemond," Alicent calls out to him, rising from his seat.

"When?"

Aemond's voice interrupts him, in the direction of his grandsire, his whole posture tense and his hands made into fists, his jaw clenched and his gaze like that of a dragon about to burn everything to the ground.

"I told you, by the end of this month your wedding—

"No, when will Y/N's wedding to Cregan Stark be."

He interrupts her in a firm, menacingly serious voice.

"It doesn't matter when it will be," Otto tells him in annoyance, raising his voice higher, drawing everyone's attention, demanding, "What matters right now is that these two weddings happen before the wedding of Rhaenyra's daughter to Lord Stark so as to invite all the great houses, even Cregan Stark and form alliances before Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon."

"In two moons, approximately."

Alicent replies to Aemond, noting how his anger grows more and more as his grandsire speaks, not giving him an answer.

"That's what they said on the raven they sent this afternoon from Dragonstone."

Aemond lowers his gaze, beginning to think about it, about how the wedding will take place here, at King's Landing, where he will have to be present and witness it all…to Y/N, his Y/N, getting married to Lord Cregan Stark.

Lord Cregan fucking Stark.

"I doubt we can do anything about it, my Lord," Jasper Wylde speaks, "The wedding is already a done deal, we will not succeed in convincing Lord Stark to change his allegiance."

"And this is a great advantage for Princess Rhaenyra and her claim," says Jason Lannister, " Her daughter, Princess Y/N and Lord Stark together is an excellent and convenient match."

At the words of some of the council members, Aemond can't help but feel downright sick, thinking of Y/N and Lord Stark.

As you should.

His own mind tells him, feeling the fire and anger coursing through his veins, unable to control himself, thinking about what is really going on here.

"We will do whatever it takes to still have as much support as possible. King Viserys will not last long and by now we would have to secure all possible alliances for when the time comes. If war falls upon us and if we pull this off… fighting Rhaenyra and her alliances won't be so hard."

"She will have the entire North fighting for her, my Lord."

One of the members tells him cautiously, thinking about the number of soldiers Princess Rhaenyra will have at her disposal, also all the people supporting her claim, that adding up to the whole Valley.

"That's why we need to be more clever," Otto Hightower insists, "My grandchildren's weddings will be paramount in this. We need to send a raven to Oldtown, now," he turns to the Maester, "I need Daeron here at King's Landing and your daughter as well, Lord Jason. After Aemond's wedding, he—

"No."

Aemond Targaryen completely interrupts his grandsire in front of the Queen and the entire Council, drawing everyone's attention, surprised by his boldness and deadly behavior in the direction of his grandsire, who also gives him a threatening look.

"You had plenty of time to plan my wedding with Lord Borros' daughter. It's not my fault that until now you are acting when your job as the Hand is to act since you knew the threats," he tells her seriously and completely firm with his words, "If you want a wedding, plan Daeron's, not mine. I will not be a part of your incompetence when I have already given you too much."

"You are forgetting your place, Aemond," Otto warns him in a careful tone and one in which he fully tells him that he does not want to contradict him now.

But Aemond has had enough.

"You are forgetting your place," he replies in kind.

"Aemond, that's enough," his mother calls to him instantly, letting out a long breath, "You don't want to get married now, that's fine. But don't forget that eventually you will have to," she reminds him earnestly, "After all, Lady Baratheon is still your betrothed and she along with Lord Borros expect the wedding to take place soon."

Again Aemond feels sick to his stomach as he listens to his mother's words, thinking of his betrothed, Lady Floris Baratheon. The very thought of marrying her makes him feel unhappy.

But it is the truth… she is still his betrothed and whether he wishes it or not, he will eventually have to marry her, because his family swore an oath with hers, not him, but his family.

And he has to live up to the weight of that oath.

"We should continue to discuss the marriage of Princess Y/N to Lord Stark, my Queen," says the Maester.

"There is nothing more to discuss, the chances are slim with Lord Stark and we will have to focus on bringing the marriage of my son and Lady Cerelle to the attention of the great houses."

Queen Alicent begins to lead the entire Council, as Otto Hightower continues to watch Aemond with daggers in his eyes, serious, furious and incredulous at his behavior.

He thought he already had everything under control, but Otto forgot that he is not a dragon and the blood of the dragon in anyone who possesses it, especially in Aemond, is chaotic and reckless.

"Congratulations, brother."

Aegon catches Aemond's eye, watching him over his shoulder as he gives him a friendly clap on the back, almost whispering his words.

"You said you hoped our sweet niece would soon outgrow you? Well, now she's marrying the lord of all Winterfell," he says with a small smile, "She's definitely outgrown you."

And with nothing more to say, Aegon leaves the Council Chamber, not interested in the matters of the realm, much less to plan a fucking wedding and have his grandsire take it upon himself to form alliances for his claim to the Throne, as if he cares about such a thing.

As Aemond stands still for a few seconds, watching him go, his words repeating over and over in his mind, anger again coursing through his body, fire, hatred.

He wishes he could prove his brother right, but the truth is that he is very wrong.

Unable to stand it any longer, he quickly heads out of the room as well, not wanting nor caring at all to discuss these matters, this room really displeasing him by bringing back bad memories.

And as soon as he faces the corridors of the Keep, again Aemond remains static for a few moments and his mind again thinking about things he really doesn't want to think about.

But he can't help it.

Like that time he also rushed out of this room, leaving the woman he loves behind, tearing her apart in the worst possible way and pretending not to care.

Even as one of the fiercest and most brutal knights of his time, Prince Aemond doesn't know where he found the courage and strength to break Y/N's heart… his Y/N.

He has always characterized himself as an honorable and respectful man, especially to Y/N, but what he did to her… was out of his nature and highly unpleasant.

And once he was in the safety of his chamber, the first thing he did was sit in one of his chairs near his fireplace, wanting to feel the fire, with the realization slowly starting to become clearer to him, realizing what he had done.

Aemond remembers the last time he cried, it was when he was a little boy in one of his episodes over his lost eye.

A terrible migraine kept him awake for a whole day, he couldn't even get out of bed and couldn't bear to see the light of day. His mother held him tight and was there for him all the time, not even leaving him alone for a second.

Alicent tried and ordered everything to make him feel better, but the Maesters couldn't do much and all he could do, all he learned to do since he was a little boy, was to have to endure the pain.

And since then, the first tear falls down his right cheek.

Aemond, upset, angry and disgusted with himself, cries. And he actually allows himself to cry as he remembers his Y/N's precious face completely shattered and red from her crying, her whole look confused and in need of explanations.

And he couldn't even give her that, an explanation.

And the worst part was that they already had it all. It was all said and done, they were going to be husband and wife finally, as they had asked for so much.

But he finally snatched away her illusion and simply left her without explanations. And that's what makes him lose control completely.

Furious, feeling like a coward, an idiot and annoyed with himself, he lets out a growl and starts breaking everything in his room, with despair and anger in his body.

He screams and blames himself for that weight on his shoulders, a weight that does not belong to him, a weight that he had nothing to do with from the beginning and a weight that he had to let go of the woman he loves when he almost had her because of his family's ambition.

That night the servants had to silently clean the room of Prince Aemond, who, unable to bear it any longer, went for a ride in Vhagar, wanting to forget everything and everyone.

And now, in the present, him in the middle of the hall with the thought of Y/N marrying Lord Stark soon… it's too much.

And he knows it's the same feeling she must have felt when he broke her heart.

He couldn't agree more that he deserves it, but he didn't want to let her go either. Nothing he did was really his choice, but that was the right decision.

And now…he still has to face the consequences of his own actions: Y/N's marriage to a man who will not be him.

"There you have it, my princess."

"Thank you, Emelly," you smile at one of your maids, who leaves you a tray with your almost every night tea so you can fall asleep, "You can rest now."

" You don't need anything else, princess?"

"No, I'm good, thank you. See you in the morrow."

"Of course, princess. Get some rest."

The maid leaves your room, who looking at you in your mirror you continue brushing your straight, silver hair, preparing for sleep.

You've already gone to your siblings' and Rhaena's rooms, especially the little ones', to wish them good night.

Your mother and father have also already come to speak with you and have your usual conversations of the night, where they talk about your wedding to Lord Cregan more than anything else, Daemon and Rhaenyra making sure nothing else haunts your mind.

They know that a wedding can cause too much stress, especially when you're marrying the one you didn't expect from the start, talking about duty and what's expected next from you and your husband.

Your older brother Jace had told you it's a stressful but very necessary conversation, considering the next wedding in the family will be his and Baela's.

You let out a long breath, leave your brush on your dressing table and head off to drink your tea, needing to sleep.

You take the cup from the tray in your hands when the napkin catches your attention. You frown and notice how there is something sticking out from under that napkin, hidden but wanting to be seen specifically by you.

You set the cup down on the table and pick up the napkin, curious and wary, realizing that it is the small envelope of a letter, definitely catching your attention more than before.

You analyze it and there is no indication of who the message might be from. So you decide to open it, finding a small sentence and an addressee that makes your heart jump in your chest and your lips parted.

Meet me at our place by the Hour of the Wolf. I need to explain everything to you, please. I will be waiting.

A.T.

Your pulse starts to race, your whole body starts to shake and you read the message over and over again, your system making you feel more emotions and feelings as you read who has sent this to you.

You think to yourself that this must be a joke or even perhaps some kind of trap, thinking that this can't be. But you know it's him.

It's his handwriting, you would recognize it on any piece of paper, as well as the signature he always uses in all his messages, short and subtle.

Now you understand why so much mystery. But you honestly don't understand how he could have gotten his message to you. It's practically impossible.

Unless he hired or paid irrelevant people, because Emelly is extremely loyal to you and would not have done this considering your history with your uncle, as well as anyone else knows it.

Your uncle who right now must be waiting for you.

Your mind tells you as you look at his message in front of you, surprised with your parted lips, with a feeling starting to invade your chest that you don't know exactly what it is but… it causes you some emotion.

And you can't. You truly can't do this.

You remember everything that happened, what he did to you, what his grandsire did to you too, and how broken you felt, how he broke your heart and left you without explanation, only to become betrothed to Floris Baratheon.

You swallow hard, walking to your huge windows, looking out at the night outside and barely lit by the fire torches that light a little of the roads around Dragonstone, looking out beyond the sea, in the direction where that island is and where you and Aemond used to meet.

You press your lips together, feeling a sharp pain in your chest, as well as that uncertainty and beginning to take into consideration what he has written to you on that little piece of paper.

But again… you can't.

You are both betrothed. You are betrothed to Lord Cregan Stark, you will marry him soon and then… probably he will marry Lady Floris Baratheon as well.

You know you shouldn't even consider it, you know you shouldn't feel that curiosity and longing, because he doesn't deserve it.

That's why you make your decision just as he made his moons ago.

Even though you admit that it hurts and even costs you, you still think of yourself, because he doesn't deserve you to feel this way about him, not after all the damage caused.

You don't know what Aemond really thinks, but it certainly isn't entirely wise to ask you to meet in the hour of the Wolf as if nothing had happened.

And what a coincidence that he does this just when your wedding is in a few more weeks.

You stare out over the sea for a few more moments, thinking, but having already made up your mind. You let out a long breath and without hesitation, you head to your fireplace and throw his message into the fire.

Then you head back to your table to drink your tea and drink it all down so you can finally sleep and forget this ever happened.

While on the small island in Blackwater Bay, Aemond Targaryen keeps Vhagar close by, watching as he sits on a huge rock on the sand of the beach towards the direction of Dragonstone, waiting for you.

He doesn't really find much to entertain himself with, beginning to feel anxious with each passing minute and still not seeing any dragons approaching in the night sky, getting up and pacing back and forth, letting out long breaths and trying to calm himself.

He would be a fool not to have thought that maybe you would ignore him and not even in your greatest madness, the other side of the Targaryen coin, would you agree to meet him after all that happened.

Of course he had thought about it. But he still decided to risk it.

But the minutes pass and pass, with Aemond waiting for you, disappointment and reality coming at him like a strong wave every moment he is still there alone on the island.

He feels frustration beginning to course through his body, also anger but not for you, but for himself.

He thinks of your soon marriage to him, Lord Stark and feels more despair coursing through him, not even bearing the thought.

He asks the Seven to you please show up, really wanting to explain himself.

But he knows it is too late. He was never going to get this chance, because he really hurt you too much and he knows it, he knows it and he has the memory more vivid than ever.

But even though he knew it, he can't help but be disappointed as he continues to wait for a dragon in the night sky that never came.

—PRESENT

The days go by too fast after the conversation with your mother and after so many preparations and requests for the wedding.

When the wedding day finally arrives.

Your mother overlooks her pregnancy, considering she is barely four moons pregnant, to ride Syrax and take her with her to King's Landing while you ride Silverwing so you both arrive in the capital a day before the wedding, as you wished.

You try to suppress all feelings along with the nerves of returning to the Red Keep, where there are many buried memories and people from the past. However, you are here for your wedding.

You know that this visit is brief just to get the wedding over with and nothing more, then your family will return to Dragonstone or probably your mother will decide to stay again to take care of your grandsire, while you will go to Winterfell.

You really want to know the North. It was one of the few conversations you had with Lord Stark and he agreed, as well as both of you being present at Court after spending married moons.

And you really have no intention of anything else happening and just let it happen as it should. And just before the sun sets, you and your mother arrive at King's Landing.

You meet your father, your brothers, sisters, also your grandmother Rhaenys and your grandsire Corlys, even also Queen Alicent welcomes you both back and also gives you her congratulations for your wedding.

If you didn't know her, you wouldn't know that her smile is fake. Clearly Alicent didn't want you to marry her son but neither did she want you to marry a person as influential as Lord Stark. But honestly you don't care.

She is the one who directs you and your mother to the king's chambers, to whom your mother wishes to speak and also in case she wants to dedicate a few words to you for your wedding.

On your way back to your room you meet your aunt, sweet Helaena, who welcomes your mother with a charming look and smile, also you, congratulating you on your wedding.

Fortunately you don't meet any other relevant people, just as you didn't see him or his betrothed anywhere, which you are thankful for.

Because the sooner this could happen, without distractions and unexpected inconveniences, the better.

The only thing you remember about that night when you arrived at King's Landing is that you had to drink a large and considerable amount of your tea in order to sleep, not being able to fall asleep because you were thinking about tomorrow.

And honestly also for thinking a little about him.

You were afraid that he would suddenly enter your chamber through the secret door, because surely he hasn't forgotten his request to meet you on the island to explain everything and you never showed up, but fortunately that didn't happen.

And when you least expect it, you are already at the celebration feast with all the guests present, you looking like a bride, waiting for your betrothed, everything going according to your mother's plan.

The common thing in a wedding is to get married at the Septon and then move on to the feast, but in this case, your mother chose the other way around, just like her wedding to your father, Sr. Laenor.

You learned that Alicent had questioned this, but your mother didn't care much, just reminded her that this was how her wedding had once been and that this way, you would feel less overwhelmed, knowing you perfectly well.

When it all begins.

They have already announced the king, also all your family, only the Hightower-Targaryen and also your betrothed are missing.

Your grandsire is seated at the large table next to his wife on the right side, while your mother is seated on his left side, followed by your place and then your betrothed's place. Your father takes a seat at the head of the table on the left side along with your brothers and sisters.

All the lord's and lady's present are spread throughout the Throne Room, as the food will soon be served and the musicians are already in position to begin at any moment.

Your mother at your side holds your hand to give you her support and her soft, sweet smiles in your direction to help with your nerves. Although she also makes sure that your entire appearance is intact.

It was always Rhaenyra's wish that her daughter, her first daughter, would have a wedding like hers was.

She would also prefer a Valyrian wedding, in fact that was her illusion when the king gave his blessing for the wedding between Y/N and Aemond.

But now, things are different and considering that Lord Stark is not Targaryen, clearly, a Westerosi wedding was the best option. And you did not complain at all.

In fact, it filled you with excitement and affection that when your father and grandfather saw you entering the Room, with your appearance for the occasion, they instantly told you that you wore them many years ago, when they were also in this same place and your mother married your father, Laenor.

A white dress with shoulder-length sleeves draws attention with golden details and some chains adorn around your waist with dragon figures.

Your hair falls in elegant waves, reaching above your waist, with some very subtle braids adorning the top of your head.

Your mother wanted some golden pins to be placed between your hair, also jewelry such as gold necklaces, rings and bracelets, to look more and properly like a Targaryen princess.

When at that moment, they announce the missing people at the big table. The people or rather the person you most expected and never wanted to arrive at the same time.

"Prince Aegon Targaryen, first born son of King Viserys Targaryen with his lady wife, Princess Helaena Targaryen."

The doors directly in front of you allow you to see the entrance of your uncle and sweet aunt who together make their way over to you to take a seat beside Queen Alicent.

Aegon's appearance is appropriate, however, due to all the rumors that keep spreading to Dragonstone, his condition is far from the best for a prince of the realm. His tired face with large bags under his eyes and his clear boredom and disinterest in being here is clear.

However, after all he seems to be willing to drink wine and enjoy himself.

But your sweet aunt by his side completely overshadows him once the view is on her and her beautiful sky blue dress with light silver tones and all her bright and sweet look that characterizes her so much.

When they announce the next people and you try not to make a big deal of it once Aegon and Helaena take their seats.

"Prince Aemond Targaryen, second son of King Viserys and Prince Daeron Targaryen, the third and final son of the king."

So both of them, he, now enter the Throne Room and you avoid looking too much, as well as feeling too much.

You try to distract yourself with the fact that you hadn't seen Daeron in a very long time, nor had anyone else, not even your mother or father. You thought he would still be in Oldtown because he wasn't even here for Helaena and Aegon's wedding.

Maybe he really wanted to fly here, but he was not allowed to, maybe because of his age, knowing that Queen Alicent does not like dragons and is very overprotective in that aspect.

But now that you are looking at him, he is tall, very tall. Not as tall as he is, but for his age, he's definitely growing into a man. But even though you want to focus on Daeron, you don't as you focus on him, inevitably.

His walk hasn't changed, neither has that determination, that confidence and that kind of power he possesses just by looking at him, also that fear and respect at the same time.

And his appearance… hasn't changed either.

Maybe his continuous training has made him look a bit stockier of his arms and his body in general, but his hair, his face and his eye patch is the same.

But he gives you the impression that he's even more handsome.

You look away from him in an instant, as everything that happened comes back to you in a matter of seconds, which is inappropriate. But all you can think about is him.

His hugs, kisses, caresses… all those words of love, all those wishes and all those promises… all only to end in an unexplained broken heart. You swore that he and you were destined to burn together. You swore that you would marry in the tradition of your house.

You swore it would be him and you.

But he made his decision.

And now here you are. He's betrothed and so are you, where by the end of the day you'll be married.

You completely avoid looking at his face once he starts to walk up the steps to take a seat next to his brothers, just like Daeron. You don't feel his gaze at any moment, just as you don't dare to look at him either.

When you ask yourself; where is his betrothed?

She must be here for such celebrations if they are betrothed. And you are sure that Floris Baratheon would not want to miss such an important celebration at the Red Keep.

However, he is all alone and his betrothed seems to be nowhere to be found. Doubt lingers but the feast gives you something new to think about when they announce your betrothed.

"Cregan Stark, lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, the future lord husband of the bride, Y/N Velaryon."

At that moment, everyone at the table rises to greet your betrothed who walks towards you with a kind and respectful smile, looking very well for all this celebration. Or at least most of the people at the table stand up….

You can notice out of the corner of your eye how on Queen Alicent's side some people are still seated, but you don't dare look at them, though you get an idea of who they might be.

Still you focus on your betrothed who bows to the king once he arrives at the table and then makes his way to you to take a seat next to you.

Not before taking your mother's hand to plant a gentle kiss on the back of it, which she accepts with a kind and sweet smile and then turns to you and does the same with more affection.

You smile in his direction as you return his gesture by placing a soft kiss on his cheek and then both of you take a seat, as well as everyone else. When your grandsire, the king, gives a short speech before the feast begins.

And once everything has been said, the feast begins. The music starts and the food is served.

You feel his gaze for a few seconds, not long enough, but you don't notice him at all and continue to enjoy the feast. You talk to your mother from time to time and also to your betrothed, that is if your father and Jace are not talking to him asking him about Winterfell and the Wall.

Your sisters also ask you from time to time if you are feeling well and you can only nod, telling yourself that this is really happening and you have to completely ignore his presence.

When the time comes for the opening of the dance.

Cregan rises from his seat first and offers you his hand to lead you to the center of the Room, which you gladly accept and together you walk to dance in full view of everyone, a traditional Westerosi dance.

It is a simple dance, nothing difficult and you really enjoy it, while you focus your gaze at all times on him, Lord Cregan, who also smiles softly in your direction and does perfectly the right steps, all under the watchful eye of all the nobles present and also of your family.

Both of you stand back to back, and then both of you slowly raise your arms to shoulder height, while you can't help it and turn your gaze towards him, already feeling since the dance started his burning gaze.

Aemond has a meaningful look on his face when your gaze meets his, acting nonchalant, watching you intently, raising his wine glass to his lips.

You can only smile really ungracefully and turn your gaze to the front, continuing to dance and focusing only on your betrothed.

While Aemond at all times… wants this to be over and done with. Though I'd prefer to think this isn't really happening.

He feels like an alluring force, as he can't take his eye off of you, looking at you so beautiful in that dress, knowing in an instant that this is not the dress you would have worn for their wedding. But you still look really beautiful.

A true Targaryen beauty.

A warm feeling envelops him every second he sees you there, so perfect, dancing, smiling and catching everyone's attention, his especially at your every move, not realizing that his face gets softer every second as he watches you.

However… everything is replaced by hatred and anger when those smiles are directed at Lord Stark. And by the way he looks at you too… he wants to burn everything to the ground, clenching his hands into fists.

"Easy, little brother."

Aegon murmurs behind him, over his shoulder, amused, his breath smelling very strongly of wine.

"Everyone can sense how you're starting to wake up. You don't want to cause a fucking scene at our niece's wedding because of your jealousy, do you? Grandsire won't be too pleased."

Aemond can only feel that rage come over him more, knowing full well that Aegon has no intention of calming him down, but to provoke him further and do exactly as he has told him.

And he is succeeding.

Especially in the moment when he again focuses on you, smiling at Lord Stark, glowing and looking this beautiful but for him, Lord Stark, not for him, the one she was supposed to marry and be completely his.

And he regrets it so much, he regrets it so much that he called off their wedding and also leaving you without explanation, knowing that this is exactly what he deserves, to see you happy without him.

As the dance of just the two of them ends and a new song begins, in which he watches as Y/N, his Y/N, places one of her hands on Lord Stark's shoulder and the other intertwines with his, his other hand on her waist, this only making him angrier.

A more choreographed dance begins and the nobles in pairs also begin to join the center of the Room to dance, beginning the real celebration.

And Aemond sinking in his own misery, thinks that he could have survived watching Y/N dance with Lord Stark at an appropriate distance. But now they are both chest to chest, smiling and talking about something with all the nobles also dancing around them.

He doesn't understand that important thing that the two of them are talking about, but he doesn't like it at all, neither does the closeness. In fact he doesn't like any of it.

All he wants is to get her away from him, away from all of this and make her his, finally, no matter what.

His breathing starts to get heavier by the moment, thinking that by the time this is over, she will already be married to him and they will go away together, where they will have to consummate the marriage.

The very thought makes him only feel more enraged and more courageous to snatch her from his arms, not caring about her family and his, not caring about his grandsire and his words, not caring about his mother's words either about "you have to control yourself and think of us."

Not only does Aegon notice her state, so does his grandsire, who watches him intently and cautiously, noticing the look on Lord Stark's face more than menacing, about to do something foolish even though he was very clear with him before attending this feast.

He also catches the eye of Rhaenyra, who watches her husband and subtly points to her half-brother, instantly Daemon knowing exactly what is going on.

And how could he not know?

It reminds him of him many years ago, also watching the woman he loves, about to marry someone else who is not him.

He places a small half smile, bringing his wine glass to his lips, watching his nephew attentively and amused, almost expectantly, wondering even though Aemond has his full attention on you, if he will finally do something about it or what.

"Aemond," his grandsire mumbles to him.

But Aemond, beginning to go into his madness, doesn't watch or listen to him, watching you intently.

"Aemond, I'm warning you," his grandsire insists.

"Oh come on grandsire," Aegon tells him amused, "You know it will be useless. I can tell you don't know him."

And even though Aemond is immersed in his madness, he still thinks and remembers the words of his grandsire and mother.

"I will overlook that it was you who prevented the raven to Storms Ends from arriving when you knew perfectly well that your betrothed should have been here days ago."

His mother tells him seriously and annoyed.

"Now you will attend this wedding alone and I expect you to behave yourself. Just as I expect you to come to terms with the idea that you will marry Lady Baratheon by the end of next month, without protest."

"And you are not going to commit any of your foolishness at the Y/N wedding, do you understand me?" Otto immediately threatens him, "You're not going to talk to Y/N, you're not going to threaten Lord Stark either, and you're going to let the wedding happen in peace, is that clear? "

Aemond feels a bitter feeling, continuing to watch you attentively and him watching threateningly, with the fire in his body about to explode.

"You know what your problem is, grandsire?" Aegon says to Otto Hightower, who watches him seriously and on the verge of losing his patience, "You question the blood of the dragon too much."

And in that same instant, Aemond rises from his seat in a confident movement, with his gaze firmly fixed on you, who are completely disinterested in what is happening with him, completely focused on Lord Stark.

And Aemond's movement completely catches the attention of his grandsire, his mother, also your mother and father, who in an instant look at each other, definitely remembering the past.

Aemond makes his way towards you, not caring about anything.

He doesn't care about his mother and grandsire, he doesn't care about the war that will probably befall them when his father dies, the only thing he cares about at this moment is you.

taglist:

@iloveallmyboys @libdarkheart @angelianlearp @happinessinthebeing @targaryenmoony @tempt-ress @callsign-blue @twobluejeans @luna-salem @literatureluster @thekinslayersswordhand @queenofshinigamis @bugshideaway @minttea07 @itszzmoon

[coichii]

LOVING IS EASY ✭

—(🎧)—> when he spoils you

pairing - bf!leeknow ♥︎ fem!reader

genre: fluff

word count: 0.4k

warnings: mentions of food & drinks

series note: hello !! welcome to part two of my fall series, “fall: records of love” where there will be 8 individual short stories for the members :) these stories are based off of songs I deem “fall” feeling ! this story is based off of “loving is easy” by rex orange county. enjoy !!

“yeah, loving is easy. when everything's perfect, please don't change a single little thing for me”

minho was the perfect lover. no one had ever cared for you like he did, not even close.

you always thought love was hard. that it took a lot of effort. your partners in the past always made it out to be the hardest thing in the world to even say ‘i love you’. but that all changed when you met him.

suddenly you felt the most loved you ever had, especially when he did little things for you or took you out on cute dates, like you were on now.

you two were on a walk across town square, pumpkin spice lattes in hand, talking about whatever comes to mind mind. you loved the comfort that came with talking to minho. the way you could talk about whatever without risking judgement meant the world to you.

“do you want to stop for lunch soon?” he asks all of sudden, breaking you from your thoughts. “yeah sure. where do you wanna go?”

“where ever you want to go baby” he replies, taking your hand in his. he does this almost every time you ask for his input on things like this.

“chipotle sounds good, but only if you agree to let me pay” you pout. you’re not going to let him get away with it twice in a row. “you already payed for our drinks honey”

minho pretended to think for a second, stroking his chin in a playful manner. “hmm… nope!” he sounds cheerful as he says this, adorning the adorable smile on his face that you love.

“cmon min.. that’s not fair!” you groan. “i don’t want you to pay for everything”

“i don’t mind paying baby” he chuckled softly. “if you want to pay, i’m not going to stop you, but if you’re doing it because you feel guilty about spending my money or because you think it’s your responsibility, don’t. i love doing things for you love, it’s my pleasure.”

you sigh softly, battling the argument of your point versus his in your head. he notices this of course, with the way you’re nervously playing with his hands how could he not.

“cmon please! just this once and i promise i might let you do it next time.” he pleads, causing a fit of giggles to leave you.

“ugh fine” you give up in defeat. “i guess having you spoil me isn’t the biggest torture in the world”

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