#rather than quitting writing and becoming worse with time

[bumblebeehug]

not a very positive post but i hate, hate, not being fluent in english. i wish so bad that i could write in english as well as i can write in swedish, and it's exhausting knowing that it'll never compare. and writing things in swedish makes the target audience so much smaller than i want it to be. i wanna write great books that people all over the world can read and enjoy, and with english being such a wide spread language, that would be the preferred language to write in. but as soon as i read actual books, or just other fanfics as well, i realise that my vocabulary is incredibly small (i search up words to translate all the time - even in this post i forgot the english word for "målgrupp", which was target audience) and i also realise that i lack understanding of how real english speakers use words and sentences. i can write by text book, but my writing will never be exceptional in the way i'd love for it to be.

[mariocki]

New Scotland Yard: Nothing to Live For (2.1, LWT, 1972)

"Any sign of her in there?"

"No. Odds are against it, I suppose."

"What, being there?"

"Being alive."

[saintobio]

daddy’s little devils.

when dealing with not only one, but two mini versions of your husband is a type of chaos you never saw coming. but with him by your side, there’s nothing else in life you could’ve ever wished for.

pairings. ryōmen sukuna, fem!reader genre. domestic fluff, slice of life, explicit smut cw. dilf!sukuna, profanity, explicit smut, mommy/daddy kink, breeding kink, fellatio, spitting, unprotected, creampie, 18+ notes. 4.5k. just bcos i had to write dilf!sukuna version of this fic. enjoy >:D i was smiling throughout writing this! reblogs are highly appreciated!

Sukuna as a husband was unexpectedly romantic. Despite his cold and indifferent demeanor towards others, sometimes bordering on snarky and arrogant, he displayed a surprisingly soft side when it came to you. A really, really soft and incredibly clingy side, one where he always wants you by his side and becomes grumpy the moment you leave him alone for even a few minutes, claiming and whining about how you no longer love him. That was a hidden facet of his personality that no one else knew, a side that made him appear submissive to his wife rather than the other way around. 

But to be honest, you loved that about him. You absolutely, with all your heart and soul, adored that about him. 

However, Sukuna as a father was quite the mischief-maker. And having to deal with three versions of him in your life certainly didn’t make things any easier. 

“Ryomen Sukuna… your sons,” you exclaimed, your voice tinged with exhaustion as you burst through the front door, “are a menace.”

Your husband was lounging on the sofa when you came home, an iPad in hand, watching as you kicked off your shoes and juggled with your bag and the twins’ belongings.

“Hey, baby,” he regarded you with a bemused expression. “What did they do this time?”

You didn’t even know where to begin. In all honesty, the question should have been: what did they not do?

“Ugh! My head hurts.” As soon as you released the bags onto the floor, you sank onto the couch, frustration evident in your visage as you ran a hand through your hair. “Raiden stabbed a classmate in the back with a crayon,” you recounted in disbelief, “And Ryuji drew your ‘tattoos’ all over himself with the teacher’s marker.”

Right on cue, the two little devils—his twin boys, his exact carbon copies—barreled into the house like the troublemakers they were.  

“Papaaa!” the twins chorused, leaping into their father’s lap the moment they saw him. 

Sukuna’s smirk blossomed into a grin, clearly amused and somewhat proud of his mini-me’s. “Aww, look at my little tattoo artist!” He applauded with amusement as he carried one twin on his lap. “That’s awesome, Ryuji!” Then, he turned to Raiden, who awaited his praise as well. “And Raiden, Mama said you stabbed someone? I bet your classmate was being a jerk, huh? Good job!”

The twins and their father bonded over the mischief, with Sukuna ridiculously acting as an instigator rather than reprimanding them. Just when you thought things couldn’t get worse. Was he actually entertained with this whole ordeal?  Jesus. You shot Sukuna a glare, finding the situation far from amusing. And as soon as he caught sight of your serious expression, his face softened into an apologetic stance, silently mouthing the word, ‘sorry’.

“Ryo, stop monkeying around,” you stated firmly, crossing your arms. “They’re causing trouble, and you do realize I had to endure a lecture about their unacceptable behavior, right?”

Only when he noticed the genuine concern in your voice did he shift his tone slightly, though you could see a hint of playfulness remaining. With your husband clearing his throat and adjusting in his seat, it seemed like he was merely putting on a show of being a ‘strict dad’ in front of you, while secretly shooting winks at his sons as if to say he was just playing around.

“Alright, alright,” he began putting on an act, addressing his twins, “You two are grounded. Go to your rooms. Now.”

Instead of showing any fear, the twins giggled as they dashed out of the living room without a care in the world—their tiny footsteps echoing all over the house as they ran recklessly. They didn’t even listen when you shouted at them to be careful. And now you couldn’t help but cross your arms, clearly dissatisfied with how your husband handled the situation in jest.

“Baby, come on,” he coaxed, drawing you closer and enveloping you in his strong embrace. You could feel his chin resting on your shoulder as he placed a kiss on your cheek. “I understand your frustration. They’re naughty when they want to be. But you have to admit, they’re showing some… initiative.”

Raising an eyebrow, you watched as he struggled to suppress a laugh at his own words. “Initiative? They’re supposed to be learning how to share and play nice, not how to terrorize their classmates!”

“Right, right. Of course,” he murmured, attempting to ease the tension with a gentle massage on your shoulders. “I understand. I’ll have a talk with them, mommy. Let’s not get angry now.”

The dilemma here was your desire to maintain the facade of a strict mom, to avoid the embarrassment of picking up your kids from daycare for causing yet another trouble. You loathed the judgmental stares from other parents, the silent accusation that you and your husband weren’t disciplining your children properly. It was as if they viewed you as terrible parents. Like you didn’t raise your kids right. 

At first, their opinions didn’t bother you; after all, they knew nothing about your family beyond the PTA meetings you’ve had to attend. But time and time again, after having to offer countless apologies to the parents of your sons’ classmates and the teachers who had to deal with them, their scrutiny was starting to get into your head—that perhaps you weren’t as strict as you thought. Perhaps you were too lenient. Perhaps you needed to assert your authority over your children so they’d learn to listen to you.

Yet, despite your resolve, you couldn’t resist the charm of your twins. They were just too adorable for their own good. And, well, their dad wasn’t exactly lacking in the charm department either.

With a sigh, you leaned against his chest. “I just want them to grow up to be good, not little terrors.”

Sukuna tenderly lifted your chin, planting a soft, affectionate kiss on your lips. “I promise, they’ll turn out great. Let’s not be too hard on them.”

~~

You had to acknowledge Sukuna’s efforts and give credit where it’s due. After he had promised to ‘talk’ to the kids, you did notice a marked improvement in their behavior since then. You and your husband used to take turns picking up the twins from daycare, but recently, he had insisted on doing it more frequently than you, saying that as his latest project had been completed, he now had more available time to pick up the twins after work.

You suspected the real reason behind his request was to alleviate your stress from constantly dealing with your sons’ antics. Knowing him, Sukuna also wanted to gauge the current atmosphere at the school by having conversations with the teachers and other parents to ensure there were no issues like bullying or other serious matters. 

With that solution in place, Raiden and Ryuji became much less of a handful, and the main reason being the reward system that Sukuna had implemented for the kids, where he promised to buy them expensive toys if they earned stars for good behavior each week.

So that was how it went for the next two weeks. No calls from distressed teachers, no calls from concerned parents. In fact, the twins eagerly showed you their progress and proudly displayed the stars on their hands each time they received them. You couldn’t help but swell with pride at their accomplishments, because as small as they were to some people, they were huge achievements for you and your husband as their supportive parents. 

At least, you could relax for now. With the twins having toned down their mischievous shenanigans, your mind was more at ease. To be fair, they might seem like little devils wherever they went, but when they were peacefully sleeping like they were now on the couch, they appeared as absolute angels in your eyes. 

The living room was bathed in a dim light, with the glow of the TV screen illuminating their cute, little faces as they snuggled up together on the couch, in their peaceful slumber sandwiched between you and your husband. They had dozed off before the movie ended, and now, with the credits rolling, your family movie night concluded earlier than expected.

“My precious babies,” you cooed in a hushed voice, gently stroking Ryuji’s cheek and planting a kiss on Raiden’s nose. Their eyes, their brows, their nose, their lips—every detail was taken from their father, and nothing from you. But you didn’t mind, because you knew just how strikingly handsome they would be when they grow up. “Looks like our little troublemakers couldn’t make it to the end of the movie.” 

Sukuna chuckled softly and glanced down at his sleeping sons with a fond smile. In holding his family close, he could feel that blissful warmth flooding his heart at the sigh of his wife and his kids snuggled together. “They’re tired today. Didn’t even last an hour into watching Megamind.” 

You smiled, carefully rising from the couch so as not to disturb the sleeping twins. The moment you caught your husband’s eye, you gestured for him to lift Raiden into his arms. “Let’s get them to bed.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He nodded, scooping up Raiden, while you lifted Ryuji, and together you carried your kids to their room. 

After tucking each twin into bed and giving them a final kiss on the forehead, you motioned for your husband to quietly exit the room with you. He was still adjusting the AC for their comfort before following you out close behind. The lights in their room now completely switched off. 

“They’re out like a light,” Sukuna whispered as both of you made your way towards the master bedroom. 

You stifled a yawn, stretching your arms. “Finally, some peace and quiet.” 

“Nuh-uh,” countered your husband, who was now grinning mischievously as he stopped in his tracks and grabbed you by the waist. “Not so soon, wife.” 

Before you knew it, you were pressed against the wall, a mere few inches outside your bedroom’s door, caged between your husband’s toned arms as he looked down at you like a lion looking at its prey. His animalistic gaze never failed to send you into an orbit of weakness, like always. “H-Hey.” 

A teasing smirk then appeared on his handsome face. “You know, babe, now that the boys are asleep, we could really make good use of this time.” 

“Really, now?” You held back a chuckle, cheeks heating up from the wanton desire on your husband’s eyes. As you crossed your arms and leaned against the wall, you didn’t realize that such action only caused him to go even crazier than he already was. 

“Dammit.” His eyes danced in lust as he stared at your cleavage when you crossed your arms. He had good self-control, too. That was… until he couldn’t resist it anymore. He had to have his hand squeeze one breast gently, fondling the rounded mass like they were his personal stress balls. “Are you ovulating, honey? They look huge.” 

You weren’t sure as it had been while since you tracked it, but your breasts did feel heavier lately. And sore, too, because he was kneading them. “Hmm. I might be expecting my period soon.” 

Very playfully, Sukuna leaned forward to trail kisses along your neck, his warm breath tickling your skin as he spoke, “What do you say we add another one to the bunch?” was his whispered suggestion, “A little girl, maybe? I know a few positions.” 

“Are you serious?” You raised an eyebrow, trying to suppress a laugh. “With these two little devils wreaking havoc, you still want to add more chaos to the mix?” 

His finger was already looping around the strap of your nightgown, pulling it down with a salacious upward curve of his lips. “You know you love the chaos, babe.” You could feel his hands moving to grab a handful of your buttocks, squeezing your bum eagerly. “Plus, imagine all the mischief our little girl could get up to.” 

You couldn’t help it either—the desire, the tension. Not to mention, your husband was looking undeniably hot right now, with the muscles on his chest pressing against yours, making you want nothing but to see him shirtless again. Those toned abs, those muscular arms. God. His lips were also soft and sweet when he pulled you into an open-mouthed kiss 

“You are,” you mumbled in between kisses, breathing heavily against his mouth, “very naughty, mister.” 

You felt him smirking through your kiss before he grabbed your thighs, and lifted you up so you could wrap them around his waist. The kissing, the very intense kissing, with his tongue rolling against yours and you moaning against his mouth, was already as erotic as it could get. When was the last time you two had sex? Last week? You couldn’t remember which specific day it was, but you did recall it being only a quick one in the shower. This time, it definitely wouldn’t be a quickie as he seemed to have plans in giving you a sleepless night. 

Sukuna carefully placed you down in your king-sized bed, pulling his shirt off and once again crawling above you to hungrily meet your lips with his. And did you mention he was a good multitasker?  As he nibbled on your lower lip, breathing you in like you were an addicting drug he couldn’t get enough off, his fingers were also rubbing your clothed entrance, pulling your underwear to the side to touch your moist cunt. 

“Mhmm—!”

Two fingers entered you without warning, and he pulled away from the kiss to look at the face you were making as he used his digits to find your sweet spot. “You’re so fuckin’ hot, Y/N.” 

You arched your back, spreading your legs wide open to give him full access to your core. The moment he was able to reach your g-spot, you could feel your lower abdomen coiling from the intense wave of pleasure that was coursing through your body. “Nghh—yes, daddy. That’s it!” 

A few more pumps, hard and fast, had you gasping for air like a fish out of the ocean. He seemed to have loved the sight too, as he kept his dark, sultry eyes fixed on you while he fingered you like there was no tomorrow. “You’re one hot mama, aren’t you?” he asked, withdrawing his fingers and sucking on them to taste your slick. “Can I fuck your mouth, baby?”

“‘Mmkay,” you answered, pulling yourself up to help him rid himself of his pajamas. The sight of his bulge—his big, angry bulge—made you all the more excited. You had seen him many times before and knew just how huge his member could grow when aroused, but it still didn’t change the fact that seeing his fully erect cock surprised you every single time. Because it was thick, it was long, it was meaty, it was veiny. “Gosh, lovey. You’re huge.” 

He obviously liked hearing that. Not only did you inflate his ego, it also made him desire you even more as he positioned his shaft on your face, pulling your hair into a ponytail. “Open your mouth.” 

Like a good girl, you did as told. And your eyes went wide as he forced his cock inside, thrusting balls deep in and out of your mouth. He was doing it roughly to the point where your eyes pooled with tears because your gag reflex kept on fighting back. You couldn’t even taste him properly because your saliva was coating his entire length, but you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling in satisfaction as you watched your husband throw his head back from the utmost pleasure of being inside your mouth. 

“Ah, fuck. Fuck.” He cussed multiple times, jostling his hips before pulling his member out. “Your mouth’s so warm.” 

For a moment, you replaced your mouth with your hand, an elbow propped on the other as you stroked his girthy length. You jacked him off at the pace you knew he preferred, and placed your tongue flat on the swollen pink head like it was a lollipop. You were kissing the tip with your eyes staring back at him, ultimately driving him into insanity. “Like that, daddy?” 

“Fuck yes,” he grunted, his vulgar thoughts now consuming his actions as he grabbed your chin up, only to then spit in your mouth. “I’m gonna get you pregnant tonight,” he declared in a deep, raspy voice, “Gonna fill up that pretty little pussy with my cum.” 

Damn, he’s serious about it? 

As embarrassing as it may sound, you could feel your pussy clenching from his lewd words. “You want a baby girl for real?” 

Your husband lowered himself down to meet your level, undressing you impatiently like a rabid dog who was ready to bite its victim. And in your naked glory, he then spread your legs apart and rubbed his shaft in between your labia. “I do,” he said, puppy eyes hoping for you to say yes, “I want a baby girl, please. Please. Please.” 

Could you even resist this man? 

You gave him an answer by nodding, holding your smile by biting your lower lip as you watched your silly husband reach through the nightstand in search of the lube. Because he was too crazed with excitement, a couple packs of unused condoms fell out of the drawer as he grabbed the strawberry-colored tube. 

“Take it easy. Jeez,” you teased. 

“You’re driving me nuts here.” 

You decided to tease him even more by touching yourself, your fingers doing circular motions on your clit as your husband coated his entire length with the water-based lube. The smell of artificial strawberry permeated through the air, and with it being your favorite scent, you felt more stimulated than ever. “Mmm. I want you inside me now, lovey.” 

“What mommy wants, mommy gets,” he joked, manhandling both your legs into placing it above his shoulders and putting you into his favorite position. The classic missionary. “Ah, shit.” He buried his member agonizingly slow. “Why… are… you so damn tight tonight?” 

Maybe because you were clenching around his cock, squeezing his angry member with your velvet walls and giving him that extra good grip he always went absolutely wild for. “A-Aah! Y-You love it.” 

“Fuck, yeah.” He began thrusting now. Using his thumb to spread your slit apart, he delighted in seeing his cock go in and out of your entrance, watching the full length be swallowed by your cavern entirely. And he was going from slow and sensual, to rough and fast in less than a minute. 

He was just far too deep inside. Now, you were losing hold on your sanity as with every jostle of your body, your insides were also reacting more and more violently with your knees and thighs shaking. The skin slapping sounds were bouncing across the room, and you were hoping, praying, that your soundproof walls worked well enough not to wake your innocent twins. Because at this rate, you were going to squirt all over their father. It had been sometime since you felt the need to pee during intercourse, but that also speaks of just how intense Sukuna was plowing his hardened cock inside of you. 

“D-Daddy, I… I’m…” 

He attached his mouth on your right tit, playing his tongue around the nipple. “Mhm… You’re so sexy, mommy.” 

Two little boys. And your husband still won’t stop until he gets his little girl. 

Your mind was a whirlwind that night. The events that followed became such a blur because your pleasure overpowered your ability to think straight. All you could remember was Sukuna releasing his warm load into your womb after chasing his climax, and immediately after, he had your body twisted around and positioned into what he refers ‘the undefeated’ doggy style. 

Gosh, he was telling the truth when he said he was going to fuck you all night with no breaks in between. 

Because now, you were on all fours, being pounded from behind as you had your hands gripping the sheets each time he propelled his body forward. He was shoving his cock from behind like it was his day job, already familiar with the perfect angle and depth in which he had to rut you in. With his hands holding your hips in place, he raised one leg on the mattress, and the other knee still intact, to fuck you senseless. 

“Mmm—Aah! Haah!” 

The deeper he penetrated you, the lower your upper body went. You were now in a position with your chest down low, and your ass up high so that he could see your hole in a much, much better view. “You think you can take ‘nother round after this, babe?” he asked, breathless as he reached forward to squeeze your tit. “I don’t wanna push your limits.” 

“I-I don’t t-think I c-can…”

You could hear his deep chuckle despite your frenzied state, and soon enough, he was increasing the speed of his thrusts once more, cursing and moaning while doing so, before shooting thick ropes of seed inside your cunt. 

He collapsed next to you right after that, while you were completely limp in labored breaths as you lay beside him. The feeling of his semen dripping out of your pussy had you reaching for your husband’s arm, pointing towards the box of tissue with your half-lidded eyes. You were too sore to move. 

Sukuna immediately got the cue. “I got it,” he said, pecking your lips before doing the task of wiping the mess on your body. And as soon as he was able to clean you off, he quickly went back beside you, pulling you into a sweet, husbandly embrace. “Good night, beautiful.” 

You hummed in your drowsy state, his chest becoming the perfect pillow for your head to sleep on. “Night, night, handsome.” 

~~

Good lord was his body sore. 

But was that the greatest fucking sex he has ever had? Hell yes. It was so good that he even dreamed of it. 

As the morning sun streamed through the curtains, the aftermath of your passionate night was evident in the tousled sheets and sleepy smiles that you both had that morning. He still had you in his arms, your body secured around his as he pressed his lips into your temple. 

“Good morning, my love.” 

You stirred awake, blinking sleepily as you stretched beneath the warmth of the covers. He could tell you were still groggy from last night’s events, and he was a hundred percent certain that you were also too sore to walk. “Morning, lovey.” 

But before he could savor the domestic moment with you, the bedroom door burst open, and a fully awakened Raiden and Ryuji came in with their energy back at 100%. Oh, boy. Sukuna just had to forget locking the door last night. 

Raiden, in his polka pjs, was jumping up and down excitedly. “Mama! Papa! Wake up!” 

He was joined by his twin brother, Ryuji, who was in his striped pajamas, skipping around the room. “We want pancakes, pwease!” 

Sukuna could feel you stiffening next to him, and he saw the look of panic in your eyes upon realizing that you were very much naked under the sheets. So, hastily and frantically, your beloved husband pulled the duvet, covering your chest from being exposed and hoping to conceal any tell-tale marks. 

“Shh! Keep it down, boys,” he reprimanded the twins, “Mama and Papa are still sleeping.”

The stubborn Ryuji placed his hands on his hips. “But you’re awake, Papa!” 

On the other hand, Raiden, who climbed the king-sized bed, was pointing towards his mother. “Mama, what’s on your shoulder?” 

At the sight of the marks, Sukuna’s eyes widened in alarm and his cheeks were limned with a crimson hue. His mind raced for a plausible explanation because those exact bruises on your shoulder were, in fact, hickeys. So before you could speak, he took it upon himself to handle the matter. “That... It’s, uh, a battle wound.” He mentally kicked himself for such a ridiculous lie. “Mama’s very brave, you see. She fought off a giant mosquito last night.”

You stifled a laugh, burying your face into the pillow for a moment, and later deciding to play along. “That’s right,” you agreed, nodding seriously. “Mama’s a warrior.”

Raiden and Ryuji, however, were too smart for this as the twins exchanged skeptical glances, clearly not buying their parents' explanation. And with Raiden being the more vocal one, he pointed it out first. “But why does it look like a bunch of tiny kisses?”

Sukuna struggled now, and while he was still thinking of another excuse, you finally stepped in to try and save the day. 

And thank the heavens, you handled it a lot more casually than he did. “It’s a secret,” you said, smiling at your kids, “Mama and Papa have a secret game they play sometimes. Right, Papa?”

Your husband quickly joined in on your little antic. “That’s right, it’s a secret game! But it’s only for grown-ups,” he clarified to the curious twins, who were clearly intrigued by this mysterious ‘game’. “You two aren’t old enough to play yet.”

The twins exchanged curious glances, their skepticism giving way to fascination. “Okay,” Raiden said slowly, still pondering the explanation. Ryuji just shrugged, accepting it more readily. 

Only then did Sukuna breathe a silent sigh of relief as he was grateful for your quick thinking. But with children like these two, the interrogation was clearly far from over because Ryuji decided to make things even more complicated when he picked up an unused packet of condom on the floor, its bright red color attracting his interest. “Mama, is this candy?” asked your son, pointing to the strawberry logo, “Can I have it?” 

“No, sweetheart, that’s not candy,” you softly spoke. The composure in your voice was outstanding. Sukuna should definitely learn a thing or two from you. “Give it to Mama.” 

And while you dealt with the other twin, Raiden jumped out of bed and tugged at his father’s arm persistently. “Papa, pancakes!” he demanded, throwing a tantrum as he chanted. “Pancakes! Pancakes! We want pancakes!” 

“Okay, okay!” The father sighed inwardly, shooting you a look for help as if he was their slave for the day. All you could do was chuckle and mouth ‘you got this’ back to him. Well, he didn’t have much of a choice, did he? “Coming right up, you little monsters.” 

“Yayy!” 

“Woohoo!” 

You, barely handling the noise at six in the morning, groaned playfully next to your husband. “See? Having another kid isn’t as easy as you think,” you told him, “We can barely handle these two.” 

Sukuna displayed a grin, running a hand through his hair as he looked at his wife and your little ones. “Boys, do you want a baby sister? Yes or yes?” 

Raiden and Ryuji, in unison, answered giddily. “Yes! We want a baby sister!” 

A look of defeat clouded your eyes, while your husband laughed and kissed your forehead. “You heard them, love,” he reminded, softly, “I want my baby girl soon.” 

He knew that, despite your playful protest, having a daughter was a shared desire. “Fine.” 

So in swift movements, your husband slipped into his pants beneath the covers, then got out of bed to scoop up the twins in his arms. “Alright, breakfast time you two!” he announced, heading towards the door with his sons cheering together. And just before leaving, he cast one last tender smile in your direction. 

“I love you, Y/N. Chaos and all.” 

[i23kazu]

GENSHIN MEN & PINCHING THEIR CHEEKS .

characters. xiao zhongli diluc kaeya childe neuvillette x gn!reader genre. romantic fluff. an. squish. squish | please reblog!! im getting back into writing and reblogs with tags and comments will make me want to write more :D

xiao

his cheeks go red – not from your pinching! he can't believe you've done this. jail. jail for reader for 1000 years. but to be very honest... xiao doesn't really mind, after a while. he might go red and mumble under his breath, but surely the pinching of his cheeks isn't the worse thing he's had to endure, right? if you continue doing this, it may become his... sort-of preferred affection. just saying. the embarrassed blush never really goes away, though.

zhongli

gets embarrassed, tries to pry your hands away, but to no avail. who knew you were so strong? his words get jargled with the way you're holding his cheeks, a soft tinge of crimson painting them. for someone so old, his baby cheeks never truly went away. it's quite cute, really – seeing him giving in to the pinching after seeing the pout on your face. if he's had enough, zhongli kisses you to stop the pinching. it always works.

diluc

is this really necessary? he mumbles, his eyes not making any contact with you. physical affection made up a big part of your relationship, but this? it was something reminiscent of his childhood – when adelinde fawned over him like this... when he was the only son of the ragnvindr household. diluc doesn't push your hands away at all... perhaps the king of mondstadt is more soft-hearted than he looks.

kaeya

kaeya has never truly had someone offer him this kind of physical affection – the most he got was from a much younger, happier, and healthier diluc. crepus and adelinde were around, but kaeya always couldn't help but notice the slight distance that was put between them. when you first pinch kaeya's cheeks. he doesn't ask you to stop – rather, he kisses your hand and asks you what that means.

childe

laughs, and pinches you back in retaliation. it reminded him of the times where he used to lovingly annoy tonia and teucer, but this time? peppered with cheek kisses after, exactly on the sore spots. you laugh when childe asks you if you think that this is funny, and shakes his head playfully when you reply with a giggly yes. it's worth it though – seeing the sweet smile on your face after.

neuvillette

doesn't quite understand how to react. on one hand, a part of him is screaming in embarrassment. the chief justice, standing in the courtyard, with his lover cooing and pinching his cheeks? the other part of him is just happy to see you. neuvillette gently pries your hands away and leads you to a more private part of the opera èpiclése, smiling, and kissing the top of your forehead. there are more sun showers that day.

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reblogs w/ tags & comments help me lots !!! if you liked this, consider dropping me a follow as well :-)

[dark-konohagakure2]

Helloooo! This is my first time requesting something like this so im super nervous .. but do you think you could write something along the lines of madara niece getting married of to him and them consummating (getting freaky deaky) the wedding? Its okay if not, i love your work! ^_^

tw: incest, uncle/niece, noncon, forced marriage, age difference, misogyny, breeding, size difference, cumflation

All characters depicted are 18+

Madara doesn't care about romance in the slightest, much less marriage. He can appreciate taking a woman's body as a spoil of war, but other than that he couldn't care less about such tedious distractions such as women. But as little thought as he puts into the matter, the fact remains that Madara will need an heir soon as head of the Uchiha Clan, and there is only one suitable candidate for birthing his sons.

Madara isn't incredibly close with his niece, he doesn't hate her, but he isn't exactly a doting uncle either. Most of his memories of his niece are of her as a small and meek thing, hiding behind her father Izuna's leg and clinging to her mother's skirt, but now that she's grown older, she has become an attractive young woman, the spitting image of her late father, his precious younger brother, so Madara decides to kill two birds with one stone.

Forcing her hand in marriage is almost top easy, the girl's mother has been in disarray since her husband's death, so the woman sees her only daughter getting married as a good thing for the clan. Even if Madara is the girl's uncle, he is without a doubt the most suitable male for her out of every man in the Uchiha clan, or at least that's the point he'll hammer in.

His niece isn't terribly happy when she receives the news that she'll be getting married, what's worse is that she gets this shocking news at the very last minute, as Madara doesn't even think to tell her about their unconventional 'engagement' until the very day right before their so-called wedding, and he definitely won't be sympathetic to her hysterical woman tears.

"Enough or your shrieking, girl. I've already made my decision and it is final. If you can't even do something as simple as rearing a few children for our clan, then you don't deserve to be called an Uchiha."

The wedding isn't exactly a large one, it'd just the two of them, not even the mother is allowed to attend her own daughter's 'wedding', Madara doesn't need two crying women ruining his special day. The wedding kimono suits his adorably homely niece rather well, but Madara thinks it would suit her much better on his bed, so suffice to say that the marriage ceremony will be rather quick.

Once it's finally done, Madara will practically drag her to his chambers, his cock unbearably hard beneath his wedding robe, he never thought he'd ever be so excited about sinking his cock into a wet cunt, but his niece's tight little Uchiha pussy is just too much of a tempting forbidden fruit for him to resist sinking his teeth into. While his main goal is reproduction, Madara will also be after his own pleasure during this act of consummation.

Madara's cock is long and thick, stretching her virgin walls before he then gets it halfway inside, and when he finally rams his thick meat into her, his leaking tip will immediately and mercilessly bash into her cervix like a battering ram, it would be next to impossible for her to get thoroughly knocked up due to how deeply Madara is penetrating her fertile cunt.

Madara doesn't take any half measures, he wants her swollen with his seed, with his offspring, and he's not going to achieve that by just one measly orgasm inside of her, he's going to cum inside of her as much as possible, fucking his superior seed into her until her flat tummy becomes bloated with the sheer amount of cum that Madara has dumped into her, and even then he's not going to stop enjoying his niece-wife for quite some time.

"Stupid girl, don't pass out on me just yet, weakling. It's only been four rounds and you're already whining and leaking? Pathetic. How did I get burdened with such a weak niece..?"

Madara's opinion on sex won't change too much even after having his way with his new 'wife', but now he's able reach a conclusion; he doesn't have any need for other women and their holes now, since his niece is the only set of holes Madara can imagine himself using for the foreseeable future.

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

Hey,

Do you still take Hannibal requests? If you do, could you please write a story, where Hannibal get‘s very jealous after a night out in the opera. The reader had finally met Franklyn, who is very interested in her ( because she‘s friends with Hannibal and part of the cheese folk).Hannibal is visibly angry when they are back in their opera seats… Could you also please end it with smut ( if you are comfortable with that).Thanks for considering!<3

A/n: Hey Hon thanks for the request i hope you like it!

Hannibal Lector x Reader: Jealousy, Jealousy

Warnings:smut, biting, kissing, penetration (p in v), fingering, possessive behaviour, public sex, unwanted flirting (from Franklin), fluff, happy ending, no use of y/n, female reader

Word count:2,9K

Hannibal is pissed. No scratch that. He’s seething. But you can’t see it. No one can. He’s just that good at hiding it. Even so, everyone has a breaking point. 

This was Hannibals.

Franklin had met you at the last opera you and Hannibal had gone to and from that moment it seemed he had grown some sort of infatuation with you. Hannibal always loathed his sessions with Franklin, his ever growing desire to be Hannibal’s friends making the doctor rather uncomfortable, but he never imagined it could get worse. Boy was he mistaken. It seemed like Franklin couldn’t utter a single sentence without mentioning your name. Hannibal watched him dance around the subject for days until he finally got to the point.

“You think you could give me her number?”

“I'm sorry?”

“Her number. I wanted to ask if she’d be free for some wine tasting but I don't know how to reach her. And then I thought you must have her number since you two seem close.”

“I don’t think she’d be interested.”

“Oh well maybe you could give me it anyway and i could ask-”

“I will not be giving you her number and that is final.”

An eerie silence took over the room. Hannibal watched Franklin open and close his mouth silently before settling back into his chair. It seemed clear to Hannibal that his patient had finally gotten the message.

 Once again he was wrong.

You were nursing a glass of wine that Hannibal had picked out for you as your eyes studied the opera house. Hannibal was next to you, his body mare inches from yours but not close enough to allow contact. You watched people come up to Hannibal in greeting before quickly going away.

“As always you’re quite the topic.”

“I don’t know what you mean dear.”

“Don’t be modest Hannibal. It's clear these people admire you. They may even wish to be you.”

You caught sight of a girl making flirtatious eyes to Hannibal and couldn’t help but smirk.

“Or maybe be with you. Either way they consider you appealing.”

Hannibal watched you as you spoke, his eyes never leaving your frame. It was intriguing how observant you could be and how unseeing you were at the same time. It didn’t matter how many women tried to impress him, his eyes always found themselves glued to you. You always had his full attention.

Always.

It was beginning to become a problem.

Hannibal had been so focused on looking at you that he hadn’t noticed someone new had approached. It was only when Hannibal heard the familiar voice that he realized you two had company. The doctor watched Franklin greet you with a kiss on your hand. The sight itself made Hannibal clench his hands into fists. He tried to remind himself he was in the middle of a very crowded place. A place filled with people who knew him. Seeing him throw a punch at a patient would ruin his career. Still he’d never felt an urge to knock someone out so much in his life.

You were always a kind person. Very well mannered and aware of your words. So it shouldn’t surprise Hannibal when you kept conversing with Franklin, occasionally even laughing at his terrible jokes. Hannibal zeroed in his attention on your lips. He observed the way they wrapped around the rim of the glass as you took a sip of your drink. The drink he’d picked for you because he knew you pallet better than anyone.

It had occurred to Hannibal a few months back that he was growing interested in you in a not so friendly way. But it was only when Franklin asked for your number that he realized how deeply he was falling for you. He wanted you for himself. And he would make that happen.

You were starting to get annoyed. Franklin was a nice guy but it was clear he didn’t know how to take no for an answer. You could see the way he was subtly, at least in his eyes, trying to flirt with you. It’s safe to say you weren’t interested. Not that he seemed to be getting that message. A noise rang out into the room telling you all the intermission was coming to an end.

“Well look at that, time just flies when you’re having fun huh?”

You gave Franklin a weak smile .

“We should be going, Franklin. Our seats are at the top so we have to climb a lot of stairs.”

“Oh okay.”

“Maybe we'll see you at the next opera?”

God you hopped not.

“Actually I was wondering if I could get your number.”

You froze, a concerned smile plastered to your face. Gosh he really didn’t let up did he? In a moment of pure panic at the thought of having to deal with Franklin calling at all hours of the night you grabbed onto Hannibal's arm. The doctor's focus moved to where your delicate hands were wrapped around his forearm. You looked up at him with pleading eyes before turning back to Franklin.

“Actually I’m already spoken for.”

“Oh wow I didn’t….realize.”

“Yes well we are very much together so…. Yeah.”

And uncomfortable silence covered the three of you. You tried to think of something to say. Anything to get you away from here. Before you had time to come up with something Hannibal spoke.

“Come on dear. If we don’t hurry we might miss something.”

You let out a relieved breath as Hannibal moved his hand to wrap around your waist, guiding you away from Franklin. You kept your eyes forward as the two of you walked. It was only when you were out of Franklin's view that you started laughing. You braced yourself on your thighs as you laughed.

“Oh gosh. That was just dreadful. He was so-“

“Annoying.”

“Incredibly annoying! Honestly Hannibal I don't know how you can deal with being in a room with him for an hour.”

“Didn’t seem like you were having such a hard time.”

You lifted your head to look at the doctor with a curious expression. He was looking down at you with a look you rarely ever saw, at least not directed towards you. Hannibal Lecter was annoyed. And at you no less. You crossed your arms over your chest.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You seemed to be enjoying talking to him. Laughing at his jokes. Making small talk.”

“It's called manners, Hannibal. As far as I know you value them quite a lot.”

Hannibal stalked over to you causing you to take a step back. Your back hit the wall, making you gasp. Hannibal hovered over you, his eyes boring into your soul.

“Hannibal what are you-“

“Did you enjoy his attention? Did you like the way he was looking at you? He was staring so hard I was surprised his eyes didn’t pop out of their sockets.”

“What the hell’s gotten into you?”

“Into me? Weren’t you the one who was just clinging onto my body like I was your savior?”

You’d never seen Hannibal like this. For the first time since you knew him he looked like an animal. His usually neat hair was slightly flopping over his face and the expert calm facade he always had seemed to have slipped. He looked like a predator and you were his prey. You lifted your hand so that you could touch his arm. He looked at your hand on his frame. It was as if your touch was burning him. He needed to feel you but he was afraid of what that would mean. You whispered his name causing him to face you. You looked up at him with wide eyes, your lips slightly parted as you breathed.

He hadn’t even realized he was boxing you into the wall with his body until he felt the heat that radiated from you. He couldn’t think straight with you so near him but he couldn’t bear to be far from you either. It was then that he realized just how much he craved you. He felt like a lion who’d been starved for days and had finally been given a piece of steak. 

He was going to devour you.

Without a second thought Hannibal shoved his lips against yours. Your body reacted immediately, hand moving to wrap around his neck as he deepened the kiss. Hannibal moved his hand to your leg, hitching it up. You gasped into his mouth as his fingers skimmed over your skin. He enjoyed the sounds you made as he pushed your underwear to the side. His fingers moved over your pussy and he couldn’t help but groan as he felt how wet you were. Your nails dug into his blazer as he inserted one of his digits into you. Your back rubbed against the wall as he continued to bully his fingers into your cunt. A moan slipped through your lips before you managed to cover your mouth, the realization that anyone could just walk by and see you finally becoming clear.

“Hannibal we-“

“Shhh I’m trying to enjoy the opera.”

You could hear the opera singer belting out a note from afar. The sound was dulled by the heavy doors but you could still make it out. Hannibal hummed the song as he continued to finger you. You were trying to keep as quiet as possible but he wasn’t making it easy on you. He knew exactly what to do to have you screaming out for him.

“Hannibal please, I'm so close.”

“Oh yeah? Think you deserve it?”

“Yes please. Please make me cum.”

“Even after flirting with Franklin in front of me?”

This little shit.

“Hannibal please…. I’m sorry.”

“Who do you belong to hum?”

“You.”

“Speak up dear, I can't hear you.”

“You Hannibal! I belong to you!”

“That's right. Go on then. Cum on my fingers.”

You hid your face in the crook of Hannibal's neck as a silent moan ripped through your body. He felt your teeth graze his collar bone through his shirt as your mouth opened in pleasure making him smirk. Your juices continued to coat his fingers as he attempted to help you through your high. Your body shook against him, your limbs spasming as you tried to regain control of your brain. You knew Hannibal's knowledge of the human body made him good at many things but you never stopped to contemplate the effect his expertise would have on a more sexual context.  

Once you’d come back down to earth you pushed your body off of Hannibals allowing you to look into his eyes. You continued to breathe heavily as you looked at him trying to figure out what would happen next. You hadn't expected him to lean down and kiss your lips but you welcomed the action. You warped your arms around his neck tugging him even closer to you. Hannibal's hands made their way to your hips squeezing lightly at your flesh. You bite into his bottom lip as his mouth moved away from yours. You couldn’t help the giggle that made its way out of your lips.

Hannibal grinned down at you, his thumb caressing your hip bone as he continued to observe you. Your hair was covering your face and your lips were swollen from kissing him. Hannibal didn’t look much better, his pupils were dilated and his heart was hammering in chest. You noticed the wild look in his eyes and in a sudden burst of confidence you decided to move your leg up against Hannibal's body. His eyes darted to your leg before moving back to your face. You bite into your lip, your fingers moving to tug at the small hairs on the back of Hannibal's head. You watched his brows furrow a bit at the action. “You gonna fuck me Doctor lector?”

“What makes you say that?”

“The look on your face.”

“And what look would that be?”

“The look of a man who is about to turn into an animal.”

Hannibal's expression faltered slightly at your comment. He wondered from a moment if you’d understand him if he told you what he was capable of. He wondered if your eyes would widen in fear or if they would simply spike up in curiosity. You placed your palm on his cheek causing him to focus on you once more.

“You okay?”

“No.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m starved.”

Hannibal gave you a wolfish grin as his hand made its way to your ass. You gasped as he pushed your body up, legs instinctively wrapping around his hips. You steady yourself on his shoulders waiting to see what he would do. Hannibal tugged your dress up your legs allowing him to view your underwear. He moved his hand to his pants tugging at the zipper. You watched him in anticipation, eyes widening as he pulled his dick from its confines. You whined as he pushed your underwear to the side, positioning himself near your entrance. A gasp left your lips as he pushed into you. Your nails dug into his blazer. Hannibal braced one hand on the wall as he began to pistol into you.

Your moans filled his ears as he continued to brutally fuck into you. The sound of you combined with the sounds of the opera far away were like music to his ears. He wondered why he’d never thought of doing this before. You’d been to his home many times it wouldn’t have been hard to get you into his bed but he supposed this was nice too. He felt a rush move through his body at the thought of someone walking in on the two of you. He wished it would be Franklin, the need to show his patient that you belonged to him becoming overwhelming. His head moved to your neck, tongue moving against the soft skin before he sunk his teeth into you. Your walls clenched around him at the action causing him to let out a grunt.

“Hannibal-ah ugh ah shit- don’t stop.”

He was never going to stop. He’d feast on your body for as long as he could, in every way he knew how. He would never be satiated with the feeling of you. There was no going back now Hannibal would have to make you entirely his. 

He continues to nibble at your skin, desperately trying to mark you as much as he can. He wants to scare off any other suitors but he also enjoys the thought of you walking around covered in marks he’s given you. Mine, he thinks, this one is all mine. You're clenching around his dick like a vice which tells him you’re getting closer to your release. He wants you to beg for it, wants you to ask him to cum. It seems you can read his mind because without him even opening his mouth you’re already whining for him, telling him how good he feels and how much you want to cum on his dick. So he lets you but not before filling you to the brim with his seed. He wants you so full off him that his cum starts to seep out. He wants you to smell like him so everyone else knows who you belong to. 

You’re having a hard time getting your heart to calm down. Hannibals still holding onto your body, trying his best to keep you upright as his own legs threaten to buckle. Neither one of you speaks, opting to just share the space in silence for a moment. You hear muffled applause, the sound telling you that the opera has ended. You pull your dress down covering your body once again. Once you think you're decent your hands move to Hannibal now soft dick, stuffing it back in his pants for him. He doesn't move away from you as you straighten his tie or when you fix his hair for him. He lets you build his facade back up without any complaint. As you finish making sure he too is decent you place your hands on his chest.

“Can’t ruin your reputation, can we now Doctor Lecter?”

He smiles at you, his own hands moving to fix your messy hair. Then he moves to place a gentle kiss on your lips. It's a tender action which causes your heart to skip a beat. As the two of you share a loving kiss the doors of the opera open. People pile into the hall you and Hannibal are in, not one of them aware of what was happening a couple of minutes prior. You allow Hannibal to guide you into the crowd, his hand comfortably warping around your waist. You let your body curl into him.

“Let’s go home my dear. I’m dying for another meal.”

Something about the way he talks makes you think he isn’t talking about food.

[that-one-malereader-enthusiast]

𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐕𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞

���┈➤ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥'𝐬 𝐓𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐨

__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

𝐋𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭 𝐱 𝐌𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐋𝐨𝐮𝐢𝐬

cw : MDNI - , sub Lestat, top male reader, dom male reader, sub Louis, slight service bot Louis, nsfw, birthday sex, mentions of blood, soft dom male reader, marking, heavy biting, fang play, poly, slight brat taming, slight internalized homophobia, awakening, threesome, iwtv movie, Louis is a brooding baby, as always, brat Lestat, Brad Pitt Louis, Tom Cruise Lestat, not proof read, anon request, wc: 4.8k.

Thinking of how the two vampires who've adored you for over a year are now ready to claim you as theirs only. How they can't stand the idea of being away from you any longer.

How they'd get on a bended knee for you, that behind closed doors the power switch was immense. How someone as cocky as a peacock suddenly becomes as domesticated as a house pet.

But you didn't just serve them. They served you. They loved you, and they wanted to grant you more of that obsessive love on your special day.

__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

After cleaning the main lounge, you found yourself ready to retire to your quarters for the night. It was odd at the start, to now serve two men who’d claimed to be new owners of the estate and to finally be working inside the home instead of outside of it. You were just a simple gardener who tended to the Lord's yard whenever he asked. You were paid less than most of the staff — no matter the color of your skin or where you originated from — but it was the only task anyone would grant you, even though you were more than capable of doing more.

Much more.

The last thing you'd expected was to suddenly find yourself ambushed by a well dressed blonde nobleman one night. He had a certain charm that swooned you immediately, though he was just as surprised when you retaliated — amusing him so.

But you were unaware that you were nothing but prey in the eyes of the nightly hunter.

He was more intrigued by your presence than most he'd encountered during his nightly prowls. He captured your attention for most of the night before disappearing with a promise of meeting you again, and the next day, the original Lord and Lady of the house seemed to disappear without much of a trace.

It was only the next night that Lestat informed all servants and workers that the Lord of the house handed it to him while the two went away for a while, not to return for a season or two. In some ways, you were not as alarmed as others were from the sudden news.

It was only then that you'd been visited nightly by the new Lord, Lestat de Lioncourt. Even though you found it odd how he only visited you in the gardens during the nighttime, it was comforting to have someone spend time with you, shamelessly at that. For another man to spend time with one another in such a way — in that day and age — you'd be ridiculed or worse. Far worse.

It was only later that you’d found yourself introduced to the second new lord of the house, Louis de Pointe du Lac. He was rather standoffish around Lestat, as if he was simply tolerating to be around his blonde companion rather than enjoying his company. Everytime you happened to see him during the night, the brunette was brooding somewhere in the garden or isolating himself within the house. As if he couldn't stand to be around people.

Slowly but surely, you surprised the brunette — just as much as he was surprised Lestat kept you around. Every night you'd find yourself trying to get in good graces with Louis, from bouquets of flowers to small notes you'd write on parchment.

Unfortunately, he wasn't as willing to spend time with you as Lestat was. His companion simply stated the man was too busy mourning a previous life, had been for quite a while.

What he didn't explain was that the previous life in question was Louis’ own.

Lestat de Lioncourt — the man who could talk his way in and out of both heaven and hell if he wanted to. The man who had you wound tightly around his finger. You'd long since waved away the thought of never seeing the two men in the daylight hours, just as no other servant had, deterring them. But what seemed to confuse you most was why blonde individual seemed so intrigued with you alone.

Some nights he'd be away with Louis, sometimes leaving out without him — either way — he'd always make time for you. Whether that was to dine in the house, dance with you out in the yard, or even playing you a musical tenure he stated he learned some years ago, he was almost attached to the him with you.

It wasn't until he'd lead you inside and to his own private quarters that it was revealed to you what he truly was. A man who's only seen at night, whose words are like sultry whispers that wrap around your mind, who sleeps in a coffin of all places.

A vampire.

The night you'd indulged in the sinful desire, laying with Lestat as you were seduced into bed with him, you were both left in a daze of emotions. A buzzing high you'd never experienced lingered within you as you took the vampire that night, and in return it made him desire your presence even more.

Your blood was indescribable, but at the same time, the most alluring he'd had come across in some time, even within the bliss of the night. It was almost too much to resist the first time he'd fed from you.

Now Louis, Louis was a much harder catch. Of course Lestat flaunted how great you were, how much of a flame you were to him compared to the harlots he'd normally pick up — though in no way was he calling you that or lowering you to those standards. Even teased the thought of having you as an additional companion.

That scared Louis to wits end. He didn't want anyone else to have to suffer a fate similar to his own.

Though when you stopped leaving him flowers, notes, letters, he seemed to almost yearn for that attention back. Lestat and himself didn't exactly click, only in certain moments, but otherwise they were as different as black and white. He'd take quiet strolls in the garden some nights when Lestat was gone, leaving Louis to feed on whatever doves or rats he wanted to feast on. But instead, he watched you from afar, admiring you in the darkness.

He was one to leer and loom around, watching as you delicately handled all the flowers that bloomed, shaping and trimming the hedges, and by God he adored hearing you sing to yourself. Sometimes it was a hum of a tune he didn't recognize, sometimes it was simply a melody you'd made up yourself.

He was completely entranced with you. But he wasn't as sneaky as he thought to be, which is why you left little clues. Single roses in the gazebo that sat in the yard, folded sheets of loving words hidden in the bushes — you knew he appreciated them. The smile on his face said it all, even it was the smallest of gestures.

And you had to admit, Louis looked much better with a something other than the depressing look he carried around. At one point or another, you assumed they may have gotten tired of you and were simply going to make you disappear like the other servants of the house did. Just as the previous Lord and lady of the house did.

Yet here you are, a year later, still taking care of the garden as well as the house, all while maintaining a relationship with the two vampires. You were being paid handsomely — even though you were one of the few servants still left — ate at the table, and even had your own sleeping quarters inside the house rather than in the slums of the city.

You couldn't ask for a more perfect life especially with the attention you'd gained from the two men.

But what you least expected was a sudden barrage of gifts at your bedroom door.

You blinked a few times to make sure that you weren't just seeing things, but there were in fact gifts, from a beautiful bouquet of roses, to divine chocolates that you'd only be able to get overseas. The gesture was sweet and all, but you couldn't understand why it was at your door this time of night. Wouldn't it have made sense for whoever to have given them to you by hand?

“Odd…” Bundling the gifts into your arms, your was then hand fixated itself on the door handle before twisting and pushing it open. It was only then that you were even more confused with the assortment or rose petals leading up to your bed. There were candles decorated throughout the room, settled on the dressers and seals within the room. You barely caught that your sheets and covers were replaced with what looked like silk instead of your normal cotton sheets.

“Bonsoir ma chéri!” You felt someone drape onto your body, purring against your neck by the time you had two feet in the door. The accented voice was a dead giveaway to who'd invaded your quarters, though you were still befuddled.

You'd done nothing in recent times that would cause this sort of extension of affection — other than perhaps granting Lestat the pleasure of taking him while in his coffin.

“Monsieur Lestat?” You turned your head towards him in order to question what the meaning of the gifts were, but your voice was silenced by the feeling of his lips against yours. His fangs gently poked against your bottom lip, and tilting your head, you'd done due diligence to deepen the kiss. Your tongue played to gain access to the other's mouth before the vampire suddenly pulled away.

“Ah, you know how I feel about that toi ma douce. We're rather far from formalities, oui?” Lestat seemed to tilt your chin to his own height as he spoke, all before closing the door and sauntering his way into the room and effortlessly sitting on the edge of the bed. By the time you'd made your way into the rest of your room, settling the gifts on a vacant space, you turned and noticed Louis.

He was draped against the loveseat that sat some distance away from your own bed. His piercing, alluring eyes peered at you from afar before they shifted to the glass of red that was held between his hands, babying it as Lestat continued to speak to you.

“Do you like it mon cher? It was all planned for you! I know you barely come up to your room after you've gotten ready for the day, tu es un homme si travailleur, but it was the perfect time to assess your room before you come back. It didn’t take much to get inside without peeping eyes.” Lestat was right when it came to your schedule, working till late to make sure the house was in the best shape, all before coming to your room to rest or letting Lestat drink from you when he wasn't in the best of moods.

“I appreciate the gesture, but…I don't quite understand — why? I-I haven't done anything out of the ordinary lately, nothin’ that ain't what I normally do.” You watched as Lestats' brows furrowed and he looked over at Louis, the other looking right back as if he was a lost puppy.

The blonde gestured towards yourself as he spoke to his companion that laid across the room. “Louis, you said that it was today, did you not?”

“It is today, I made sure of it Lestat,” he replied reassuringly, only for the two to glance over towards your form, watching the clueless expression on your face.

“What…exactly is today?”

Standing to his feet almost immediately, Lestat grinned and strutted over till he was pressed against your body, holding your face with a fanged grin on his lips. “My hardworking charmeur, it is the day of your birth! If I remember correctly, you spoke of it being around this time of the year…unless you misspoke.”

It was only then that the dots connected all at once. You hadn't truly celebrated your birthday in years, not like much of the staff did unless they had families to go to and days off. Unfortunately for yourself, you had no family left to celebrate the day you were brought into the world.

“No, no — you’re correct! I just…I ain't ever see no reason to celebrate it. Haven't thought about it since I was younger…” Your eyes drifted over to Louis to see if he had any input, but he seemed as quiet as ever. At least he wasn’t acting like a brooding mess like normal. “Though I appreciate the gesture, of course.”

“Oh, it was just as much of Louis' ideas as it was mine! He practically begged for everything to be perfect for you mon cher, isn't that right Louis!” Lestat teased and called out the man from across the room before turning his attention back to you. “Of course I contributed to such efforts to make this night one that you would remember, pour toujours!” Guiding you towards the bed, he watched as you'd sat against the edge and looked rather unsure of yourself.

“Mons—er...Lestat, I haven't even gotten out of my work uniform. I didn't expect such a gesture today, not at all, but I do appreciate it.” Just as you began to unbutton the black vest over your dress shirt, Lestat crawled into your lap, straddling you and removing your hands before ripping your vest open, popping a few buttons off completely.

“Well, you can show your appreciation towards us tonight. As always, you never disappoint, not as far as I know.” Lestats' last words were drawn out as he dragged his hand down your stomach and down to the crotch of your pants, feeling the half chubbed appendage that appeared due to his sudden spur of boldness.

It was only then that you looked over to see Louis almost clenching his jaw while watching on, privy to the fact that Lestat would be laying with you again. Unfortunately, you were not the only one to notice Louis' sudden expression.

With a sharp grin, Lestat then slowly ripped your white dress shirt before looking towards his companion. “Isn't this what you were hoping for Louis? To surprise our darling on his special day? Oh — oh,” he gasped in feign surprise. “Don't tell me you've gotten shy all of a sudden, that doesn't much seem like your style, wouldn't you agree?”

Seeing as Lestat always liked to pick a fight with Louis, you took matters into your own hands. With your hands gripped around his waist, you practically rolled to pin Lestat down to the bed, silencing him with your own mouth on his. “If this is my birthday present, I'd rather you use that mouth for the better…’oui’?” You quoted, muttering such words with the little space he granted you before crashing his lips into yours again.

And just like that, you were straddling over Lestats' body and now attacking his throat. His eyes rolled back with each harsh bite and nip you placed up on his skin. The blonde fumbled to practically tear off the rest of your dress shirt from your arms before throwing it in the corner of the room and leaving you bare chested.

Even as you were mentally drawing out that you were exhausted after working all day, you could never resist Lestat. He was like a drug you couldn't get away from.

The vampire rolled his hips out to your with a half baked whine as he grew somewhat impatient with the fact that you had foreplay in mind. He understood why you were so gentle with him, but even as a vampire he'd informed you that he could take much more than normal.

“Louis, are you going to just sit there all night? Like a dormant animal and continue to stare?” Lestat was definitely looking at Louis out of spite, seeing as the man refused to move from the loveseat since the two of you started. “Ah, à moins que je me trompe, is this what gets you going,” he asked, letting out labored breaths as you assaulted his neck. “Watching? Mmmh…waiting in the winds and wishing you were in my place while you sit idly by?”

It was only then that Lestat cried out, feeling your teeth bite down against the flesh between the crook of his neck, much harsher than you'd normally be. “Stop be’n so rude Les…if he don't wanna join, you ain't gotta mess with him,” you muttered out, grabbing his jaw to gain some sort of control.

And Lord did he love when you got this way.

Before he could let out another snarky remark, you locked his lips in a heated, hungry kills, as if you'd been craving him all week. Lestat found one hand against the back of your head and the other trying to find its way into your pants.

Louis on the other hand seemed surprised to hear you put the blonde in his place so quickly. Not only that, but you weren't forcing him to join in the activity, even though there was a wave of arousal that overwhelmed him the moment you looked back at him with such lust in your eyes. So strong he could practically feel it radiating off your skin.

Slowly but surely, he'd made his way off the couch and crept over towards the bed, his eyes staring at the claw marks that adorned your back, most healed from various times, some as fresh as a day ago. He couldn't help himself from reaching out, gently brushing his finger tips against your warm skin, watching in awe as your back flexed into his touch while keeping your lips locked with Lestats'.

It was only after you pulled away that your eyes locked on his curious gaze. It was almost as if he was shy in some way, or maybe he just didn't like the idea of Lestat seeing him in such a state. Reaching your hand out, you touched against the top of Louis’ before looking up to him. “You don't have to be a part of this if you don't want to. It ain't right to make you do something you don't wanna be a part of. After all, you ain't make me do anything that I wasn't comfortable wi—”

Your rambling was cut short as Louis pressed his own lips tenderly against yours, his nose nudging against the side of your own as he kissed the side of your lips. He peppered small kisses in which you retaliated and gave him just as many before you two were locked in a more needy kiss.

By the time he'd pulled away, it was slow, just as his kisses were tender. His eyes scanned your face for some type of rejection, just as yours searched his for any sort of stress indicator. “I want this,” Louis started, that low solemn tone of his occupying the now quiet room. “I just didn't know how to express it to you.”

Grinning, you'd brought his hand up to your lips before kissing against his knuckles. “We can take our time, Les won't mind.”

“C'est si audacieux de votre part de prétendre, you do know that I am right here.” Lestat wasn't the least bit impressed, but his back arched the moment you used your other unoccupied hand to grip against his blonde wavy locks before yanking them back.

“I know you're here Lestat, I didn't go blind. But I know how you are.” You fisted into his blonde hair even more before biting near his Adam's apple, drawing out a guttural moan that shocked even Louis.

The brunette would admit it, but the way you went from your normal ‘happy to serve” attitude to this more dominant persona, putting Lestat in his place as well? He could practically feel himself pitching a tent at the sudden change of time you took between the two vampires.

It was even more shocking that Lestat was allowing someone like yourself — someone who was simply a human compared to the monstrous beings the two were — to work him up as so. Not that Louis was complaining, he quite enjoyed it.

“This is for me, correct? A birthday surprise? I assume you'd let me enjoy myself Les,” you purred against his marked up throat. In the next few moments, there was a flurry of clothes thrown onto the floor before both Lestat and yourself were completely nude. Your own erection practically overwhelming the vampires — though his own was just a bit above average and aching to be handled.

Louis had unbuttoned his blouse and stripped it off his own shoulders, but he seemed almost out of place. There was only so much he'd been experienced with, especially with women. After all, he had a child and a wife at one point in time, but this was different. Yes, there was a point in time were Louis fell victim to Lestats' alluring words of nightly pleasures, seeing as being his immortal companion had it perks.

But the clash between his humanity and Lestats' lack of it made the two repel each other.

You however, might just be the key to keeping their bond.

Hearing your name get called, your head lifted from assaulting the vampires neck again, looking over at Louis for him to continue. His quite demeanor was normal for you, but to see this sudden shy side seemed to make you want him just as badly. “Are you sure this is…what you want? The both of us?”

“Of course? You two have treated me so kindly for so long. Who would have imagined I'd have such feelings like this. I'll admit, I didn't expect for you to jump me like that, but it was a pleasant surprise!” It wasn't everyday you had two vampires at your disposal, though you wished it was everyday.

“But…since I know Lestat can wait his turn, how about you let me take care of you Louis?”

Thus leading you here, to a fucked out Lestat and an even more disoriented Louis in your lap.

You could feel yourself slowly tiring between treating the two vampiric beings who had enough energy to extend throughout the night. It was starting to seem like this was more of a gift to the both of them rather than yourself.

Your hips were starting to bruise but it didn't matter at that moment, not while Louis was practically drooling over you as his hips rolled against yours, feeling your bulbous tip grind against his prostate perfectly, back and forth. He moaned out your name like a montra, his own leaking tip ready to spill after his nth load.

“I..I know you two haven't went out tonight,” you stuttered out, trying to guide Louis to a slower speed, but it didn't seem as if he wanted to go any slower than the pace he set himself. “If you don't mind, you can take from me.” You knew that the two avoided your neck the entire time, and getting fed from one vampire was already a hard task.

But two?

“I..I won't—I can't,” Louis tried to argue, his mind as blank as parchment as he fucked himself onto your cock, dragging against his walls and nailing his prostate perfectly, causing him to crying out as he was steadily making his way towards another orgasms.

Lestats was laid out beside you, having had his fun and rather enjoying seeing Louis in such a distraught state. His ass was just as tainted red as the others, his body still buzzing from the aftermath and his cock standing as firm as it was before.

“Louis, it is his request! After all, we are to celebrate him! And don't forget our last surprise for them as well!” The blonde reached up to run his fingers up the nap of the other neck, threading them through Louis' hair before forcing them to face him. “I'm not asking for this Louis, nor am I demanding it. Our corbeau here has given us the pleasure. I imagine it is better than the rats…”

Louis whined out, trying his best to shake his head as he let out a garbled cry. “I..I don't wanna hurt him Lestat!”

Rolling your hips in sync with Louis’, you could feel his walls tightening up yet again, as if he was trying to milk you for all its worth. “Louis, I know you,” you cooed, hand now cupping part of his ass while the other grabbed the side of his thigh. “You wouldn't hurt me. I believe you have more control than that. Are you…going to deny me this-this one wish?”

Lestat released his grip on Louis before nuzzling his face into one side of your neck. He could tell Louis was fighting to succumb, but he also knew you were the only one out of the two of them that could persuade the “vegetarian”, to switch for one night. Before Lestat could get anything out, he felt your hand grab against his shaft, slick with his previous load.

Lestat groaned out as your hand enveloped his own cock, thumb rubbing across his leaking slit and slowly pumping him in a teasing fashion. It made his walls clench around nothing and his face hiding against the crook of your neck.

Louis found himself creeping towards the edge of his awaiting orgasm as he continued to ride you, hips stuttering at a hiccupping pace. “Gonna—gon’na cum, please, please—” He muttered your name like a prayer, feeling your hand guide his head down to your neck.

“Go ahead, I promise…I'll hold strong.” Having been fed on by Lestat before, it was easy to say that if too much was taken, you'd easily black out or die. But you weren't worried such a thing would happen, not with how good they'd been treating you. You could feel their labored breath against your throat, one contemplating to bite, the other ready to dine within seconds.

“Louis…” Lestat urged, feeling close to his own orgasm as well, your hand squeezing against his base which in turn made his hips thrust upwards.

The brunette whimpered a small apology to you as much as himself before he felt the familiar ache in his fangs. Both vampires could feel your heart racing as well as well as hear the flow of blood within your veins.

Your mouth opened to a short groan as you felt two sets of fangs pierce into your flesh almost simultaneously. It wasn't painful, in fact it nearly made your eyes roll back. Your hips thrusted harshly into Louis, feeling his let out a wet moan and spill over himself again, some landing on your own chest. Only then did you release inside of him, rutting into his ass with rapid wet ‘slaps’ behind them.

Lestat moaned against your throat as well, having to pull away the moment your blood landed on his tongue and slipped down his throat. He'd came just as hard into your hand, coating it in his release as you continued to pump him without stopping. A wave of ecstasy seemed to engulf all of you at once.

You could feel their lips against your throat and hearing them both drink from you was a new experience. As intimate as it was, to be cooing them both, you could feel yourself start to grow light headed. Your movement slowed and your words slurred as you called out, “Lo..Louis…Lestat…I…” As your eyes fluttered — struggling to stay open — the edges of your vision started to dot with darkness.

The thrumming of your heart seemed to slow tremendously, having raced from the adrenaline of sex and now slowing as it struggled to pump more blood throughout your system.

The world blurred, your lips parting to speak but the world around you seemed to go quiet. There was muffled arguing as you felt the warmth start to leave your body entirely. What sounded like Lestat scolding Louis and Louis yelling back made you huff out. As much as you wanted to stop them, you felt completely sapped of all your strength.

Suddenly, you felt a wetness against your lips, dripping down into your mouth as you were forced to swallow. Flesh was now pressed against your lips, a metallic taste flooding your taste buds, though the more you drank, the stronger you suddenly felt. It was to the point where you couldn't get enough, gripping into whoever's arm and holding it down against your mouth as you groaned towards the addicting taste.

The arm was then snatched away from you, now finding yourself laid back, eyes wide and staring up at the ceiling. Your skin buzzed and your heart throbbed as an unknown feeling came over you. It was as if you'd been underwater your entire life and suddenly you'd surfaced, and taken a breath of fresh air.

You felt anew.

Out of breath and exhausted, Lestat grinned before croaking out, “Happy Birthday, ma chéri.”

[siriuslovebot]

˖ ࣪⭑˖ ࣪𝒔𝒎𝒐𝒌𝒆 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒘 ➸ 𝒋𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒔 𝒑𝒐𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓˖ ࣪⭑ ˖ ࣪

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 𝑨𝑵𝑶𝑵𝒀𝑴𝑶𝑼𝑺 𝑨𝑺𝑲𝑬𝑫: hiya i was wondering if you could do a rough smut with james potter where reader gets turned on by him blowing cig smoke into her mouth at a party or something, and he’s all like cocky about it??? thank you for considering this. 

𝑾𝑨𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑺: smut (18+, minors dni!), smoking, mentions of alcohol, oral (f!receiving), slight oral fixation, unprotected sex, rough sex, semi-public sex, cocky!james, some condescending dialogue, teasing, dirty talk. 

𝑺𝑼𝑴𝑴𝑨𝑹𝒀: the reader is infatuated with her boyfriend, james potter. she can’t help but get distracted when admiring him at a party. 

𝑨/𝑵: hi, anon! thank you for your request! i hope i’ve done it justice here. i don’t have a ton of experience writing rough smut, but i tried my best here. james is such a big softie to me but it was fun writing him a little differently. this is unedited so apologies for any mistakes, and i hope you enjoy! 

𝑾𝑶𝑹𝑫 𝑪𝑶𝑼𝑵𝑻: 3.4k 𓂃♡₊⭑

·͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺

        james potter is going to be the death of you. 

        he’s been bad enough these last few weeks since you’ve become “official,” strutting around bragging about how he’s somehow snagged the fittest girl around. the disgusted looks on remus and sirius’s faces are enough to send a flush blooming across your features, not to mention the endless teasing from sirius as he does his dramatic impression of james fawning over you. worse, though, is the fact that you’re equally as obsessed with him. you had a bumbling crush on him throughout all of your years at hogwarts; his confidence and extroverted personality always attracted you to him, and despite his vaguely arrogant air, he was quite kind to you. 

        thus, when he asked you on a date after running into you at the leaky cauldron on order business, you reluctantly said yes. the result was quickly turning into the marauder’s worst nightmare: remus and sirius were getting fed up with your constant pda, baby-talking each other when you’re sure you won’t be overheard and snogging at the most inconvenient of times. it wasn’t uncommon to get an exasperated comment from sirius along the lines of, “we’re at war for merlin’s sake, can’t you two give it a rest for five minutes?” to which you would flush and james would make an obscene gesture. 

        currently, you’re curled up on a couch in lily’s flat, listening half-heartedly as she recounts the story of an awful date she recently went on. there’s a drink clasped in your hand, all but forgotten as you divide your attention between lily and the distracting sight of your boyfriend standing with frank and remus in the kitchen. he’s got a cigarette perched between his lips, soft smile decorating his features as he listens attentively to the story that remus is telling. your mouth goes dry as you watch him take a long drag of the cigarette, smoke puffing through his pillowy lips as he exhales. he’s got something of an oral fixation, you’ve discovered; he’s always got something occupying that pretty mouth, whether it be words, a cigarette, chewing gum, your fingers, your mouth... he keeps himself entertained, and you get the added benefits of admiring him as he does just that. 

        on nights like these, however, it can be a real inconvenience. you shift in your seat, legs pressing together as you force yourself to wrench your needy gaze away from the sight of him. you can’t help the want warming your lower body, your stomach fluttering at the thought of getting him alone to let him indulge his fixation. 

        “....so i told him i’d rather drink bubotuber pus than go on another bleeding date with him, and now he’s run around telling everyone how horrible i am.” you catch the tail-end of lily’s rant, laughing along with alice and marlene. you take a sip of your drink, still unable to control your wandering eyes.

        sirius slinks back into the kitchen, returning from the washroom to grab himself another drink. he noticed you staring at james like a puppy in heat as he returned, feeling a smidge squeamish at the look in your eyes. he nudges james as he settles back into the conversation, a fresh drink in his hand.

        “bit oblivious, are you, mate?” sirius wonders, making a questioning face. he nods towards you on the couch, where you swallow the lump in your throat as you force yourself to look back at lily. “your girl’s staring a fuckin’ hole through you.”

        james turns, his tall frame blocking some of the light spilling in from the kitchen. he notices the hot-and-bothered look on your face as you force yourself to listen to lily. you shift, hips moving of their own accord as you attempt to get comfortable and ignore the aching between your legs. your features are flushed with color. you push the hair off of your neck, suddenly feeling as if you need to get some air before you burn up. 

        you finish your drink, and absentmindedly place the glass on the coffee table in front of you. you manage a response to lily’s question, before your eyes are flicking back over to the kitchen. you blink as you realize james is now returning the attention, and your stomach drops. there’s a questioning glint in his eyes and he nods towards the balcony just behind you through the door in the sitting room. 

        you stand, legs feeling insecure. 

        “excuse me,” you mutter, brushing a hand down over your dress. “gonna have a smoke with james.”

        “didn’t know you smoked,” alice’s soft voice trails as you exit the room.

        you take a deep breath as you step outside. the cool evening air does wonders in calming your heart rate, although the heat between your legs is only worsening as you wait for james to join you. there’s a sickening moment where you wonder if you’d misread his intentions, before the glass door opens and he’s standing before you.

        “hi, baby,” he says simply, voice soft as the door shuts behind him. you take him in, finally free to stare unabashedly. his dark curls are mussed, warm eyes obscured by smudged glasses, his lips chapped from puffing on his cigarette. 

        “hi,” you manage, a bit breathless. now that you’ve got him out here, all to yourself, you feel a bit in-over-your-head. he’s got a way of making you nervous, especially when he’s got this familiar smug look plastered on his handsome face.

        “you okay?” he’s lighting another cigarette. his hand cups around the flame of his lighter, long fingers shielding it from the light breeze. you chew on your bottom lip, your mind conjuring up the image of his hands exactly where you’d like them. making you squirm and writhe and cry for him. you’re distracted still, the sight of his fingers bringing the cigarette to his lips. his mouth curling around it, sucking in the smoke. 

        “y/n, baby,” he breathes out, his head dipping down as his free hand reaches for you. his fingers cup your chin, lifting your eyes to his. his thumb ghosts over the corner of your lips. you meet his gaze, your eyes glassy as you daydream about him touching you all over. it’s almost frightening, this love-drunk effect he causes. even his grasp on your face is not enough to pull you away from your little fantasy.

        “hmmm?” you hum, unable to find your words.

        his narrows his eyes at you, tilting your face to either side as he examines you. “have you had too much to drink?” he wonders.

        “no,” you shake your head, conscious enough to offer the one syllable response. he follows your gaze to the cigarette, flicking ash off of the end.

         “y’want a smoke?” he offers it to you.

         “want you,” you breathe. you lift your hand, grasping him around the wrist that’s holding your face in place. the desperation you feel is more extreme than it ever has been in the past; something about the clueless look on his face, the smoke, his wild hair haloed around his head, the atmosphere of the party. his presence is torturing you. 

        he laughs softly, taking another drag of the cigarette. there’s a fluttering sensation between your legs as his tongue darts out to wet his lips.

        “kiss me,” you request, nuzzling into his hand. there’s a satisfied smile on his face as he leans down into you, slotting your mouths together. he tastes like cigarette smoke and an undertone of cinnamon gum. you latch onto him, fingers twisting into the tight curls at the nape of his neck. he breathes the smoke out into your mouth, the nicotine buzz worsening the dizziness from having his hands on you. 

        he flicks the cigarette nub away. now freed, his arm encircles your waist, his palm sliding down to your lower back. his grip tightens, holding you against his body as he tucks his knee between your legs. you whine at the contact, the fabric of his trousers grazing your thinly clothed center. this sends your core throbbing, though it does little to distract you from his tongue licking into your mouth. 

         an obscene noise breaks the quiet air as he pulls away from you. your lips are swollen, glistening with saliva as you stare up at him with your biggest eyes. he looks more than smug, he looks cockier than you’ve ever seen him. even after his quidditch victories back in school, he never had the proud gleam in his eyes that you’re witnessing now. 

        “poor baby,” he says, the almost-mocking tone to his voice sending a renewed throb down to your center. “so eager just for my mouth on you, aren’t you?”

        you whine, hands fisting the fabric of his sleeves as you hold onto him. you’re too turned on to be embarrassed, even as he coos at you in his condescending tone. “jamie…”

        “so needy you couldn’t keep your eyes off me. poor pads had to watch you eye-fucking me from across the room.” his head dips down, nose grazing the sensitive skin of your neck. he drags his lips against the skin softly, tongue darting out periodically to taste your skin. he breathes you in, relishing in the smell of your perfume and the tang of your sweat. 

        “stop teasing,” you complain. he just barely presses his thigh closer to you, notched between your legs. a hiss tumbles from your lips.

        “why would i stop when you’re enjoying it so much?” he wonders. you feel the smirk against your neck, and you curse him in your mind. “so wet you’re soaking me through my trousers. you’d like me to take you right here, wouldn’t you, sweets?”

        “yes,” you breathe. you’re practically clawing at him, rolling your hips for the slightest bit of friction on your clit. you think you could likely come just from the sight of him kneeling in front of you, not even touching you.

        “oh, but we mustn’t…” he continues. “see, you’ve already been rude to lily all night, ignoring her whilst you’re thinking of my mouth doing dirty things to you. it’d be criminal to defile her balcony, don’t you agree?” 

        “i–” you gasp at the feeling of his thigh flexing, the toned muscle rutting into your clit as he uses his hands to drag you along his leg. “i–fuck, james, i don’t care.”

        he chuckles darkly at this, then stops for a second to suck a dark mark into your skin. your head is thrown back, your eyes catching sight of the stars floating in the sky. they’re swimming, your gaze glassy with need for your boyfriend. it’s a wonder no one’s spotted you through the door. luckily it’s very dark outside, and the light spilling out onto the balcony from inside is too faint to illuminate the vulgar sight of you grinding against james. 

        “come,” he directs you away from the door, pressing you against a shadowed wall on the other end of the balcony. you never realize just how tall he is until he has you cornered, his body holding yours in place. his fingers play with the ends of your hair as he looks down at you, admiring your hazy expression. “gonna be good f’me, right, baby?”

         “yes,” you nod eagerly. “anything y’want, jamie.”

         “good,” he brushes the back of his hand over your cheek. then he’s dragging the fabric of your dress up your hips, hooking his fingers through the waistline of your panties. “gotta be quiet, hmmm? don’t want anyone hearing, do we?”

        you nod in agreement. your lip is tucked between your teeth, your eyes frenzied as you anticipate his next movements. james wastes no time, dropping to his knees. he’s eye-level with your dripping cunt, using one hand to spread your lips apart as the other comes up to touch you.

        a mewl spills from your mouth, one of your hands falling down to card through his curls. he smirks, placing a sweet kiss against your inner thigh. he spreads your slick around with two fingers, the dirty squelching noise like music to his ears. 

        “what did i say?” he asks you, peering up at you through thick lashes. he massages your clit softly, waiting for an answer.

          “gotta be quiet,” you respond. your voice is choked up at the sight of him looking so devilishly handsome between your legs.

          “that’s right,” there’s a split second of lost contact before his hand comes back with a sharp slap against your clit. it’s unexpected, and you bite down on your tongue as a muffled squeal leaves your mouth. “don’t want me to have to use a silencing charm on you, baby.”

          “‘m sorry, james,” you say. you bring a hand to your mouth, hoping to use it to muffle your noises. “please, i’ll be quiet.”

        without warning, he plunges two of his fingers into your sopping hole. your entire body tenses, your back lifting away from the brick wall as you arch into his touch. his teeth drag up your thigh, nipping softly before he turns his full attention to your pussy. he flattens his tongue and drags it from just above his fingers to your clit, swirling around the sensitive nub. 

        tears prick your eyes, the feeling overwhelming after not being touched all night. you bite onto your fist, swallowing down the vulgar noises that desperately need to escape your body. you have a tight grip in his curls, pulling the hairs more aggressively than intended. this eggs him on, soliciting a powerful curl of his fingers inside of you. they rut into your g-spot, exacerbating the pressure that builds in your lower stomach. 

         you want to scream, need to scream so bad that you’re crying over him. silent tears roll down your cheeks, ruining your makeup as james continues his merciless attack on your cunt. his full lips are attached to your clit, sucking and licking and humming against the bud. you tremble, the muscles in your abdomen and thighs clenching from the effort of holding yourself up while trying not to cum too fast. 

         a miniscule cry manages to break through despite your best efforts. james’s mouth releases from your clit with a slick pop, and he eyes you carefully. his warm eyes are considerably darker, clouded with lust. “thought you were gonna come like this, did you?” he says, his voice almost mean. you’ve never had him like this, teasing and condescending and demanding. it’s driving you crazy, this new, rougher side of him.

        “please, james,” you whisper, trying your hardest not to make another noise. “i–i’m sorry i made noise. just want your mouth, please…”

        he grins, his parted lips finding your clit again. his teeth graze the nub, and a jolt of electricity goes through your entire body. “like this?” he muses, nibbling gently on the collection of nerves. it takes everything inside of you not to scream like a banshee, the new sensation sending fluids dripping down over his hand and wrist. 

        “gonna come, then?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. his lips are no longer attached to your clit, but his fingers thrust roughly into your weeping hole. “can you come like this? come just for my fingers, baby?”

         “james i–please, i can’t,” you whine, eyes rolling back in your head.

        “oh, but you’re feeling so good for me,” he says, dragging his fingers along your walls deliciously. the pressure is building, slower inside your stomach. but you need his mouth on you, need him sucking your clit in order to come. you need the fireworks that his experienced tongue coaxes out of your body. you need the full body, cloud nine sensation of him eating you out. 

        “fuck can you just eat me out, please?” you plead, voice more demanding this time.

        this takes him off guard, the rhythm of his fingers stuttering for half a second before he’s drilling them into you with more aggression. he gives you no warning before his mouth is on you again, devouring you with every ounce of energy he has. your vision begins to blank, mouth hanging open in a silent scream as he wrecks your pussy with his fingers and tongue. you can’t make a single sound, can’t even think of anything except the overwhelming bliss between your legs. he eats you through your orgasm, overstimulating your clit as he removes his fingers from inside of you.

         “james–”

        “shut up,” he hisses, standing once the waves of your orgasm have diminished. he grabs you by the hips, spinning you around so you’re pressed against the wall. the brick digs into your skin slightly, your hands splayed on the wall as he pushes you into it. his hands fall from your hips to between your legs, spreading you for his access.

        “‘m sorry, i–i didn’t mean to–”

        but he’s not listening. you feel the tip of his cock prod your hole for half a second before he’s buried to the hilt in your slick. there’s a split second where he’s still inside of you, fumbling with his wand as he easily cast an imperturbable charm on the glass door leading inside. 

        “‘m gonna make you scream,” he promises, grasping your hips and hitching them back towards him. the position deepens the angle of his cock inside of you, and you cry out as he begins pistoning in and out of you.

        still sensitive from your previous orgasm, your mind goes foggy from the feeling of him abusing your cunt. his pace is relentless, the head of his cock barreling into your g-spot with enough force that you’re struggling to even hold yourself up. his fingertips dig into the flesh of your hips, bruising the soft skin. there are tiny crescent moon fingernail marks, possibly a prick of blood from the harsh grip he has on you.

        “fuck, it hurts so good,” you cry, lacing your fingers with his and holding on for dear life. 

        “you like when i hurt your little pussy, huh baby? like my cock tearing you apart?” he presses his lips to the soft spot where your shoulder and your neck meet. he’s panting in your ear, groaning as your walls clench tight around him. you’re getting close to your second orgasm already, your thighs quivering and arousal soaking down your legs. 

        “i love it, love you inside of me,” you respond, unable to think. your voice is barely audible over the wet slapping noises of his hips slamming into your bare ass. the sound of skin on skin coupled with his throaty noises is driving you closer to the edge. 

        this new, rougher side of james has your insides fluttering around him. you squeal in delight as one of his hands brings your wrists together behind you, holding you in place. the brick wall bites into the skin of your cheek, but you hardly notice as his other hand aims a sharp slap against your ass. he grunts at the sight of his handprint appearing on your skin, making his cock throb inside of you. another slap rings through the air, and you cry out. you tighten around him, closer and closer to orgasming by the second.

        “james–” you breath, chest heaving, “‘m gonna come. i can’t hold it any longer.”

        “come on, baby,” he encourages, maintaining his pace inside of you. “cry for me while you come, baby. wan’ the whole world to know i’m fucking you.”

        you do just that, your entire body collapsing between him and the wall as your second orgasm washes over you. you’re mewling his name into the night, begging him not to stop. you hear his cocky chuckle over your shoulder, followed by a low groan from his chest. his hips slow, hot spurts of release spraying your insides as he reaches his own orgasm. 

        “fuck, y/n,” he breathes, feeling you clench around him as he fills you up. “m’good girl, aren’t you?” he praises. he rocks into you a few final times, fucking his cum deeper as he sweeps your hair off of your neck.

        you sigh as he pulls out of you, helping you back into your panties. you hope they’re enough to keep the cum contained inside of you until you’re able to clean up. james helps you straighten your dress out, pecking you on the lips. with a wave of his wand, the smeared makeup all over your face is put right, and there’s very little evidence of your relations. 

         “thank you,” you breathe, leaning into him as you try and catch your bearings. “i love you,” you mutter, closing your eyes.

         “i love you, sweets,” he kisses your temple, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as he leads you back inside, having lifted his imperturbable charm. 

        your return goes virtually unnoticed, as lily and marlene are refilling drinks in the kitchen while sirius recounts a story from his childhood. you return to the sitting room, sinking onto the sofa beside alice. she eyes you for a second, then says, “smoked the whole pack, did you?”

[cod-sins]

Heyyyy. I loved ur konig hcs! 💕. Can we get hcs for Ghost/ konig ab what they would do if they’re civilian s/o was getting stalked while they were away and they call them asking what to do ? xx

.ೃ࿐ Format: Hcs

.ೃ࿐ Reader: Undisclosed. Established relationship.

.ೃ࿐ Ratings: SFW

.ೃ࿐ Word Count: 1.2k

[A/N: Hey anon thank you so much for requesting this, it was so much fun to write I hope you enjoy it as much as I did. :) Also Ghost is more of a full fic than a headcanon sorrey got carried away. 😋]

𝑮𝑯𝑶𝑺𝑻

Ghost was stuck in a safehouse somewhere in the deserts of Mexico waiting for his rescue team to come pick him up. He was absolutely done with this mission, having to carry around 30 extra pounds of military gear in the scorching heat just to eliminate a "single fucking target" was no joke. He'd much rather be at home in his flat, throwing something on the telly [lol] and laying around with you. He smiles at that thought.

He checked his watch. 1435 read the time. '3 more hours.' He thought. Three more hours until he arrived back at the base. Three more hours until he makes it to the airport. He glanced up at the ceiling his mind filled with all the things you were gonna say to him, how you would fuss over his injuries and insist on him relaxing in the bath while you cooked for him. He plays out these thoughts in his head until his mind becomes hazy and he begins to fall asleep.

Ghost is a fairly light sleeper so the first time you called he answered immediately.

"Hello?" "Ghost! I'm so sorry I know you said not to call you unless it's an emergency but there's this guy who has been following me around all day and I- "Y/N slow down I can't understand you." He said calmly despite his heart starting to beat faster.

You took a deep breath and resumed. "I was at the grocery store earlier and I noticed this guy who kept following me around. Every single aisle I went down he was there, even after I left the store he kept following me. I don't know what to do he's still waiting for me to leave this building." Your voice trembled as you spoke.

Ghost could feel his blood beginning to boil as you talked. The mere thought of someone trying to harass you or even worse hurt you drove him crazy. He should be there protecting you not waiting around.

"Alright, I want you to listen to me carefully and do exactly as I tell you, do you understand? Do not hang up this phone Y/N. First I want you to tell me where he is and what he's doin'."

You told Ghost the man's location--he was outside across the street pretending to be occupied by a street vendor. He kept glancing at the shop you were hiding in.

"Right listen carefully, I want you to make your way to the closest bank the one we always use. Stay in populated areas where people can see you do not take any shortcuts. Don't go down any alleyways don't give him the opportunity to have you alone. Once you make it to the bank talk to the security guard and tell 'em what's happening. Make sure you point the guy out."

You agree and with a shaky hand you grab your bags and make your way outside. The stalker takes notice of this and begins his pursuit. You hastily make your way to the bank--updating Ghost with every step. As soon as you make it inside you talk to the security guard and tell him your situation. He immediately calls the police which scares the man off while they escort you back home in a police car.

As soon as this whole ordeal is over Ghost forces you to take self-defense classes. He would also like it if you knew how to work a gun but if you weren't comfortable with that he'd opt for getting a dog instead. (Plus he's quite fond of the animal.) He just wants you to be safe he couldn't stand the thought of losing you. ):

𝑲ö𝒏𝒊𝒈

All you wanted to do was go home and fall asleep in you and König's California-sized bed. You had a long grueling day; dealing with shitty customers who thought they were entitled to everything and awful coworkers who barely did their job forcing you to work overtime and pick up on their slack. Whilst working you accidentally burnt yourself cleaning the coffee machine because your boss had distracted you to ask if you could close shop tonight.

You were so busy walking home that you didn't notice the man behind you following your every step. It was only when you tripped and dropped your bag--all your items spiling out that you realized that he was there. He quickly stepped in helping you pick up your items despite your initial rejection.

He was very adamant about helping you even though it was clear you were uncomfortable with the situation. Quickly thanking him you began speeding up your walk while fumbling around for your phone. You glanced back and noticed he was still following you. The sun had begun to set and the remaining light was slowly fading away. Your car was in the shop so you were forced to walk home at night.

You glanced back once more and saw that he was still behind you even though you had taken multiple turns and crossed several different streets. Starting to feel anxious you dialed your boyfriend. It took him a few moments to answer which felt like years to you.

"Hallo?" A tired voice spoke from the phone. The sound of his voice instantly filled you with comfort almost making you forget about the situation you were in. "König I'm sorry to wake you I need your help, there's some dude who won't stop following me. I don't wanna go home yet because I don't want him to know where we live. It's starting to get dark out and my phone is gonna die." You said sounding exasperated. The sound of shuffling could be heard over the phone as you continued down the street.

"Where are you now?" His demeanor had completely changed sounding more gruff and serious. You stammered out your location telling him specific landmarks. A theater, a bar, and a park across the street. König instructs you to head to the bar first, 'get lost in the crowd' he told you. 'Then go out the back way and head to the park.' You do as you're told hovering down while you squeeze between heavily intoxicated people. You make it outside the bar then hurry across the street.

It's now completely dark out and without any light it's hard to see inside the park. "I want you to go hide in the park behind the bushes where he can't see. Stay low turn off your phone light and be quiet." König continues to instruct you as you find a hiding spot. You watch as the man leaves the bar, he walks a few feet down then he turns around still not able to find you.

Once he realizes you're completely gone he curses and stomps his foot then marches off into the distance. You cringe at the thought of what he would do to you if he found you. König brings you back to reality asking if you're alright, you tell him your status and he makes you stay on the phone until you've made it back home.

Similar to Ghost, König would also want you to learn self-defense maneuvers, he'd teach you himself (because he's so big he makes a good example) and he'd equip you with your own knife. König would also give you pepper spray and a whistle and a tactical flashlight. You'd have to stop him at the flashlight or else he'd have you lugging around military gear like Ghost.

Reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated!

Inbox: OPEN

[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.

[kometqh]

𝐂𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

501st x F!Jedi!Reader General Skywalker clearly wasn't a reliable source of intell, having pointed you and Rex's squad into the icy tumbra of a long deserted planet, however, it was due to his calculated mistake that the Clones were able to reveal your deeply hidden desires. Being stuck in a cave with numerous handsome, attractive men was not on your to-do list, yet you weren't complaining. Word Count: 3028

Warnings: Unedited, random brain rainbow vomit I had whilst practicing writing techniques <3 It's somewhat (quite) spicy towards the end. There is a lot of fluff throughout most of it! A/N: This is mostly just Tup, Rex and Fives x reader as this was a very spontaneous fic T_T pls forgive me.

"General Skywalker said this would be an easy mission," Fives hissed under his breath, the deep, reverbrating sound of his voice lost underneath the wolfish howling of the wind, clusters of snow beating at his helmet. This was supposed to be a quick and easy diplomatic trip, but where did he and the 501st Legion find themselves? Somewhere on a deserted, icy, snowy planet. "My toes are about to fall off!"

"Yeah, he promised us there'd be clear blue skies and hot weather. A beach even!" Echo added on, shrugging his shoulders in defeat. Rather than being on a hot, sandy beach, the brothers had found themselves treading through waist-deep snow, their fingers and toes turning into icicles, their blasters heavy in their grasps. 

"I thought this was supposed to be a diplomatic trip, Captain," Fives continued, his voice becoming white noise as Rex all but ignored his brother, gracing him with an occasional hum or grunt, to let him know he was listening. But he wasn't hearing. Rex was also unhappy with the circumstances, but it was his job to do this kind of thing. It's not like the clones could refuse not going on a mission, not going head-first into a battle, so he definitely would have appreciated General Skywalker's honesty, over trickery. 

The weather was only getting worse, the wind and snow beating at the men cruelly, the blue paint on their armour completely disappeared under the clusters of snow that had latched themselves onto the clones. 

He paused in his tracks, scanning the area through his optical goggles. He spotted something. Something dark, something round. His men stopped behind him, eerily silent as they anticipated their Captain's next words. 

Rex, turning to face his brothers, couldn't help the way his shoulders visibly relaxed as he relayed the news, "I see a cave entrance just a couple yards ahead, boys! We will seek shelter there!" He exclaimed, waving his arm, signalling for them to keep going, to keep following him. 

In the very back, just behind Tup and Jesse, a lone, female Jedi guarded their backs, one hand hovering protectively over her weapon, the other shielded away in the pocket of her coat. A backpack hung onto her shoulders, the leather material soaked and cold, receiving most of the onslaught of the weather. 

Her mind was wandering, body craving to feel the heat of a hot sun glazing against her bare skin, just as Anakin had hinted to. But instead, she was stuck walking through a blizzard, her body cold and tired.

She had also been excited to spend some quality time with the boys from the 501st, whom she had been recently often paired with for missions. The sight of them all relaxing and enjoying their time on the beach, with their tops exposed, tan skin glistening under the sunlight.. Yeah, that would have been a sight worth seeing.

A sudden, much harsher gust of wind jolted her from her thoughts, clumps of snow quickly settling against the icy skin on her face. 

Her robes, too, were soaked, struggling to maintain the warmth in her body as she did her best to follow the path created by the clones, snow crunching under her winter boots. 

She too wasn't made aware of the true conditions of the mission. She couldn't tap into the force either, to predict or to feel some kind of warning of the mission ahead. What was Skywalker thinking? He was lucky none of her men had fallen! The moment she'd get back, the moment her eyes would land on him, he would be wise to run for the hills. She could imagine the fear in his eyes as she comically choked him out, swaying the male back and forth in a fit of anger.

Relief flooded the squad as one by one, they made their way into the cave, it being cleared by their Captain and medic, Rex and Kix. 

Quickly setting camp, the clones hovered around their makeshift fire, some huddled close together, others snuggling under individual, soaked blankets. The snow had penetrated all of their supplies; food, water, tents and blankets. All they could do was hope that the fire would last long enough for the storm to pass, for their blankets to dry out and warm up. 

"What the hell was the General thinking?" Fives muttered, his eyebrows furrowed. He rubbed his bare hands together until they were warm enough, and then he shifted closer to the fire. 

His feet stung, the feeling just barely coming back to him after that gruelling tread. He was sure if his feet didn't fall off yet, then something else soon would. 

You exhaled a heavy sigh, a blanket resting over your shoulders as you extended your palms out towards the fire. Rex had been kind enough to lend you his blanket, noticing that your robes and skirt were practically drenched from the weather. Sure, you weren't dressed for the beach, but you also weren't dressed well enough for a blizzard. 

You were lucky to have been warned, or rather told, by Master Kenobi of the true conditions of your mission. If you hadn't been, your troops wouldn't have had enough time to prepare for the weather. 

Looking over your squad, you made eye contact with Tup. A worried frown ghosted over his rough features, the creases that you hated so much appearing on his forehead. 

Slowly, you made your way over to the trooper, one hand outstretched.

"Tup? Are you okay?" You asked, resting your hand over his shoulder. As if startled, the man looked to you, his brows quirked in surprise. 

"G-General? Why do you ask?" He questioned, gaze flickering down to your hand, before coming back up to stare into your eyes. A soft, pink hue dusted over his cheeks, and your heart fluttered at the sight. Sure, he was sweet and kind, he was the shyest of your men. He was almost like a puppy, his chocolatey brown eyes so deep, so sweet, you had lost yourself in them again. 

He was the only man who gazed into your eyes long enough for you to drown, a soft smile erupting on your face as you fought your best to not reach up and caress his cheek in your palm. 

"General? Are you listening?" He asked, his gloved hands reaching up to shake at your shoulders, gently. 

Your lashes fluttered over your eyes, taking in a deep exhale, you shrugged. Were you really okay? 

Taking a moment to respond, your gaze flickered up, noticing how wet his hair was. 

"Tup, d'you want me to dry your hair?" The words tumbled from your mouth before your brain could finish processing their meaning. Tup's eyes widened into saucers as he stood there, frozen. You had never been so caring to your men, at least, not like this. 

Remember that pink hue that dusted his cheeks just a moment ago? Yeah, now that's turned into a beetroot blush, the colour painting his ears, his face and neck in a deep shade of reddish-purple. Would it be okay for you to display such blatant acts of affection? Wouldn't that be against the rules and regulations of the Jedi council? Against the regulations of the GAR? If so, would his brothers snitch?

"S-Sorry, I didn't mean to-" You started, your mouth quickly dropping into the shape of an 'o' as Tup interrupted you.

"General, I would love for you to dry my hair." He said with a soft smile, scratching at the back of his nape.

Realising it was too late now to back out, you gave a small nod of your head before taking his gloved hand in yours, the leathery material scraping nicely against your soft skin, as you led him closer to the campfire. 

Motioning for Tup to sit down, you stood directly behind, and, above him, reaching to remove your dry blanket from your shoulders. You didn't have a towel, so a blanket should be a good enough substitute. Your hands reached to remove his hairtie, sliding it over your hand to rest on your wrist, your fingers quickly making their way to masssage Tup's scalp. 

As he leaned his head back into your soft hold, Tup couldn't help the relieved sigh that escaped his lips. Your fingernails grazed softly against his skin, tugging gently at his soft curls, sending eletric shivers down the male's spine. 

But it was when your hands slid from his scalp, over to his nape and shoulders, applying soft but firm pressure against his tired muscles that the involuntary groan escaped his lips, rumbling deep from within his chest. 

Your body stiffened, stopping your ministrations as a familiar spark shot through your heart, right down to your abdomen. 

Your eyes, wide and unblinking, stared into Tup's as the colour red flushed his cheeks once more. His eyes searched yours, a worried glint dancing across as he waited for your reaction. His lips stuttered as he was about to apologise, provide an excuse, tell you it was okay if you didn't want to continue. 

But the words fell short on his tongue as the corners of your lips tugged upwards, your hands applying the slightest bit more pressure to his sore muscles. 

A grunt was stiffled in his throat, his eye fighting hard to stay open, looking anywhere but at your face. He didn't want to make you uncomfortable, give you the wrong idea-

None of his brothers did. 

Though a lump formed in his throat as Tup looked around the cave, noticing the numerous lingering gazes of his brothers as they sat there, watching your movements. He could almost feel the jealousy vibrating off of Rex in waves, his gaze hardened as the corners of his lips fought to stay straight. 

A smirk tugged at Tup's lips, as he noticed Jesse squint his eyes at him. Deciding to add fuel to the fire, Tup groaned again when your hands pressed against a particularly tense muscle in his shoulder. 

"Woah, General, where did you learn this?" He asked, a familiar warmth blooming in his abdomen as your nimble fingers danced across his shoulders, tugging at the black suit he wore, exposed now as his armour rested beside a sleeping bag nearby. 

"Oh, you know, just learned bits here and there when I was stationed with Commander Wolffe," You chuckled, wetting your lips with the tip of your tongue, "That man was full of knots in his shoulders." You added, feeling Tup's shoulders relax more and more, until you had mentioned Wolffe. That's when his posture straightened, from a relaxed lean, to a pin-straight sitting up position. 

He tilted his head back to look at you, a curious yet worried glint in his golden eyes.

"Were you and Commander Wolffe close, by any chance?" He questioned, his breathing paused. 

If you were Wolffe's girl, then he knew the 501st couldn't, wouldn't pursue you. 

Or, if you weren't, then they knew at least they could ask the Commander of his previous.. Experiences, with you. 

Slowly, you caught onto Tup's drift, and your gaze travelled around the room. Some of the men were fully facing the two of you, legs spread, eyes laser-focused as they listened to your conversation, the cave suddenly, and eerily silent.

A shiver travelled down your spine, and a gentle smirk tugged at your lips.

"Oh, just you know, the occasional date here and there.." You said, shrugging your shoulders nonchalantly. Your smirk threatened to grow as you heard someone scoff, and you looked up to see Rex rolling his shoulders, a scowl on his face.

"Date? Isn't that, like, forbidden?" Fives questioned across from you, leaning over curiously, his eyebrows raised, resembling the blue markings on his helmet. 

A giggle escaped your lips as your hands returned to Tup's hair, suddenly remembering why you were giving him a random shoulder massage. You reached over to grab the blanket Rex had given you, placing soft curls between the two valleys of softness created by your hands, which were hidden underneath the soft cushion.

Your hands brushed through Tup's soft hair, gently dragging the strands through the dry, fuzzy material of your blanket. 

"I don't mean a romantic date, Fives, though I wouldn't be opposed to one." You mused, softly tugging at the locks. "I don't particulaly agree with the 'No Attachments' rule. But that doesn't make me less of a Jedi, or does it, do you think?" You questioned, your gaze softening, a small scowl now tugging at your lips. 

"Of course not, General," This time, it was Rex who spoke up, albeit too fast for his liking, "You're one of the most dedicated Jedi I've had the pleasure of working with," He stated, soft footsteps making their way closer and closer to you, "Plus, it is human to wish to form attachments." He whispered that last part, now standing directly above you as you twisted Tup's hair into the towel.

Your heart fluttered at the proximity, warmth enveloping your pinkening cheeks.

"Is it now, Rex?" You asked, looking up at him. Your heart palpitated at the close proximity, your hands gliding down to caress Tup's shoulders. Your gaze stayed unwavering, unbreaking as you looked into Rex's deep, honey-gold eyes. The Captain suddenly shifted, breaking eye contact as he stepped back a little. 

"I-I believe any of us s-should be able to form attachments," He paused, his gaze flickering from your eyes to your lips, and back to your eyes, "Romantic ones, especially." A chorus of 'Yeah's' and humms of agreement followed, catching your attention as you looked around.

The atmosphere in the cave seemed to have completely shifted, the sound of howling wind drowned out underneath the loud beat of your heart. You swallowed a forming lump, looking between Rex and his brothers, Tup now stood by your side, sandwiching your body between his and Rex's. 

Gloved hands came up to softly caress your shoulders, fingertips lightly tugging at the edge of your collar, grazing the skin underneath. 

"What do you think, Commander?" He whispered into your ear, hot breath fanning over your skin.

"Of?" You prompted, turning your head lightly to look at Tup. 

"Of close relations between Jedi and their Clones?"

Your eyes widened, feeling a familiar heat rush over your body, and you took inhaled a slow, deep, shaky breath. As you looked between Tup and Rex, the latter had made his way closer to your body, his hands making their way to your hips.

The sound of soft footsteps reached your ears, and you saw Echo, Fives, Jesse, Kix, Dogma and Hardcase making their way closer to the three of you, looking completely entranced by the conversation. You hadn't casted any spells on them, have you?

Your breath hitched in your throat, shivers overtaking your body as someone nuzzled their nose into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply, exhaling with a shaky sigh. As they spoke, your heart fluttered with recognition. 

"General, answer the question." Fives whispered, his voice gravelly and deep, one gloved hand gently grasping your chin, twisting it to face him. His gaze flickered to your lips,  just mere inches from his own. He could almost feel the taste of you on his tongue. Oh how he wished to kiss you, right then and there. He was so sure you'd let him, too.

Sure, maybe you did fantasise about the men from time to time, when your thoughts weren't preoccupied by ongoing battles and Jedi duties. How you wished to be allowed to form a connection deeper than General and Trooper, but did they?

"I- I.. I don't k-know?" You questioned, a soft whimper escaping your opened mouth, before you knew it, his lips crashed against yours, his hands latching themselves into your hair, pulling you closer, if physically possible.

The kiss was, to simply put it, sweet. His goatee rubbed nicely against your chin, his lips melting together with yours, as if they were always meant to. His tongue prodded at your bottom lip, asking for permission. Slipping in, it danced with yours, hot breaths mingling together as you felt something press up against your front.

Rex.

You had almost forgotten you were trapped between Rex and Tup, too engulfed with the sudden kiss Fives had engaged you in.

The smell of pine and smoke invaded your nostrils, their scents overwhelming, flooding your senses as Fives became rougher, his hands tugging at the roots of your hair. With one hand, you grasped the side of his face, thumb rubbing soothing circles into his rough skin, your breath hitched as a groan escaped his lips.

"Okay, that's enough I think." Kix spoke, the kiss abruptly interrupted as he pulled Fives away by the scruff of his neck. 

"General? Are you okay?" Rex's voice was soft as he neared you, his breath fanning over the sensitive shell of your ear. 

Inhaling a shallow breath, you grasped his biceps with both hands.

"Call me Y/n.." You whispered, hazily meeting Rex's stare, his eyebrows raised, eyes wide.

"R-Right.. Y/n, d'you want us to continue?" He questioned, bringing a hand to gently clutch your chin. 

Your eyes widened as you took in the situation around you; eight men surrounded you, watching. Waiting. Ready to pounce, the moment they received your permission. 

And receive it, they did.

With a brisk nod, you allowed your eyes to flutter shut as Rex closed the gap between the two of you, his lips rough but warm as his body pushed roughly against yours, your back meeting Tup's chest in a close embrace. 

Your hands rested against Rex's chest, feeling the soft material of his shirt underneath your thumbs. His chest was warm and firm under your touch, the feeling of his heart racing beneath your hand had your own chest swelling with joy. A sigh left your lips as you felt a pair of lips press open-mouthed kisses against the expanse of your neck, a new pair of hands rubbing up and down your hips, encouraging you.

You weren't dreaming, were you? You weren't about to wake up, were you?

Your questions were answered as you felt Rex bite your bottom lip, his hands tugging at the roots of your hair.

No, this definitely wasn't a dream.

And if it was, it wasn't one you wished to wake from.

[deanssluvr]

MAKE ME FAITHFUL

pairing: joost klein x fem!reader

summary: joost always makes valentines so special for you every year, but this time he was stressed and busy. so now it’s your turn to make his day just a bit better.

word count: 2.5k

warnings: MDNI. SMUT. RPF. handjob. oral (m! receiving). needy/sub!joost. slightly proofread.

a/n: back to writing smut because it's a minute lol. seen a few people write about this and have been dying to do it myself. hope you guys enjoy it. <3

Although Valentine’s Day was one of your favorite holidays, it felt less special this time than others. Joost, your boyfriend of four years, has always tried to make the day memorable. From his attempts at home-cooked dinners to taking you to local spots he knows you’d enjoy, he has always made this day special for you. But now you were in your kitchen, alone, ordering yourself dinner. 

You weren’t mad about him missing today. Your boyfriend’s job has its ups and downs, like being busy on Valentines. He’d been gone since you woke up. It was quite early when you opened your eyes and the sun was peering in through the window, beckoning for you to start your morning. You moved from under your covers and felt the cold air blow over your skin. Shivering slightly, you pick up your phone looking at the notifications.

i’m really sorry liefje (love) I couldn’t be here today. got a lot of stuff to do before the tour. I left something in the living room for you. hope you like it. 

You smiled warmly at the message. You got out of bed, the rug shielding your feet from the cold floor. You walked over to your closet slipped into some slippers and threw on one of Joost’s jackets. Stepping out into the living room, a familiar smell was in the air and it put a smile on your face. Looking on the coffee table you saw a bag of breakfast from your favorite restaurant, an assortment of your favorite flowers neatly sitting in a beautiful vase, and a small, pink stuffed bear leaning against it. You walked over to it, grazing your fingers over the flowers. They were your favorite and he only got them for you on special occasions, like today. Picking one up, you noticed there was a small note attached to it. You opened the small paper. On it read an apology from your boyfriend. Although he couldn’t be here, he still wanted your day to be special.

And now it was roughly nine o’clock at night and still no sign of him. You were starting to think you’d fall asleep before you saw him. After successfully ordering your food, you walked into the living room and sat down on the couch. Your phone vibrated in your hand and you looked at it with some sort of anticipation, hoping that it was him saying that he was on his way or almost home. But the feeling left quickly as you see it was just an Instagram notification. You groaned and laid back on the couch, your head resting on the armrest. The silence of the house wasn’t helping to ease your mind but managed to make it worse. Your thoughts were starting to conflict with each other as the idea of being mad at him started to become more acquainted with the front of your mind. Choosing to break the silence, you picked up the remote that sat on the coffee table and turned on the TV. 

Soon your food had arrived and it was now ten o’clock. Though the hours were passing rather quickly, the idea of seeing Joost before you went to sleep kept your mind awake. The random romcom you had turned on was also helping. Ironically the movie took place on Valentine’s Day. It was one of your favorite movies to watch on this holiday, but this time felt sour. As embarrassing as it felt to admit, watching a fictional couple spend the day together unlike you made you feel worse. Like a small jab to your heart. But you watched the movie anyway as it was beloved to you. You had finished your food a little over halfway through the movie. You gathered all of your trash and made your way to the kitchen where you dumped it all. You leaned on the counter, phone in your hand. You opened his contact and your finger hovered over the call button. Every minute that passed made you worry more and more and his lack of communication was making it worse. But you hesitate anyway because he could still be busy, maybe his phone died, or he left it somewhere. 

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of your front door being unlocked. You walked around the counter and watched in anticipation as the door was pushed open. You feel the negative thoughts and worries wash away as he walks in. He walked in as if in a haze. His head was pointing to the floor and he walked with heavy footsteps. He hadn’t noticed you until he was only a few feet away from you. His eyes were quick to find yours. He smiled lovingly and you watched as his body visibly relaxed. He gently cupped your cheeks with his hands, his eyes scanning your face as if seeing you anew. You raised one of your hands to cover his, your warmth contrasting with the coolness of his fingers. He softly pulled you into a kiss. It was sweet the way his lips danced with yours. Your hands rested on his hips and your fingers played with the hem of the soft fabric. He pulled away first with a pained expression.

“I’m so so sorry schat (baby). I really wanted to be here with you today.” His hands were still settled on both sides of your face and his thumb rubbed softly against your cheek. “Please forgive me. I promise I’m gonna make it up to you.” 

You shook your head, “It’s okay. I know how busy you get.” you give him a reassuring smile. “Plus the gift you left for me this morning makes up for it.” 

He let out a breath of relief, “I’m happy you liked it.” 

He was still tense and you could tell. An idea quickly pops into your head to help him relax. Once again the distance closed between you two, but you initiated it. This time there was something different and he noticed. The way your lips hungrily latched onto his. He melted into you completely, letting you take control. Your hands slipped under his shirt, feeling the cold, bare skin beneath. The warmth of your fingers against him sent shivers down his spine. Your kisses trailed from his lips to his cheek and down his neck. He hummed in response. 

“I think it’s time that I gave you my gift.” You spoke, your voice barely above a whisper. Your warm breath against his ear sent goosebumps across his skin. The bulge in his pants became more apparent as he lightly rutted against your thigh letting you know how desperately he craved for you. Normally he could hold himself together, especially in front of you. But after the long day he’s had, he doesn’t have the strength to. His brain was too fogged and all he could make of it was how painfully hard he was. He wanted to tell you how much he wanted to feel you, hear your pretty moans in his ear. But words couldn’t form in his mouth, only pathetic whimpers would breeze past his lips. So instead you get to see him like this. Breathing heavily against your skin, quietly begging for your touch. He looked at you through dazed eyes and you could’ve melted right there. Instead, you took one of his hands in yours and walked him into the living room. 

You pressed a hand to his chest, pushing him to sit on the couch. You sunk to your knees, and he pulled his shirt off and threw it somewhere on the floor. He instinctively spreads his legs allowing you to come closer. Your hands ran over his thighs and came up to his belt buckle. He watched as your hands worked his pants and pulled them down. Once they were at his ankles, you looked over at his boxers. His cock was begging to be freed from his boxers. Your hands came to rub on his thighs again and you felt how tense he still was. 

“Baby you can relax. Let me care of you.” You cooed and he let out a hesitant breath. He was having trouble relaxing. It was because he was so pent up and you could tell. You moved your hands up his thighs and over his bulge. His breath hitched as he felt the warmth of your hand. You slowly moved it, palming him through his boxers. His cock twitched under your hand. A quiet moan escaped his lips as he leaned his head back on the couch. His hips bucked up because he needed more friction. He quickly looked at you with a slightly panicked expression. As if he was scared you stopped because he moved. And even under the dim light of the room, you swear you could see him mouth the words ‘sorry’. You placed one of your hands on his thigh, your thumb running soft circles into the skin. Silently reassuring him.

You decided you’d tortured him enough and hooked your fingers into the waistline of his boxers. He lifts his hips giving you space to pull them down. You watched as his cock sprung from the tight material. It was slightly red with precum leaking from it, leaving a small, sticky spot on his stomach where it rests. You spit on your hand before wrapping it around the base. His breath hitched. You began to move your hand at an agonizingly slow pace. Breathy moans fell from his lips. You brought your lips down to his thigh, kissing and biting the soft skin. Your kisses trailed to the skin near the base of his cock. Your cheek brushed softly against him sending a shiver down his spine. You planted kisses along the vein that led to his tip. The noises he made slowly became louder and louder the closer to you became. 

“fuck schat (baby). p-please please…” he knew what he wanted but words were failing him. His brain was clouded by pleasure, and the only clear thought he had was you. 

“Please what?” You tilted your head to the side. Your voice was soft, faux innocence laced in your tone. He hesitated before he spoke and tried to regain his thoughts so he could form a coherent sentence.

“I need you. I need to feel more of you,” he begged. His eyes met yours and were glossed over. You never get to see him like this. So needy and desperate. He looked so pretty in these moments you thought to yourself. “Please.”

You didn’t waste any more time before you took him into your mouth, taking in only his tip first. He melted at the sensation, a low groan emitting from his lips. You took in a few more inches and he was quickly losing what was left of his composure. His lip was bleeding from hard he was biting to quiet the noises he was making. It was when you started to hum that a moan slipped out. You thought your name sounded so sweet when it rolled off his tongue in moments like this. His hand was quick to find its way into your hair. He was trying to guide you the way he wanted and take control. But you weren’t having it, so you grabbed his wrist and set his hand back on the couch. Although you didn’t say anything, he still understood. It was a strain not to touch you. He needs to feel something, to ground himself. One hand was gripping the plush fabric of the couch and the other rested on his stomach.

You took in as much of him as you could and used your hand to get what you couldn’t. He watched as his cock disappeared into your mouth. He could’ve came right there at the sight. You brought your head back up just to sink down again. The noises that were coming from him were borderline pornographic. Moans mixed with your name. As you picked up the pace, tears started to form in the corners of his eyes. They fell the closer he got. He was so lost in pleasure. Everything he was thinking about earlier, whatever he was feeling was gone and long forgotten. All he could think about or feel was you and how good he felt because of you.

Quiet pleas started to pour from his mouth as he was getting closer. He couldn’t even form a coherent sentence to let you know he was close. But as if you could read his mind, you knew. You quickened your pace again and your hand was matching your speed. He wanted this. He needed this. He needed to get lost in your touch.  A string of moans mixed with your name was all that could be heard from. You took him fully into your mouth and that was enough to send him over the edge. His hips bucked up into your mouth, pushing himself further into your throat. The world felt as though it stopped spinning as he reached the edge. It struck his body like electricity, and he swore he could see stars. You felt his cock pulsing as you tried to stop yourself from gagging and you felt his cum go down your throat. You let him ride out his high before he pulled himself from your mouth. 

He sat back down on the couch, and saw him finally relax. You looked at him with a smile on your face. He gave you a tired smile in return. You stood up and placed a kiss on his forehead. Your hands found their way into his and you gently pulled him, gesturing him to stand up. He did so and you helped him pull his boxers and pants up. You guided him to your bedroom where you told him to sit.

“I’m going to run a shower for you. Okay?” He nodded tiredly. You placed a small kiss on his lips before disappearing into the bathroom to run some water. When it felt warm enough you walked back out to where he was sitting. He was still in the same spot and was fidgeting with the fabric of his jeans. You brought your hand up to his cheek and your thumb rubbed gently. He leaned into your touch. Taking his hands into yours, you lead him into the bathroom where you both stripped out of your clothes. He followed you in the bathroom where you both get undressed. He immediately stepped inside the shower, letting the warm water run over his body. You were quick to help him get clean and he just leaned into you. He was so exhausted now and you just wanted to get him to bed as quickly as possible. Once you were both finished, you both got dressed and went back into your bedroom. You were first to get into bed and he quickly followed suit. He snuggled close into you, his head resting on your chest. You brought your hand up to run your fingers through his hair.

“Ik hou van jou (i love you),” he mumbled. You can tell he was fighting to stay awake at this point.

“I love you too.” you kissed his forehead before dozing off.

[demonvibez]

Showering with Lucifer

·Characters: Lucifer x GN! Reader

·Word Count: 1100+

·Rating: Mature/Explicit (Minors DNI)

·Genre: Fluff, Comfort, Smut

·Tags: domestic fluff, mentions of reader being sick, gender neutral body parts, oral sex, penetration, mentions of fangs and marking

·A/N: was gonna write this for all seven demon bros but I got carried away with Lucifer's part! Lemme know which brother/dateable you'd like to see in this scenario next ♡

Typically, Lucifer prefers to use the shower over taking a bath

Most of the time, he gets down to business in the shower; no time to dawdle about with distractions, he has a schedule to adhere to, titles to maintain and a House to oversee.

Very thorough, he has his showers down to a 5 minute routine in a very methodical order

He has always used the same set of products he enjoys, originally a gift - a Dragon's Blood bath set given randomly by Lord Diavolo; it works for him and he thinks it smells nice, so why mess with perfection? 

However, things started changing the closer your relationship with him grew

At first he didn't really care to shower with you because he often didn't have the time and thought it would be more efficient to shower separately

One evening you find yourself feeling rather sick, which prompts Lucifer to insist on looking after you in his room, despite you already being comfortably curled up in your own bed

"If anyone is capable of bringing you back to health, it's me," he said with his arms crossed, his usual air of arrogance lingering around his words

He gathers up a few of your things and put them in the empty backpack hung on the back of your closet door, before slinging it over his shoulder and scooping you up in his arms

Of course he could keep a better eye on your condition in his room, safely tucked into his silky soft bed sheets

As he watches over you, shock and concern paints his features as he notices that your condition continues to get worse

You're running a fever that needs to be broken, so he draws you a bath and tends to you personally 

Sat behind you in the tub as he leans you against his bare chest, he gently washes your hair with his shampoo, making sure to be careful as he rinses everything out, softly running his gloveless fingers through the strands

His gentleness to you while you're in such a vulnerable state brings the two of you even closer together than before, emboldened with a new sense of trust and familiarity 

After that, you find yourselves becoming increasingly inseparable, which naturally results in you sleeping in his bed and using his shower quite often

Several of your favorite bath products now line the walls of his shower

Some random weekend mornings his hair will smell like your conditioner, and it will give him the most smug of grins for the entirety of the day

He's even more smug and prideful when you are the one wearing his scent, though

He usually tries to stay on task when you shower together, making sure you're both completely clean from head to toe

There are many nights, however, in which he finds himself unable to reign in his urges - to hell with paperwork, he'd rather lose himself in you right now

He lathers his body gel down your body, his hands caressing each of your curves slowly yet firmly as he further commits them to his memory, watching as the water cascades down your body to rinse the suds away

His lips trail soft kisses down your jaw, his fangs lightly nipping at your neck as he hungrily makes his way down to your collarbone, a mark or two of his slowly blooming across the surface of your skin

He continues his way down your body, briefly stopping to swirl one of your sensitive nipples around his eager tongue, before continuing down to truly taste you

He throws one of your legs over his shoulder, holding you up as he helps himself - lapping and sucking away at your sex, pushing you closer to your first orgasm with each deliberate stroke

Your hands can't help but to slide to his crown, gripping onto his horns in order to keep you grounded in reality as you try your best to keep your eyes locked on his

His crimson eyes gaze up at you as he worships every inch of you, and every drop of your sweet nectar on his lips fills him with a sense of pride that only your pleasure can bring, both of you riding those feelings into the stratosphere 

After bringing you to climax, he pushes your leg down and slides up your body, hooking and holding your leg around his waist as he uses his other hand to line himself up with you

He slowly begins to push himself inside of you, strained groans splashing off the walls with the shower's rain as he gradually slides himself deeper 

You feel so good around him that he can't help it when his wings unfurl the moment he finally sinks all the way into you, the last thread of control he had finally unraveling 

He sets a slow and steady pace as he pours every ounce of passion into each individual thrust, his hand gripping your thigh as his thrusts slowly start to pick up in pace

And every thrust fills you with more and more pleasure, building up inside of you, the crescendo threatening to erupt at any moment as your eyes roll into the back of your head - you hear him whisper your name

"Look into my eyes…" he said in a husky tone as he put a hand on your sex and overstimulates it as he continues to thrust into you, his rhythm growing erratic as he pushes you both over the edge into pure bliss

He locks his lips to yours as you both ride that high, wanting to make the moment last as long as possible

Even as you try to gently pull away from him, he whispers, "just a moment longer, my love," as he slides his hold around you just a bit tighter, a small laugh escaping your lips before you steal another kiss from him

As you wrap up your shower together, he helps rinse you off one more time, before offering a hand to help you out of the shower and wrapping you in a warm, fluffy towel

He dresses you in one of his bathrobes before setting off to grab you a set of pajamas, trying his best to hide his smirk when he returns with one of his own shirts and a half assed excuse - you knew you had an extra set in his bottom drawer, but you didn't even hesitate to grab his shirt and throw it on

Once you finish your routine, you both crawl into his bed

You find yourself in your natural place, snuggled up to his chest with his arms wrapped around you

As you both begin to drift off into slumber together, he presses a kiss to the top of your head

"I love you so much," he whispers, "sweet dreams, my little lamb."

And with his final thoughts of the night, he can't help but to think how much better you make even the tiniest aspects of his life, a smile on his face as sleep finally takes him

- demonvibez ♡ - likes/reblogs appreciated - do not repost! -

[heartpascal]

something is rotten

▹ — joel miller x niece!reader

▹ — summary: part two of to an empty house — arriving in jackson brings painful feelings, and even worse conversations.

▹ — a/n: UGH!! guys im not all that happy with this one!! ive changed it a couple times too D: but i have left yall hanging long enough!! lemme know if you want anymore about these guys :’) && ty guys sm for all the support ILY!!

▹ — warnings: slight spoilers for episode 6 ‘kin’, swearing, ANGST!!!, a bit of comfort, father figure joel, reader has daddy issues, and abandonment issues, and is generally not struggling in life PLS

▹ — tags: @canpillowscry @randomstory56 @angsty-twihardxx @frogtits1 @exiledangel @sleepdeprived-barelyalive @vee-vee-writes @rhyanna6012 @snixx2088 @mona-aiko @mymommmy (those of you tagged in italics asked for part 2 in the comments of the first part! drop me a message if you want your tag removed!!)

masterlist

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

Life in the apocalypse had been non-stop since you had left that hydroelectric power plant, left behind Tommy, and for a while, all thoughts of him. There hadn’t been time to worry about that sort of thing, between almost losing Joel, and then almost losing Ellie, and then finally reaching the hospital that had been your end goal.

In some ways, you were glad. It kept your mind racing, the feeling of constantly being on edge allowing your brain to stay away from silly things, such as your father.

But now, with that whole chapter finally being over, Joel and Ellie were ready to settle down, to live in a home, rather than travelling miles upon miles, never feeling safe. The three of you had been through a lot, and since the… incident with Ellie, her joke book had remained closed.

You knew that Joel had noticed the change in her, just the same as you had. What she had thought to be her purpose, the justification for everybody who had been lost on your journey, their sacrifice, had been for nothing. It was tearing her apart, and it hurt you to watch it happen.

There was no question about your next destination, though you tried to ignore the reality of it for as long as you possibly could, you were fully aware that Jackson was what Ellie needed. Hell, you’d even go as far as to say it was what Joel needed, too. But deep down, you knew that going there was going to tear you to pieces, despite the way you liked to put on a strong front, following in Joel’s footsteps even in that sense.

You didn’t share your concerns, content to continue the journey in silence, pretending not to notice the way Joel and Ellie looked at you the closer you got to the town.

“Hey, you okay?” Ellie murmured to you, the final stop of your journey feeling like something similar to that of impending doom. She nudged your arm with her elbow, smiling in a way that didn’t quite reach her eyes like it used to.

“Mighty fine.” You responded, her dim smile reflected in your own, and you let it fall the moment she nodded at you, despite clearly being unconvinced by your words.

You fell into step beside her and Joel, and felt his hand grasp on to your shoulder as you caught glimpse of Jackson in the not far enough distance. He squeezed your shoulder the slightest bit, and gave you the biggest reassuring smile he could muster, though it didn’t soothe your worries like it used to.

Maybe it was everything the three of you had been through over your journey, or maybe it was the impending arrival at Jackson, but you were starting to notice the world had become much dimmer than you remembered it to be. Joel’s grip less reassuring, Ellie’s smile less genuine, that faint hope in your gut long gone. With a frown, the thought came to you that this was what it meant to grow up.

The lines on Ellie’s face said the same thing, the sigh that had left her chest, made up of pure exhaustion, just told you that her naive nature had vanished. Jokes no longer received the same laughter, and the world no longer held beauty. Growing up felt like hopelessness settling, nuzzling its way in and making itself at home in that space around your heart. The grip it had made it feel like perhaps, it wouldn’t be all too bad if that heartbeat slowed, but you pushed that thought aside for another time.

For now, you’d have to focus on the problem at hand; arriving in Jackson.

It was warmer now than it had been when you’d left the power plant, and it showed in the way that the green lands had brightened, the sun settling and warming the back of your neck. The heat meant less layers, and the three of you had removed your jackets long before arriving in the town.

The lookouts had spotted you all before you’d been anywhere near the gate, so it was no surprise that Tommy was there to greet the three of you when the gates were finally pulled open, allowing you a peek into the home he valued so much.

Walking in, you had already begun your self-appointed mission of ignoring every word Tommy Miller said, but felt yourself almost blown away by the sights around you. For a moment, just a split second, it was nice.

That thought went out the window a second later, catching a glimpse of your so-called father, and you couldn’t help but recall the way you’d sat for endless nights, waiting for that very man, and imagined yourself living a life with him in a town just like this one.

You felt sick.

That little kid deserved better, you decided. You were worthy of living this kind of life, of getting to sleep in a warm house, of not having to worry about if Joel and Tess would get enough ration cards to feed the three of you, of getting horse riding lessons! The facts of the situation stared you in the face, getting clearer the longer you looked around. Your own father denied you of this life.

With building anger, the feeling white-hot, burning, you turned to Joel where he was speaking with his brother. “Where are we staying?”

Tommy looked between you and Joel, swallowing when Joel just raised a brow at him, and spoke, “Uh, little place just a couple blocks over. 38, I think. Rancher Street, I’ll take you guys over—”

“I’ll make my own way.” You snapped, before he could even finish his sentence. If you had to look at him for even a second longer, you were sure that the overflowing anger and resentment would explode, and you weren’t convinced anyone would be able to pick up the pieces that would be left behind.

You stormed down the street before he could say another word to you, turning down the first alley you saw and standing still in the street on the other side, letting out a harsh breath.

You couldn’t be sure how long you’d stood there for, trying to turn down the simmering emotions inside of you, but it was clearly long enough for somebody to notice. “You good there?” A young girl asked, and you turned to her, brows furrowed.

“‘M fine.” You responded gruffly, and even you could hear the way your speech reflected Joel’s own. The thought calmed you, almost, reminding you of who your real dad was.

She stepped closer, clearly not taking a hint, “You sure? New in town? You look lost.”

“Yes, yes, and I’m not lost.” You said to her, though you didn’t exactly know where you were. She just raised her eyebrows at you, and you huffed, “Lookin’ for a Rancher Street.”

The girl nodded, something between a smirk and a smile on her face, and pointed forward, “First left twice, then a right. Should get you there just fine.”

“Thanks.” You said, immediately heading off in the direction she’d guided you in. You kept your head down, brows furrowed, and tried to keep your attention away from the world around you. It was clear that it’d just make you more angry.

You counted along with the house numbers as you passed by, Rancher Street wasn’t that densely populated, if the look of the houses were anything to go by. There was quite a few that looked run down, number 38 included, once you arrived. You went inside, the door already unlocked, and sneezed when you inhaled all the dust that clouded the air. This place must’ve been barely touched throughout the last twenty years.

Grabbing a book left on the coffee table, you pulled it open, and sat on the edge of an old sofa, sighed through your nose when even more dust floated up from it.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

“You’ll go, because it’s the polite thing to do.” Joel told you firmly, sighing heavily as he looked over at you with his arms crossed.

“You think I give a shit about being polite?” You asked him, mirroring his stance by crossing your own arms. He rolled his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as he clearly brainstormed a way to get around your stubbornness.

“Just this one time,” He told you, saying your name pleadingly, “Then you’ll never have to go ‘round there again.”

That peaked your interest, and you uncrossed your arms, “Really? You promise?”

“Swear.” Joel replied, and sighed something near to relief, finally calling Ellie’s name. The stairs creaked, and she appeared less than a second later.

“You coming?” She asked, thought she had obviously been sat on the stairs, listening to yours and Joel’s… conversation, the whole time.

“Yeah,” You sighed unhappily, “I’m coming.”

The three of you made your way across town, with Joel checking a scrap piece of paper that you could only assume held directions. Lights had flickered on by now, the darkness of the evening being offset by the yellow lamps that poured light over the street. It was weird, you thought, being able to see so clearly in the darkness.

Joel knocked at the wooden door when you arrived, looking back at you where you stood, just off the porch with Ellie, like he thought you might run away if he didn’t keep his eyes on you.

Though the thought had occurred to you, you wouldn’t do it, not if it meant that Joel’s promise would be vacant. Just this once, he had sworn.

The front door opened as Ellie knocked your arm with her elbow, giving you a slight reassuring smile. You appreciated the effort, but the reassurance fell flat. There was something about this situation that you just couldn’t put into words, but it hurt. Her arm wrapped through your own as Joel followed Tommy inside, and she led you in after them, closing the door behind you.

Immediately, you were tense. Your heart felt as if it was beating in your throat, like it was going to stop if you took another step. You tried not to look around, keeping your eyes on your battered old shoes as you let Ellie continue leading you through the house.

Her abrupt stop had you stumbling into her, and lifting your head with furrowed brows. You glanced to where she was looking, seeing the names Kevin and Sarah written in a scrawl on a chalkboard in what you guessed would be a living room. You frowned, and gripped Ellie’s arm tighter, breaking her from her stare at the board.

You pretended not to notice the homely feel to the house, the warmth of it making your palms sweat. If you allowed your mind to wonder too far, you’d be reminded of how you had dreamed of living a life like this as a kid, dreamed of a house just like this one, shared with your father. You would be reminded of how he chose to have this, chose to have it without you.

Good job you keep your mind on a tight leash, you supposed, gritting your teeth and blinking away the angry tears that wanted to rise and fall from your eyes.

You breathed in deeply through your nose, looking up as Ellie began to loosen her grip on your arm, having arrived at the dining room. The concept had always been strange to you, having lived in a shitty apartment for basically all your life, and having a whole room just for eating seemed like a waste of valuable space.

Ellie took a seat, and you quickly followed in her example as Joel stood talking to Tommy by the doorway, engaged in conversation like they were as close as they had been two decades ago.

“You got this.” Ellie said, her hand on squeezing your arm as she looked towards where you were wringing your fingers together, your stomach feeling as though you’d left it back by the porch. You nodded at her, swallowing and smiling tightly.

You stayed quiet as Tommy finished setting the table, before he was moving back and forth between the dining room and kitchen, bringing various plates and a few sauces with each trip. Finally, he sat down at the head of the table beside Ellie, and you kept your gaze away from him.

“Sorry I couldn’t be there to greet you guys when you got in,” Maria called, finally approaching from the kitchen, and you were keeping your gaze on your hands until Ellie frantically began tapping your, her expression saying something you’d couldn’t quite understand, something close to pity in her eyes. “Kinda hard to get around so quick, these days.” Maria laughed, placed a big plate down on the table before standing back up, her hands on her back and—

If you had eaten any food, you were sure you would’ve thrown it all back up.

There, standing in front of you, was your father’s wife — pregnant.

It felt like a million different feelings were running through your head, faster than you could catch up, all your thoughts were racing, clashing together and leaving only one that was literate: What the fuck?

Maria sat down beside Joel, at Tommy’s side, and you could see in Joel’s eyes that he hadn’t expected this, could see the pity building in his eyes just as you’d seen in Ellie’s, and it was all far too much.

“I can’t do this.” You announced, slamming your hands on the table and feeling some satisfaction in the way the cutlery clattered together. You pushed your chair back, standing up, and saw your father open his mouth to speak.

He said your name, and you snapped.

“Don’t talk to me! What the fuck is wrong with you?” You cried out, staring daggers at the man who was supposed to be your dad. The angry tears that you had managed to push away earlier came rushing back, one already falling down your cheek. You wiped it away angrily.

“Kid, just listen—”

You seethed, “Kid? Do I look like a fucking kid to you? You missed out on that, Tommy. You have no idea—” Your voice broke for a moment, as you thought of all the things that had happened to you since your father had been around. “I don’t have to listen to you. You’re not my dad, remember? You left your daughter, years ago. You have no idea what we’ve been through.”

Ellie was stood beside you, her hand on your shoulder, though when she had got there, you had no idea. The edges of your vision were red, and you could feel the way your throat was tightening.

“I’m sorry,” He started, your name leaving his lips once again, and Ellie held firmly against you as you leant towards him, your blood warming in your veins as your heartbeat echoed in your ears.

“I don’t think sorry cuts it.” You laughed, humourlessly. “I don’t think anything does, actually. I will never forgive you. You hear me? You listening? Never.”

You turned away, Ellie’s hand falling away, and you even avoided Joel as he stood up and tried to reach out for you. You couldn’t face them, not like this, not when it felt like your father had taken a chisel to your heart, and left you with only splintered ribs. You were choking on the emptiness of it, the reality of your life and what it meant to the man who had helped create it.

You were more certain now than ever that he had never cared for you, that he had left because of you, not just despite you.

It was horrible, and it was something you had always suspected. A part of you wished that he had died alongside the Fireflies, because at least then he wouldn’t have had a choice in staying away, right? But no, he was alive and well, thriving in the home he’d made without you, while you worried back at the QZ that barely provided you with enough food to get by.

You were storming away, and had reached the house you'd been allocated before you even really noticed that you had left. The blood in your veins had reached a boil by now, and you could feel the steaming in your lungs, in the way it suffocated you and made every breath burn against your throat.

The backpack in your hands was still filled with everything you owned, seeing as you hadn’t bothered to unpack into somebody else’s bedroom, though it had been theirs a lifetime ago. It didn’t help the deepening rage within you, the despair that was tilting your entire world on its axis. Everything in your life was in this bag, probably weighing less than the plate of food Maria had brought out.

Meanwhile, your father had a whole house full of shit that belonged to him. You scoffed, feeling that burning sensation crawling up your chest, so close to hatred, but something far more raw, more painful.

Your feet took you back out to Rancher Street, legs moving before your mind was fully caught up. You met the rest of the Miller’s halfway through your trek, with them on their way to Joel’s new house, whilst you were trying to make your way to the gate, prepared to leave, rather than get left behind.

Joel called your name, his expression displaying the panic that was crushing his chest. He had been a builder, before. He had fixed things — it was what he did, what he liked to do. But this was something he didn’t know how to fix, something that may have just been broken beyond repair… he wasn’t sure what to do with that.

“Joel, don’t,” You told him, voice trembling as you spoke, stopping in front of the man who had looked after you for your whole life. “Please don’t. Nothin’ that anyone says could make me not hate him. Not even you.”

Joel swallowed, glancing back to his brother behind him, where he stood with his wife, before glancing to Ellie at his own side.

“I—I didn’t mean for this,” Tommy said, arms up by his head as if he was surrendering, but you knew he was just trying to make himself feel better. “I swear!”

“I don’t care,” You cried, feeling your frustration build that none of these people had the ability to understand you, to understand how it felt for your own father to look at you and leave you behind. They couldn’t get how crushing this was, that he was starting over. “Go ahead, start over with your wife. First time ‘round didn’t work, but second time, surely!”

He flinched at your words, as if they had hurt him, but your expression hardened. He had no idea what true hurt was — how could he?

“I know I wasn’t the greatest dad—”

“You have never been my dad. Joel is my dad. He’s looked after me my whole life while you were out lookin’ for something, who knows what, because I don’t believe you ever found it.” You spat at him, feeling Ellie approach your side, hold on to your wrist as your hands clenched into fists.

Joel’s face fell, the reality of your feelings towards your father were crushing, but he could see why you’d feel that way. He’d agree with you, too, if anybody deserved the title of your dad, it’d be himself, not his brother. He remembered a few times when you’d used the name for him, though you had been sick or exhausted down to your very bones both times, and he had figured that in your muddled mind, you’d gotten him confused with Tommy. That was the reason he had never corrected it, not wanting to squash whatever little amount of hope and love you had for his brother. He’d had no idea that the truth was that you saw him, not his brother, and your mind had made that connection.

He felt like he could cry when you turned to him, that glassy look in your eyes, and he saw the pieces of you that his own brother had broken. “I want to leave.” You told him, lip trembling as you said the words.

Joel didn’t know what to reply with — the two of you had nowhere to go, and Ellie didn’t, either. This place was your best option, your only option, really. He shook his head, mouth slightly agape as he tried to think of something to say, something that could convince you.

Ellie said your name, and you drew your gaze to her, where she looked guilty, far guiltier than you had ever seen her. “I want to stay.” She told you, her eyes darting away from you as if she was confessing some awful sin to you.

“I know,” You said, letting her hand slip from your wrist to your own hand, and squeeze tightly. “But I…”

Your gaze moved to Tommy and Maria, and your expression hardened, features turning to stone when you looked at the two of them. “I’ll stay. For now. And I’m still a Miller, but— but if anybody asks, I’m Joel’s daughter.”

Joel nodded, smiling thinly at you, tears welled up in his own eyes, and you nodded back to him.

“O—Okay.” Tommy said, swallowing, but you shushed him before he could continue.

“As for you, I don’t wanna see you. Let’s keep it the way you decided we should be.“ Your voice trembled, but you remained firm on your words. “I don’t wanna see your face, or hear your voice. I don’t want to know you. Joel can do what he likes, but you stay far away from me, you got it? The only kid you have is that one.” You finished, gesturing toward where Maria held a hand over her stomach.

Tommy looked as if he was going to disagree, but people had begun peeking through the windows of the houses on either side of the street, and when Joel stepped beside you, arm immediately going around your shoulders, he knew he had no choice.

“Hope you’re a better father to that kid than you were to me.” You hissed at him, seeing the way his face crumpled and finding satisfaction in it.

The small part of you, the darkest part, hoped every one of your words hurt him. Hoped that he lived the rest of his life knowing that he fucked up, that he ruined you, and that when you built yourself back up, he’d never get the chance to know you.

Joel took the backpack from your shoulder, pulling it over his own, and turned you away from the father you had disowned. The three of you walked away, not looking back to see the way Maria had to herd him away as he stared at you, something close to grief in his eyes.

When you arrived back at 38 Rancher Street, Ellie held your hand tightly while Joel opened the front door, dropping your backpack by the stairs as he moved towards the dust filled living room. The two of you followed him, and he turned around to see you squeezing Ellie’s hand, your lips trembling and your face crumpled as you looked up at him.

“Did I make a mistake? Did I ruin everything?” You asked him, trying so hard to keep yourself together, to tape all the little pieces of yourself into something that resembled okay, but it wasn't working.

“God, no, kid.” Joel said, and he was in front of you and Ellie before you could get another word in, pulling the two of you into his arms and breathing out a tired exhale. “I’m proud of you, proud of you both.” He told you, and your whole facade collapsed beneath you, leaving you sobbing into his arms, wondering where everything had gone wrong, wondering what that little kid would’ve said if she had heard your words tonight.

“We’re gonna be alright.” Joel told the two of you, feeling Ellie squeeze her arms tighter around him, until she let go, pointing upwards to let him know where she was heading. He nodded at her, an understanding expression on his face, and tightened both his arms around you.

“You swear?” You checked, unable to help yourself, and let yourself breathe a shaky sigh into his neck when he responded.

“Swear.”

[vickyvicarious]

Jonathan's decision to play along today was very difficult to make. But, in the end, it was the right move. He set aside his anger and impulse to rebel... perhaps as much or more out of fear rather than just logic, but we do see his reasoning and it makes sense.

And honestly, I think he pushed his luck nearly to the limit anyways. Look at how Dracula asked. First, he waited a few days after everything that went down with the vampire ladies, perhaps to see if Jonathan would bring up the topic. If Jonathan does, maybe he had plans to lie to him again, to gaslight him about either never sleeping outside of his room, or about Dracula finding him dreaming somewhere else and helping him back to his own bed. Still, Jonathan's reaction to such a lie could very easily force an end to all this pretending. But since he never brings it up at all, Dracula knows he can continue his game. In fact, Jonathan is proving to be a very resilient player, one who has just enough struggle in him to make it more interesting, without being too unmanageable or ever close to actually get away.

Dracula gives Jonathan this 'request' "in the suavest tones" - he's really emphasizing his charm here, being extra friendly as he tries to make Jonathan feel even worse. But then, contrary to what he's seen thus far, Jonathan hesitates.

I would fain have rebelled, but felt that in the present state of things it would be madness to quarrel openly with the Count whilst I am so absolutely in his power; and to refuse would be to excite his suspicion and to arouse his anger. He knows that I know too much, and that I must not live, lest I be dangerous to him; my only chance is to prolong my opportunities. Something may occur which will give me a chance to escape. I saw in his eyes something of that gathering wrath which was manifest when he hurled that fair woman from him. He explained to me that posts were few and uncertain, and that my writing now would ensure ease of mind to my friends; and he assured me with so much impressiveness that he would countermand the later letters, which would be held over at Bistritz until due time in case chance would admit of my prolonging my stay, that to oppose him would have been to create new suspicion.

I think he must have been sitting there making these arguments to himself in real time. Wrestling with his fear and his outrage and possibly losing most of his control over his expression and body language as he did so. And at first, this is fun for Dracula. He wants Jonathan to struggle like this. It's fun to watch. But then, the longer it goes on, the more real becomes the possibility that this will be Jonathan's breaking point. And if it is, if he outright says "no" even this once, then Dracula's entire game is ruined. He's just committed to wanting to keep Jonathan around for another full month. Jonathan passed the test with the other vampires. Dracula has been looking forward to this. How dare he spoil this -

Dracula's rage rises as he finds himself forces to make excuses and be convincing when he likely assumed he no longer needed to put in that much effort. Jonathan finally does agree, but he didn't do so right away. And it's a very fine line, because continuing to do this does in fact make him more interesting and fun in the long run, and thus perhaps allow him to live longer. Maybe after they separate for the evening (morning, being nocturnal) Dracula would actually look back on this moment with indulgent enjoyment. He pushed perhaps right up to the limit of what Dracula would tolerate, but he didn't quite cross it, so the game can continue. But at the same time, pushing like this (or rather, resisting being pushed before giving in) is extremely dangerous in the moment - because in the moment, there's still a chance Jonathan could cross the line. Dracula has a temper and he will take it out on Jonathan if he decides he's had enough.

It's that tightrope again. More of the same. But I just... love imagining this moment. Dracula's sickly-sweet smugness at the start, his utter confidence in his victory once again. And Jonathan - pausing. Saying nothing in response. Thinking it over, taking so long to do so, trying so hard to keep a neutral face but not fully succeeding, maybe keeping his head bowed so his expression can't be seen. Dracula's anger building along with almost a sort of desperation, as he lays out all this bullshit reasoning, maybe losing control of his own tone somewhat as he gets more aggressively vehement. The absolute tension rising, up and up right until the moment Jonathan looks up and agrees, when it suddenly dissipates. But the aftermath lingers, even in Dracula's victory. Even as Jonathan writes the three letters, one after another under Dracula's watchful eye. Dracula takes them from his hand, squeezes his shoulder in ostensible thanks, but such a clear threat. Jonathan's face twitching, a little spasm of fear and despair, at the contact.

It could be SUCH a good scene in an adaptation that emphasized the abusive dynamic here.

[are-you-still-writing-that]

Yandere!Killua: Throughout the years

Request: I love how you write yandere killua! What if yandere killua met reader during the Hunter exam and reader stuck with killua and gon up until gon and killua separated? What would yandere killua do? (Sorry if this sounds weird English is not my first language)

Uh, so you survived all that... Somehow... But fret not! We will see how the story will end.

So you met during the hunter exam, and travelled along with the boys. Stuck with them through all the dangers and challenges. You´re a good friend. You know it. And they know it too, even if they don´t always show it. Gon too hot-headed, honest and protective. Killua calm and collected. His affection always a quiet thing. Easily overlooked. Gone by unnoticed.

For Killua it wasn´t love at first glance. Not even second. Or third...

He didn´t even care about you during the hunter exam. Yes, you were his age. Sure. But the other boy, that bright and cheerful one, was just so much more interesting to him.

When you follow Gon to Kukuru Mountain, Killua just looks at you.

„Oh and you! It was..., it was-“

He pauses, and with a sigh you tell him your name again. It stings a bit because he at least somewhat remembered the names of the others, but you don´t take it to heart.

Killua watches you afterwards. He remembers your name. Takes great care to use it. His mouth sometimes stumbling over the pronunciation, but most of the time, he gets it right.

Heavens Arena is hard for you. Senseless fighting with no purpose. While the boys advance quickly, you´re slow.

In his brutal way he gives you advice. Though, you can´t be quite sure, that he isn´t insulting you half of the time.

„You have to aim right there. See? And stop hesitating! Got it, you wimp!“

The relationship between the two of you is rough. Gon is quite literally the only thing holding this fragile group together.

It fits then, that at Whale Island, you learn to understand Killua better. He becomes softer as well. Less abrasive. He learns to understand you as well.

You leave that Island, this small family, maybe even this little safe harbour, that you can see yourself returning too, stronger. Your group is not on the verge of falling apart any more. You started to understand each other. Just a bit more

„Here..., for you. From Mito“

When you leave and the wind whips through the sails, you turn to grin at Killua, who is already looking at you. His smile bright, in that secretive way it curls around his mouth, and his eyes are electric.

Yorktown is great.

Until it isn´t.

You had stayed with Leorio. Your mind at least marginally better with numbers than Gon, but your skills in stealth worse than both of theirs. A group of two was safer. At least, it was supposed to be

Leorio looks at you, his question more of a statement, which you can only confirm. Even though hours passed, you still haven´t heard anything from them.

It´s difficult to stays calm, while their lives are in danger. Kurapika is the one, that blocks your every attempt at helping. One day you might thank him for staying stubborn, today you want to strangle him for it.

You crunch numbers with Zepile instead. Your fingers shaking, and that man, this stranger, looking at you with pity. You are more than tempted to wipe his pity from his face. Just because you´re young doesn´t mean, you couldn´t wipe the floor with him in your sleep.

But your skill set isn´t specialised enough to be of any help to your friends at the moment. You always had been a jack of all trades, rather than the master of one. This had served you well, when you had travelled by yourself.

When they all come back, healthy and alive, Killua cracks some awful joke at you. You nearly knock his lights out.

„What was that for!“

And that was that.

While you haven´t earned enough to have a chance at bidding on the game, you can at least get Gon his hunter license back, and have more money than you started with. You ignore it, when Zepile grins at you. Yeah, you truly have a head for numbers.

Somehow you still get into the game. Your aura is twisting differently around you now. You kind of hate it.

It takes time for you to truly understand the purpose of the game, no matter how often Killua tries it to explain it to you and Gon, who is just as confused as you are. But the longer you think about it, the clearer it becomes to you, that this is the perfect game for hunters.

And so you start to collect cards. You deal with Bisky, who is far more focused on the boys than you, only when you have to. Still you learn the basics, and you are good at them. It feels great to learn this, far better, than what you had to push for to get the chance to join this game.

The encounter with Razor, especially when compared to the lacklustre challenges of the other pirates, is utterly terrifying. You feel the ball flying towards you, know that you can´t stop it, and that it will have reached you before you could ever completely move out of it´s way.

„Watch out! Are you alright?“

It never hits you, you´re on the floor already. You simply let yourself drop as if dead. Your t-shirt is torn. You´re the first one to stand outside. Killua is closer to you, than before but you wave him away. You watch the rest of the game with held breath.

In the end, no one got too badly hurt. You bandage Killuas hand. Cursing lowly, the stupidity of both the boys. You feel bile rise in your throat, after you genuinely thank Hisoka for his help. You hate it.

It´s almost too easy to figure out a plan to contain the Bombers. Still you aren´t surprised, that Gon doesn´t listen. No plan survives first contact with him. You are slowly getting used to it.

The quiz is easy. You whisper answers into Gons ear. Not minding to forfeit your chance. This game was a playground made for him by his father. Maybe you´re a bit jealous, but you push it away.

You don´t notice how Killua looks at you. How he started to look at you in the past few months. You won´t notice for the following months either.

Kite is... strange? Gon seems to like him and that is good enough for you. The concept of the Chimera Ant on the other hand still sends shiver down your spine. You feel vindicated in your fear, when you see the leg. And even more so, when you hear the rumour that some hunters never came back from NGL while they were on a trip to search for some new species.

It doesn´t take long for you to put one and one together.

You go with them regardless. NGL it is. Giant humanoid man-eating chimera ants are the least you are expecting and you don´t get disappointed. And Kite he is... you don´t know.

You covered the retreat of the boys, making sure that nothing would jump out at Killua as he was carrying Gon. To get attacked here and now would be a disaster. Especially because Kite isn´t around any more.

You hold Killua hand, as you leave, and slowly pull him into a hug as you wait.

„I-, I couldn´t- How could I keep you safe, when I-“

Only when the car arrives you shush him, standing up to greet the Chairman. It´s with a calm you didn´t know you had, that you explain your situation. You catch the pieces thrown at you with a glare. He laughs and if you could, you would love to hit him. But you can´t. You know it.

The drive back is hard. And the next few days are even harder

When Killua isn´t hanging around Gon, he suddenly clings to you

He has never been all that affectionate, but suddenly he is. And you can´t help but worry about it

Though something changes in Killua after the loss and Gons... date

He kisses you for the first time, presses his lips to your forehead. With him being that close, you can see the traces of dried blood on his forehead

„I´m so glad I could prove it to myself to stay. I promised it! I promised.“

You just grin at him. No clue what he´s actually meaning in that moment. Why wouldn´t he stay after all. Aren´t you friends?

They find Kite. Your world breaks. And he tries to hold it together. But even Killua is unable to be in two places at the same time.

You go back to the place of horrors. And you all split up.

It´s lonely. It´s dangerous. And you hate every second of it.

You worry when they build that plan. You know it will fail. And inevitably it does.

The plaza is your battle ground. The masses easier to deal with than the highly specialised royal guards. You will not give those ants even the smallest change to backstab one of your team

You leave behind burnt earth

„Why would he-? Why would he even do this! You didn´t see how he looked at me! How he said my name!“

Killua cries again into your shoulder, and you can´t help yourself but to awkwardly pat his back. Gon is dying. No, at this point, he´s already as good as dead.

He stops suddenly, you are still watching the steady beeping of the monitor by the hospital bed. Killua is mumbling to himself, and you slowly stand up to walk away. Maybe down there, they sell chocolate. You know, he needs some

When you come back, one of Killuas prized Chocolate Robots in hand, he is brushing past you. Eyes cold and hardened. You simply push the treat into his hands, as you sit back down on the bench to watch Gon

„There is still something left. There is still something that can help him“

Your „Good Luck“ is whispered to an empty hall and unhearing ears.

He returns a day or two later, with a girl by his side. Her eyes are wide, and you can recognize Killua in the slope of her nose, in the curl of her mouth when she shyly grins at you.

You wave back at her with your own smile, then turn back to Gon.

When Killua fiddles with the door to the intensive care unit, you make your way to distract any personnel that might come your way.

In the end, you wouldn´t have needed to bother with it

The nen, that spreads over the hospital quickly and violently, steals all air from your lungs. Your bones creak under the sudden pressure, and you let out an hysteric peal of laughter when it finally stops again. You are pretty sure, you just looked death in the face. Again.

Your steps are slow to return back to the room, but you do it regardless of the fear you just felt. When you turn the corner, Killua is hugging his sister, there are tears running down her face

You let them be, and instead turn once more to Gon. A grin spreads over your face, and you laugh

„Told you, I would fix him!“

You throw your arms around Killua, and he quickly spins you around. The both of you are grinning at each other. It´s a manic feeling, that makes you pull the girl into the hug, and whisper a pained and sincere „Thank you“ into her hair, as you press a kiss upon the crown of her head

Eventually though, this leads to the moment where you have to say goodbye. Two years have passed, before you knew it. You cried. You laughed. You nearly died. You found the best friends, that exist upon this world. You lived.

Gon is the first one to go. His father won´t wait for him too long, and he has to hurry. You watch him sprint away. You try not to cry. Even though, you are sure, that this is the last time you will see him

Then you turn towards Killua, who is shuffling from side to side, while looking around. One of his arms is protectively thrown over his little sisters – Alluka – neck. You know, that he has to leave too. His older brother is after him. Or rather after Alluka

You open your arms to him, and he pulls you close. You don´t promise anything to each other. The silence to heavy to break. It´s him, that pulls away in the end, and turns to leave. He grabs Allukas hand, as he waves at you without looking back

And before you know it, he vanishes into the crowd.

Two years of your life. Gone. Just like that.

Tears are running down your face, and you sniffle quietly.

„Farewell, dear.“

Time to go, huh...

Author Notes: This is not quite what was requested but there is a reason for that. If you meet in that journey, and take it completely with him: You have to part ways with him at the end. You only play a secondary role for his development.

The Hunter Exam is the first time Killua finds a friend. He is far more fixated on Gon, than anyone else. It takes time for him to open up to you. And so he doesn´t for a long time. He bases his emotional relationships of whatever he has with Gon. So it takes a while, to apply those experiences and emotions to you as well. This is a three-way friendship. You are all friends! And all are a little bit twisted. A little bit strange. And that is okay!

The ending might hurt, but this is what I truly believe needs to happen. Gon has to leave at the end, but so do you. Killua had time to explore, that emotional avenue with two strangers, that he truly treasures at the end. Now he needs to figure out, how to be family and a protector to Alluka. Gons goal united you for so long. Killua finally finds a goal to follow. And you? You need to spread your wings as well. You need to find your own path. And I´m sure you will.

Good Luck out there! And hey, maybe this isn´t the last time you saw Killua.