#mind you this is in no way me fixing their designs but rather how I interpreted them

[thepresentman]

New students

Bro I’m so excited for the new season wowowoow

[auroralwriting]

clean 1

tfatws! bucky barnes x stark! reader (no use of y/n)

after the fight with john walker, you can tell bucky's arm was bothering him. so, you make a trip to see him.

word count: 1.6k | warnings: strong language, multiple parts, part two

Your suit was practically scarp metal after the fight with John Walker. He had tried his hardest to absolutely obliterate your suit. Thankfully, Tony had done a great job of designing it. With a few hours of repairs, it would be good as new.

The one thing you worried about was Bucky's arm, specifically the metal one. You saw how Walker had thrown Bucky across the room into wiring, causing it to shock Bucky's whole body. It made you uneasy to think about wether or wether not the arm was in tact, that and the fact that if it wasn't, it could very well lead to a lot of pain for Bucky.

So, using Friday, you found Bucky's new address. He'd taken residence in a small apartment in Brooklyn, thankfully, not too far from where you were reclaiming the Stark Tower. One car ride later, and you stood outside Bucky's apartment feeling more nervous than you thought you would be.

While Bucky and you weren't on bad terms, it was fair to say he was still uneasy around you. I mean, he had killed your parents, and your only living relative (minus the small Morgan) was also dead. You'd been a baby when The Winter Soldier killed Howard and Maria, so how could there be any bad blood between you and Bucky? You didn't even know what you had lost. That and you were more down-to-earth than Tony, realizing quickly the guilt and shame Bucky felt for his mind-controlled actions.

Using up the last bit of confidence you had, you knocked on Bucky's door. It took less than a minute, and Bucky's surprised face was staring back at you.

"Uhm, hi," You said awkwardly.

"How'd you know where I live?" Bucky asked, confused.

You held up your phone, Friday's screen appearing. "Just a quick scan of all James Buchanan Barnes in the area. Not very many," Your joke fell flat as you stood awkwardly while Bucky processed what was happening.

"Why're you here?" He asked.

"I wanted to make sure you were okay after the fight with Walker." You replied. "I saw you get thrown into all those wires, I saw all the sparks."

Bucky gave a small shrug, "I'm alright."

You eyed his arm suspiciously, "That arm causing you any pain?"

Both eyes now fell on Bucky's arm. You looked back up to Bucky to see him staring at it still. "It's been better," He sighed, his reply honest.

"I can fix it if you'd like?" You suggested. Bucky's eyes nearly popped out of his head at your words, "Or not!" You quickly added. "I, uh, don't want to make you feel weird..er than you probably already do."

Bucky went to move his arm, and you saw the traces of pain etched into his features. "It'll be alright."

"Our fight isn't over yet, Bucky." You argued. "You should be at your best." You took a deep breath in, finding more confidence from deep within, "I promise I won't judge you if that's what you're worried about. I mean, Tony literally had a hunk of metal plunged in his chest, and he made me clean it out all the time, it was really gross and-"

"Alright, alright," Bucky held his hands up. "I don't wanna hear about Tony's gross chest-hole. Just, come on in." The door opened all the way as Bucky walked inside. You trailed behind, slowly shutting the door behind you as you observed the apartment. It was really empty, just a small couch and a coffee table in front of it. The kitchen looked rather bare, too.

You took a seat on the couch, Bucky sitting next to you. You set your toolbox down in between the both of you, putting some space between your bodies.

"I need to see the connection point, if you don't mind?" You said softly, looking to Bucky's covered shoulder.

"Oh, yeah, yeah," He muttered as he hesitantly slipped off his shirt. You quickly noticed the healing scars on his shoulder, all around the joint, but you made sure to pay no attention to them as you hovered your hand over his arm. "It's fine," He said, watching your hesitantcy.

The metal was cool on your hands as you felt around it, looking for the weak point. Once you found it, you grabbed your tools and began to work at it. You weren't used to working in silence, so you tried to make some conversation.

"Steve, uh, used to tell me a lot about you." You said. Bucky raised a brow at you as you continued. "You were his knight in shining armor, or something of the sorts."

"I guess I was," Bucky gave the smallest hint of a smile. "How'd you learn how to do this anyways?"

You shrugged as you grabbed a new tool, "Tony taught me everything I know. Engineering, chemistry, physics, you name it."

"It must've been hard, just you two." Bucky said softly.

Looking up, you shook your head, "Don't start that," You said.

"But it's my fault-"

"For the last time, Bucky, that was the Winter Soldier, not you. I do not blame you, there's no reason to keep hurting yourself over this." You cut Buck off, voice slightly sharp with intention. Bucky's eyes fell on the other side of the room as you sighed, "Tony would have forgiven you, too. He just needed time."

Bucky scoffed, "He had five years."

"Of which we were gone," You countered. "I forgive you for him and myself, okay?"

“Don’t say that,” Bucky shook his head. “Just.. don’t?”

You set down your tool, staring at him. “Do you want proof?”

This gained Bucky’s interest, “Proof?” He asked, voice laced with doubt. “What proof?”

“Who do you think protected your whereabouts in Wakanda?” You asked, “Steve and Sam were on the run. Of course Tony knew you were there. I remember when he got the call. He just sat there for a while, thinking. When we talked about it, he said he was glad you were getting help.”

“What else did he say?” Bucky said with a knowing look in his eyes.

You rolled your eyes, “It’s Tony, Buck. He says anything and everything and means almost none of it.” Bucky didn’t expect you to use his nickname. He liked the sound of it coming from your voice.

“That doesn’t mean he forgave me.” Bucky said.

“Well I do, okay? So stop being such a grump. I’m trying to be your friend, just let me, would you?” You sighed as you began to work on his arm again.

The soldier gave a small sigh, “Stop wasting your time on me when you have a company to run.”

“Stop trying to push me away. Also, Pepper’s helping me run it, so I have all the time in the world.” You argued.

After a brief moment of silence, Bucky spoke again. “I’m still not sure I’m safe to be around,”

The honesty surprised you, making you glance up at him to observe his face. “I’m literally face to face with your arm, tool inside it, and you wanna say you aren’t safe?”

Your comment made Bucky give a small chuckle, “That’s not really what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?” You asked.

Bucky gave a shaky breath, “In Madripoor, when I had to take down those guys when I was pretending to be.. him,” Bucky explained, “It’s like I could still feel him trying to break free.”

You set a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, making sure to avoid his scars. “Bucky, Wankanda said you’re a free man. The Winter Soldier’s gone.”

“Maybe I’m just so used to violence now.” Bucky offered, “Maybe it’s who I am.”

“No,” You replied quickly. “You are Bucky Barnes. You’re Steve’s best friend, Sergeant Barnes. You’re Sam’s friend, my friend, and you’re a survivor. You’re one hell of a fighter, you’re a victim who pushed through all his pain and suffering to become a better man, and that’s exactly who you are.” Your words left Bucky feeling like he could cry, but he just looked away. You didn’t know whether what you said was right or wrong.

“Thank you,” Bucky muttered as you began to work on his arm again.

“It’s no problem, Bucky.” You responded. You silently worked, trying to ignore the burning sensation of Bucky’s eyes poring holes into your head.

"This world doesn't deserve you," Bucky muttered as you worked. You simply hummed in reply, making Bucky's forehead crease. "I mean it, Stark. You're one of the best people in this world."

Rolling your eyes, you put away the last of your tools. "Bucky, I'm just being a decent person."

Bucky's eyes burned with a new passion, "No decent person would do all you've done for everyone you've ever come across." Before you could protest, Bucky's metal hand grabbed your chin softly. "Don't even try to argue, I know it can be hard for a Stark but can you hold your tongue?" When you didn't reply, Bucky continued. "You're so humble, so fuckin' sweet. I mean, you came all this way just to fix my arm."

"And to check on you," Your voice came out babbled as Bucky's hold on your chin was still present.

"I don't deserve your kindness," Bucky admitted, "But here you are, giving me all of it." His eyes bore into your own, his own actions betraying his mind as he slammed his lips tightly onto your own. It took you by surprise, but you happily returned the heated kiss as Bucky's hand slithered behind your neck.

"You deserve all of it, the whole world," You mumbled as you pulled away breathlessly. "The world did you dirty, and I'll be the one to wash you of it." With your words, Bucky felt his eyes water as he kissed you passionately again.

Once you pulled apart, Bucky wiped your lips with his thumb, a small smile on his lips. "Does that mean you're gonna stick around?"

"Yeah," you giggled, "I think it does."

[chobunz]

── inked. ( cbg ) 💉

๑ You ask your boyfriend, Beomgyu, to give you a tattoo. Who was he to decline ??

pair: tattoo artist!beomgyu ㅊ gf!reader | warnings: fluff, beomgyu kissing you through the process, suggestive content, praise, break-time visit, sketching | words: 1.1k

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“i’m still shocked you just showed up here without texting me.” beomgyu says as he drew out some of his clients ideas on a sketch-sheet. his voice low, full of concentration.

“what? so i can’t surprise visit my boyfriend now ? is that what you’re saying?” you dropped your vivienne westwood bag on his desk, peering over his shoulder to look at what he’s working on.

“yes, thats exactly what that means,” he spoke sarcastically, raising his brows, “y’know you’re welcome anytime.” “what about this ?” his arm lifted to show the man in the chair a few different designs. “go sit over there baby, i’ll be done in a quickie.” he rubbed the small of your back, kissing the crown of your forehead before walking across the room.

“okay.. ” you knew it wouldn’t be a long wait since the sketch seemed to be of something simple, like a name. you’d gotten comfortable on the couch for about an hour. most of the time you were occupied on your phone or studying beomgyu and his work environment.

you’d always wanted a tattoo, but upon watching a couple videos of people everytime you got curious— the cringe your body would feel after seeing them wincing in pain, you’d rather not. though, having an extra detail on your oh so very plain body wouldn’t be so awful. you could just picture yourself with a tattoo, something so small being well over enough to drastically change your appearance.

you caught yourself glancing over at the client, watching his facial expressions as beomgyu marked his pale skin. he hadn’t really made any look of discomfort. you weren’t that surprised though, he was full of ink. quite literally.

you’d be lying if you said some of beomgyu’s own tattoos hadn’t inspired you. his were so pretty and well put together. he had a full sleeve of ink and other random ones scattered all over his body, which he did most of them himself.

the noise of the door shutting awakened you from your trance. you watched as your boyfriend swept some of his hair out of his face, fixing his bangs to get a better look at you. “all done ?” you ask, body moving on it’s own, like a chunk of metal to a magnet. you caressed his figure, kissing his chin.

“yeah, for now, i have no more scheduled clients.” tongue grazing his lips before they latched onto yours, humming against the plump skin. “i’m on break right now though.” he smirked.

“‘s that so ?” you teased, caressing the side of his jaw.

“but you’re not here for me ? are you?” he laughed, seeing right through your intentions.

“well, no.. but yeah..” you showed your set of pearly white teeth once hearing his contagious laughter.

“what’s on your mind bun ?” he sat on his chair, motioning for you to come sit on his lap.

“well, you know— i dunno..” you shyed away. what if he didn’t want you ruining your skin, he’s always said he liked the pure look you gave off. what if he’ll be unattracted to you once you ruin it? you felt his hand caressing your thigh. he knew you were nervous, and he gave you all the time you needed. “what if.. i got a tattoo ?” “could i have one ?..”

he looked at you with furrowed brows. “why’re you asking me, you’re a grown ass woman.” he chuckled.

“but—”

“i don’t care what you do to your body baby, i’ll love it either way.” he cut you off, kissing your knuckles. “if you want one, i have nothing against your decision.” you had a sulky look upon your features, hearing how he spoke about you.

“i don’t know what i want though..”

“what are your looking for ? simple ? bold ? big ?”

“simple, for sure.” you quickly answered. his arms circled around you before he placed you down on the raised chair. he was quick to start sketching simple drawings, some cutesy ones you might like. he even wrote your name in a few different fonts.

“baby.. don’t you think that's a little narcissistic.” you giggled, eyeing his pen.

“have you seen yourself ? if i looked like you i’d be the biggest fucking narcissist.” he pursed, earning a grin from you. picking up the paper, displaying it before you. “choose wisely.” watching as your eyes curiously scanned the paper.

“hmm, i want this one !” you pointed at a star design. it was simple, small, but also gave off y2k vibes which you adored.

“you sure ? remember, there’s no going back.” he warns again, getting an alcohol wipe from his drawer. “where?”

“gyu, how come you never ask your actual clients these questions before you tat them ?” you pointed at your lower hip area indicating that’s where you wanted business done.

“i don’t know those people, who am i to tell them not to put some stupid shit on their skin.” he shrugged, lifting up your shirt, taking the cold wipe to your skin.

“valid— shit, that’s cold baby !” you caught his hand in your hand.

“my bad, princess.” he threw the wet tissue in the trash bin, taking the gun checking and shaking the ink that remained inside. “sit back and relax, kay ?” he kissed you after changing the tip on the machine.

it wasn’t until then that your breathing hitched. “baby.” he said sternly, looking at you. “just look at me. think about ponies or something.”

“shut the fuck up.” you rolled your eyes, “let’s do this already.”

he giggled before he took the tattoo gun to your skin, eyes shifting from the sketch and back to your skin.

surprisingly, it didn’t hurt but for a second. it just left you with a burning sensation once he finished. wiping the excess ink from your skin with another alcohol wipe, making you gasp for air.

“aaand we’re done cutie !” he grinned at his work, spreading a protective coat easing the warm area. “you did so well for me,” he kissed your head, helping you get up from your seat to look in a long mirror. “look at my beautiful girl.”

you weren’t in shock or anything, you knew you’d look hot with a tattoo— just kidding you were phenomenal. “woah, it looks really good ! thank you baby!” you clapped after flexing your waist in your reflection. “okay, now how do i care for it ?” you turn around to face his hovering figure.

“why do i need to tell you ? i’ll do it myself.” he wrapped his arms firmly around you.

“rightt.. well how much was it baby?”

“nothing at all.” he cheesed, admiring how pretty you looked.

“c’mon on that’s not fair ! let me pay !” you pout.

“no !”

“fine…how about a tip ?”

“just take care of mine..”

๑ ๑ ๑

[artist-issues]

“At least it's not ferociously attacking God quite as directly as Steven Universe did…”

Not that I’m surprised by this statement, but can you elaborate on this? Kinda intrigued by your thoughts on Steven Universe.

Okie dokie, you’re not the only one who has asked me about this, so I suppose I’ll poke the hornet’s nest. 😅 I haven’t talked about this before because I assumed that everyone who wanted to hear my kinds of opinions on stories wasn’t watching or interested in Steven Universe.

It’s like asking vegetarian if they enjoyed a turkey dinner. The turkey dinner was so obviously not made for vegetarians to enjoy, so why would the vegetarian even bother analyzing the turkey?

But I think if some people are asking me why I think Steven Universe is anti-God (of the Bible) its because maybe they don’t know what the turkey is. Not completely. (Maybe not you, because like you said, you’re not surprised by my comment.) So I’ll explain my thoughts on Steven Universe.

If you’re just following me because you liked some stuff I posted, but didn’t realize that I’m a Bible-believing Christian and don’t want to hear about it, unfollow me now. Because I’m going to talk about some hot button issues here and the trolls will come out.

Steven Universe is really well-done. The jokes are funny, the writing is believable, the characters have great chemistry, great design, the concept is fascinating, the slow build-up and reveal of the plot elements is great. But when you watch the throne room scene in the last episode of Season 5 “Change Your Mind,” it’s alarmingly clear how much the whole show is not just settling for defending and championing the LGBTQ+ worldview—it goes all the way to attacking what Christians believe, on the other side.

Anything that’s pro-LGBTQ+ is doing that by default, but this show goes out of its way to do that.

You have to understand: God created and designed us. Deeper than that; He created and designed romantic relationships, and invented marriage. He didn’t just create love—He is love. So when humans come along and do what we’ve always done since the fall, and say, “I’d rather define what Your thing is and how it works for myself, God,” it’s not only an incredible slap in the face, it’s an attack on God’s actual identity—and it’s destructive for us and the people around us. Like a fish insisting it can breathe oxygen.

But Steven Universe goes beyond that. It knows that the Christian worldview is it’s biggest opposition. It digs right down to the heart of the worldview-battle. LGBTQ+ worldview says, “I should get to love what I want and be who I am, because I’m me. Love is love. (By which I mean, any action or relationship I choose to call love is love, because I’m the one calling it that.)”

Biblical worldview says “No, wait, you shouldn’t base your decisions on you alone; what you want changes day to day, and you’re broken, so you can’t ever be satisfied based on what you want—the Bible says God made you for something, and you rejected that, and it broke you. You’re not how you’re meant to be: even what you want and what you think love is is twisted up and can hurt you and others. But if you submit to God He’ll help you, He’ll fix what’s broken and give you new life by making you how you were supposed to be: He’ll live in you and through you.”

Are we beginning to get the picture?

See, the whole thing with the opposing views between LGBTQ+ and Christian people is as old as time. It’s not a new debate. It’s Satan and Eve in the garden. She says, “This is not how God said things should be,” and Satan says, “Are you sure that’s what He said? He knows if you do this thing, you’ll be like Him. You’ll be god: you’ll get to decide ‘how things should be’ for yourself.”

He lied and said that disobedience would satisfy her. That she knew what her own heart needed better than the God that made it did. That the very act of being imperfect would make her godlike.

And then Steven Universe comes along and says “if every pork chop were perfect, we wouldn’t have hotdogs.”

And has a cast of created being characters who’s imperfections (Garnet’s forbidden “love,” Pearl’s obsession, Amethyst’s insecurity) are supposedly “the best thing about them; what makes them who they are.”

And has a main character who used to be a part of the god-like creator relationship, but used her power to come down to earth and completely change who she is into a fully different person.

And has a godlike Creator character who claims she “doesn’t need” her created beings (just like the God of the Bible) but they all have a little part of their creator in them so she has to repress their imperfections; she holds them all to a standard that’s impossible to reach called “perfection” and punishes them when they don’t meet it even though it hurts them to try; she expects them all to do what they were created by her for; she fixes them when they can’t meet her standard by shining her light through them and making them extensions of their Creator.

And has a main character who argues, fights back, tries to stop her, and is answered with lines that sound surprisingly like what LGBTQ+ people hear when Christians argue with them: “you’re only making things worse; you’re just deceiving yourself; even while you resist it your actual light can’t help shining through,” etc.

White Diamond just wants everything to be perfect. Like her. She just wants her created beings to “be themselves.” But what she means is, be how she created them to be.

And she’s the bad guy. She’s playing God in this show, and Rebecca Sugar is saying, “If God is telling us that can only be happy by being perfect, as He is perfect, and doing what He created us to do, then He’s wrong. Our imperfections are what make us special—unique—individuals—free—and there is nobody who has the right to take that freedom away from us, not even out creator!”

And you know what?

If God were like White Diamond, like Rebecca Sugar believes Him to be, Steven Universe would be right.

But He is NOT.

God is not a dictator who forces us to conform to a standard of perfection and then smashes us when we don’t meet it. He is a King who made us perfect to begin with, and we rejected him, because He allowed us to do that. He knew that true love was love that had to be chosen, and He wanted us to love Him by choice, so he gave us the option. But Rebecca Sugar doesn’t understand—there was never “Choose God or Choose Yourself.” There was only, “Choose God or Choose Nothing.” There was nothing except God. Then He created everything. There is no version of reality where you have something better than God, or even slightly less good but different, to pick. You’re not jumping from one ship into a smaller one, but at least it’s yours—you’re jumping from one ship into a void, and then complaining that there’s no other ship. That’s humans. That’s not God. / White Diamond didn’t make her creations perfect (Amethyst) and she didn’t make them for love. She made them for power. That’s not the God of the Bible.

Even when we did choose to try and love ourselves instead of God, and therefore warped our ability to perfectly love at all, He didn’t smash us. True, everything fell and was cursed, which is exactly what He warned us would happen if we chose it, but it was a natural consequence of breaking ourselves. And then He didn’t leave us that way. He didn’t give up on us. And He certainly didn’t just zap us, snap His fingers, quick-fix it and turn us all into robots who are extensions of Him, who say they love Him but only because it’s His voice puppeting us to say it.

No. He came to us, chose to give up His life at the exact point on the timeline when Romans, masters in the art of slow, humiliating, torturous death, would be the ones to carry out His crucifixion, and saved us Himself. Through the sacrifice of His own life. And even then, we still have a choice. We get to choose to accept that incredible self-sacrifice when we don’t deserve it, and be given new life and a relationship with the Creator who knows us and loves us better than we can love ourselves or receive love from others—OR we can just keep stubbornly insisting that our slavery to the opposite of what God wants is somehow freedom, and our twisted versions of love are genuine, and we’re not broken, and die like that. Die broken creatures who lived their whole lives stomping their feet and screaming “I’m not a creature, I’m a god!”

White Diamond sacrifices nothing, because Rebecca Sugar doesn’t know the God of the Bible. She just knows her idea of Him. She’s never actually gotten to know Him. If she had, she’d learn how silly and twisted her idea is.

Because you know what, yeah, if every pork chop were perfect, we wouldn’t have hot dogs. But people aren’t pork chops. And hot dogs have flavor (not better than pork chops) but they are awful for you.

Christians aren’t perfect cuts of meat with no individuality or flavor. Just because we all know and love the same God doesn’t mean we have no personalities. It just means we don’t think so freaking much about what we are, or who we get to be, or what we like and want. Jeez, what a self-centered, narcissistic, self-obsessed way to live. She plays Steven like he’s this wonder-child, innocent and full of heart, who encourages his friends to love and keep trying. But honestly?

This is very pretty animation but it’s not real. Steven looks happy hugging Steven but self-love doesn’t ultimately get you that.

That’s all based on the premise that what he’s encouraging them to do is actually good, and will make them happy, and will help them love better. And it just won’t. Not in real life. That’s not how any of this works. Self-love is just self-obsession. And that is a sure-fire way to hurt you, and everyone around you.

You’ll never be free by choosing to run to a worse master. You’ll never be satisfied with your crappy attempts at loving yourself, because you were made to be loved flawlessly and forever by someone who is Love Himself.

And choosing to identify with your imperfections doesn’t make you uniquely you. It just makes you exactly like every other human being marching in the same line since the Fall.

White Diamond’s not relational. She’s up high and distant. That’s not God. He made you to be in relationship with Him. He loves you, totally and perfectly, and He proved it by sacrificing for You.

So yeah. That’s the problem with Steven Universe. Come get me, SU fans.

[gojipink]

saying sorry 4 dummies

ஐ ft. childe, diluc, xiao

ஐ summary. how they say sorry in their own way after an argument!

ஐ warnings. none, SFW, fem!reader

childe 

he stands at the doorway swallowing a little thickly at the sight of you unmoving from your spot on the couch, eyes glued to your book. 

normally, you would bound over to him with a big smile and plant a kiss on his lips to welcome him home but the two of you are still in the recovering phase after an enormous fight, a fight that left a few scars and bleeding hearts. 

“h-hi baby…um i got us some dinner!” 

you look up at him with a little smile, “oh thanks, what’d you get?” 

“i got us a whole peking duck and some veggie side dishes,” he states rather proudly holding up the bags for you to see.

“a pek- ajax that's so expensive?!” you gasp out standing from your spot on the couch, walking over to him peeking inside the plastic bags.

“yeah well…i don’ know,” he starts a little sheepishly, “i just wanted to have a nice meal with you after well…y’know…i just wanted to treat my girl, is all…” 

you sigh before softly laughing, taking a to-go bag from him, “thank you,” leaning up to press a lingering kiss to his cheek, “it smells delicious. i'll set these up on some plates while you get ready?” 

his eyes close at the feeling of your lips on his skin, feeling the gap the argument created between the two of you slowly begin to close. he nods wordlessly at your suggestion, not yet fully trusting his voice to sound steady, before hurrying into the bedroom to change and wash up. 

you begin to set the table, putting plates and drinks at you and childe’s designated seating spots at the little round table across from each other. 

coming back out from the bedroom, childe watches you for a second with soft eyes as you stand in the kitchen transferring the food onto big plates. walking towards you, he wraps his arms around your middle, pressing his chest firmly against your back while he rests his cheek against the crown of your head.

“honey, it's a little difficult to move with you pressing on me like this,” you voice, though you dont try to wiggle out of his hold, actually leaning back further into him. 

he pouts to himself but doesn't move an inch until you're handing him a plate to take over to the table. 

after all the food has been placed neatly in the middle, you both sit down in your usual spots.

glancing up at him you offer him a little appreciative smile, “thank you for dinner, babe, it looks really good!” 

childe smiles at you and although you two have sat in this arrangement for ages now, he can't help but feel miles away from you. sliding his dinner plate and drink over to the chair next to you, you giggle at him knowing he’s feeling a little clingy.

“what are you doing, ajax?” you laugh at him

settling into the chair he places a hand on your thigh, his thumb lovingly caressing your skin, knees touching. 

“just wanna be close to you, princess,” he shoots you his classic boyish grin before spooning some food onto his plate. gathering some duck and veggies and folding it all in the wrap, he holds it out to you. 

“say ahhh”

diluc 

he stares at the splayed pile of paperwork on his desk, words blurring and blending together while he sits, zoned out. his own mind torturing him by replaying your disappointed and upset expression over and over again. the argument was small, nothing more than a small frustrated spat between lovers. though, it affects diluc all the same. 

diluc tried to fix it then, tried to apologize immediately at the sight of your downcasted eyes. But before he could get a word out, you mumbled that you needed some air and walked out the mansion, leaving him to stew in his own anxiety. 

heaving a heavy sigh, he tosses the reports onto his desk and slumps back into the backrest of his chair, bringing a hand up to rub at his tired eyes. he just wants you to be home. wants you to be by his side and smiling at him and talking about your day with him. wants to hold you close and tell you he’s sorry for unloading any frustration and any stress onto you when you didn't deserve it. 

a knock at his office doors breaks him out of his turbulent thoughts.

“come in…” he sighed, thinking it must be elzar coming in with something work related. however, when you quietly slip into his office, he immediately stands in surprise, the legs of the chair loudly scraping against the hardwood floors. 

“darling-” 

“i um…i just wanted to bring you something to eat.” you say softly, placing a little to-go box on his desk. “i know you probably haven't eaten yet today, so i thought i would bring you something after strolling around the city…” 

coming around the corner of his desk, his heart melts at your simple yet caring gesture, “that's very kind, my love, thank you.” 

“and um…” looking up at him a little shyly, “i just wanted to say im sorry for, well, earlier. i shouldn’t have gotten so upset and i shouldn’t have just left like that.” 

“nonono, love,” hastily he closes the distance between you two, his hands coming up to rub at your shoulders, “you don't need to apologize. i’m the one who needs to be saying sorry. i shouldn’t have taken any sort of frustration out on you, you didn’t deserve that.”  

giving him a small thankful smile, you reach up to press a sweet kiss to his lips which he happily reciprocates. 

“to be honest, i don't know what we were even arguing about,” you whispered after pulling an inch away. he smiles and rests his forehead on yours, eyes closing to bask in your presence, “i don't either.” 

heart two hundred times lighter than it was when you walked in, you pull away from him smiling, “well, i shall leave you to work then, ‘luc.”

catching your hand before you fully turn away from him, his face suddenly dusted a light pink.

“actually, darling, i was wondering if you wanted to stay? here in the office, i mean. with me. while i work.” 

you look at him with amusement in your eyes as diluc ineloquently stumbles out his request, an extremely rare sight. 

lacing your fingers with his, you step forward to plant a chaste kiss to his cheek, “i would love nothing more.” 

xiao 

his time with you is so short. he’s hyper aware of that fact. his time with you is too short to be wasted on arguments and silent treatments or have any kind of lingering tension. xiao doesn't have that much experience when it comes to dealing with humans or forming a relationship with one, much less a romantic relationship with one. 

he shifts his weight from one foot to the other watching your figure walk across a shorter neighboring mountain top. he sighs to himself thinking back to earlier this morning when the two of you were engaged in a flurry of heated exchanges. xiao didn’t mean to take it as far as he did, didn't mean it like that when he called you weak, didnt mean to make you worry when he suddenly disappeared for a week straight. didnt mean to make matters worse when he had to leave abruptly in the middle of the argument because someone called his name. 

“you could’ve at least given me some kind of sign! a note, a messenger, anything!” your voice becoming a little raised, your concern for him being overtaken by frustration.

“i didn't realize that that would be necessary,” he said lowly, patience quickly wearing thin. 

“you were suddenly gone for an entire week! what else was i supposed to think other than the worst?”

“im not as weak as you!” he shot back, anger lacing his words.

“that’s not my even my point-” you tried to start before he continued.

“i’ve been doing this long before you even existed, i never thought i would have to report my every action to anyone!” 

“xiao,” you sighed, hands coming up to roughly comb through your hair, “im your-”

he suddenly looks away, eyes alert like something else has grabbed his attention. he hesitantly glances at you and you realize someone must be calling his name. scoffing, your hands drop to your side as you turn away from him, “go.”

“y/n-” he sighed

“you need to go, right? go. ill be…” you loosely gesture to the space around you, “here. so, go.” 

upon finishing up the errand that took him away from you, he now observes as you collect qingxin flowers most likely for a small commission to keep yourself busy. looking at the ground of the mountain top he currently stands, he notices an abundance of qingxin flowers and begins to collect a handful. he wants to apologize, he knows he needs to. it wasn't fair that you were left in the dark and if the situation was reversed, he knows he would’ve gone to the edges of teyvat to find you. 

in the midst of picking a flower, a familiar haze of green smoke flashes before xiao appears in front of you. 

“hi,” you say coolly, continuing to pick flowers while barely giving him so much as a glance, “what are you doing here?”

“i…” he hesitates not knowing how to proceed, “i thought i heard you call my name.” the tips of his ears flush red at his obvious lie.

you hum in acknowledgement, “i didn’t.” 

“oh. well- here.” he thrusts the little bouquet of flowers towards you, “i thought i could help.” 

looking at him and the flowers in surprise, you carefully take the bundle before putting it in your basket, “oh. thank you, that actually helps a lot.” 

turning around to begin your descent down the mountain, xiao follows in silence. 

“y/n, i…” he falters when you look at him, waiting for him to finish his thought. 

his mouth opens and closes, his words failing him.

you sigh and look away for a brief moment before looking back at him with a soft expression, “its okay, xiao. i get it.” 

“i'll do better,” he declares, those three words symbolizing all his thoughts. im sorry. i didn’t mean to. i’ll try harder next time. 

you smile at him for the first time in what he feels like is ages, his shoulders finally relaxing. 

“thank you,” you whisper to him before taking his hand in yours, “y’know, maybe i did call for you.” 

his head snaps to yours, “you did?” 

you look back at him with a teasing glint in your eye, “must’ve been missing you so much that my heart called out for you to hear.” 

cheeks dusted pink, he nods his head in agreement. 

[milkbobatyun]

a ghost of his past

pairing: dan heng x reader

genre: angstober, events

summary: even in his dreams, his past haunts him.

word count: 630

a/n: which clown pulled for dan heng IL just because his design was really pretty? totally not me !! n e ways take this attempt at a dan heng fic.

the gentle, quiet melody of the CD was seeping into the sleeping quarters of the astral express. its inhabitants were deep in sleep. suddenly, with a horrid screech, it halts. an unnerving silence settled over the sleeping quarters. when the disk starts revolving again, a haunting xiaozhou melody sings from the player.

dan heng lies asleep in his bed, where he finds himself in his own dreamscape. a ghost of a figure haunts his, no, dan feng’s dreams.

they stare into his soul with lifeless eyes, silent in their approach.

even without the memories of his past lives, he knew who you were. his lover. or rather, dan feng’s. his gentle, beautiful lover, who offered him unconditional affection, who was always so understanding of him.

you, whose soft hands brushed at his tears when they fell, massaged away the headaches that accompanied the arduous role of being a high elder. 

your love story was spread far and wide in the xianzhou. many children and young couples aspired to have such a fantastical and romantic love. the two of you were the envies of all lovers. the citizens watched as their high elder, always so cold and judicial in his mannerisms, would soften and gaze at you with the warmest look in his eyes, how the fearsome dragon elder became but a mere puppy in your presence.

in danheng’s fragmented dreams, short films of your love played before him, reminding him of every tender moment. times where you were his sole supporter and believer. the seconds of eternity where you would sneak into his office, a boxed lunch, fresh from the stove, cradled in your hands.

the dreams were bright and warm, like the soft touch of spring, flowers booming in his chest.

the fragile flowers, their buds just beginning to bloom, are swallowed by the cold touch of frost, the lively blooms blackening and withering.

in danheng’s fragmented nightmares, he caught glimpses of your demise. your warped screams echo in his mind, bloody hands clawing at the hem of his coat. he hears your voice, begging for mercy.

the nightmares were cold and lonely, like ice seeping into his veins, cutting into his soul and heart.

as he dreams, blade’s voice echoes in his mind.

“you always knew the price better than any of us.” he hissed, his voice a serpent’s hiss, slithering in his thoughts. “that’s why you sacrificed her.”

“you killed her, for the sake of your planet.” blade taunted, his laugh grating in danheng’s ear. “YOU KILLED HER, WITH YOUR OWN TWO HANDS.”

dan heng squeezed his eyes shut, the blackness of his dreamscape pressing in on him, suffocating him. he covered his ears with his hands, tugging and clawing at his hair, to get your echoing screams out of his mind.

he felt a warm liquid running between his fingers. dan heng held his trembling hands in front of him, watching as blood stained his hands, the bloody spear gripped with shaking fingers.

kneeling by his feet was your lifeless body, a bloody hole where your heart should be.  your eyes are fixed ahead, mouth contorting into words that cut his heart deeper than any sword.

“dan feng. how could you.” you breathed, eyes swimming with hurt. “i thought you loved me.”

with a start, dan heng woke from his dreams. the xianzhou lullaby ceases.

drawing his knees up to his chest, dan heng presses the heels of his palms into his eyes.

“spare me, please,” dan heng pleads to the empty room. “let me forget my past.”

no one responds, but in the depths of his mind, he seems to hear a soft whisper.

“i’m sorry…please don’t forget me.”

the room was silent, but the weight of his past lay burdened on dan heng’s mind.

taglist (open): @leehanscorydora, @pastelmitzuki

∧,,,∧ ( ̳• · • ̳)  © curated with love by milkbobayun 2024 / づ ♡

[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.

[misahyochaeng]

“Insider”

(CEO!Mina x Fem!Reader🌧️🔞)

TW's// Smut, Dom!Mina, Sub!reader, CEO!Mina, Clubbing, One night stand, catching feelings, slight angst, Fingering, Bathroom sex, L bombing, Public area, exhibitionism, hair pulling, spanking, Mina is DESPERATE. Mentions of Nayeon and Sana, you and nayeon lowkey have some tension here and there but shh..//

—Flashback—

—"Nggh, M-Mina-nim.. fuck.” Your body shook the bathroom stall, your body gripping Mina's shoulders as you came undone on her fingers.

—"Hmm.. good girl." She helped you ride your high, helping you finish and clean up.

—"No hard feelings, ok?" Mina replied sternly, fixing your appearance and leaving you there at the bathroom stall.

No hard feelings.

—Flashback end—

Those harsh words echoed and panged through your mind. It had been almost a month since your one night stand with the vicious club owner, known for her dark aura and intimidating presence; yet you saw her in her most vulnerable moments, her digits inside you as she took care of the problem inbetween your legs.

You'd promise yourself to not fall in love, but your heart was saying otherwise. You kept stalking her social medias, keeping up with the company club, eyeing events she hosted and thinking about how nice it'd be to go and see her again, maybe experience her fingers inside you again.

—"Fuck.. ughhh i can't, i miss her so much." You complained to your friend Nayeon, head on her lap as she played with your hair, your hands scrolling aimlessly through Mina's feed.

—"Y/N, honey, come on.. It was just a fling, what's so awesome about, her?"

—"Nayeon, you don't get it.. it's THE Myoui Mina, imagine being able to spend the night with the most fucking rich woman in all Seoul? Shit, you'd be crazy like me too!!"

Nayeon rolled her eyes, pinching your cheeks softly as she continued to play with your hair.—"Alright, alright, dummy.. It's noticeable you're hooked."

You nod, getting comfortable in Nayeons lap as you continued scrolling.

You need to see her.

—

On the other hand, Mina was in her office, counting up big stacks of twenty dollar bills, legs resting on her desk as she went through the paper. —"Alright, Sana, here's your payment..."

Mina said as she handed the Japanese a rough stack of cash, her expression cold. —"And the rest i'll be keeping, as promised."

Sana checked and counted her bills, the ones she hardly worked for by dancing. —"Ma'am this is only—"

—"Am i getting a complaint, Minatozaki?" She snapped back, her voice cold and stern,

—"You got your fair share, you know i need to get my bills paid, darling." Mina stood up and leaned over her desk, lifting Sana's chin up and inching closer to her, lips barely apart as she stared at the latter in a rather dominating composure.

—"Is there any way i can increase my payment, Ma'am?" Sana asked, hand snaking to hold Mina's, which was still on her chin.

Mina thought for a bit, getting an idea and smirking. —"Oh i know a way, sweetheart."

———

—"Holy shit, Y/N!!" Nayeon yelped as she scrolled through her phone, you were laying next to her watching a movie, the scream making you jolt up, eyes going wide.

—"What the fuck!" She shut you up with a finger to your lip, sitting up properly as she began to explain, eyes scanning yours.

—"Okay, soo.. yknow my whole modeling thing with Tommy Hillfiger, right?" You nodded, eyebrows furrowed as she yapped on and on.

—"They're hosting a runway event and they invited me!," Nayeon then leaned closer to you, practically whispering in your ear

—"And they said i could bring a plus one, plus they're holding an after party in this club,” Nayeon said in a low sultry tone, trying to seduce and convince you, the action making you roll your eyes.

—"Come on! it'll be fun!" After a couple minutes of nagging, you finally gave in, borrowing some of Nayeons THF designer clothes and doing your makeup,

—"See, i knew you'd always look better in my clothing, i have a better fashion sense after all!" Nayeon replied cockily, taking off and changing her shirt infront of you.

—"Whatever, just hurry up so we can go," The only reason you agreed is because you needed to get your mind off Mina, almost a month and you couldn't get the image out of your mind, you needed to do anything possible to get that pit inside you out.

After a good ten minutes, Nayeon finally finished getting all dolled up, holding her handbag as she walked out with you to the door. —"Wait, wait! quick selfie before we go out, babe!"

You rolled your eyes and smirked, going over to the closet mirror you had near your apartment front door and posing, Nayeons hands snaking near the lower area off your waist as you both posed for a quick mirror pic, speeding off the door in a stat.

Nayeon was quick to post the pic, the entire car ride to the event just being some basic chatter.

———

Sana smirked as she got the notification on insta, seeing the two of you posing, she giggled as she liked the story. —"Bingo."

———-

As your driver finally settled near the event area, paparazzi drivers immediately started flashing you both, of course since you were going as Nayeons plus one; you had a reputation, sure, but not as big as your best friend's.

As the event finally started, you sat with Nayeon, her hand on your thigh as you both watched the fashion show, cameras occasionally flashing to you both, you watched with amusement as you admired all the outfits, whispering a funny comment or two in Nayeons ear when an outfits pattern or style was weird, both of you trying to hold in your laugh.

The event was fun, (and by fun you mean making fun of the weird outfits the models would walk in with), and it got your mind out of plenty of stuff; as you walked out, you took plenty of selfies with celebrities you admired, mostly flattering Nayeon in all her glory while you introduced yourself as her friend.

But now, the fun was actually about to start. As you pulled up to the club for the after party, it was full to the brim, butterflies in your stomach as the night began to settle.

The night was wild, filled with dancing, drinking, pouring shots in random peoples mouth and getting closer to Nayeon, the alcohol in your system making you touch, feel and grind all over your best-friend.

Little did you know, Sana, Mina's little minion and worker, was eyeing you the whole time.

Sana had been bringing over drunk girls for Mina to toy with, it's what they agreed on after all, the more the girls, the more payment increase for Sana. Sana was about to strike until you drifted off of Nayeon, whose lips were near you neck as you both danced together.

You slightly stumbled off to the bathroom, where only god knows what you were about to do.

That was until Mina bursted out of her office door, T-shirt collar messy as she wiped the messy lipstick on her face, a dark haired girl with bangs who looked like she just got ran over by a tornado leaving the room shortly after her, a hand trailing behind Mina's ass. —"Thank you for the service miss uhm.. Hirai.."

The girl blew a kiss as she ran off to party.

—“All good, Miss. Myoui?” Sana asked, head tilted as she gave the Japanese a cheeky smile.

Mina nodded, —"Just a quick bathroom break, i'll be back in a bit, bring the next girl over to my office ok?"

Mina walked off to the bathroom, hands in her pockets as she opened the door with her shoulders. You were leaning against the sink touching up your makeup until a loud thud made you snap your neck to the side, the sight of the girl you yearned so badly for making your jaw drop.

—"Myoui!!!?" You shouted, though it was quickly cut off by Mina's hand covering your mouth.

—"Shh, people aren't supposed to know i'm here, fuck." She replied sternly, the tone of voice taking you back a bit.

You both had a moment of silence before Mina spoke. —"It's been a while, no?"

You nodded, avoiding the latters gaze until she lifted your chin up with her finger, inching a bit closer. —"You okay?"

Mina replied, her cold facade disappearing and now being replaced with some light concern —"N-no it's just..."

You sighed before inching her hand away.

—"I don't think i can forget about last time, Mina.. I need that.." You paused for a brief moment as you stared at her, the bass of the music making the walls vibrate,

—"I need you."

Silence..

Mina barely wasted a second and latched onto you, hands holding your waist and ass as she bit your bottom lip, pressing her lips against yours in a deep kiss. You moaned out, Mina's cold hands reaching up to your shirt to cup and knead your breasts, pressing you against the wall, her thigh in-between your legs.

You bucked your hips for friction, grinding on her thigh as you whined against her.

—"Need it so badly, don't you, baby?" Mina teased, mouth trailing down to your neck, biting, leaving sloppy kisses, she was aggressive, desperate even; it was like you were her last fucking meal.

Mina groped your breast hard as she undid the button of your jean pants, shoving her hand down there to rub your clit through your underwear, a smirk pressing against your neck as your body jolted forward at the stimulation, mouth falling agape as you moaned out.

—"Good fucking girl." Mina gripped the skin of your sides harshly, her neck still on your neck, inhaling your scent, it was like an addiction, and she had fallen in deep.

Mina inserted two of her digits inside you, fucking you at an easy and steady pace, biting your earlobe as she kissed you roughly all over.

—“You need it so badly, don’t you baby?” Mina teased, mouth trailing down to your neck, biting, leaving sloppy kisses, she was aggressive, desperate even; it was like you were her last fucking meal.

You moaned loudly as she touched every single one of your weak spots, she knew what you liked and she’d do anything to please you.

The loud noise echoed through the bathroom, she pressed her lips against yours again, tongue exploring your mouth. —"Be quiet, needy girl, anyone can some in at any second yknow? See you being such a good girl for Miss Myoui, what would they think? Hm?"

You arched your back bucking your hips against her fingers, Mina's free hand reaching down to land three harsh smacks on your ass, kneading the area after, she was obsessed with your ass, and you knew it.

Mina's lips trailed down to your collarbone, marking the area. —"Don't wanna fuck anyone else after this, don't want YOU fucking anyone else, you're fucking mine, got it? This wet cunt is mine. Myoui Mina's fucking pussy."

You nodded endlessly, arms wrapping around her neck, you hid your face in the crook of it, biting her neck to suppress your noises.

—"Easy fucking girl." Mina spit back, her off hand just feeling you all over, sweat dripping down her forehead as she got you all messy for her.

—"Gosh, fucks sake Mina, i love you so fucking much."

Those words made Mina jolt up a bit, she would hear it a lot from all her different flings, but when it came out of your mouth, fuck, it was different. —"Yeah? Say how much you fucking love me, say it, needy girl."

Tears pricked at your eyes as you moaned out, telling her how much you loved her aimlessly, everything about her, how fucking obsessed you were with her. It struck a nerve in Mina, making her heart pang, she knew there was no hard feelings, but fuck.. why was she feeling this way.

She thrusted harder, hitting deep inside you as she felt your walls clench around her. —"Close, baby? Gonna cum for me? How about i take you home and treat you good after this?"

You nodded before pouring your juices out on the girls fingers, as she helped you ride your high, you pulled the girl closer into a hug and kissed her, your eyes teary. —"I'm sorry"

You apologized as you look into her eyes, her gaze softening, something you'd never seen before.—"It's.. Its okay.. Hey? I did promise id treat you? it's on me."

—"But what about—"

She was quick to reassure you, hands cupping your soft cheeks as she admired you with her gaze.

—"Don't worry about Nayeon, i've got it covered, trust me." As she said that, you gave in as she cleaned you up and took you out of the bathroom, eyeing Sana as she walked out with you, pinky's linked together.

You did good, Sana... You did good.

[pocket-watcher]

The following is a collab between myself and the amazing @blissful23 !

Ding-Dong

The doorbell sounded and Suzie looked up from styling her long, blonde hair in the mirror. This always happens when she’s just getting ready to go out! She had readjusted the shirt she had “borrowed” from her roommate, as it was slightly too tight, checked her eyeliner was even for the 50th time, and was just finishing her lipstick with a satisfied pop.

She sighed frustratedly, stood up, and made her way to the source of the offending sound. Opening the front door, she was greeted by a man she’d never seen before. Dark hair and - oh God - a curled moustache framed a sharp featured face, adorned with a rather ostentatious top hat. Finely attired in a black suit, jacket resplendent with coattails, he gave a slight bow in greeting. It took all her willpower not to outright laugh in the face of this antiquity standing before her.

“Good day ma’am, it’s a fine afternoon, is it not?”

She stood, arms crossed in exaggerated frustration, staring back at him.

“How can I help you… Sir?”

She put the extra emphasis on that last word, wishing him to know quite pointedly that she was being interrupted. He smiled in return - whether it was sincere or strained in response to her standoffishness, she couldn’t tell.

“Well, you see my dear, I’m selling these very fine pocketwatches.”

With exaggerated flourish, he swept his coat open, revealing a dazzling array of pocketwatches hanging on the inside of it. He held it in place, and as if by magic - more likely the momentum of him opening his coat, she thought to herself - each of the pocketwatches begun swinging in unison. Probably a bit of showmanship designed to wow a potential customer, but still, it was fascinating to watch as they swung back and forth, back… and forth… back…

Suzie shook her head, dispelling a sudden onset of light-headedness, and redressed her gaze to The Salesman. He pulled his coat closed and smiled once more. A little less sure of her cold reception to him initially, she spoke again.

“Those are very lovely, but… I have no real need of a pocketwatch.” She said, gesturing to her phone.

“Ah, but my dear, you didn’t even take notice of our finest model!”

She bristled inwardly at being addressed as “my dear” again, and fixed her gaze to the pocketwatch he was now dangling in front of her face. It was silver, hooked by a long thin strap. The outer shell had some sort of pattern cut out of it to reveal the clock face behind, but with the shell popped open she couldn’t quite tell what was meant to be on the front. The spindling hands on the clock ticked away excitedly.

“Look at this gorgeous embedded crystal, and how it changes in the light! Let me swing it so you can see how it changes colour in the light…”

As he began swinging it from side to side, her jaw almost instantly fell agape at the sight of it, finding herself unable to draw her soft, blue eyes away from it.

"So many colours! Which colour do you prefer?" 

It was so hard to decide. So many splendid, beautiful colours to pick from. She tried to follow them as they shifted moment to moment. It was hard to think of a favourite. So hard to think… was all Suzie’s mind could muster for the moment, her thoughts, plans for the day, all of them fading away, replaced by her fascination with the tantalising kaleidoscope dancing before her eyes.

"I, uhh.... c-colours..."

The Salesman smiled wide. It wasn’t always this easy, but they all ended up this way eventually.

"Yes, pretty colours... and as each one shines, your worries and cares fade just that little bit more..."

Not having to think and just being able to enjoy the colours did sound nice to Suzie. Joyous, even; and she allowed herself a little giggle at the suggestion. She tried to help him how wonderful that sounded, but her mind was already so devoid of thought, all she could utter was:

"Hee-hee… colours...!"

Knowing he had her right where he wanted her, The Salesman followed on with his scheme.

“Can you hear the ticking? No? Maybe you should invite me inside where it’s quieter so you can really focus in on the sound…”

Had she heard the ticking? She wasn’t sure. Probably best to listen to him. A dull, errant thought in the back of Suzie’s near-blank mind warned that this was a bad idea, but was immediately overruled by the obedient thrall she found herself in.

"Uhhh… Won't you... nghh... won't you... please come in..."

“My dear, I thought you’d never ask…”

—

As he stepped through the doorway, another voice could be heard deeper inside.

“Suzie? You haven’t seen my top, have you? The low-cut one with the ruffles - oh.”

Suzie’s roommate Miranda - a stunning redhead - entered the room. Always a favourite, those, The Salesman thought to himself. She stopped upon seeing him eyeing her.

“Uh… hello. And you are?” Miranda asked, curiously, confused at the way Suzie stood there smiling blankly at her.

“He’s… He sells… pocketwatches…” Suzie answered for the strange man.

“Yes, and I’m so pleased to make your acquaintance. Would you like to take a look, my dear?”

“No, thank you. We,” Miranda looked sternly at Suzie, “are actually running late. So if you’ll excuse us…”

Suzie didn’t move, however. As Miranda went to grab her arm she simply smiled up at her.

“But… They’re so pretty…” She said, as if she struggled with every word.

The Salesman pulled out the watch. “See for yourself.”

Miranda looked at him, exacerbated, before huffing, turning back to Suzie in confusion. 

“Come on. We’re leaving.”

"But they’re so pretty..." Suzie whined. “Just take a closer look. You know you want to…”

Miranda looked. She couldn’t see anything special about this pocketwatch. Though, truth be told, she was struggling to take in any of the details as she tried to follow it with her hazel eyes. If only this guy would stop swinging it in front of her… back… and forth… and…

“What, are you trying to hypnotise me into buying one or something?” She laughed. But, then, she thought…

Looking at her usually headstrong friend standing quietly with her eyes tracking the watch’s every movement, everything seemed to click into place.

“Aha… w-wait. You’re not… You’re not actually trying to… right…?” 

Miranda was getting nervous, hiding it behind laughter. No. Of course he wasn’t. Hypnosis wasn’t real.

“My God, you are trying to hypnotise… me, aren’t you? And what have you done to Suzie? I’ve had enough of this, please leave.”

The Salesman frowned at this, placing his watch back inside of his jacket. She was going to be tougher. Luckily, he liked a challenge. Reaching into his jacket once more, his fingers brushed along the watches until he found… yes. Perfect.

“But my dear, you haven’t seen our Timepiece de Resistance…” He pulled out a small golden watch. Its chain was more detailed than the other, with a texture almost like woven vines. The numbers were roman numerals. Or were they? Miranda couldn’t tell. 

Shit. She’d been staring at it, hadn’t she?

Miranda covered her eyes and turned away,

“We call it that because it’s the Timepiece that causes all your resistance to melt away…”

His voice was deep in her brain now. It was so… so tempting to look back at him. And Suzie’s pleasant hums of approval weren’t helping.

“No, I won’t… you’re not going to… hypno… hypnotise… me…” Miranda managed, looking up to see Suzie had walked over to her. 

“Go on… just a little look… it would feel so good, Miranda…” Suzie spoke softly, almost dreamlike.

Then another thought hit her. If Suzie could sneak up on her, this guy could be anywhere! She had to check for certain if he was still between them and the door. 

She looked up at him and her attention was captured by the watch once more.

“Get… get out…” Miranda said as firmly as she could manage.

“Please calm down… You don’t need to be so on edge, so angry… Maybe you didn’t get enough sleep last night…”

Her eyes started to droop. All this fighting was exhausting. The only easy thing right now was keeping her eyes on that watch.

“No, I… I don’t need to… sleep… I’m completely…” She tried to stifle a yawn “… Awake…”

“We both know that’s not true, my dear… Look at you. You’re struggling to stay awake. You can barely keep your eyes open…”

Her hands, once balled into fists, were now relaxed and hung limply by her side. Miranda found herself struggling to keep her eyes open.

“No… I’m not - yawn - sleepy…”

The man approached her, guiding her over to the couch, where Suzie had, at some point, also had found herself.

“There’s no need to fight it anymore… You want to give in to it… You want to surrender to slumber…”

“Surrender… to slumber…” Miranda felt a smile grow on her own face as she repeated after him, her weary eyelids now stuck at half-mast. 

“That’s it…” He looked at his pocket watch. Another job well done.

“Well, ladies, it appears I may have lost track of time.” He chuckled, leading the girls to giggle mindlessly… although, they weren’t quite sure why they were laughing. But Master was so funny, wasn’t he?

“I’ll just leave this here.” The Salesman said as he placed a business card on the coffee table in front of them. “In case you know anyone else who might appreciate my services, hm?” 

He watched as Suzies head slowly slumped onto Miranda’s shoulders, both girls blissfully asleep. He straightened his hat, closed the door behind him, and moved onto the next house.

[ihaznoclue]

Could I request Billy, Nicole, and Von Lycaon with a reader who knows how to design, build, and repair weapons?

Pairings -> Billy Kid, Nicole Demara, Von Lycaon X Reader

Warnings -> Guns are mentioned and Nichole's (Billy's part mostly)

Note -> Reader can design, build and repair weapons

Genre -> fluff

Billy Kid

Okay so we all know this man has his two guns which he calls 'his ladies'

So if he had a partner that can design, build and re-pair weapons

Then he is on his knees

He would literally go to you and see if you could help re-do his guns like re-paint it and stuff

"Please Name! I need my babies back, and you're the only person who can help me" Billy whined

You sigh as you playfully rolled your eyes

"Okay, Okay. Just get up form the floor you big baby and give me your gun so I can start on them"

"Thank you, you are literally a goddess!" Then he went straight to his room to get his guns

It took you only 20 minutes to re-paint his guns as well as give them some upgrades which Billy recommended

Which to you of course did, Billy was quite happy with the results as he 'kissed' you in return then went straight to his room for his ladies to rest

Nicole Demara

I feel like she would ask you to build and design a pink gun..

That's what my opinion is

Since I imagine that her favorite color is pink

But I do know what she has her suitcase as well

But I feel like she would ask for a pink gun or a pink

And if you actually do that for her, she would ask Billy how to use a gun

"Hey Name, Are you able to build me a gun that is pink" She asked, you stopped what you were doing and turned to her

"Yeah, I can, just give me the options of what you want the design to look like and I'll do it straight away"

"Okay, so a pink gun that has me name of it, of course and I would like it to have multiple bullet slots like Billy's"

"Coming right up"

"Thank Sweetie"

This girl would be unstoppable after she gets taught how to use it from Billy's instructions

Von Lycaon

I feel like his legs (the metal part) would sometimes malfunction and he would go to you to fix it

he trusts you to fix his stuff rather than going to a shop to get it fix

You wouldn't mind of course as you would fix it right away

"Oh, Hey Lycaon. Is something wrong?" You asked which to Lycaon replied that his legs were not working properly from the ice

"Oh! Okay, Well you cam to the right person, i'll get that fixed right away"

"Thank you Name, I can always count on you to fix my things" Lycaon thanked you as he stayed with you until you fixed his legs

His legs were a important part of his body as his legs is a way to fight Ethereal Creatures in hollows

So every time he would have problems with his legs or anyone in his faction that would have problems with their weapons

You would be the person they would go to

-A<3

[astradelphia]

Some random observations about romance in astrology.

♍ Virgo Venus- Virgo have an eye for clean aesthetics. Think 'that girl'. Clean girl makeup. Minimalist dress. Can express love in practical ways eg did you eat today? Let me make something for you. Or going out of their way to help you. They may not even be aware that this is an act of love for them because they just do it instinctively. Virgo can be perfectionists too. They hold themselves to such high standards they might do the same to others. They might help you grow and evolve or they might be too critical- even if they see this as an act of love as they just want to help you be your best self and make the relationship its best- but could be nitpicky or fussy. Most likely to get the ick. If they meet someone who passes all their stages of overthinking they can be very devoted. There's a reason they match well with scorpio. Though more grounded and analytical then emotional this can be a good balance. Virgo represented by the maiden also can be misinterpreted. Being an earth sign I think they can be quite sensual once they've selected a partner. They might view sexuality as a basic need for wellbeing and want to embrace it on a regular basis. They can also be too bodily aware, technical or methodical. Maybe too in their heads and they need someone to bring them out of it. They want total loyalty and commitment. Some may not date unless for marriage - there's too much fine tuning to be done in their own lives to waste time on someone who isn't up to their standards of personal growth. However some Virgo may have a tendency to choose partners who need fixing. This isn't a healthy dynamic but appeals to the Virgo need to problem solve and improve things, an energy best applied elsewhere. They'd make good interior designers with their eye for aesthetics and organizational tendencies. Virgo also value taking care of health beauty and hygiene. Turn offs are the opposite of those or an untidy living environment. Acts of Service could be one of their languages. I think they could also be overthinkers so words of affirmation may be important to them too but they appreciate actions.

♎ Libra Venus - Libra is ruled by the planet Venus so this feels like a comfortable position to me. Libra's have a natural eye for beauty and love of aesthetics. They want to make the whole world beautiful. Don't mistake them as being shallow though, their definition of beauty can be broad and all the Libra's I know have a love of humanity in general. Being an air sign they're also intellectuals. You have to charm their mind to get to their hearts. Deep philosophical conversations, witty banter, discussing anything and everything, emotional intelligence, attracted to inquisitive minds. Libra's value harmony balance, cooperation and peace in all things and in relationships. They'd rather talk things out then fight it out. Might be good at compromising. Might also be very indecisive or fickle but once they truly set their minds on something that's it. They are naturally charming and flirtatious - sometimes they can flirt without meaning too or just for fun without any intention behind it. Some of them may love the idea of love but have commitment issues. Libra being a venusian sign makes them sensual creatures. Pleasure my senses vibes. Physical touch all over everywhere. Makes a good partner because they'll care just as much about your wants and needs as their own. They expect the same in return. A balanced Libra may rule with head and heart but being air signs I'm inclined to think they tend to rule with their heads a lot. Can be over thinkers. Analyzers. Might stare into your soul, scorpio gets the rep for this, but Libra love to understand people and make people feel understood. This can feel like psychoanalysis sometimes but it's out of love they really just want to know how people think maybe out of curiosity too. 'I relate' is their catchphrase.

Libra rules the lower back, hips and buttocks. May possess good qualities of these or may be attracted to them in others. Venus dimples are their characteristic.

They may intellectualize their feelings or yours. They may view emotional displays as more like a debate or discussion them emotional expression. They still mean well but this could be frustrating for some.

♏ Scorpio Venus - scorpio can get a bad reputation so going to focus less on bad stuff here. They are deep. They feel things deeply. Emotional. Very passionate, devoted and loyal. Scorpio is ruled by Pluto the planet of transformations. Being loved by a scorpio may make you transform. This can be intense and uncomfortable for some but can also be a good thing. They want to know you completely - heart, mind, body and soul. They want all your secrets and they'll keep them. They'll probably accept all the feelings you find negative in yourself. Accept your dark side. They may not be so quick to open up to you. This can feel unequal. Scorpio like a bit of mystery so don't dump everything on them in one go you can take some time too. But because they want it all but aren't willing to let you in so much it can feel frustrating. Don't rush a Scorpio though just create a safe space for them to be themselves with you and let them know that you really want to get to know them on the same level too but it's okay for them to take a bit of time. They might need time to build trust but once they're committed to you they could be the most loyal and devoted partner you've ever had. They want to merge energies. They want to make love to your soul. Everything has to mean something beyond a superficial level. Will stare into your soul. Can have an intense gaze. They like people to match or appreciate their depth and intensity but sometimes don't like being stared at even though they do it to others all the time?

Dark side of unevolved Scorpio is stalker behavior. Obsessive. Controlling. Manipulative. Possessive. Jealous. Suspicious. If they sense disloyalty whether it's there or not these traits can come out so be careful.

Could like dark aesthetics.

Jupiter aspecting Juno or Venus positively can indicate good partnership or marriage. In mythology Mars and Venus are lovers. Jupiter is the husband Juno the wife but Venus can also embody wife energy. For the same reason I think Jupiter and Moon aspects can also be an indicator as the Moon can embody feminine energy and wife energy.

8th house synastry - passion. Intensity. Transformation. Soul felt passion. Chemistry. Could be change eachother on a deep level. Pluto/Scorpio energy.

5th house synastry - Okay I love this placement! To me this seems like a best friend and a lover and you could play like kids together. Fun and joyful. It could be a fling, could be flirtatious energy or a crush that's hard to get over. Childlike spirit. Young at heart couple. Could bring out eachothers inner child and be very playful. Could also indicate wanting children together?

Aries Ascendant in composite - young at heart couple. Playful competition with eachother. Unstoppable team together. The couple that gyms or plays sports together. Activates their drive or spark. Really just like being around eachother. Could get competitive with eachother in a negative way if they forget they're on the same team.

Notes: this is just from my notes app so it's a rough thing I might improve this later and make it more pretty and aesthetic or add on to some of the observations.

Disclaimer - I am not a professional astrologer. Personally I take it all with a pinch of salt I don't think you can determine compatibility or everything about someone based on this especially not just on one placement. This is just for fun and can maybe give you some insights and clues about yourself or the other person :)

Hope you liked this post! Feel free to comment if you have other placements you'd like some notes on but please be patient as I'm not planning on posting super regularly right now.

[alexanderwales]

The first (and likely only) expansion for Factorio, Space Age, comes out tomorrow, and I'm essentially just counting down the hours until I can play it.

For a while I was planning to stream it, because I like the idea of sharing in the joy of playing a game that I like, but I do think it's a really poor game for streaming.

The thing that's interesting about Factorio is the process of problem solving, and what's interesting about that (and what I think a lot of people get wrong) is the decision-making rather than the end design. But a lot of the decision making comes from trying things and seeing how they fail, or looking at spreadsheets, or just sitting there staring at the screen while your brain churns. And so the best form factor for Factorio gameplay content, at least in my opinion, is a tightly edited video that takes all the design stuff and compacts it down into a streamlined narrative.

So I thought to myself "ah, then if I want to share in the process of play, I should make edited videos". This seems more time-consuming than difficult, and I at least have faith in my ability to write a script, if not to do interesting transitions, graphics, or effects.

But this would be a real labor of love, and there's always something that gets in the way of production if you have to interlace production with content creation. I have personally never created content myself (aside from fiction, which is very very different), but I often think "okay, how did they get that shot though" and the answer is always "filming yourself doing a thing makes it take much longer as you think about how you want to film it and move the camera around and get audio and make sure the lighting doesn't suck".

And you would think that for a 2D videogame like Factorio you could simply hit the record button on OBS and then play normally, editing it down later. But if you want to make something of quality, then no, that's not enough, you want to have video footage that will match later narrative beats, you want to record without music and only sound effects so you can add in music later, since the cuts you'd add in would ruin the music otherwise. You want specific "moments" like a good view of the first rocket launch, and the way it looks when you turn a whole section of brand new factory on, and you want clean B-roll for if you need it, explaining a problem you're fixing. Essentially, you need to keep in mind that this is going to some day be content.

There are, of course, plenty of people who do not make good content. They film what they're doing and talk while they're doing it, and I guess there's a market for it, because they call it a "longplay", and ... I have no respect for it, frankly.

So I talked myself out of streaming, and talked myself out of making edited content, and that means that I'm just going to be playing the game like I would play any other game.

But there's a part of me that thinks ... man, I have stuff to say. I want to share with people, and make the experience a communal one, and hopefully manage to hit on something that makes someone say "I had never thought of it like that, but you're totally right".

I'm going to try not to clog up this blog with Factorio stuff over the next week or two as I make my way through the game. I'll probably write a review of the expansion, which will hopefully live up to my expectations, or not live up to them in interesting ways. But there's a part of me that wishes I could justify making high-effort gameplay videos for a rather niche game, or a love of the work of editing videos that would make it into not actually work.

[yunarim]

hello! If you can, can you write a head cannon(others are fine) with the femperfect who had an ability to neutralize magic with a simple physical contact? Like the magic will automatically disappear once it makes contact with her so she often wears gloves, and I would like to see the overblots reaction(if you can't do all you can just do malleus ^^) thank you!

yuu can neutralize the use of any kind of magic with a touch.

… ✦ characters : overblot squad … ✦ tags : female reader, books 1-7 major spoilers, hurt/comfort, cursing in leona's and vil's parts, mention of blood in leona's part, jp translation terms (dorm leader, VDC), can be read platonically in all of parts except for vil, idia & esp malleus ones (i imply romantic way tho), me experimenting with the format or something … ✦ song : monochrome frame ⏤ kanon wakeshima … ✦ recommended : light mode [ … ✦ ao3 ]

… ✦ Riddle Rosehearts ┆touching . . . neck ⏤ ✧ Her wearing gloves wasn’t exceptional. They all were, and since Yuu didn’t have her specifically designed dorm uniform, indeed, it was quite common for her to wear gloves. 

⏤ ✧ Riddle would often find her look around before washing hands and taking off her gloves.

⏤ ✧ One day he realized he waited for her to do that and observe if she hid something underneath this accessory item but ended up dispelling his own doubts - her hands were just beautiful. 

“Oh, do you eat this with your hands?” She asked at an unbirthday party, glancing at a pink cupcake on the plate before her. 

“Yes, as a rule. If you’re worrying about getting messy, do not fret. The cupcake doesn't crumble, and Trey made sure the cream isn’t too greasy and doesn’t stick to the fingers.”

Yuu smiled, taking off her gloves and wrapping her fingers around a small cupcake. 

“Woah, such a nice taste! Tell Trey he did well.”

Still, he wondered, what was the mystery shrouded in darkness of her gloves. 

⏤ ✧ Yuu was gentle in her actions, she never judged, smiling tenderly and telling him to take his time and not to rush things. 

⏤ ✧ Unlike a certain duo getting on his nerves.

⏤ ✧ Never in his life felt he so powerful, so authoritative, so… valid. 

⏤ ✧ Something underneath was telling him it wasn’t right to throw insults at her and just… yell like he was a little child, not knowing how to handle his own emotions.

⏤ ✧ Yet maybe he was, calling her insolent and foolish. 

⏤ ✧ She was just a magicless human! Why rush to him, tearing her gloves off her hands and screaming something with such an obstinate gaze fixed on him?

“My goodness, Riddle, come to your senses!”

⏤ ✧ Her touch felt so ephemeral and light on his deadly cold skin, and even though his almost devilishly malevolent grin didn’t scare her, Yuu still bit her lip after Riddle’s phrenetic laughter. 

⏤ ✧ A sudden flash of light made him switch his attention to what happened to him just in a mere second. 

The overflowing power that pounded in his vessels with a burning seething abruptly left him in an instant, devastating his mind and body.

He collapsed, exhausted, to the ground, barely finding the strength to raise a pair of bulging eyes to her and exhale brokenly.

“What did you?.. Huh…”

⏤ ✧ He was at loss for words, not even caring about Trey’s concerns at the moment. 

⏤ ✧ Light flickered on where she touched him, and he welcomed the sensation without realizing it.

“You… you do have magic after all?”

⏤ ✧ One little gentle touch, and all of his enormous powers are gone. So simple yet devastating.

“I would call magic not the fact I neutralized you, but rather…”

She embraced him, welcoming into her tender hug and encouraging him to let all his negative emotions free, and he laughed, hiding his teary eyes in her shoulder.

Maybe she was right, and this was her real magic.

… ✦ Leona Kingscholar ┆touching . . . shoulders ⏤ ✧ He wasn’t surprised that Heartslabyul little tyrant or what do they call him even was defeated with the help of Ramshackle dorm girl.

⏤ ✧ Women are strong. And that’s a rule.

⏤ ✧ But one look at Prefect’s hands got him thinking that maybe she was strong another way. Such hands couldn’t bring harm to anyone, he was sure of it.

⏤ ✧ Her rather adamant gaze on him was such an entertaining sight to witness. 

Leona chuckled when she stepped on his tail. She did apologize for her behavior, of course, but he knew from the very beginning that she wasn’t entirely regretting her actions.  

“I’m really sorry,” her voice was firm, steady and solid enough for him to fix his gaze on her a little longer than he thought he would.

“You aren’t, Prefect.”

“Do I know you?” 

She didn’t. Yet he knew her after what happened, his eyes locked on her hands in an examining way. 

⏤ ✧ A little thought of asking Riddle what the hell is wrong with her hands since no trace of magic was found on her. ⏤ ✧ She was just a normal girl minding her business, and it was supposed to be this way.

⏤ ✧ He wasn’t against her planting flowers when he was around since she remained quiet, her head full of worry because of those little accidents he sabotaged with Ruggie’s help. 

He did know he should stay away from her hands. 

Especially in that state when his own looked so rough, long pointed claws clenching in fists and digging into the palms, scarlet blood mixed with viscous ink trickled down his hands.

⏤ ✧ Such a reckless human being, knowing nothing about his disappointment, rushed to him without any doubt. What a joke. 

⏤ ✧ Even hyenas turned against him, and would she even make any difference? Of course not…

⏤ ✧ He was trying to convince himself he stopped for a mere moment because she was a magicless woman. 

And yet somehow she almost grabbed his hand, claiming he was being unreasonable and unstable and some other pathetic bullshit.

He brushed off her hand, knowing it would do something to him. Something he realized he wasn’t so opposed to accepting when she yelled out his name, this time putting both her hands on his shoulders.

“Do this shit once more and you’ll fucking witness my real wrath, Leona, now calm down!!”

He fell into her embrace, her hands still on his shoulders but not gripping them firmly. She sighed in relief, gently stroking his hair, and smiled.

Shit, Leona thought, laughing to himself and almost craving her warm touch, grabbing her hand and squeezing it, while dust accumulated in a sedimenting cloud was dissolving around them, so no one could really see him being suddenly vulnerable.

She was dangerous. And maybe he liked it.

… ✦ Azul Ashengrotto ┆touching . . . cheeks ⏤ ✧ How curious! A supposed-to-be-magicless human performing miracles with just a little touch! 

⏤ ✧ He thought of depriving her of Ramshackle dormitory first, but now, after she bewitched Riddle and even Leona? No, he couldn’t miss such an opportunity to take her powers. 

⏤ ✧ He could have everything one might dream of in at the snap of a finger, and a siren’s voice, a ballerina’s gracefulness, a mind of greatest’ scientists ⏤ one harmless contract, and a wish could be granted. 

⏤ ✧ And yet Yuu. Girl from another dimension with that always gloved hands of hers. She was such an interesting person to observe. 

He gathered information, oh sure he did, he already had two opponents down thanks to her, and he couldn’t afford being another one himself.

“How about your neutralizing powers?”

“Ha, you wish, mind dealing with overblots then?” 

Oh, Yuu was amusing, indeed, but Azul just knew he would deprive her of her ability one day. Sooner or later. 

⏤ ✧ Despite rejecting his offer and agreeing to do an extremely ridiculous task instead of having her ability deprived, he would still find her in Mostro Lounge, her fingers on the glass full of drink he personally made, her lips gently pressing to its corners. 

⏤ ✧ A tender smile spreading on her face was quite distracting, which Azul wouldn’t ever admit, his gaze fixed on her delicate hands. 

⏤ ✧ She was captivating and it was scaring him. 

Ah, really, foolish humans, knowing about his past and making fun of his own intelligence. 

He was working so hard, but one magicless girl suddenly got all the attention and appreciation he always wanted just because she could neutralize magic with a touch?

Azul thought he hated her at the moment ink was splashing everywhere, drops of tar scattered in splatterings, falling on her clothes as well as her hands, ungloved this time.

Mind dealing with overblots… right? 

Part of him wished she would just touch him and they would be over it, but still he hesitated when she approached carefully, no signs of fear in her eyes. She was truly magnificent. 

“Let me handle this responsibility, Azul,” she said, pressing her fingers to his cheek and caressing it. A flash of light turned him back to normal state, the only difference was him crying and leaning to her touch, as if starved for it. “And you please remain the way you are.”

And he will.

… ✦ Jamil Viper ┆touching . . . hands

⏤ ✧ That Ramshackle dorm girl having an ability to neutralize others’ magic with just a one touch has become an axioma by now. 

⏤ ✧ Having any problem with the amount of magic used? Or maybe overused? Then no need to worry, NRC now had Yuu to handle all that.

⏤ ✧ He couldn’t care less about her, but still found himself thinking he felt sorry for her. He didn’t wonder how it felt to be the one everyone relies on when it’s hard, but other times forgot you exist. He knew it by heart.

… Huh. Or maybe not?

“You should give yourself more credit, you’re doing excellent. Always remember it,” she said to him one day, her fingers clasping around his wrist reassuringly.

An electrical impulse ran down his whole hand, a sudden warmth spreading in his vessels.

He chuckled, a small knife cut didn’t bother him at all. Why would she say it so unexpectedly thoughtfully to him when she stayed in Scarabia? 

Everything in his plan was perfect, and yet her words distracted him for a moment. He was too preoccupied with his own feelings and conflicted emotions to handle her… care?

⏤ ✧ No way. It was not her ability he secretly admired for being so helpful. It was her shrewdness and the way she saw people through. 

⏤ ✧ Did she feel he was about to do something malicious and not so praise worthy? Otherwise why would she say such things to him? 

⏤ ✧ There was no way she genuinely cared for his well-being.

He couldn’t remember when was the last time his emotions were so tangled and complicated so that he couldn’t sort them out. Snakes aimed right at her hands she was reaching to him weren’t scary, and even the way he smirked when her attempt to touch him failed didn’t cause her to stop. 

A small part of him wanted her words to be true but he knew all the things she said were a mere mendacity to fool him. 

“You’re not someone else’s shadow, Jamil.”

He pushed her hard enough for her to fall on her knees before him. His anger spread in the ink splashing everywhere, but she remained her gaze fixed on him nevertheless.

He thought that maybe… maybe it was worthy to believe her.

He chuckled when he outstretched his hand to be shaken himself, and Yuu smiled at him, taking his hand in her.

… ✦ Vil Schoenheit ┆touching . . . eyelids

⏤ ✧ Good for Yuu she still managed to control her own psyche by dealing with so many splashes of demolished emotions in such a short amount of time.

⏤ ✧ Still, Ramshackle Prefect was complicated to him. Vil genuinely thought there was something wrong with his sudden desire to take care of her.

⏤ ✧ She was close to being perfect by now, despite having those horrible eye bags appeared because of sleepless nights she took helping Azul with arranging new drinks in the menu and all the times Vil caught her excusing herself during their VDC rehearsals in order to check on Leona or Riddle or whoever she kept an eye on after overblotting.

Yuu was wonderful, truly. But instead of appreciating herself she preferred to praise everyone else.

And Vil wasn’t an exception.

“You’re a lifesaver,” she giggled when he bent towards her face to apply a concealer. “A true hero, really.”

Hero?.. He? Ah, Prefect, what were you saying? 

He sighed, taking her hands in his and asking whether he could take off her gloves or not as she nodded, allowing him to apply a hand cream on her skin. What a pleasant feeling…

“Even if you’re a manager, you’re still our representative. No way you would show up on stage with these eye bags of yours. And what did I tell you about having some sleep before VDC? You really…”

She smiled, saying something about having a bad feeling before going to sleep. How truly discerning she was at that very moment. 

⏤ ✧ He couldn’t be a hero, at least her hero, when he chuckled so maliciously at her attempt to reach for him. Now no one could, he was fairest of them all, outshining especially her.  

⏤ ✧ He applied a curse on her which restrained her from touching him ever so slightly, and that would be it until he willingly allowed it. He believed in his strong volition, but still…

“Every hero has their moment when they have a whole world turned against them, Vil,” she said demandingly, almost choking on the dark fog coming off from Vil’s body. “And since when do you act as if you’re such a mediocre character! Where’s Vil who would step on everyone and slay as a fucking queen you really are!!”

He laughed genuinely at her wording, not noticing her getting up from her knees after being blown away with the magic wave he created, and pulled him closer by a translucent veil, pressing a gentle kiss on his eyelids.

“I would prefer cheek instead, thank you,” he chuckled, light sparklets surrounding him. “You ruined my makeup.”

“You also ruined a whole stage, but okay.”

… ✦ Idia Shroud ┆touching . . . forehead

⏤ ✧ The one who Idia wanted to avoid the most was none other than Ramshackle Prefect.

⏤ ✧ All eyes were on her by now, and that meant he would rather die than talk to her.

⏤ ✧ If not only the whole STYX demanded him to get in touch with her in order to get the data regarding her ability, gather info on how her powers work, otherwise she would be taken by force and…

⏤ ✧ He DIDN’T want all of those at all!! She already swept every SSR character off their feet already, and now interacting with him? What the hell!

⏤ ✧ Ugh, not him actually spotting her trying to beat the boss in a PSP game. Where in the world did she find a working PSP even? 

⏤ ✧ Her fingers were clicking furiously on the buttons… those were the hands that dealt with five overblots? Unbelievable.

⏤ ✧ Unbelievably pretty⏤ WHAAH he didn’t want to even think about her that way what the!!

⏤ ✧ Idia was avoiding her like the plague. Even after all things happening at STYX he still preferred to listen to others’ complaints and oh whatsoever important rather than facing her, but his responsibilities came first above everything.

And when he thought it would be hard to convince her to do some tests in order to analyze the data received from them she willingly agreed, smiling at him like it was nothing.

“Okay, but help me with beating that boss later,” she sighed, rubbing her temples with her fingers. Idia wondered whether her ability was helping her herself. “I’m going crazy right here.”

“U-ugh, f-fine… It’s not even t-that hard tho…”

“It is!” She protested, turning to him and witnessing pinkish hue flaming on his hair. “It’s just you’re too good. I admire you for that.”

⏤ ✧ Nononono he wouldn’t fall into that trap, he already heard enough about her being so unnecessarily nice!!

⏤ ✧ Shit. He fell, and fell hard.

Why would deny her touch when he would make her try doing it at least? He had cool armor, he was floating midair. She couldn’t even hear him properly when Vil appeared before her, covering her with his back and demanding her stay behind. 

It was normal for him to behave that way. Covering himself in a darkness where nobody could reach for him, and yet Yuu could somehow. He jolted for a second when she yelled at him, telling Vil to step aside. 

She still couldn’t touch him. He wanted to believe that no one could, but somehow the image of her fingers clicking on a game console popped up in his mind, causing his heart to skip a beat shamelessly. He was so pathetic and⏤

“I thought you would help me beat the boss, Idia, not me helping you beat the shit out of yourself!!” 

She was insane for asking Epel to take the chariot and fly over to him, then leaning towards him and trying to touch him. She grabbed his armor, hissing under her breaths while he wasn’t getting her actions at all, trying to cover himself from her. From the rest of the world.

“Fine then! If you’re the final boss I should beat, then so be it!”

No, why was her face being so close to his, that’s bad!! 

His mind blew completely after Yuu pressed her lips to his bare forehead and threw him onto the chariot.

“Did I manage? Will you help me now then? Hehe.”

“Sh-shut up!!”

“Make me.”

Note: never ever piss Yuu off again. (Well maybe just a little because she was so hot ahem⏤)

… ✦ Malleus Draconia ┆touching . . . lips

⏤ ✧ Yuu was a rather peculiar child of man. Wielding no magic powers, and yet Malleus felt something in her from the very beginning. 

⏤ ✧ First he observed her when she was busy renovating the Ramshackle garden, she seemed so peaceful and collected, humming something under her breath.

⏤ ✧ He would bring her flowers every night without her noticing only to find her bringing blankets and a container with a hot tea in it and spending a whole night waiting for something… or rather someone to come.

⏤ ✧ “A stranger who brings me bouquets every night, please let me know you’re here. It’s quite cold outside.” She said one night, her gaze fixed on green sparkletts floating around her. 

⏤ ✧ Next day he appeared before her, placing a flower crown he made on her head. Small gypsophila flowers intertwined with scarlet zinnias, decorating her delicate image.

⏤ ✧ “Ah really, why would you appear only now. With such a pleasant gesture even! Wait for a moment then.”

She gathered some flowers she had grown by herself, then took her gloves off and did another flower crown for him personally. Something fluttered in his chest the moment she touched his horns, smiling softly, and laughed with her clear sweet voice, recoiling after decorating his head with a flower crown.

His heart was pounding in his chest, his whole body shuddered at her touch, and in that moment he knew he was close to making a deal with the devil so that the lingering feeling of her fingers would never leave him.

“Would you mind teaching me how to make those? I guess I’m pretty bad…”

He chuckled, admitting he never felt something so pleasant and light before, as if her whole body was radiating something celestial, her hands feeling absolutely pristine and divine.

⏤ ✧ Every night they met she would tell him stories about what happened to her. So many students overblotting, and yet… The way she stuttered for a moment every time she mentioned overblots was confusing to him as if she wasn’t telling something really important. 

⏤ ✧ He wanted to trust her nevertheless. She was tender in the way she looked at him, glimpses of happiness blossoming in her eyes every time he appeared in the garden, welcoming her gently. 

⏤ ✧ He craved her touch, the image of her putting a flower crown on his head still lingered in his mind, never fading nor dissolving, remaining the most precious memory of her.

“You never fail to impress me, child of man,” he said once during VDC right after Vil overblotted and he arrived.

“How come, Tsunotarou?” he laughed at how astonished others were at you calling him by that silly nickname. 

“Witnessing you have no fear towards me is truly a blessing.”

She smiled at him then, her cheeks slightly dusted with a beautiful pinkish hue. 

“Having you as my dearest friend is a blessing too!”

⏤ ✧ Friend…?

⏤ ✧ Right, friend. And what friends are needed for? 

⏤ ✧ Apparently, Malleus thought Yuu would be delighted to see him putting everyone in a sleeping state. If he can’t be someone even dearer to her, then he would be her most devoted guardian.

⏤ ✧ She resembled a fairy, telling him about her tremendous adventures, so it would be natural for him to tell her a fairy tale in return.

“Do not resist the temptation, child of man.”

His voice, so alluring and somnolent, enveloped her, her eyelids feeling leaden. He was standing right in front of her, looking at how her body trembled under his enticing enchantment. He knew by now he shouldn’t touch her, even though her eyes told him otherwise, begging to lean to her.

“Although it would be interesting to fall under your spell and feel that divine feeling, please allow me to grant you with a happy ending you truly deserve.”

“You… never asked me… what kind of ending I truly want…” Her voice was fading, and she could barely stand at that moment, but Malleus knew.

If she takes one step closer, that would be the end for him. 

So she did, thorns enveloping her, but she managed to grab Malleus by his clothes somehow, her face being extremely close to his, his astonished gaze fixed on her, blurry and sorrowful.

“Perhaps a true love kiss would wake you up from this dream, Malleus.”

She pressed her lips to his, tenderly whispering those words and smiling through the kiss when a bright light surrounded them. 

Malleus picked up her exhausted body, oblivious to the dissipation of his own magic, and looked at her worriedly, ignoring the slowly awakening students.

“Ugh… don’t underestimate me. You still haven’t taught me how to make pretty flower crowns.”

And she was right. “Indeed. That’s the least I can do for showing me the ending I truly do adore.”

⏤ ☆ notes : omg thx for requesting!! i got carried away in malleus part (a little bit.... kinda... forgive me for that) but still i hope you like it! ~

⏤ ☆ tag list : @isacoremeow

© yushiiae 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝. 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭, 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐲, 𝐨𝐫 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐨𝐰𝐧.

[6urin]

HIGH SCHOOL CRUSH! (≧◡≦)

Or in other words, reuniting with your first high school crush, Scaramouche, and ending up in his bed.

contains: f!afab!reader x scara, pussyjob, blowjob, fingering, praise, drunk sex, creampie

(* ^ ω ^) : minor writing smut !!

Scaramouche is commonly known as a nobody in college. People rarely acknowledge his presence because of his, "quick to be pissed off" personality. This has caused many to stay out of his way, except for Childe. He's your average jock, always throwing the hugest parties and pulling the finest women on campus.

These two are quite the polar opposites and because of it, the kind-hearted ginger is always trying to introduce Scaramouche to new opportunities.

"You know, you're super hot, Scara. I'm sure if you tried, all of the girls would be head over heels for you." Childe's words are slightly incoherent at some parts as he brushes his teeth, shamelessly standing in Scaramouche's room, dripping wet with nothing but a towel wrapped around his hips.

Scaramouche doesn't look up from his phone from where he's sitting on his bed and mumbles, "I'm not a people pleaser like you, Childe." Childe frowns and states, "We could be the campus' power duo if you flaunted your ego more." He sighs before walking back to the washroom to spit in the sink and rinse out his mouth.

At that, Scaramouche fixes his back's posture from the slouching position. "What the hell is he on about," he thinks to himself, furrowing his brows together. It's true, that he has a big ego. But isn't that the reason why no one approaches him?

"It's because you're showing it off it in the wrong way," Childe says, as if reading his roommate's mind. This time, he enters the room with a white t-shirt and whale designed pajama shorts, ruffling a towel in his wet, orange hair while remaining eye contact.

Scaramouche scoffs and leans back into his bed, "And you're suddenly capable of giving me advice, why?" Childe waves it off with an eyeroll, "I'm just saying. You know, your ego is in the wrong place. It shouldn't be in your status, but rather your looks. Like I said, you're flaming hot!"

The cerulean haired male grimaces, "Your word choice is a little problematic, Childe." He removes one earphone from his ear in order to have a proper conversation.

Childe grins, "You need to take more pride in your appearance. You have a tongue piercing and multiple ear piercings; Do you know how many girls would die for a man like that?" He sits on the bed with Scaramouche, bouncing the mattress. "I'm hosting another party here tonight," Childe says, nudging at Scaramouche's arm.

"Aaand, instead of being locked up in your room, I'll try and hook you up with some girls." At his sudden offer, Scaramouche groans. "No. I'm not going to go through all of this just to boost my ego. I already have enough of my confidence as it is-"

Childe disrupts his sentence with a wail, "I'll even help you choose clothes! Just please, please, please?" He clasps his hands together and juts out his bottom lip. Scaramouche narrows his eyes in frustration. He scowls, "Fine! But if it gets boring, I'm going back to my room."

That's what led Scaramouche here, awkwardly standing while occupying himself with sipping on a red plastic cup filled to the brim with beer. Don't take this wrong, Childe did try, but he didn't try hard enough, since the second a pretty girl caught his eye, he immediately left Scaramouche to fend for himself in the middle of this ear-deafening party.

He swore, he could go blind from how bright and colorful the flashing lights were. Scaramouche just itched to go to his room, but he wanted to wait a little bit longer on Childe to return. His friend's return never happened. And so, losing a purpose to stay here any longer, he turns on his heel, bound to go back to his room.

However, someone by the entrance of the bedroom manages to get his attention. If it wasn't the one and only (Name). You're known as the campus princess with your charm and that damn fine appearance. God, who knows how many guys have managed to get in bed with you?

Scaramouche would be a little embarrassed to admit that yes, he has a crush on you. The only difference is, he's known you since high school, so it's not as weird as the other guys have it. The two of you were partnered up for the three legged race and even though you guys lost, you admitted that you had fun with him.

After that, you and him became fairly close, but just sort of drifted away when transitioning into college.

Ah, maybe this is his chance! He can finally make Childe proud with this...

"Hey, (Name). I didn't expect to see you here." Scaramouche rubs his neck, seemingly a little bit flustered. Where's that ego of his now? You look at him in surprise and smile, "Hi, Scara. We haven't been able to talk much, huh?" You glance down at your own cup of beer, moving it in a circular motion to watch the liquid swish.

Scaramouche fumbles with his words, "Right, um, how are you finding college?" He gives you a profound gaze. He realizes that you find it hard to keep eye contact, for some reason. "It's okay! Surely a lot more different from high school," you say, laughing.

Scaramouche doesn't mean to look, but it's hard to focus on your words when that shirt hugs your curves so perfectly and that skirt exposes so much of your thighs.

"Have you... gotten a girlfriend?"

Your inquiry catches him off guard. Scaramouche pauses before chuckling, "Ah, no. I've been more occupied with my studies rather than my love life," He deadpans at the sight of Childe making out with a random girl on the couch. "Unlike some people." The last part of his sentence makes you giggle, "I can see Childe's still the same."

Scaramouche hesitates before asking, "What about you? You got a boyfriend? With how much the campus talks about you-" You shake your head, "Mm-mm. No boyfriend." You tuck a few loose strands of hair behind your ear and sheepishly say, "I don't like any of them, 'cept for one."

Scaramouche's interest is suddenly piqued. "Is that so? Who is he?" He knows it's a little brazen of him to ask like that, but the curiosity was gnawing away at him.

You take a sip from your cup and shrug, "Someone. I don't know if he likes me, so he's better off as a secret just in case I end up changing my mind." Scaramouche clicks his tongue inside his mouth. You're so obvious to him, it's adorable, really.

This is the most appropriate time to put that ego of his to use. He knows it's a big step and a rather huge assumption but at this point, he's confident about it.

"It's me, isn't it?" He does nothing but chuckle at your reddening complexion. Scaramouche tilts your chin upwards and smiles. "Drink the rest of that and you'll be fine with me." He nods his head towards the cup in your hold and your hands go clammy.

You do as he says and he does the same with his own drink. Scaramouche tosses the cups aside and pulls you into his bedroom.

You feel all of your senses overwhelm you the second he closes the door and has you against the wall, one of his arms securing your waist and his other hand holding your neck. He kisses you, slowly and passionately. You feel his teeth bite down into your bottom lip, emitting a soft gasp from you.

The more you two get into the kiss, the more you feel comfortable with finally putting your arms around his neck, grinding yourself against his body.

His room smells entirely of him and his scent is absolutely intoxicating. You still remember touching yourself back in your bedroom during your high school phase, thinking of Scaramouche's lithe fingers stretching you out instead of your own.

"Mmh, hah-" Your tongue barely manages to keep up with his, Scaramouche dominating the situation with how amazing his ability to kiss was. His tongue piercing constantly pokes at your tongue and you shiver at the feeling.

"You're so..." Scaramouche's breathy voice trails off as he flips up your skirt, pressing two fingertips against your clothed clit. You whimper from the action and the fabric dampens even more than before. Scaramouche slyly looks at you and removes his fingers. You dryly gulp in anticipation as he places you on his bed.

"So pretty," he breathes out, lips hovering over yours. You're thirsting for another kiss, but he simply hushes you and puts his fingers inside of your mouth. You diligently suck on them, eyes half-lidded and pupils heart shaped. Scaramouche mutters, "Just imagine if all of the guys you rejected could see you whoring yourself out for a simple no one..."

With his digits now covered in the slick of your mouth, he pulls your panties aside and thrusts three inside. During that whole moment, he never looked away from you. You loudly moan, the music and the chatter from outside surely drowning out your lewd noises. Scaramouche licks his lips and goes faster, your cunt clamping down on his fingers.

He lowly laughs, "Good girl, aren't you? Yeah, I'm sure you are." Your view goes hazy as you pant, "S-Scara...!" He curls his fingers, causing you to reach your high more earlier than expected of both you and him. Your white substances cover his hand and he sucks and licks at it, making sure to finish every single drop.

The next thing you know, you're getting pounded from the back with his cock driving into your dripping wet pussy. Your head rests on the pillow, drool wettening the case as you let out mewls and whines. "You're s-so big, Scara! Mngh, mmh!" Your manicured nails dig into the sheets, pussy tightening as Scaramouche moans.

"Yeah, baby doll? Gotta fuck you 'til the break of day." He rubs your clit at a fast pace, drawing you nearer to your high. "Ahn! Scara, mm, I'm gonna' cum!" You whimper out, "Fuck! Mmh!" With one more harsh thrust, the blunt head of his cock plunging straight onto your cervix, you splatter cum all over his pelvis.

Scaramouche's mouth falls agape at the sight of you squirting and he instantly shoots thick, white ropes of seed into your womb. He gives a few shallow thrusts before starting up his previous pace once more. Sounds of soft slapping fills the room along with your heavenly moans and squeals.

At some point, he orders you to turn on your back. You obey and his cock stiffens at your appearance. Your gorgeous lipstick now smudged, clothes all crumpled, tears peeking at your eyes and your cunt...

He watches his sperm leak and pump out of your glistening folds, tucking his bottom lip beneath his teeth at the sinful sight. You rub your thighs together and murmur, "Scara, this is so embarrassing..." Scaramouche gets on top of you and places an open mouthed kiss on your lips, which you reciprocate.

"Embarrassing? No, baby, you're so pretty," he sighs, readying his tip at your leaking hole once more. Sinking inside you, he starts plummeting more vigorously than before, as he gets more turned on when seeing your expressions. You attempt to cover your mouth with the back of your hand to lessen your humiliation, but he manages to put it aside and lean down to kiss your neck.

You re-adjust your legs around his waist, whining as he bites at the sensitive skin of your collarbone, placing numerous hickeys and love bites. It adds to the vulgar pleasure and you realize, you would've never imagined getting fucked raw by your high school crush.

The slippery walls of your cunt start to spasm and you arch your back, crying out, "Scara! Oh, m-hah!" Scaramouche moans and murmurs profanities when your cunt clenches so tight, making him meet his own climax. He pulls out his cock, watching his cum overflow from your pussy.

Scaramouche cups the side of your face and slots his lips into yours. Your cheeks go into a tinted pink when you carefully let your fingers run through his hair. Strands of cerulean frame his pretty face and you feel as though you just got creampied by the most attractive and kindest guy on campus.

And he ends up staying true to his promise, fucking you until daybreak.

You buck your hips forward as he sloppily eats out your cunt. His nose continues to bump onto your clit and you furrow your eyebrows, moaning. His tongue is simply a work of art, the pink muscle entirely inside of you, making you feel the most amazing pleasures ever.

You say multiple praises to him mixed with your own whimpers of his name, your hands messing up his hair with how much you've been holding onto it. It's around twelve in the morning, but the party hasn't settled down at all. You're surprised no one has left yet at this time, though it's expected since exam season ended.

His head is beneath your skirt, though he could care less. All he knows is that he's eating out his first love and each sound that left your throat is simply music to his ears. Scaramouche sucks and licks through your folds, desperately moaning for more than just one taste.

He didn't want this night to end.

The following morning, Childe is completely disoriented and hungover. The only thing that brought him back to his senses was the scene of a girl sucking on his roommate's cock.

"A-Ah... that's it, (Name)..."

The ginger swore he was hearing things. Childe blinks a few times and rubs his eyes before slapping himself in the face. He sits up from the couch and yawns. "Shit, my head. Scaramouche!" He shouts out once more, "Scara, can you make me some of your hangover soup!?"

Noticing the door to Scaramouche's room is slightly open, he pushes it without hesitating. It's just another average Sunday, right?

Childe's eyes widen as he tries taking everything in altogether. There, kneeling on the floor in between his roommate's legs as Scaramouche is sitting on his bed with a hand gripping your hair, is none other than you, of course.

You whine around his dick and lower your head to welcome more of his length into your throat, the vibrations emitting a groan from Scaramouche. Scaramouche's lips are agape as he mutters, "Good girl, good girl... fuck..."

Childe carefully backs away and closes the door after himself. Apparently, Scaramouche wasn't the only one who had a good time at the party.

[skullhorn59]

Heavenly Hell 2

A/N: second chapter! no spicey here just yet. sorry!~ im not that good at writing yet. xP Tags/Warnings are added progressively, design changed/fixed with time. mostly proofread! Summary: you have always been a fan of the show Hazbin Hotel in your life - and as you are spawned in a Hell identically matching the Show, you can't believe your sheer luck. you're immediately on your way to eagerly meet the celebrities (at least they are in your world), but your arrival hadn't gone unnoticed... Pairings: Lucifer, Valentino, Adam, Alastor, Vox, Angel Dust, Sir Pentious, Husk x Fem!Reader Warnings/Promises: self aware and insecure Reader, Spoilers for the Show, Vox, Attempted Manipulation, successful Manipulation

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Minors DNI 🚨🚔

"so, tell me, what useful information could you, someone this new to hell, possibly have?"

Vox sits down and leans back in his chair, watching you with a bored expression on his screen. urgh. right. he probably watched you spawning (arriving?) in hell. this is gonna be a hard one to explain. fiddling with your fingers anxiously, you look everywhere but at his screen.

you already regret coming here first, and not getting yourself a fidget toy first or something. or some pills to help keep your anxiety down. shit, you probably look scared out of your mind right now. he's gonna think you're really weird and rude if you speak up like this. or straight up lying. but for fucks sake - you can't bring yourself to look directly at him.

instead - you take in your surroundings. Vox's office. you only know it's impressive size from the Screenshots of the show, and literally sitting in it now is even more impressive. it consists of a gigantic room, an equally gigantic shark tank below, and a big round platform in the middle, which is connected to the door with a long passway. no idea how this could possibly fit into the tower without having it collapse from the sheer weight of the water alone - the only logical answer would be it being underground.

your eyes wander back to the platform, which is decorated with Vox's emblem. illuminated by a bright array of screens behind it, a round control pult sits at the back end of the platform. infront of it in a spinny chair with it's tips pointing upwards, is a rather impatient looking Vox seated.

oops.

you better get to answering his question.

you clear your throat and swallow, unsure how to even start. thankfully, you get your own chair - manifested with a wave of Vox's hand - to sit into. hoping you aren't sweating too visibly right now, you collect your thoughts. if you know one thing, it's not to sell yourself short.

"well, you see, that's hard to explain. and, you, as the head of.. technology.., surely understand that information is a valuable resource. I can't just.. give it away for free."

taking a deep breath, you lean back a little, trying to at least look more relaxed than you actually are. nervousness isn't even close anymore, like, are you panicking already?? well, at least you can mask it pretty well, you think.

"but I can say this much: I have so much information on Alastor," you think you hear a slight glitch coming from Vox at the mention of the name, "and the others in the Hotel, it's not even funny. Just.. I have a few small questions for you first."

a short glance up into the TV Demon's face tells you he raised an eyebrow. is he interested?? you hope he is. with all you got.

"go on, ask your questions."

wait. isn't he usually more talkative than that? nono, you can't spend a thought on that right now. you need to focus.

"When did the last extermination happen?"

"about a week ago."

"okay.. any interesting or unexpected turns of events? I just have to know what happened and what didn't. I-I know this sounds cryptic, and maybe even crazy, but I need to know at what time I got here."

silence fills the room for a moment. you dare to glance at the Overlord again, and he musters you with an expression you can't quite place.

did you mess up?

But Vox interrupts your thought before you can continue it. "... the hotel members fought back against the Angels, and won. that's all." relieved, you let out breath you didn't realize you were holding. okay. that's good to know. so the extermination already happened. it makes a good bunch of your information useless, but still. you can work with that. now you just need to-

"I think I provided enough information to you now," the Overlord begins, interrupting your thoughts again. his voice is oddly sweet. "its time you return the favor, my dear." - of course, he's trying to get the info out of you without paying for it.

how greedy.

you adjust your position on the chair, crossing one leg over the other, before looking directly at him. he's wearing his signature smile, his digital eyes looking  almost affectionately at you, but you know better than to trust the façade he put on.

"I told you, I'm not going to just give it away for free. And don't even try to fob me off with stuff like any of your products, pins, an autograph or similar worthless knick-knacks. That won't work on me. Trust me."

you glance at him again to gauge his reaction, and he seems surprised to hear you use his own slogan against him, but he quickly regains his composure. good. now just don't get any hypnotizing ideas, Vox...

"No, what I want is... actually quite simple. I want to be able to come and go to the entirety of this tower how and when I please. and.." you can't help a small smile at the thought of the Moth Man, "I want to see Valentino. preferably after our conversation."

and again, silence fills the room. you watch him tap the armrest of his chair with his fingers, thinking about your demands. you can't tell if he's going to give in to them or just declare you as crazy and throw you out, but you hope dearly it's not the latter.

just as the silence begins to get uncomfortable, the TV Demon clicks his tongue and stands up. your eyes dart up, and you automatically stand up too. what's happening? is he gonna throw you out now? - "alright. I accept. you may come and go freely, I'll get you your meeting with Val, and in turn, I get all the information you got on the Hotel and it's residents. Deal?"

Staring down at the hand he holds out, your mind whirls for a moment, overwhelmed with the action. you never thought he'd also make deals like Alastor - another detail they're matching each other in. you always thought he'd just somehow get peoples souls with sneaky contracts being signed when buying a Voxtek product or something.

as soon as you take his cold hand, he gives yours a firm shake, his smile widening to a grin as his face glitches momentarily. bright blue electrical currents and sparks begin to flow around the two of you for a moment, together with an intense blue light and a metallic screech. but as soon as it came, it's gone, and before you can waste a thought on it, Vox lets go of your hand, instead placing his around your shoulders as he guides you towards the door. "fantastic. now that that's done, how about we go check if Val's got some free time for you, hmm?"

you're confused.

doesn't he want your informations now?

on second thought - you don't mind too much. this way you have more of a reason to stick around and return.

─❲♡❳▷Hazbin Masterlist

─❲♡❳▷Main List

[chosopie]

BREAK MY HEART - SUGURU GETO

inspired by I Don't Smoke - Mitski , art credit: 1luj

Suguru was a man who was often consumed by thoughts. Everyone looked up to him, because he was reasonable, capable, kind. Your friend group relied on him, for he knew what was right or wrong, what to do and not to do. He was the anchor and lighthouse. He was selfless.

Every single day, he gave himself to everyone like an offering.

“Give and take,” people would say. Suguru would always give. He would always take the darkness—swallowing filthy curses everyday. No one understands how it feels and tastes. To him, it was like swallowing puke back in.

Who would have thought that one mission could permanently shatter an unbreakable person? He broke like glass. One crack, and it leads to a series of cracks crawling and spreading, leaving the whole thing broken.

You vividly remember the night he came home, injured and exhausted. He kissed you passionately with hot tears running down his face.

Despite it all, he had you. You did not give yourself to people the way he did, but you gave your whole being to Suguru. You had your heart exposed to him and every other part of you.

There were several nights where you'd try to comfort him, but you knew you couldn't fix him. It's not that you weren't enough, you just weren't the solution. For someone as logical as Suguru, he valued solutions and answers rather than comfort. He had his priorities.

"I love you, Suguru," you'd whisper to his ear, your hands tangled up in his hair while he laid his head on your chest.

His eyes stared into nothingness, his mind occupied with so many things but you. "I love you," he said, without even fully processing it. His mind simply read your words and he just repeated them out loud for your sake.

Soon, another devastating blow shook Suguru.

When the news reached you, you were in denial.

"Not my Suguru," you thought. Your mind was in a frenzy. He could not have killed all those innocent people. 112 people. 2 of them were his parents. It was impossible.

Maybe it had something to do with his very being, the way he was designed. Was it possible that consuming all those curses meant consuming all those evil thoughts? Something had to be wrong. You were looking for everything else to blame but Suguru.

Suguru now stood across the road, his face blank and his lifeless eyes staring back at you like you were a void. A cigarette was held between his two fingers.

At this very moment, the two of you were on completely different sides.

It was like you were in a car with tinted windows, and Suguru was outside of the car, where he couldn't see you. He was staring into the tint's darkness, while you saw everything clearly. You saw him, but he did not see you.

"Please, come back. I don't care how miserable you are. Just throw it all on me. Share your burdens with me." You pleaded. "I can take it, just stay with me!"

His eyes narrowed at you. "Why are you still holding on?"

"Because I still love you, and I always will."

"I wish you'd stop trying," he shakily said. "My love, do one last thing for me before I leave, will you?"

"Anything."

"Break up with me,” he softly said. A part of him had hoped you didn’t hear him.

Suguru was in so much pain. Remnants and pieces of him were scattered on the palm of your hand but you could not do anything to fix him. Once a lighthouse, now a lost ship sailing away from everything including you.

Now, you find yourself smoking to remember his mouth.