#sorry guys i had to make it angsty somehow | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gyuswhore · 7 months ago

Text

Never Shall We Die (3; final)

«« Nothing is too outlandish when it’s a life of liberty on the line. »»

PAIRING: kwon soonyoung x reader

PLAYLIST: right here!

pirate lingo glossary (pls refer!)

SYNOPSIS: Deadliest pirate on the high seas or a damn fool? The stupid King and his men have snatched Hoshi's precious pirate ship with their too clean, too soft hands; grounds to question his own vices. Except, when he and his crew land in the quarters of a navy ship, revenge on their roster, they stumble across a princess in its gallows. Hoshi wonders if he's just struck gold, or if you'd become the final tread to his downfall.

GENRES: pirate!au, enemies to lovers, slowburn, angst, fluff, smut [minor dni], some pirates of the carribean vibes but ? idk

WORD COUNT [full fic]: 48.1k

Part 1: 17.07k | Part 2: 15.2k | Part 3 [final] : 15.8k

@highvern's out of context comment box: new fear unlocked: hoshi with explosives, victorian ankle moment, HATE HIM (need him carnally), hoshi covered in soapy water would distract me enough, strip for me pirate mingyu [hes litrally taking off his jacket], your honor hes a bitch, freaks!, mingyu crushes hoshi's head like a grape, WONWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO, massive dick, the way i literally gasped like an old scandalized woman

masterlist

WARNINGS: slowburn, plot heavy, happy ending bc no angsty endings in this household, being taken hostage, knives, bombs, and guns, mentions of blood, mentions of SA (does not happen and it is not explicitly mentioned), alcohol, mentions of death (patricide), hoshi is ✨selectively moral✨but kind of moral nonetheless, side character death, [pls lmk if im missing something its alot] smut tags: hoshi loves thighs, corruption kink to the mAX, clit stimulation, oral (f. receiving), breast play, p in v sex (unprotected, 1800s contraception will make you prefer it but pls dont do this irl), making out

[AN]: final part oh my god if youve read the other parts up till now, THANK YOU SO MUCH I LOVE YOU i hope you guys enjoyed reading this as much as i loved writing it, im really proud of this fic and im so happy so many of you have enjoyed it so far. @highvern betaing as always ty for not giving up on me. AS ALWAYS, PLS TELL ME YOUR THOTS IN THE RBS OR THE REPLIES OR SEND ME AN ASK LITERALLY WTV MUAH MUAH HAPPY READING <3

THIS IS THE NICEST PRISON Hoshi has ever been in, which was saying something, because he had been in quite a lot of prisons.

But it was uncomfortable nonetheless, six grown men tied up and shoved into a crouching space to be done with as the men that prowled above pleased.

Hoshi would be lying if he said he hadn’t had to restrain from pushing some of those sorry soldiers into the ice waters beyond the glaciers. He had resisted, the crew had resisted, but just enough to convince them of their unwillingness.

Hoshi had realised early on that there was no possible way of getting aboard Tigress without somehow climbing aboard the King’s boat first. The king wasn’t about to simply hand Hoshi’s ship over, and there was no indication that they'd wait till after nightfall to depart.

Hoshi also knew that the King would refuse to have him die so easily in the waters of the Green Islands, his pride depended on it. He imagines the man drawing up the specifics of the most gruesome execution the Kingdom would ever see. Hoshi was counting on it.

The bounds could’ve been broken out of and the locks somehow picked, but Hoshi also knew that he had to wait. Wait for you to find him first.

“What’s taking her so long?” Jun asks. He’d been the most anxious out of all, the shaking feet and restless moving making it clear.

“The bomb won’t…go off still strapped to her, will it?” Minghao asks and Hoshi isn’t quite sure he wants to know the answer.

“It shouldn’t. Not until she pulls the tab. But…”

“But?” Hoshi whips around. “Why is there a but? You were supposed to make sure there was no but!”

“Big bomb, more boom, less predictable!”

“Are you sure we can’t break out and look for her ourselves?” Mingyu grumbles, the most compromised with his longer limbs folded in uncomfortable positions.

“The minute they know we’re loose they’ll swarm her. There won’t be a way to get to her, not without fighting off every last bastard on this ship. They’ve taken our stuff too, we don’t stand a chance.”

They did, actually, stand a chance. But that was only if they were to break away and head straight for Tigress that was empty and standing right beside this very ship. But they couldn’t. Hoshi couldn’t. Not without taking you with him.

Nobody dares to suggest the easier route, and he doubts it’s just because of what he wants.

But panic was beginning to trickle into Hoshi’s veins anyway, the closed off brig refusing to give him any indication of the time of day.

The sun was only beginning to set when they were taken to the ship, and he knew they were near done for if they didn’t finish what they started before nightfall. He can’t tell how long it’s been, and it eats away at his insides.

Please be okay.

And then he hears it, the sound of a body hitting the floors with a loud thud, a chortle of air before it’s knocked out. He finds himself sitting up straighter, pressing his hands to bars of the prison, trying to peer out the narrow walkway that leads to the doors.

And then you appear in the lamplight, haphazard and ruffled up beyond measure.

The knife in your hand drips with blood, your shirt torn at the arms, your hands bloodied and bruised.

When Hoshi sees your face he almost doesn’t recognise you.

There’s angry blooming marks of red and purple all across your neck and collarbone, your eyes bloodshot and red, watering like you’d been swimming in salt water.

“Who did this?” he asks before anything else, watching you drop to your knees in front of the prison, unanswering as you fumbled with a giant ring of keys in your hand.

You jam each key into the lock, twisting it to no avail. Your hands are shaking.

The crew finally twist out of their loose bonds, Minghao lurching forward immediately, swatting your hands away. He picks out a few skinny pins from his boot, picking the rusty lock. Despite the strange angle, the bars creak open within seconds.

“There’s…There’s ropes hooked onto the ship on the main deck.”

Your voice sounds like you’re speaking through sandpaper, talking while struggling to emerge with the bomb you had.

Hoshi doesn’t know what to do when he crawls out of the space.

He’d had it all figured out in his head, what would happen in every possible outcome. You getting hurt wasn’t in any of his universal conclusions; especially not on this ship. They’d kill his crew, they might even kill the King with themselves, but you were meant to remain unscathed.

“Why–why do you look like that? What happened?” Nothing registers in his head, not even when Jun is pushing him out into the hall.

“Get up to the deck and get out across the lines!” Jun gruffs in his ears. “That bomb’s gonna go off with us still on here.”

He sees the canister that lies in the same prison they had just exited, he sees your mouth moving without sound. All he can think of are the distinct fingerprints around your throat and how it looked like somebody tried to kill you before they tried to kill him.

“Soonyoung,” he hears you say in a broken voice and that’s all it takes for him to snap out of it.

His crew is looking at him expectantly. He looks back at the door and sees the crumpled bodies of the prison guards.

So much for leaving quietly.

The minute Hoshi is out the door of the brig, he finds a chest next to the collapsed, bleeding soldiers. Kicking it open, he can only scoff as he finds the entire crew’s weapons in such close vicinity.

He feels better with his dagger at his hip, along with the rest of his knives that he slips into the loops. Even more so with the rest of his crew armed and ready.

“We know where the deck is.” He swallows, eyeing his crew’s weapons in their ready hands. He knew they’d agreed to ensure the clean sinking of the ship, but the fallen bodies on the floor were an ode to a different route they’d have to take. “Don’t hesitate if someone gets in your way.”

Taking cautious steps to the upper decks, he finds more bodies collapsed onto the floor, bleeding and unconscious. He opts to ask you the details later, wondering how you were able to take down all these guards by yourself.

It isn’t until they reach the stairs that lead to the main deck that he comes across a guard.

Before the witness can raise any alarm, Hoshi’s slamming the butt of his dagger into the side of his head, knocking him clean unconscious as he falls off the side of the short railing.

Clambering up the steps as quietly as possible, he raises a hand behind him to signal his crew to halt, peering into the main deck first.

The sun is still out, but low in the sky as it dips in the sky. There’s a few people on the deck, pacing and moving about in preparation for departure. Angling his gaze, he finds ropes suspended over the edge of the railing, parallel to the water.

He can’t see Tigress, but he knows that’s what the ropes are hooked on to.

“Jun,” he beckons. “How long till the bomb on the other ship goes off?”

The bomb Jun had planted in the first ship they had arrived in should be going off any time now, and Hoshi finds himself needing it to go off now.

Jun barely opened his mouth to reply when the ship shuddered.

For a moment, Hoshi thinks the bomb in the brigs had gone off, but when he finds the clambering of boots to one side of the ship, opposite to where the ropes tied to Tigress, he realises their surrogate ship had given its last gift to the crew.

The rest of the ship would be bounding to the main deck to inspect the noise soon, so he shoots a quick, “Hurry!” behind him before stepping onto the main deck.

The entire deck is occupied with the ship that lies a ways away across the expanse of sea, the beginnings that would soon lead the entire ship to be engulfed in flames. It’s tilting at a dangerous angle.

Hoshi stands as he uses the crew straight towards the ropes that lead to Tigress. Glancing, he finds Mingyu and Chan already hanging on the suspended ropes, making their way towards the empty deck of their ship.

Hoshi keeps his eyes on the occupied men on board, still staring at the lightshow that was their old ship. It isn’t until one of them turns, eyes towards the stairs that lead to the lower decks, that his eyes dart to the unfamiliar men on the deck.

“Fuck,” Hoshi curses, before lunging, grabbing the man by the shoulders and covering his mouth, dragging him wordlessly to the edge before throwing him off the ship and into the icy waters below.

“Go!” he hears you rasp brom behind him, ushering him to the ropes.

The crew is gone, Jun making the last jump to land on the deck. They’re running around, pulling ropes and fastening the sails to push the ship off into open waters as soon as possible.

There’s two ropes that tie the two ships together, and Hoshi ushers you onto one of them, pushing you to suspend yourself before he follows.

“There’s not enough time, go to the other one!” you tell him, pushing him to hold onto the other tattered rope.

Soonyoung eyes your state, “Are you sure you can—”

“Yes! I promise I can, please, before they cut both the ropes.”

So he trusts you, eyes straight ahead to the railing of his ship, gripping the rough, frayed rope to push himself towards the deck. His hands burn, but he finds himself moving ever closer to his final destination.

His hand grabs hold of the wooden railing of his Tigress at long last, pulling himself onto the deck of his beloved ship. Immediately whipping his head to his right, he tries to find you reaching the ship with him. The crew is preoccupied in attempting to get the ship ready for departure, he finds your form nowhere.

When he looks back, the rope he had climbed was gone, leaving gaping space in its absence. He trails the second rope, from the hook that had dug into the railing of Tigress’s wood, trailing it to the naval ship’s deck.

What he sees puts his heart in his throat.

You stand on the deck of your father’s ship, swarmed by now alert guards and soldiers who swarm you, yelling profanities and orders as they watch their prisoners get away right in front of them.

Hoshi watches as you lift your dagger, and cut the last rope that ties you together, free to fall and hit against the hull of his ship.

He calls out your name in what could only be described as a guttural scream.

His crew halts whatever it was they were doing, taking the steps to realise what had just happened.

Hoshi’s boot meets the top of the railing, ready to take the plunge into the water. He’d climb back up the ship and get you out. He doesn’t know what you were thinking, what he was thinking when he left you there, but he’d get you out.

Arms pulling him, he’s yanked back and positively thrown onto the deck.

“What is wrong with you?” Minghao yells, pushing his captain back as he springs up.

“She—”

Your father emerges from the crowd of guards and soldiers that run rampant on the deck, approaching you at the railing of the main deck.

Hoshi sees the hand that remains on his shoulder, the blood that covers the still bleeding wound, the effort it takes him to simply walk.

The bruises on your neck, the wound at his shoulder that looks like it was slashed through by a knife.

And then it clicks in Hoshi’s head, what had truly happened in the hours that you were out of his sight. And all he sees is red.

WITH THE WAY THE words on the pages seem to double, you would’ve thought you were going mad.

You’re a child, barely grown into your own body as you sit in the dimly lit library of the palace, utterly exhausted, wishing to be anywhere but sitting at the wooden desk with your name on it. The moon barely shone through the window, your only source of light the fireplace that burned in the corner and your lamplight.

It was a time where you felt like you could prove yourself, that perhaps, the reason your father refused you his approval was because you were simply not working hard enough. And now, at an hour where you should be fast asleep in your four poster bed, you attempt to understand diplomatic structures and everything that made your country what it was.

It was late, and there was nothing you would’ve liked more than to put your head on the table and rest your eyes for a few tantalising seconds, which you do, right over the book you were reading.

You awoke in the same place, shaken awake by a panicked looking servant, the sun shining through the great windows of the palace library.

It seems your disappearance from your bedchambers had put the entire palace in disarray, not realising the princess was fast asleep behind the giant pile of books other servants had already skimmed past thrice.

Not only were you unable to recite the rankings of the constitutions with the vigour your father required, but you were unable to give him a reason as to why you were absent for both breakfast and morning lessons.

He made the servants kneel in the throne room for hours, and did not fail to tell you that it was all your fault.

And now, in the ice cold of the Green Islands, old and wise enough to know that your father simply needed a reason to despise his heir, you accept the hands around your throat as his final act of terror.

Red faced and arms shaking, your father does not speak to you as he presses down on your windpipe with all his might. Your vision is going dark and splotchy, and you decide, for a moment, to let him have this moment.

He’s too preoccupied in applying his pressure to realise that you’ve raised your right foot enough for your hands to fish out your knife from its place, taking positivity in the handle of your knife that fits in your hand.

Before you can lose consciousness, you raise your arm high, and plunge it directly into his neck.

Howling, he releases you from his hold, both of you dropping to the floor of the ship with a resonating thud. You cough, sputter and hack, cold hands finding your now warm neck.

Your father lays clutching his shoulder as he remains in agony on the floor, and you realise you missed the crucial plunge in your own disarray.

It was good enough, rendering the old man incapable of finding his bearings.

You watch as he writhes on the floor of the quarters that almost became your figurative deathbed, the same hands that wrapped around his own daughter’s throat now clutching the shallow wound that renders him useless.

Standing over him, throwing your own shadow on his body, you feel a surge of power, a rush of adrenaline that shoots straight to your head. Perhaps this was your circulation returning from the deprivation, but you let the feeling imprint in your soul, let your father’s broken figure bring you satisfaction.

You leave him there, writhing in pain, digging your knife under the lock of the quarters, pulling back to break it away from the door. The guards stationed outside do nothing as you leave, and it isn’t until you’ve taken to lower decks that you hear the distinct yell of, “Your Majesty!”

Two more guards, who don’t expect an altercation from their princess, simply buffer as you send your knife plunging into them both. You do it deep this time.

Nobody was innocent, you knew these people as your father’s closest men, and knew that all of them were to remain silent as their King murdered his daughter. And when the remorse doesn’t do that thing where it trickles in after doing a bad thing, you decide you weren’t part of the innocents either.

It’s easier than you would’ve expected to get to the crew in the brig, letting out a sigh of relief as you appreciate the familiarity of people on your side.

And when Hoshi took his place to guide everyone out and into the open space of the main deck, you let your racing mind rest and decide to trust the man in whatever decision he made to lead you all out. And he did, he led himself and his crew right into the ship that was theirs, safe and where they would have the upper hand.

Hoshi didn’t know it when he climbed onto the ropes that lead to his boat that he wouldn’t have made it if you hadn’t stayed, hadn’t used your voice of authority to keep the soldiers from attempting to shoot at the escapees, cut the rope while Hoshi remained suspended from it, still only halfway there.

You didn’t look at him when you sliced both ropes before either party could pull back, didn’t register him screaming your name across the void, pretending it wasn’t taking everything out of your strength.

But you couldn’t jump into the water, not now when a dozen of the royal guards remained ready to take the plunge to save their princess as their duty. The same guards that would comply with their king when told the princess was dead for reasons they all knew but were to forget.

The bomb had to go off first, and you had to keep them away from hooking another line to the ship in the meantime. You were operating on a flawed plan and an overenthusiastic crowd of guards that were moments away from shooting a canon straight into the side of the disconnected pirate ship.

The distraction comes in the form of your father parting the crowd of soldiers like the red sea, swatting every soldier that attempts to help his bleeding form for anything it was worth. He approaches you at the railing, and for once, you don’t look at the ground in his presence.

“Bold,” he heaves, the effort in his voice apparent. “Bold of you to think you could slip away.”

“I haven’t tried to slip away, father,” you correct. “I’ve stayed right here, even after you failed to kill me. And I, you.”

“Nobody is going to listen to you, child. Give in. This is the easy way out,” he says.

As if on cue, Jun’s bomb goes off for the second time, but this time the ship shudders with more force. It has your father unbalance and fall, along with multiple other soldier’s stumbling. You grip the railing tight, counting on your father’s need to live.

Despite your horrid throat and the ache in your body, you announce as loud as you can. “The bomb is in the brig, this ship is sinking.”

The fallen king trembles in a rage you had never quite seen before. Any other time of your life, you would’ve wished for the ground to swallow you whole to be the subject of such anger.

Except, in the setting sun, a burning ship in the background, a pirate ship that awaits you, and the ground beneath your feet that was actively sinking into the freezing water; you smile at your doomed King.

“Get to the brig! Secure the lower decks, do not let this ship sink or so help me God!” His voice rings across the deck, spittle blowing from his mouth at the situation.

And just like that, your father gives you the final gift of clearing the main deck out for you, leaving but a few straggling soldiers that are too preoccupied with either the sinking ship or their bleeding sovereign.

Looking back, you find the crew of Tigress standing at the railing, you find Hoshi already half over the edge and send him a slow nod.

Turning back to your father that remains on the floor of the ship that would become his coffin, you utter your next words; for yourself, and the girl that was every second before this, all the way to her first ever memory of sad:

“You’ve taught me to be a ruler fit to be the best for our Kingdom. Consider your death my first act of service for the Crown.”

And then you jumped into the darkening void of the waters below.

THE COLD FEELS LIKE every nerve in your body ceased to work.

It was nothing at first, the temperature so intense it had your body numb in the face of shock. And then it grew, to a striking cold, and then a feeling that pricked every inch of your skin like a million needles plunging into your body. It was only getting worse with each passing second, before it was so painful it was hot, going from cold to searing and blistering like you’d plunged into the licks of flames.

Nowhere in your body did you find a rational sense of mind, something to tell you to kick, flail or float. The warped sky was an orange through the green, only more vibrant. Like there were two ships actively burning on the surface of this water.

Hoshi’s face appears behind your closing eyelids, like a mirage or a taunt. Like he was there with you when he wasn’t.

Would he come for you? Would he take the plunge for the girl he held in his arms, promising her something to fill the gap of a companion, right before she killed her own?

You’d given him what he wanted; your father, his worst enemy, dying as he sank slowly into the bottom of the ocean. You’d run your course of use, and if he was as smart as people claimed, he’d leave you to suffer the same fate as your father.

He could find his freedom elsewhere.

And you would find your freedom in the close of your eyes, and the sinking feeling of nothingness.

Except, you feel a hardness against your body, stronger even than the current of the waters. Moving impossibly upwards, you remember opening your eyes to find a leather cord suspended in the float of the water, before you remember nothing.

THE GREEN ISLANDS WERE on fire.

But as unnatural as it seemed, Hoshi had no inclination to register anything but the way the ship in front of him tilts so far out it's already half submerged in the waters. He’d assumed they might have to ready the cannons, but with the way debris and hollowed wood floats in the waters below, they would not need to.

The King was about to be introduced to Davy Jones’ Locker at the hands of his enemy and successor, but Hoshi could not care enough right now to relish in it.

Right now, he stares at the direct circumference of water your body had made contact with and disappeared into, like the world would explode if he lost his place.

“Should I jump as well?” Mingyu asks, already half taking his boots off. However, when the man turns to find his captain gone, he lurches over the railing to find his captain diving into the water through all the debris.

Hoshi lets the momentum of his dive take him as further down as possible, whipping his head around as soon as his eyes open into the abyss. The water ripples and erupts in showers of bubbles as broken pieces of ship come apart to fall into the water. It blurs his vision immensely, any ripple that could be you in the water coming out to be yet another piece of wasted wood.

The deeper he goes, the more the water presses into his ears. He was a good swimmer, good at holding his breath when needed, but even he had limits.

When he cannot see any sign of you, he begins to feel the churning of something skin to panic brew. Panic was never good, not this deep in the water.

Twisting and turning, flailing about in place, moving dangerously closer to the burning ship that continued to drop flaming bits of killing slabs, he finds no sign of you in the water.

Instead, he watches men in uniform sink deeper and deeper in their failed attempts to stay afloat.

All he can think about is if they were losing the battle for air, then so were you, somewhere deeper in the void than he was. He prays that he’s looking aimlessly, that you’ve already somehow made your way to the surface by yourself, and you were safe on the deck.

The beaded bracelet that remained on his wrist, but belonged to you.

“A reason for you to come out of this alive.”

Even without the encasing on his wrist, you had given him more than enough reason to want to come out of this alive, to want to live beyond just for himself and his duty to the crew he’d taken in.

He chose the life of a pirate because it was his only out, and every member of his crew that he recruited in succession, he acted as the hand he had needed so desperately in that awful brothel where his mother despised him and his father, a faceless man of Port Ash.

Amphitrite was not kind, it was a lesson he learned quickly in his first ventures out at sea. So he too, had to learn to be unkind, to survive in the horrid bellies of ships that weren’t his own. And when Tigress came into his life like a vessel of hope, he found a home in her merciful wood, in the ship that he could call his very own.

Hoshi lived as a free man on his ship, with his crew that had become his brothers in ways beyond what the thick of blood could offer. He did not care if he lived or died after that, as long as it was on his ship, in the waters that held no quarter for anyone, but gave him everything that nothing else could give him.

And so when you approached him with a proposal so bizarre yet so apt for a man like him, he could not refuse. It may have been the way he saw himself in you, terrified of the prospects but thirsting for an escape more than the fear that came with it.

Besides, the king was a nuisance that needed to go, and he found himself agreeing to play the hand too complicated for you.

What he did not expect was to end up here, in the depths of the ocean in the most uninhabitable part of the earth, trying to pull you out of the cold, unrelenting sea.

Hoshi realises in that moment that this might ruin him, the possibility of breaking the surface without you.

He decides that if the heavens do not let him find you, he would simply drown in the same waters that gave him purpose, and find peace with the idea that he would lay rest in the same waters as the person who might have given him something more.

Kwon Soonyoung, the deadliest pirate to cleave the seas, was in love with you. A princess, so undeserving of a man like him; a bastard, a rogue, a good for nothing criminal.

And when he spots the all too familiar build of your form, the linen shirt under the corset he had tied for you just hours ago, the dark brown trousers that signified the change he’d brought into your life, he swore to leave everything he’d ever known to thank the skies and seas for bringing him to you.

His burning lungs, screaming and searing for air, grabbing for your suspended arm that looked as defeated as your closed eyes. Tugging you towards him, he wraps his arm around you to press you to him as tight as he could.

Relief. And with the warm sting in his eyes that he doubted was from the salt in the water, he’s sure of everything he’s felt with the feeling of you in his arms.

With the bruising on your neck, the bleeding wound in your father’s shoulder, he finds it within his breaking body to begin kicking upwards.

Every limb, every cell, every hint of life in his body shrieked with its efforts to make him stop. There was no air in his lungs and he’d lost track of time in his search for you, he doesn’t know how long he has.

But if the blots of nothingness in his eyes were anything to go with, he doesn’t presume he has much. In a last ditch effort, he attempts to kick his boots off to weigh him down a little less, holding your dead weight tighter than anything.

He was so close, he could feel the warmth of the upper levels of the water change in its temperature on his skin. The glow was near blinding as the orange refracted on the disrupted surface of the ocean, so close yet so far.

Inch by inch, kick by kick, memory by memory, he does everything left in his drained power to touch the surface.

And he does, breaking out hand first into the burning air of the world above, taking the longest gasp of air he ever has in his life. Once he’s sure he knows where he is, he pushes you up further on his chest, your head resting against his collarbone, still unconscious.

“Stay with me, princess,” he pants into your ear, hoping you could hear. “I’ve got you.”

Chan and Mingyu are in the water beside him, pushing him towards the pulley that awaited them.

Mingyu makes an attempt to take your weight of his already struggling captain, but Hoshi finds himself holding on to you tighter, simply urging him to help him back on the deck.

The minute your head hits the wood of the deck, he’s checking your pulse. There’s no regard for the chaos that ensues around Tigress, both him and his crew too preoccupied with the way you were not breathing.

“I–I can’t feel anything,” he stutters his words as Seungkwan places a less panicked hand at your neck, under your nose.

“It’s weak, she’s taken in too much water.”

In an instant, he reaches for his knife at his hip, only to realise it was gone, lost somewhere in his rescue.

“Knife,” he rasps before repeating louder. “Someone give me a knife!”

The minute a hilt is in his hands, he’s pushing you over, to reach the back of your constricting corset, pushing his knife into the complicated sailing knot he’d tied it into before, breaking it free. With both hands, he takes hold of the top of the corset and rips it clean in half.

Turning you back over, he presses his hands over your clothed stomach, pushing into it with all his strength in an attempt to get the water out of your system. He keeps his eyes on your face, and when he sees no sign of you coming round, he feels another set of hands pushing him off.

Seungkwan takes over for his weakened captain, pushing into your stomach harder, attempting to get a break out of you.

“Why isn’t she coming around, what’s going on?” He throws the question aimlessly as he takes your unmoving face in his hands, trembling from everything.

Only a moment later, he hears the glorious sound of you sputtering like something was stuck in your throat, promptly spilling out an ungodly amount of water onto the deck as you retch loudly.

Sitting up from the force, your hands clamp onto the deck as you cough and heave, Hoshi’s hand coming behind you to thump your back hard, pushing you to throw up any remaining seawater from your body.

The sight of your back moving up and down, the audible sound of you taking in air; it was enough for Hoshi to simply lay on the deck and pass out.

You rear your head and look up at him, both of you still breathing heavily.

“You’re okay,” he assures, gulping. He takes your face in hands cupping it very gently as he speaks to you. “Go with Seungkwan, you’re okay, you’re safe.”

Nodding, you let yourself be helped up by the rest of the crew, watching as you’re led to the lower decks of the ship.

“Open your shirt, let me see the wound,” Mingyu says, and Hoshi doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Looking down, he sees his shirt soaked in red, sticking to a wound on the right side of his torso. He didn’t even know where he got it.

It looks like a shallow gash, but enough to leave a scar. He takes it better to have it tended to while he was still high on adrenaline and he couldn’t feel much of the pain.

By the time Mingyu and Minghao are done cleaning him up and Hoshi’s standing upright with wobbly legs, he finds the two burning ships beyond his own mere floating structures of wood that were in slow flame. There’s too much debris, too many bits of everything that bob in the large expanse of water to make out any bodies.

“There’s nobody,” Mingyu tells him. “Most of them were in lower decks when it all went down. Trapped themselves.”

“And…?” he asks in silence.

“He stayed on the deck until it sank,” Minghao informs. “Yelling about how he…about how he should’ve finished her when he had the chance.”

“Horrible king and somehow an even worse father,” Mingyu scoffs. “Made it better to watch him die.”

“He didn’t suffer enough,” Hoshi croaks as the marks on your throat dot his vision.

Just then, floating in the water, illuminated by the final streaks of setting light, Hoshi sees it. A darkened purple cloth right next to the hull.

“That,” he points out. “Get that out of the water.”

The late king’s purple cape laid on the deck of Tigress, darkened with water, but also with his blood.

To the Kingdom, this cape would be the last piece of their King that was gone too soon. But for every person on this ship, it would forever be their spoils of war.

Hoshi makes sure the cape will be dried and stored, ordering his crew to begin their slow journey out of the Green Islands, before he too crumples onto the deck unconscious.

IT WAS A SPECTACLE to see Hoshi in his element.

Something about how he seemed to beam, like this ship was charging him a different kind of energy. It was infectious, the rest of the ship decreasingly sour as they put on musical performances on the main deck while they cleaned the floors.

As relieved as you felt, the tight ball of anxiety refused to leave the pit of your stomach as you grew closer to the Kingdom. Nothing could prepare you for the shitstorm you’d have to deal with the moment you’d step onto the soil off a pirate ship of all things—let alone as Queen.

The first few days following the ship's exit from the Green Islands were difficult, if that was all you had to describe it. You took to your hammock for most of the day, curled up as you pretended to sleep, only waking up when one of the crew would come down to force feed you and to make sure you hadn’t died.

You knew they were doing all this to make you feel better, and somehow it was working. More than halfway through your journey, you began to feel more like yourself, emerging from your cave to visit the deck on times other than the nights.

Even now, as you sit on the floor of the deck with Seungkwan, who hands you an all too familiar stack of parchment, you feel nothing as you take them into your hands. As you read his handwriting scrawled in ink, you appreciate your past self for having the sense to keep them all.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better now,” he says to you. “Had us worried for a while there.”

“Sorry.” You smile weakly. “But thank you for…everything. I don’t think I could ever express how much I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. All of you.”

“I’d like to think we’ve gone past the status of mere business partners,” Seungkwan chuckles. “Lion befriends the bear? Whatever it is. But know we’d do it again.”

Blinking back the sting of tears and doing your very best to not let the warm feeling in your chest overwhelm you, you place the letters on the floor next to your folded legs. When you look up, Seungkwan's eyes are on your neck.

“They’re taking their time to fade, aren’t they?” you say.

Seungkwan has a hard look in his eye, “I guess you didn’t need your letters to remind you of anything after all.”

Your mind wanders, drifting past how easily this crew could have been forgotten in the unforgiving elements. Perhaps you would have let the man that wrapped his hands around your neck finish his job.

“Was getting captured part of your grand plan?” you ask Seungkwan.

“Hm?” It takes a moment to realise what you may be questioning him about, smiling slightly. “What makes you think we went in with a plan?”

“I thought I asked you to man the wheel?” Hoshi stands above the both of you.

“Not to batten down the hatches,” he side-eyed his captain. “Clear waters ahead, the wheel does not need manning.”

You zone out as they squabble over nothing, not finding the heart to be entertained by their back and forth. Seungkwan either loses or forfeits, because you feel him rise from next to you, only for his captain to take his place.

“What are you thinking about?” Hoshi asks.

“Everything,” you sigh.

“How come Seungkwan gets a thank you for your service and I don’t? Need I remind you who jumped for you and who didn’t?”

Rolling your eyes, you answer him, “Thank you, Captain Hoshi Kwon, I am forever indebted to your service.”

He chuckles in exaggeration, “Oh please, all in a day's work.”

“I mean it.”

“Hm?”

“I never did say thank you. But you did jump for me when you didn’t have to.”

“Who said I didn’t have to?”

“Our deal was done.”

“Of course not,” he scoffs. “Our deal was to get you out when you jumped. I merely honoured that promise!”

“Merely?” you raise a brow. “Was it all merely a matter of conscience?”

His gaze locks with yours. “Don’t ask questions you know the answers for. I would’ve jumped even if you asked me to rope myself to the mast.”

“Please. I have enough blood on my hands and I haven’t even sat on my throne yet.”

“Blood is only on your hands if you tell a soul of what you’ve done,” Hoshi utters. “You’re the only living soul who knows.”

“And you are…?”

“Pirate. Our word means nothing.” Hoshi smiles.

The thought hangs in the air as you take in the man in front of you. He’s changed an era’s worth, yet all the same. His hair is longer, going from his initial shorter crop to curling around his ears, shielding his eyes. It makes him look younger, like a boy with much to live for.

That, and the multitude of notable scars he’s added to his collection, many of which have somehow been because of you. The wound at his torso is doing better, but far to go in its quest to heal.

Hoshi senses something amiss even after his sermon. Breaking his gaze, he turns to look straight ahead at the raised bow of the ship instead.

“Do you know how I got my splendid reputation for being the filthiest pirate on the seas?”

You can only stare, “I have a few guesses.”

He chortles, “Other than my criminal status.”

“Tell me.”

“Unnamed sailors have the odds of a peanut facing its inevitable fate of being crushed under a straggling boot. Pirates don’t see the government as their enemy when they’re own supposed brothers are more likely to jam a cannon in their mouths.”

He lets out a heavy sigh before continuing, “My mistake wasn’t that I was on the losing side in my early days, but more about how I was leaving nothing behind when I was done.”

“How humble,” you hum.

“Dead men tell no tales. When it’s worth it, it might be better to leave a straggler or two to live to tell the tale. A routine stab in the jugular can turn you into somewhat of a myth.”

“Am I a survivor?” you question.

“You may be sovereign on land, but you’re also an unnamed pirate,” he responds, turning back to lock eyes with you. “And you’ve left nobody to tell the tale.”

No one listens to a pirate, and everyone listens to a Queen.

“This isn’t to say there won’t be a legend that follows you.” He quirks a brow as he speaks. “Shows up and claims her father and his entire ship and crew sank at sea, only to befriend his sworn enemies in the aftermath. And then it evolves; she sent a cannon through her fathers ship, he died at the end of his own daughter's sword, she cursed him to captain a crew of the undead for eternity.”

“Have I planted the seeds for yet another ghost story?” It’s difficult to not giggle at the thought, despite how morbid.

“You’ve given yourself substance,” he says, a little stronger than before. His eyes too, wander to your neck and the bruises that refuse to budge. “Beyond just a royal or even a pirate. You did it for your honour as a human being, and that may be braver than anything I have ever conquered.”

In your anxiety ridden, feeble mind, your thoughts had convinced your conscience that everything would be over the minute your father’s heart stopped beating. That it would bring you peace at last.

And it did, especially when it felt like you’d gotten rid of this constant monster under the bed that had followed you far into adulthood. But from the bleeding heart of the creature emerged yet another one of its brethren, and then another and then another.

Smaller albeit, but monsters nonetheless. Problems nonetheless.

Weeks of this, and in one short interaction, Hoshi seemed to have given you the key to turn this monster into a pet.

On instinct, you feel your hand reach up, brushing against the skin of his cheek. It’s an all too familiar setting, seated on the deck of a ship too close for anybody but yours’ comfort. But without the rum and resentment, of course. And how you doubt he’d pull away this time.

Very lightly, you brush your lips against his. It was nothing but to simply feel him again, to feel a semblance of familiarity.

You feel him take your hand that rests on his cheek to place a kiss on your palm, nuzzling his nose into the concave of your hand.

Everything that was to come seemed a little more possible in that very moment.

Even more so when his fingers found the sensitive areas of your coloured throat, when his lips closed against your jaw, only to trail lower and to press into the marks his fingers continue to trail tucked into your neck.

That night, when slipping into your hammock felt like the most unbearable prospect in your near future, it couldn’t possibly be worse than uttering your next question to the man that seems to fix it all.

“Will you stay with me?”

With nothing but the light snores of the rest of the crew and the creaking of the ship, both you and Soonyoung laid in a hammock most definitely not meant for two. Head on his chest, ear pressed against where his heart beats under his scar, it’s bliss.

The feeling of his warm body against yours and the scent of him settling in your lungs, you decide that this was enough. At least for now.

IT WAS DIFFICULT TO give yourself the full list for obvious reasons, but it does seem to help when you tick off all the possible reasons why your patience has run as thin as it has.

Sitting at the decorated seat at the convened court of old men appointed by your father, you briefly wonder if you should finish them off too amidst your flash of anger. The men continue to squabble and babble about the next course of action, slamming their wrinkled hands on the pristine table and sending their own daggers of threats to the other inhabitants of the table.

“If you’d like to send a search party for the King’s body, be my guest,” you finally speak, having had quite enough when the throb in your temple worsens. “But remind me what troops you’ll be sending to the North if your best men will be gone for months attempting to find a body they never will.”

The dispute in the North side of the Kingdom was taking up most of the conversation anyway, and you doubt they’d put customary burial rites over their own glory of victory the North would bring.

“Your Majesty—”

“I would happily jump on the next search ship for my father,” you lie through your teeth. “But I watched him drown in front of my own two eyes, and as the next sovereign I cannot let you waste our resources for something that will both risk our soldier’s lives and have them come back home empty handed.”

Perhaps you had come off slightly more heartless than you intended, so you quickly add, “Please, let my father rest in peace.”

That seems to end the conversation easier than you had expected, but they’re quick to jump to the next issue not long after.

“The court would also like to bring light upon the palace guests.”

Tightening your jaw, you slump against your seat slightly. “What about them?”

They remain silent as their mouthpiece attempts to form the right words for the following question, mostly because you’ve addressed this multiple times beforehand but they continue to sit restless.

“Allow me to help you, Lord Bridge,” you sit up straighter, intending to put this matter to rest. “My guests will remain here for as long as they do, and if you have any more arising issues towards my guests I will only take it as your collective issues towards me.”

In the moment of silence, you continue, “The Kingdom is in a place of instability as we are all well aware. I find it most appalling that you remain fixated on trivial matters of the palace’s domestic code of conduct than you do for the wellbeing of this country!”

Silence yet again as you wait for their forcibly rehearsed chorus of apologies.

“Our greatest apologies, your Majesty.”

The pain in your temples becomes near unbearable as you dismiss the table after that, screeching your chair as you push it back as loud as you possibly can to do nothing but spite the men.

Turning the corner out of the room, you catch the open gates that lead to the paved gardens outside, the sun seeping into the marble floors indoors. Taking an instinctive step towards the gardens, you find most of the crew sprawled onto the grass as they soak in the sun.

Chan and Seungkwan look like they’re wrestling, their laughter ringing throughout the open court while their captain snaps at them to cut it out, only to get roped under one of their headlocks all the same.

There’s a call of your name and a giant wave from Mingyu, who spots you from beyond the flower beds. Still leaning against the gates, you smile and wave back.

Years the halls of the palace had gone, never hearing laughter in its walls. And something about watching them let themselves ruin the petunias and laugh so loud it echoes, heals you just a bit.

Even that night, when you find yourself in your giant four poster bed you’ve slept in since you were a child, this time dozing under the arm of another, you feel the itch of a healing wound somewhere in your heart.

Soonyoung laid with you for every night on the ship since that night, and stayed even here where the space was big enough to host the ghosts of your worries if not distracted.

He had found you on that first night in the palace still awake, haunting the library fireplace with another stack of papers to keep you company.

“Can’t sleep?” he’d asked as he picked up some of your documents.

“Clearly not,” you huff. The papers were mere decorations as you attempted to find an excuse to leave your rooms.

“You realise you won’t be much of an effective monarch if you exhaust yourself to death?”

There was no answer to that, especially when you were absorbing nothing of your new duties. You’d expected to fall asleep on the armrest of the uncomfortable settee whenever it was that you exhausted your brain of thoughts, even then refusing to sleep in that large bed.

He’s awfully persuasive, because as he tucks you into those very sheets, about to leave but not before placing a kiss on your forehead You stop him.

“Stay. Please.”

True as he has always been, he does.

THE CROWN IS HEAVIER than you had expected, even more so when it remains on your head for longer than your previously practised sessions walking around the throne room. The crew was exceptionally good at giving you things to train with, including fraudulent rodent scares to ensure the crown would not topple from your own head the minute you rise from your coronation.

And now, as you finally remove the decorative piece from your head after your actual coronation to replace it with something lighter for the following ball, you find relief in the fact that you’d only ever have to wear the actual thing only a few times in your life.

Everything moves as smoothly as it could, the decorated pirates that saved their Queen from a horrid shipwreck taking up most of the attendees attention as they either question inquisitively or send snarky remarks to the men who are well versed in how to rebut in true informal manner.

The past months had taken up more of your time than you had anticipated, and during the latter half of the still twinkling party, you attempted to spot the person you’ve been trying to corner all night.

Soonyoung stands at the edges of the gathering, empty handed as you watch him reject yet another offer for a drink from the trays that float about. His attire is the most formal you had ever seen, his face scrubbed and hair pushed back for the glorious occasion.

Approaching him from the sidelines, you take hold of his wrists and pull him towards one of the many doors in the ballroom and into a hallway you knew for a fact was rarely ever frequented.

“I feel I haven’t seen you ages,” you say once you’re sure you’re alone.

“Probably best for you to keep busy,” he replies with the smallest smile.

“Have the wrappings on your wound come off?”

Looking at his covered torso, he runs an instinctive hand over where the wound was. “Just a smaller patch now, but it’s nearly there. Disappointed it won’t scar too much.”

“Disappointed?”

“These are my spoils of war, miss princess,” he adds with a smirk, before correcting himself. “Ah, miss queen?”

“Doesn’t have the same ring,” you comment.

“The crown suits you.” His voice is soft and sincere.

Scoffing a little, you answer, “I would hope it did.”

“Although, I do prefer you in trousers and a knife.”

Laughing, you can only agree. Especially in your heavier than yourself dress and jewels. “I think I prefer them too.”

At the mention of your new status, he asks, “Shouldn’t you be milling between your new subjects?”

Keeping your eyes on his face, you wait until he meets your gaze. “I have more important things to attend to.”

He breaks eye contact first, and you can feel the distance grow further. One reach and you could take his hand in yours.

But you don’t.

“I know I’ve been quite busy, but…” you trail off as you attempt to find the words. “Is something the matter? What’s going on?”

With a long sigh, he runs a hand through his kept hair, effectively tousling it a little. “I was going to wait until after the ball to tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

He makes no moves to look at you when he utters his next words. “The crew and I will be leaving at dawn tomorrow. We’ve taken up enough of your space and it’s best if we don’t intrude any further.”

It’s like you’ve taken a blow to the chest, the air knocked out of your lungs as you register what he’s just said. “You’re….you’re leaving?”

“I would think we’ve both gotten what we wanted. We had a deal.”

Deal? Why was he mentioning that now?

“Are you going to abandon me too?”

His head snaps up to finally meet your eye, mouth opening closing as words betray him.

“What happened to what you said about gaining you? All of you?” There’s a blatant accusation in your words.

“And you have! We’ll visit. Assuming the state doesn’t want my head on a pike anymore,” he chuckles uncomfortably.

In a moment of desperation, you take his hand in both of yours; his scarred, gnarled hands that tell you even in the dark who’s warmth it is that you feel every night next to you.

“Stay. Stay with me, please,” you plead. “I can’t live in this place alone, I despised it when I was young and I’ll only despise it even more now.”

Soonyoung brings his other hand to clasp over both of your own, eyes closing as you hear him take a somewhat shaky breath. “I’m doing this for the both of us.”

“So am I! I can’t possibly rule a kingdom by myself.”

“I’m sure you’ll find someone—”

“I don’t want someone! I want you!”

He begins to whisper your name, moving his face away to blink rapidly.

“How do you feel about becoming a pirate king? I can never forbid you from the waters, that’s your home, and you will have it.”

He does not look at you, but you know he’s listening more intently than ever before.

“But I ask you as someone who loves you more than I have ever anything else, will you stay and marry me?”

Soonyoung falters as he absorbs the fact that you’ve just proposed to him.

“I—” he stutters. “The court—”

“The court wouldn’t dare to deny me the man that saved my life.”

You squeeze his hand tighter, moving impossibly closer.

“And even if they do, I'm ready to fight for the man who fought for me. So answer me as a man and not a pirate, Kwon Soonyoung, will you marry me?”

Soonyoungs mouth enclosing over your own is all the answer you need as you feel him break free of your hands to let them find your waist instead. Amidst the pile of fabric he pushes himself into you as close as possible, letting your hands guide his head to move against your mouth.

It’s everything, as you grip onto the back of his shoulder, pressing unforgettably into his open mouth. He takes in your bottom lip between his own, sucking before letting go, only to engulf your mouth once again.

“We’ll figure it out,” you whisper against his lips, feeling the nuzzle of his nose against the apple of your cheek, hot tears spilling from your eyes. “I promise, we’ll figure everything out.”

He shushes you when he feels you shudder in his hold, pulling away to rest his forehead against yours. “No need to torment your pretty head. Not right now.”

For once, you listen to your pirate captain without a fight, simply feeling the stretch of your lips as he moves down to capture them once more.

The pressure of his hands isn’t nearly as strong as it would’ve felt without the layers upon layers of fabric that cover your form, but standing in this desolate hallway, you swear his fingers might as well be caressing your bare skin underneath.

The thought sends your mind into a dazzling spin, letting go of his mouth with a gasp, suddenly needing to take a step back.

“I have to—I have to go back inside,” you breathe into his slick mouth. “Meet me outside my quarters at midnight.”

As scandalous as it was, you could not deny how alive it made you feel to be like this, meeting in darker corners in the dead of night. But for now, you allow him to fix the bits of your ensemble you could not see. With the bad of his thumb, he blends in the smudges of your rouge, swiping at your lips ever so delicately to ensure he leaves no trace of himself. Tucking the loose strands of hair back behind your ears, and finally, fixing the encrusted crown on your head, a flash of one of the diamond’s gleams reflecting onto his perfect face.

“You’re beautiful.” There’s a dazed look that graces him. “Beyond beautiful.”

With one last innocent press of your smiling mouth onto his, you promise him your midnight.

BY THE TIME IT was finally an appropriate hour for you to excuse yourself for the evening, you were near to exploding entirely.

Whispers of “Are you alright, your Majesty?” plaguing you through your already racing mind. It was beyond difficult to keep the constant shaking of your foot unobvious, however you could not simply up and leave whenever you wanted—at least not yet. The monarch would remain in an unstable authoritative position for quite some time after ascension, and with the unorthodox situation at hand, you assume you’d really have to push yourself if you were to be of any use as sovereign.

But when the time finally came and you were escorted out of the grand ballroom, only mere ticks away from the resounding bells of midnight, you were holding back from breaking into a sprint. Outside your quarters it was empty, but you remain steadfast in your refusal for your ladies in waiting tonight, promising you could dress yourself for bed on your own.

Standing at the double doors of your rooms, still the princess’ quarters as you refuse to move into the Queen’s rooms, you stand waiting. The two guards remain staring straight ahead, and you wait for the clicking of your ladies to go muffled before you ask.

“Has the Captain approached?”

“No, your Majesty.”

You try not to feel disappointed, despite knowing the midnight bells were yet to sound. “If he does, allow him in, please.”

Opening the double doors, you half wish you had let your ladies help you out of the god awful dress, tight and loose in all the wrong places. The jewels are thrown haphazardly on your vanity, needing the heavyweight of them off of your body.

Perhaps months of little to no bedazzling had rendered you incapable of wearing anything mildly less comfortable than linen and leather, but you suppose you’d slip back into the habit just as easily as you slipped out of it. Your nightgown feels like heaven on your tired, tired body, and the dimly lit interior of your bedchamber is only encouraging you to slip under your covers and fall deep into sleep.

That was one thing about the ship you doubt you’d ever miss.

Three rapt knocks outside of the heavy double doors have you sitting rapt at attention, hastily making your way to the door from your vanity. Pressing the front of your nightgown down, you open the door slightly and poke your head out.

Soonyoung stands at the door, nervous of all things, still clad in his full suit. You smile as you let him in, closing the door to turn the lock.

“Your guards mortify me.”

“Oh? So they’re doing their job right?” You walk up to him and grasp onto his lapels, pulling him down to meet the lips you’ve missed so much despite only being hours apart. “Why? Has this big bad pirate found his match in the palace guards of all places?”

“Hmm,” he’s humming against your lips. “I could take them both.”

Giggling like you were in love, you wrap your arms around his neck and hold him close.

“I hope you weren’t bothered too much,” you say. “The aristocracy seem to have being a pain in the ass written in their birthrights.”

“I think they were too scared to approach, probably thought I’d start swearing and snatching the pearls right off their necks. Some of them were bearable, asked me how long my sword was.”

It’s difficult to not laugh at that, “Well?”

He raises his brows unceremoniously, “Won’t you like to know?”

Taking the opportunity while you giggled uncontrollably at the situation, he goes back placing never ending kisses to your mouth. Sighing involuntarily, you melt into him once again, infinitely more relaxed than in the hallway.

Soonyoung’s eyelashes brush against yours in a whisper of their own, only reminding you how close you were to him in the moment. His kisses go from soft and fleeting to something with a little more vigour. The warmth of his mouth goes back to overtaking the lower half of your face, sucking and licking into your mouth like his life depended on it.

If your mind was reeling when his hands were merely ghosts of pressure over your heavy dress, the feeling of his palms and fingers so distinct over your nightgown, the only thing separating you two, is enough to have your knees begin to buckle.

From your waist, they move to your back, before caressing back to the sides of your waist, thumb running in circles. Gentle handfuls of your flesh, bunching and letting go of the material of your nightgown. Very soon, his mouth leaves yours and instead moves to your jaw, the air in the room letting you feel the wetness that he leaves behind as a passionate trail.

He soon reaches the junction of your jaw and neck, leaving a particularly long suck in the area that has a gasp leaving your mouth. Remaining in that area, you feel the pleasant graze of his tongue on your skin, only making you tilt your head farther out to let him carry out his loving.

Your mind wanders back to the hands that grope you in ways that would defame you, the unseemly palms that have you needing to feel him all the same.

With grazing hands, you slip your fingers underneath his jacket, pushing it off one shoulder. He understands the message, flicking it off of his frame before loosening his cravat and throwing it somewhere behind him.

Unlatching from your neck, he comes round to face you to find your face the epitome of disconnected and dazed.

“Can you wait for me on the bed, my love?”

“But—” The thought of him being even an inch away was most aggravating, but he cuts you off before you can refute.

“I’m not going anywhere, I promise.” Soonyoung rests his forehead against your own, taking your hands in his. “I’m right here. I just need to take this awful suit off.”

Your face must have been peculiar because he’s immediately jumping, panicked. “Uh—do you not want me to, we don’t have to, I just thought—”

“No!” you yelp, wide eyed. “I, um, I’ll wait. On the bed, I mean.”

He lets you walk over to the giant four poster bed, pushing the flow of your gown down when you realise how high it had ridden, cheeks burning scarlet at the thought of exposing so much.

Hearing ruffles from behind you, you cannot bring yourself to look back at him, already extremely lightheaded and afraid that the sight might make you faint altogether.

Perhaps you were experiencing a delayed case of sea legs, because it’s more difficult than usual to make yourself comfortable on the soft beddings. You make a futile attempt at slowing your breathing.

By the time Soonyoung is done, meeting you in the middle, you keep your eyes on his face as he’s immediately climbing over to kiss you softly. Hand on the back of your head, he guides you to lay flat, adjacent to the headboard so you’re laying on the breadth of the bed.

He handles you like you were made of glass, and it only makes the strange ache between your legs increasingly present and uncomfortable.

Noting a cool feeling on the base of your throat, you open your eyes and catch the leather cord that dangles from his neck, the letter opener charm that’s attached to the end of it connecting you two as your lips part. Just beyond, through the dip of his collarbones and the valley to his chest, you catch the scar that curls above his heart. Even lower, you find the smaller wrappings of his scarring wound.

You trace over the edges of the new addition, shaking hands as you try your best to not brush over the wound.

On the other side, Soonyoung has his hands on shin as his body hovers over you between your legs. Curling around, he caresses the skin of your bare calf, drifting to the back of your knees. He takes the opportunity to lift your leg, urging you to wrap it around his waist.

The action has gravity doing what it does best, the hem of your nightgown dropping to bunch over the junction of your leg, your entire thigh exposed for the air.

Soonyoung takes no time to let his hands wander higher, taking light handfuls of the flesh of thighs, dragging his grip further and further up.

“Nearly tipped the ship over when I saw you in those fucking trousers,” he says, eyes closed as he drags his mouth over the inner part of your thigh.

The sound that leaves your mouth is breathy, mind preoccupied with how quickly he was making his way towards the apex of your thighs. He’s using his mouth like he used it on your own lips, nipping at the flesh before biting down hard.

“Soonyoung!”

Tongue running over the patch, he sucks on the area to sooth the bite. It’s taking everything out of you to not twitch uncontrollably in his hold, the heat in your core reaching temperatures you’ve never experienced.

Unlatching himself from your thigh, Soonyoung rears his head slightly. The sight has your head rolling back, mind drifting to the face of the man who’d visited you in your dreams, the same man that had now made home between your legs.

Before you realise it, the bunched hem of your nightgown is flown upwards entirely, fluttering as the fabric lands on your stomach.

Your heat is bare underneath, evident with the way Soonyoung keeps his eyes on the now fully exposed part of you. Your chest continues to rise and fall as you lift your head to look at him, eyes half closed and mind muddled.

“What…What’re you doing?”

Soonyoung looks like you’ve disturbed him from a trance, snapping up to look at you as you ask him your question.

It hardly registers in his mind. What was he doing? Was it not obvious—

Ah.

If the mere sight of your bare thighs weren’t enough for him to release his load onto the sheets untouched, your unawareness might just end up doing it for him.

Of course you didn’t know why he was at eye level with your cunt; women from this world were not supposed to know.

The buzz in his mind renders him useless for a few moments as his vision blurs, the pain in his lower region unbearable. The thought of him being the first person to do this to you, to pleasure you like this; he wasn’t sure if he’d make it till the end of the night alive.

Screwing his eyes shut, his palms full of your thighs, he drops his head and counts to ten.

“Will you let me show you how a Queen is meant to be worshipped?”

Wet mouthed and unhinged eyes, your arousal was doing nothing but multiplying at the sight of him.

“Do you trust me?” he asks. “I promise I’ll make you feel good.”

It takes you less than a moment to nod your head, eyes locked with his.

Bringing a hand closer, he dips one finger into the beginnings of your hole. Bringing some of the glisten onto his fingers. Your lips are parted and he brings a second finger to gather your arousal, rubbing over your entrance ever so slowly.

The motion makes you let out a heavy exhale, gripping onto the bunched fabric at your stomach till your knuckles turn white.

With little warning, you feel his fingertips push and drag upwards, right over the sensitive bundle of nerves. Immediately, he’s rubbing your arousal all over the area, rubbing your clit in rhythmic circles with both fingers.

You can’t stop it when you throw your head back and let out a slight whimper, relishing in the feeling that overtakes every last sense and capability, anticipating the next surge of pleasure that courses through your entire body like you've been struck by a bolt of something.

Vision obscured, you loll your head to the side when you feel his fingers retract, confused.

All you catch is the outstretched nature of his tongue, and how it lands directly where his fingers were.

You let out the loudest moan yet, back arching off the bed as he licks a forceful drag up your cunt before moving back down your clit, circling your hole with the tip of his tongue, right before repeating. He flicks your nub right where he’s found you twitch the most, back and forth as your hips begin to fail at your suppressed stutters, his hands needing to pin you down onto the sheets to continue.

He becomes more generous, laying his tongue flat now as he massages your nub so good. Your thighs are closing around his ears and he does nothing to stop you, nearly suffocating between them. Hips going from their stutters to a grind, you find your hands flying to his hair, grip tighter than you thought you’d come down with. It doesn’t help that he’s now taken a finger to circle your entrance while his lips suck on your clit.

“Soonyoung.” It’s all you can say, throat incapable of forcing anything but his name, the burn behind your eyes only making it harder to not say it louder.

When he pushes the finger in, it has you letting out a moan, the foreign feeling against your walls only forcing them to clamp onto his digit. Gradually, you feel his pace quicken as he slides his finger in and out of your hole, his mouth still doing beautiful things to your cunt.

It doesn’t take long for him to shove in another finger, stretching your hole as you let out a constant string of noises through the pleasure, ever-building as every passing moment only scrambles your brain further.

And then you feel him groan, a vibration throbbing through your system.

It’s suddenly all too much, and before you can tell him what’s going on, you’re rendered incapable. You don’t know where your limbs fly, but all you feel is white hot and overwhelming to an unbelievable degree.

“Oh–ungh—” Your body is telling Soonyoung all he needs to know as he only pushes into your pussy even further, letting you ride out your high as you claw at him in every way possible.

Inevitably, the feeling subsides and you realise you’ve been reduced to sobs, tears streaking the sides of your face. Laying flat with your head still on the sheets, you stare at the ceiling of your four poster, trying to remember where you were.

Barely noticing the man that now hover above you, you hear him whisper. “Are you alright?”

Nodding weakly, you don’t even try to lift a finger in the remaining aftermath.

“I need words, my love.”

Swallowing thickly, you give him a breathy, “Yes.”

The lower half of his face glistens in the light like unorthodox diamonds, and all you can think about is how you need him closer to you.

You make an attempt with your nightgown, your trembling arms, still coursing with the aftershocks of your orgasm.

Soonyoung decides to help, hands pushing your spine into an arch as he pulls the slip up and over your head, now entirely bare in front of him.

You watch as instead of throwing the fabric away, he brings it to his mouth to wipe the slick off, tainting the gown with your essence.

Mouth over yours in a salty kiss, you pull him into you as close as humanly possible, needing to feel his heat, his weight, his scent as close as possible. His mouth reaches your throat again, lips brushing over the expanse as he places open mouthed kisses over the nearly faded marks.

His hands are lingering once again as they ghost the sides of your breasts, thumbs coming close to your nipples before retracting in a caress. He takes them in handfuls as he goes back to busy your lips with his own, massaging the mounds with a pressure just enough to have you reeling.

Flicking your nipple lightly, he goes back to circle the bud with thumb again. Making himself further familiar, his fingers begin to pinch and pull at them, pressing down to get a noise out of you, one that you sound as you breathe into his mouth.

Trailing over your stomach, he pushes himself off of you. On his knees, he takes the distance as his chance to look at you in your entirety for the first time. Your fucked out expression and your lack of words is doing nothing but fueling him, your loud breaths somehow more sinful than anything he could ever do to you.

In one swift motion, he’s slipping his arms beneath you, pulling you up so he can lay you against the headboards and pillows. You barely register what’s happening, having given yourself up to him long before.

Grabbing one of the millions of cushions on the bed, he swings one over. Using no strength of your own, he lifts your hips and places it down beneath you, effectively propping you up.

And then he’s meeting you at eye level, hands cupping your face. “I need you to listen to me, darling.”

He waits for confirmation, of which you can only nod, still seeing mild stars. “Do you want to stop?”

It's a visceral reaction; the violent shaking of your head, the hand that flies to his bicep. “N–no!”

You pause as he grips onto your upper arms tight, right as you continue. “I just—a moment. Don’t stop, please.”

Leaning down, he places a long kiss on the corner of your mouth before moving his head to fit into the crook of your neck. He nuzzles his nose against the skin below your ear.

“I’m right here,” he whispers. “For as long as you want me.”

His kisses go from desperate to something with a little more intent, pressing his lips into your neck consistently. Oh so gently, it begins to feel like a draught. He turns into calm just as he could become chaos, bringing you down from the after effects of his own actions.

The hum that leaves you is unthinking, fingers remaining deep in the roots of his hair. Your own nose is pressed against his hair, his scent mixed with sweat infiltrating your nostrils. It fills your head with a pleasant buzz, one that you feel force a pull at the corners of your mouth.

“I meant it when I said it,” you murmur into his hair. “I don’t want anyone but you.”

Raising his head, he meets your eye, smiling slightly. “I believe you. Forgive me for making you believe I was trying to leave you.”

“You weren’t?”

He presses his lips into a line, exhaling as he drops his chin to his chest. “I’ve needed to be selfish my whole life just to survive. Leaving…I wasn’t sure how I would’ve gotten on that boat in the morning without taking you with me somehow.”

Moving back to look at you, you realise very quickly there’s more to the mere glassy look in his eye. “For once, I wished to be anything but a pirate, to be anywhere but near the sea. Not when you wouldn’t be there with me.”

Taking one of his beautifully decorated hands to your mouth, you kiss the soft of his palm. “You’ve done more than anyone ever has to protect me.”

You laugh against his hand, “This is my turf, captain. Let me protect you… protect us.”

Something injects you with a dose of bold, and you find yourself wrapping your arms around his raised shoulders. “But…I believe we were in the middle of something. I’d hate to ruin the mood.”

The smirk that graces his lips is immediate, pushing you back down onto the sheets as you let a laugh escape you.

And then you feel something warm graze your bottom lip, pointed in the way it pushes inwards. He’s brought the glinting letter opener charm up to your lips, the trinket pinched between his fingers as he continues to keep it on your mouth. He kisses you deep as the metal remains between you two, your hands run across the expanse of his back, feeling the muscles ripple as he props himself between you.

“I love you,” he cuts between the kiss to groan, the charm dropping from between your mouths to your chest.

“I love you, mmh—” His fingers have found your clit mid confession, rubbing quickly as he attempts to get you all hot and withered again.

Your legs raise on instinct, back arching as he rubs you mercilessly, the pressure building quicker than it had before.

“I–I think—” you start to tell him, and it seems it’s all he needs to remove his fingers entirely.

“Soonyoung!” you yelp, landing on the bed with a thud.

Looking down, you find his hands wrapped around the length between his own legs, and you realise this was your first time seeing it. Past the white-oozing slit, his tip is a painful looking red. If his hands weren’t already pumping and he hadn’t already lined himself up to your hole, you would’ve taken him into your own palms, done exactly with your mouth that he’d done with his own.

But you can’t find it within yourself to stop him when you feel the initial push of his bulbous tip against your hole, the stretch causing you to drop your mouth open.

“Fuck,” you hear him curse, and when you look up you find his own eyes screwed shut. His hands grip the plush of the pillow beside your head as tight as ever, face askew like he was holding himself back from combusting entirely.

Slowly, you feel the stretch turn into something akin to a burn, a sting in the back of your eyes. You let him push himself into you at his own pace, the never ending battle between your mind and your refrained hips ever present as you attempt to keep them at bay.

He keeps his pelvis flush against yours ince he’s sheathed himself inside you entirely. BOth of your pants fill the thick air of the room, the throb of your walls around his shaft leaving a tremble in his forearm despite your forsake.

Hand somewhere above your head, you feel Soonyoung pull out ever so slightly before pushing back in. Just like this, in shallow thrusts, he pumps himself in an out of your walls in a slow pattern.

It begins with a simmering tremble of pleasure that prolongs as he drags his cock in and out, and then in and out, and then—

Your eyes fly open when you feel his hips slam against yours with a resounding sound, fingers gripping his arm as he does it again, your moans penetrating the air. Before you know it, he’s hiked your legs up to wrap around his waist, ankles locking as he goes back to snapping his hips into you.

“Oh, Soonyoung.”

Your nails are digging into his bicep like it was the only thing tying you to this earth, the only thing keeping you from passing out entirely. He’s taken up a brutal pace, pistoning into your clamped walls with a vigour unmatched.

All Soonyoung can hear is the stretch of your moans and groans directly in his ear, the obscene squelch of both of your fluids mixing at your middles. Your hands have migrated to his back, clawing at the skin like you’ve been utterly possessed.

He can’t seem to mind, not when they’ll simply become reopening wounds every time he’ll have you like this, all to himself and no one else. He wonders vaguely if your guards outside can hear the way you’re losing yourself in him just as he is in you, wonders if it appalls them that a filthy pirate gets to have their Queen in his arms as her vindictive pleasure.

One hand rubbing over your slick clit, he pulls back to sit on his heels, the angle allowing him to keep ever part of you occupied, his spare hand coming up to toy with the pillow of your breast.

It’s all too much, for the both of you as your collective noises become increasingly frequent and high pitched.

And then he’s pushed you over the edge, the shake of your thighs electrifying as you nearly scream out in the bliss of your high. Hands moving every which way to find a grip as you let the feeling crash into you over and over again.

“Oh, that’s so good, so good, oh my goodness.”

You’re still in the middle of your climax when Soonyoung can’t take it anymore, letting himself release his load inside of you like a mark. It’s a mess of force and pleasure as the both of you lose sight of your strengths and weaknesses, the feeling of his hot cum shooting into your walls only prolonging your orgasm even further.

He continues to thrust, continues to play with your nub, continues to flick at your nipples despite the orgasm subsiding. It’s all suddenly too much all at once, the sharp jerk of your body and your voice asking him to stop.

“Soon—Soonyoung, it’s too much.”

Hands coming to a halt and his thrusts slowing, you feel him ease himself out of you.

It’s a sight Soonyoung doubts he could ever forget even if he tried, your still pulsating walls doing everything but keeping the milky white of his load inside you, globs of the liquid spilling out as you shudder near lifeless on the bed. His hands grope at the inside of your thighs, pulling your lips apart to take in the mess he’s made.

He can’t help himself when he pushes two fingers into your hole, feeding his cum back into your hole right where it belongs.

You’ve only barely started to come round when he meets you at eye level, plopping next to you on the bed.

“Hi,” he grins.

“Hi,” you breathe back, hands coming up to touch his face.

He lets you breathe for a few moments as he finds himself getting off the bed to find your tainted nightgown, moving back to you to spread your legs and wipe you clean as best as he could.

You find it within yourself to allow him to pull you into a sitting position, a cup of water from the nightstand pressing against your tired mouth.

“Come on, just one,” he urges as you slump against his chest.

You take a few sips as he coaxes you into drinking the full cup and half of the second helping.

He gives up as he holds you against his chest, brushing his fingers through your tangled hair to push past your face.

“Are you alright?” he asks you. Your eyes are closed when he leans down to place a peck on the apple of your cheek.

“Mhm,” you muffle. “Want to sleep.

“I’d let you, but…”

“Soonyoung, I can’t go again,” you whine.

He chuckles, “I meant to ask where we could find some sugar around here. You barely ate anything at the ball.”

“The kitchens?” you answer with a floating question mark.

Soonyoung can’t help it when he squeezes you so tight it has you complaining loudly, not being able to sustain the love just in the tiny expanse of his heart.

“Come on, let’s get you some cake before both our hearts give out.”

BUNDLED UP IN WARMER clothes, the only thing the palace walls hear is the tiny whispers and giggles of you and your lover as you make your way to the kitchens.

It’s empty at this time of night, the dying embers of the fireplace the only source of light. Soonyoung uses every last bit of his thievery to manage to find a basket of dough balls, the syrup more readily available at the table in the centre.

The tingling in your brain can’t seem to decipher the overwhelming happiness that floods you from the ends of your hair to the tips of your toes. Especially when you call out his name amidst his shuffling, your heart can’t take the grin on his face as he hurries to join on the floor in front of the fireplace.

Arm looped through his own and your head on his shoulder, you decide you’d be quite okay dying like this.

The dough balls are cold and the syrup is probably a little too sweet, but you can’t possibly complain when it warms you just the same.

“I’ve despised my name my entire life,” Soonyoung starts in the silence, picking at the insides of his treat. “Some old merchant sailor was giving his ship away in exchange that the taker would take care of it. He’d built his Tigress from the first board to the last sail, but the years had made their mark. It was practically falling apart when I took it off his hands.”

He pushes the remaining bit of the pastry into his mouth, muffled as he continues, “He had a strange name, said it was given to him by his crew when they realised he was born without a name. Hoshi. I liked it well enough so I kept it.”

“Soonyoung—”

“That one. I wanted to replace the name I loathed, the one my own mother gave me.” You watch as his throat bobs as he swallows. “Ash is my birthplace, my mother worked in the brothels where I was born only because she couldn’t get rid of me.”

Taking one of the hands that wrap around his arm, he brings your fingers to your mouth, kissing the tips of each one. “I despised that name, until I heard it from your lips.”

“Soonyoung.” It felt right on your tongue, like you were destined to say his name.

“Yes, my love?” He smiles softly.

“I love you.”

“I love you more,” he says as he kisses you again. “Thank you for keeping my name, thank you for giving it life.”

You take the opportunity to grab one of the syrup soaked dough balls from the basket and stuff them into his mouth. “Enough, don’t tell me all this luxury’s made you soft.”

It was a jab but a lighthearted one in any case, you loved to see this side of him and you doubt you would ever get enough of seeing him like this. Vulnerable with his softer smiles and squinted eyes.

Bringing one of your digits to your mouth, you suck the remaining syrup off your fingers.

Soonyoung is quick to take notice as he takes your hand and brings your fingers up to his mouth, running his tongue over the pads of your fingers to take in the remaining sugar left on your fingers.

He keeps his eyes locked onto yours as he sucks on the tips of your fingers, making sure every last hint of sweetness is gone.

And then he’s kissing you, tongue in your mouth as he moves against your lips slowly.

Breaking apart, you whisper, “As much as I’d love to, the bakers will be coming in any minute now.”

Soonyoung’s grin is dangerous, and you find out why the minute you feel his arms loop around your waist and under your thighs, lifting you clean off the floor of the kitchens.

You squeal before you can help it, his lips finding home in your neck as you laugh as loud as your chest would allow.

You could get used to this. And you will.

THE SERVANTS CARRYING THE giant stack of plates nearly topple over when you sprint past them, yelling a loud apology over your shoulder as you do nothing but hasten your pace.

The paper in your hands is clutched tight in your fists as you run to where your carriage awaits, near yelling at the driver to make it to the docks before the streets would be full of the early morning merchants and bakers, slowing the gallops of the decorated horses.

The town is waking as your carriage races past, the beginnings of the new day making itself known as the sun peers through the gaps of the houses. You’re incapable of sitting still, your heels tapping against the floors of your cabin incessantly as the docks grow nearer and nearer.

And then you see it, the rush of dock handlers that see the royal carriage slow to a stop in front of the boardwalk. You slam the door open before any of the tens could do it for you, breaking into a sprint as you find the distinct flag of the royal crest wave high on the other end of the docks.

You had already seen Soonyoung off in the dark of the night as he made his way to the ship that was near ready to depart as you slide to stop in front of the anchored ship.

There was nothing sane about what you were doing, the chortles and shocked noises of sailors and merchants deaf to ears as you finally spot him near the prow.

His eyes meet yours and he has to do a double take.

Panting and needing to hold onto your knees for support, you peer up as you watch him run towards the ramp that leads down to the docks to see you, to ask why you were here when he’d kissed you goodbye mere hours ago.

By the time he meets you at the wobbly boardwalk, you’ve somewhat recovered.

“Are you alright?” he asks you as soon as you’re within earshot, hands grasping onto your upper arms in evident concern.

“I had to tell you, this came in right after you left.” You brandish the paper clutched into your fist, smoothing it over as the light catches the red stamp at the bottom.

It takes him less than a minute to realise what it said, eyes blinking rapidly and mouth gaping like a fish. “They…They said yes?”

“They said yes,” you repeat, nodding furiously as you break into a smile. “We can get married, Soonyoung, they said yes.”

His arms are crushing you before you know it, wrapped around you so tight as he buries his face into your neck, repeating it like a mantra, “They said yes…”

By the time you part, he keeps his arms around you, still embracing you in front of the entire port. You take hold of his face bringing it closer to you.

“Three months, and then you come home,” you breathe. “And I get to marry you, in front of everyone.”

Soonyoung lets his lips meet your own in a chaste kiss as he corrects you, “I get to marry you in front of everyone.”

There’s a thud of something nearby, and you look up to find the crew of the Tigress hanging over the railings of the newly appointed naval ship that looked suspiciously like a pirate’s.

“He can’t come back home, if he doesn’t leave!” Seungkwan yells over cupped hands.

You’d like to send him an affectionate gesture involving your middle finger, but choose to save him in front of the crowded port.

“You’ll miss me, Seungkwan, just you wait,” you send him a pointed glare that he simply scoffs at.

He might miss you, but you’ll definitely miss the lot of them when you return to a significantly emptier palace.

“Don’t let the royal snobs walk over you, you’re a better sailor anyway,” you tell Soonyoung. “Not that I needed to tell you, anyway.”

“I promise on our future wedding to be a complete menace.” He grins at the declaration as you admire him in the morning light.

One last time, you memorise the dips and hills of his features, pressing your final kiss into his lips as the voices telling him to hurry it up grow louder.

He blows you a kiss from the railings as the anchor is hoisted, and you send him one right back.

As your carriage trudges its path back to the palace, at a pace more acceptable for both the stamina of the horses and the integrity of the structure, your eyes remain glued to the shrinking ship that fades into the distant horizon.

There’s a pang in your chest, one that brings a tear to your eyes. It’s all very dramatic, the way the melancholy makes a home in your heart. An inkling tells you how you’ll probably become quite used to the feeling, learn to greet it like a friend.

For now you enter the lighter palace, and take your place on the chair in your study and find solace in the ideas your mind brings.

That no matter how long Soonyoung will remain far from you, he will always come back home to you.

Always.

[AN]: ty for joining my babies on their journey, i cannot thank you all enough for reading all 48fuckingK words of this i love you guys truly!!! thank you for all the reblogs and comments on the other parts, it makes me genuinely so happy to see you guys enjoy this universe that i've built. I read every single comment and know i appreciate all of it so so much <3

398 notes · View notes

serawritesthings · 5 months ago

Text

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.

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan fanfic #arthur morgan #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan imagine #red dead redemption imagine #red dead redemption

283 notes · View notes

polarisjisung · 3 months ago

Text

LOVE ON THE COURT | 20 ... WITH BENEFITS??

SYNOPSIS | every college student has their struggles, but raising her younger brother has Y/N top of the list, struggling her way through college whilst balancing her academics and basketball captaincy is difficult no doubt and with Jaemin, her ex best friend and captain of the guys basketball team, and his growing one sided hatred towards her, it doesn't seem to be getting any easier

WARNINGS | swearing, sexual innuendos, kys/kms jokes, y/n has daddy issues for the sake of the plot

NOTES | I have no idea why this update took me so long to post I'm so sorry 😭 I don't like making chapters like this too sad (don't worry there's still gonna be some angsty chapters) but I don't want the written stuff on its own bcs that feels too espresso depresso or wtv the phrase is so this is a bit of a longer chap than usual.. anyways if ever you feel bad for y/n, don't worry you're gonna feel worse

19:21, dinner the night before

Y/n shuffles in her seat.

Jaemin greets her with a smile, and though she offers one back, that sinking feeling in her stomach doesn't seem to settle.

Suddenly now that she finds herself face to face with her once best friend, no menus in hand since they'd already given their orders, no way to avoid conversation for just a couple seconds longer, Y/n finds herself at a loss for words.

What was anyone supposed to say in this situation?

Sure a thank you would be ideal, considering Jaemin had somehow managed the impossible, but the words escaped her. Like they rested at the tip of her tongue but she lacked the drive to speak them.

It's not that y/n wasn't grateful, no, she wouldn't be here if she wasn't, in fact she didn't know what it was, what confused her so deeply that she sat there silently. Her thumbs twiddling against one another, as she stared down at the table in front of her.

There was a nagging whisper in her mind, one that cast shadows over her once clear thoughts, leaving her in that haze of uncertainty that she recognised all too well. Recently it was all she could feel around the captain.

Something about this situation in particular makes her palms sweaty and the hairs stand on her neck, every glance at Jaemin feeling like a shadow of what had once been, a reminder of how it had all been lost.

Even just sitting opposite Jaemin isn't simple.

Not at all.

It's like sitting across from a mirror that once reflected shared laughter and secrets, now distorted by fractures of lost trust and unspoken words. She supposed that was the thing about mirrors and shattering. No matter how hard you tried to glue the pieces back together, it would never quite be the same.

Perhaps that's why y/n is lousy in her attempts, grateful to Jaemin but unbothered to express it. The thought that no matter how desperately she hoped, this couldn't be restored. That there was no point in pouring energy into a friendship that would never be resolved.

"So" it's undoubtedly jaemin who breaks the silence, a soft tone to his voice, not quite as gentle as the other night but still warm "are you feeling better? like really okay?"

For a moment she wonders whether she'll break at the sound of his voice like she always had. Would she go back to that point in life where it was so easy to lie, so easy to say she was okay, so easy to pretend, in front of everyone else but never in front of him.

"I'm fine, honestly." She lies.

There's a shy sheepish smile that creeps across her lips and slightly accents her words

Jaemin hasn't seen much of her positivity be directed his way, and seeing this ignites the little hope in him that they could move on from this, from everything.

"You didn't have to work on it without me you know, it was just as much my project as it was yours and you putting in all the effort isn't fair on you."

"You did most of the preliminary stuff anyways, and I really didn't want to ask you because of the other night" Jaemin finally admits, though not willingly, his words extracted more so by her sharp stare and the cold atmosphere.

"Right..." Her attempts at changing the subject, clearly in vain— he really needed to stop asking about the other night. Y/n wasn't sure how much h longer she could hold back the tears, the looming feeling of inadequacy as a guardian still strong. She should have been more careful.

She knows its her turn to speak, opening her mouth to do so.

But again, y/n struggles.

The words play hide and seek in her mind, leaving her to grasp at empty. The atmosphere grows heavy with the weight of unspoken words. Her mind races, a jumble of what to say, thoughts of how easy conversation once was, how effortless it had been, all such a stark contrast to now.

Jaemin watches, a mix of intrigue and concern in his eyes as she contemplates in front of him, quiet but with an expression that spoke volumes.

The silence between them seems to bite louder than any conversation they once held, each dish in front, a reminder of the bitter aftertaste of a friendship turned cold.

"It's just Minjun and I" she breathes out, voice shaky, and Jaemin realises that those nervous cues in her slumped posture and shaking hands had never changed "It's just been the two of us for a while" she whispered. "That's why I was so scared"

Jaemin's hand hovers uncertainly beneath the table, unsure if the gesture would be welcomed or misunderstood, caught in the delicate balance of care and concern.

Admittedly, Jaemin catches himself slightly intrigued, still confused what could have lead to her practically perfectly family turning into this.

But he knows better than to let his curiosity get the best of him.

He wants to stop her, tell her that whatever it is that causes her brows to knit together and her pretty eyes to gloss over isn't something she needs to force herself to talk about, but he doesn't know how.

For a moment he's kicking himself under the table— how had he ever let go of the person who meant so much to him?

Even now, knowing everything she had done, he couldnt help but question why hadn't he tried to get past it then?

At the sight of her downcast features suddenly everything that he once despised her for seemed so trivial.

Jaemin sees himself, a younger, less mature version that stands on the court, hair matted to his forehead from the rain, a ball long forgotten somewhere behind him, cold, betrayed, and so painfully alone. Those burning tear stained cheeks, the harsh whistles of wind, the bitter feeling of failure still clinging to his skin, he remembers it all.

But every feeling he recalls so well, so vividly, is so easily dismissed when her eyes shine with a painful tint, red from the piercing tears that she holds in them.

"My dad" she cuts him off, gaze now avoidant as he grabbed her cold hands in his, "he walked out on us not long after ...whatever hapenned between you and me. He never came back, didn't answer a single call, not even a text, no form of communication except the papers he sent in the mail so I could become Junnie's legal guardian."

I missed you, she wanted to say. I needed you she'd liked to add.

"That's why it's just the two of us now" she said instead, trying to find more words to stop the tears from flowing, like her words were the only thing that could hold them back.

Back then, Y/n remembers vividly the feeling of wanting to fall, to sink, to drown but still somehow keeping her head above the surface to hold on and stay strong for her younger brother. She wondered if Jaemin had been there, would it have been easier? Would she have let herself fall, would she have someone to give her a hand, to pick her back up again and hold her hand through it all? Would things have ended differently?

"I'm sorry" his words weren't new, they weren't special, they were the same as what everybody else would say but the fact that they came from him, Na Jaemin who now stood by her side with his arms wrapped around her, was enough to dissolve the feeling of emptiness.

08:25 present time

Y/n looks over at Minjun, still deep in slumber, smiling before she steps out of the room.

There's way too many toys sprawled out across the living room floor, a blanket she finds herself folding as she subconsciously begins to clean up. Her eyes land on the kitchen counter, wondering what to make for breakfast. She was never particularly good at cooking, but she'd been learning for her brothers sake.

When she gets to the black jacket resting over the couch, it hits her. She catches sight of her puffy eyes in the mirror, and a hand runs through her hair hurriedly.

"Why the fuck did I tell him all of that" she let's out a frustrated sigh, running her hands across her face, "I'm supposed to hate him" she reminds herself, though her tone isn't convincing in the slightest.

"You don't hate him though" Heeseung's voice comes out muffled, the toothbrush between his lips making it difficult to understand his words.

He had been the one to stay over last night, her friends still taking turns to accompany Minjun and her every night since he'd walked out of the apartment, a gesture that made her heart swell. Although up until now she was pretty certain he was still asleep. Clearly not.

"I can't hate him" she sighs, falling back into the couch "is it bad I want to be friends with him again?" she asks, even though Heeseung had retreated to the bathroom to finish brushing his teeth.

Regardless he pokes his head out into the hallway, a sly smirk across his lips "with benefits?"

Y/n rolls her eyes.

He emerges again not long after, smiling from ear to ear "no y/n it's not bad if you want to be friends again" he takes a seat beside her "you can only fight your feelings for so long, let yourself be vulnerable, take the risk and try again" he says, hands resting on both his knees.

"and if you're feeling really risky, you can always—"

"shut up Heeseung" she smiles, lightly pushing against his arm "I guess it is worth a shot though"

"he's right next door anyways so sneaking around won't be hard at all"

"I meant being friends. Just friends." she stands up, walking over to the kitchen "you down for pancakes?"

He nods.

"You know it could be good though, he's hot, you're hot, there's enough tension to make things interesting and it ticks your not ready for a relationship box pretty well too"

Despite the pointed look the captain offers him, Heeseung doesn't let up, and secretly, she wouldn't have it any other way.

prev | masterlist | next

TAGLIST (open): @jenobubbles @justalildumpling @nanawrlds @222brainrot @sungookie @pepperedthot @dinonuguaegi @haechansbbg @90s-belladonna @bath1lda @jeongintwt @daegalfangirl @ahnneyong @jammingjaem @paper-boats-rose @iraa567 @errrrrat @kyusqult @suzayaaa @jising-jisang-jisung @soonyoonswoo @nctrawberries @wonbin-truther @sunghoonsgfreal @lotties-readings @onlyhyunjin @swee7dream @girlz4jaem @beomgyusonlywife @nanaxwi @nosungluv @tommina @sinisxtea @20sdiary @otblous @p-d1ddy @lostinneocity @soobs-things @odxrilove @buns-inhiding @busy-daydreaming02 @starfilledgaze @papichulomacy @grassbutneo @iwilleatyourgod @jeeluv @mystverse @meowtella

#jaemin #nct x female reader #nct smau #nct dream smau #nct dream social media au #nct dream social au #nct jaemin smau #jaemin smau #jaemin social media au #jaemin fluff #love on the court 🏀

205 notes · View notes

freakoont · 6 months ago

Note

Hi!!!! Pretty pretty please, could you write a ranpo x reader where reader usually takes care of him because they have a soft spot for him, but ranpo takes them for granted somehow, and they get frustruated and angry. Maybe a little angsty and fluff as well. Im so happy to discover your blog, i really like the way you write for bsd! Sorry for my english, i’m not a native

❝𝐖𝐚𝐢𝐭, 𝐈 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲!?❞

︵‿︵‿୨🍪୧‿︵‿︵

𝐅𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: 𝐁𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐨 𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐲 𝐃𝐨𝐠𝐬

𝐅𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫: 𝐑𝐚𝐧𝐩𝐨 𝐄𝐝𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐰𝐚

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐱𝐭: 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐑𝐚𝐧𝐩𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐞 𝐢𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝.. 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥, 𝐥𝐞𝐭'𝐬 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐫𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐦 ... 𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟 // 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭

【ＳＦＷ】

GENDER NEUTRAL BUT AFAB READER sorry :')

REQUESTS ARE OPEN ! Check my request page for info !

︵‿︵‿୨🍪୧‿︵‿︵

It's easy to say that Ranpo doesn't exactly have manners, and is easily persuaded by his own thoughts and often doesn't think before he speaks when he isn't on the job.

Often, he'll make people feel very dumb. That doesn't change for people he's close with, cough. You.

It's been a good few months since you had joined the Agency, being assigned as Ranpo's lucky assistant. Actually, no, now that you remember it more clearly, you were never assigned this role... It just so happened that during you're early days when you were still a lost noobie, Ranpo.. 'found' you, but not exactly in a positive or negative way.

When it was only you and Ranpo in the building, when everyone had gone to do their own thing, he was whining about being so hungry he'd die! Talk about childish.. and yet, after a while it grew on you.

You offered to go to the nearest convenient store and see if you could find anything, which you did, and after that Ranpo would use your more and more often to retrieve stuff for him, that the title 'Ranpo's lucky assistant' grew on you.

Ranpo didn't seem to care, actually, eventually he'd start to have you help him with cases... And by 'help' it just means you'd buy his train tickets. Basically you were treated like a guinea pig in some ways, even having to give the man piggy back rides when he felt tired.

╰┈➤ ❝Would you call this luck?❞

Actually, it isn't all that bad. Ranpo would always look so happy whenever you walked in the room. Word has it, whenever you weren't around, his head would perk up like a dog on alert at the sound of your name being spoken and he'd always feel so gloomy saying, 'man, I wish (Y/N) was here.' Although, that's probably just Yosano trying to mess with you.

Not to mention he'd always love to eat with you, seeming so glad as he'd get into your space and ask that you 'so kindly feed him like a good assistant' ignoring all the stacks of papers you have to finish.

Some part of you wants to say that he just has a sweet yet naive heart when he's not actually using his brain... And yet...

︵‿︵‿୨🍪୧‿︵‿︵

"pfft, don't be stupid. I don't need your little gift," he spoke while pushing your hand away.

For the past few days, you had found yourself growing a different perspective around him.. did you truly like this guy?

Earlier that day, as had been you passing through many stores, there was something in particular that caught your attention. You were a firm believer in luck and gratitude, always wanted it for yourself and others. When you saw basically some five dollar bracelets, there was one in particular that caught your attention.

A small bracelet, a very colorful one, that had little snack charms. It was pretty. It reminded you a lot of Ranpo.

"you don't need to wear it, I was just hoping-"

"you were hoping to give me a little good luck charm." He'd speak up over you with a tone voice that didn't seem completely annoyed but more like he was mocking you. He'd continue to place another chip into his mouth before continuing, "I don't need it. I'm the world's greatest detective after all."

"..i see." You spoke with a feeling of disappointment. "I'll just throw it away then."

Ranpo didn't seem to bat an eye about it as soon as you had left his line of sight that following day.

︵‿︵‿୨🍪୧‿︵‿︵

A few days followed and you didn't exactly forget that little item, actually it's disappointing you chose to throw away such a pretty gadget. Slowly the sun hit the inside of your room and you felt this pinging in your head. A strong annoyance, a headache.

Some part of you felt like this headache had to do with how you've been seeing Ranpo lately. One question that's been stuck in your mind, do you seriously regret meeting him? No, that'd be too much to say... But he can be annoying to deal with.

There were even moments where you'd have to step in because he pissed off the wrong person, stopping people from getting their fist in his face... It was always you taking a few verbal hits for him, huh? And he never seemed to mind, always doing it again and again no matter how much you've told him it's wrong.

Maybe you're wrong about your friendship with him.

︵‿︵‿୨🍪୧‿︵‿︵

"yo, I'm here." You spoke up while entering the Agency, that strong pinging in your head again. You looked around only to see Ranpo. "Where is everybody?"

"Dazai is skipping, Yosano is in her infirmary, and the rest of them are all on their own errands and cases." Ranpo spoke as he played on his little game console. He perked up at you with a smug grin, "Soo, let me guess. Today's snacks are.."

"actually I don't have anything."

"HUH? WHY?" He immediately jumped in his seat staring at you almost distressed. "I'll die without food y'know!"

"..if you're so hungry then go get yourself something."

"Nonsense!" He laughed out, mocking you in a way. "Last I recall your my lucky assistant, and you promised to get me food every morning."

"I didn't promise you anything, Edogawa."

Ranpo had noticed a sharp tone in your voice, you seemed oddly annoyed, which was different. He then grinned towards you, "Oh I see! Is this about your little gift to-"

".. you're such a pain, Edogawa!" You spoke up which made the man flinch. You definitely noticed that, you've caught him off guard. "Not once have you ever gratitude for what I've done? I know it's not much and maybe I'm being dramatic.. but it'd be nice to get a thank you every and now then? All it feels like is that you look down on me."

"..I'm sorry."

That's all he said which didn't make you an happier. Thats all he can say? Is he serious?

"I'm leaving. I have a bad headache and I don't want to deal with this, let Kunikida know I'm off." You turned on your heels to leave.

"Wait hold up-!" Ranpo immediately followed and grabbed your shoulder. "I said I was sorry!" After he didn't heard you respond and just ignore him, yet waited in your steps to hear if he had anything else to say, he pulled out the bracelet from his pocket. "..the reason I said I didn't need your good luck charm, was because my lucky assistant is what brings me luck."

"..."

"..and thanks."

#bsd x reader #anime and manga #x reader #anime #bsd #bungo stray dogs #ranpo edogawa x reader #bsd ranpo #bungou stray dogs #bungou stray dogs ranpo #ranpo x reader #bsd yosano #ranpo #ranpo x yn #ranpo edogawa #bsd edogawa rampo #bsd x you #bsd x y/n

247 notes · View notes

blublublujk · 1 year ago

Text

i just fucked your girl (and she loved it)

oneshot

word count: 11k

genre: established relationship (reader x namjoon), dark/morally gray characters and decisions

pairings: ghost hoseok x y/n and y/n x fiancé namjoon

summary:

A very lonely, horny ghost comes to haunt your dreams (and fulfills your every sexual desire).

warnings: oh my god get ready this is gonna get long. swearing, cheating?? (is it really cheating if he's dead? i'll let you decide), explicit sexual content; sexual "nightmares", unprotected vaginal sex AND anal (ITS TIME :D), rough sex, sub/dom dynamics, no safe word, submission, dirty talk, hoseok refers to people he comes across as victims (he doesn't force anyone i promise, not unless they want to ofc), masturbation, fingering, petplay? (the reader likes being called kitten), slight hand kink, slut shaming (oopsies), use of spit (oops again), use of lube, hickeys, lots of begging, hoseok's a bit mean but the ending will make it up a bit ISTG, namjoon's an innocent sweetheart, reader feels a lot of guilt, ass play (YAY), rimming (YAY pt2), mentions to gay sex and clown kink (you'll see), hoseok's like a ghost sex worker and the reader sorta manifests him, sex toys, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, spanking, come shot, blowjob, hair pulling, daddy kink, breast play, creampie, a bit of a sad/angsty ending, so sorry if anything is missing I RLLY TRIED

btw there's sex scenes between namjoon and the reader AND hoseok and the reader so they both get their share.

a.n: happy fucking halloween. sorry this got a little sad towards the end, but i hope you guys love it as much as i do. i think i'll live in this world for a while. i'm so obsessed with this probably, my favorite work yet. i think this is my smuttiest work too? idk. i was gonna delete like half of it because i hate myself sometimes but i figured you guys would enjoy something a little longer so i typed and typed until my lil heart desired and this beast was created. btw i finished this at exactly 6:13pm. i thought i'd let yall know, if anyone's as crazy as me :D im so curious what you guys think about this one so feel free to comment (only if you want too ofc ^.^) idk when i'll be back with something new but please be patient with me. i promise im not leaving lol i just get busy. OKIE THIS IS SO LONG SORRY AND ENJOY. byeee <3

p.s. i do plan to write an epilogue cuz this got crazy at the end. so much left unsaid. my brain is sooo... lol

—> m.list

—> welcome me on ao3 & twt

It was the same damn nightmare.

For the past three weeks you had been waking up in coldsweat, heart nearly beating out of your chest, breathing so out of control. You could barely hold yourself up.

And still somehow, you woke up drenching your panties of your own slick arousal.

It was the same nightmare from yesterday, the day before that, and the day before that. You would end up in a dark, ominous apartment. It was yours, but somehow different. The apartment was pitch black, flashing red lights from time-to-time, as if someone in the building had pulled the emergency alarm. You would crumble in your bed, closing your eyes and praying it would end soon. That’s when he would appear.

A man in all black, long dark tousled hair. His teeth were bright, you could tell by the smile on his face while he watched you wither away in your sheets. The glow in his dull, sharp eyes would shine even in the dark.

He watched as you squirmed in your bed, feeling heavy, unable to stand by your own strength.

“Don’t force it, darling. Take what you need.” The stranger would say with a strong raspy tone, smelling your arousal fall into the sheets below your bottom. You were always bare in your nightmares as if you were waiting and submitting for him.

You couldn’t resist the feeling. At his call, your fingers would come to relieve the ache between your thighs. Playing with yourself as if you were alone, but it was far from the truth. He would watch as you pumped yourself two fingers deep, sighing and whimpering, satisfied that you no longer felt empty.

Sometimes, well no most times, he would join you in your nightmares. He would tear your hands from your leaking cunt sparing mercy and you would complain against your sheets. The stranger wasn’t that bad, not for long at least, because he would fill you with his own two fingers, his eyes would dilate watching you fall apart. He was smooth and precise, he would curve his fingers, hitting your g-spot right on target, loving the sinful sounds you made as you arched your back and yelled moans without holding back.

Once he was satisfied and right as you were about to explode, he would pull away, whipping his hard, swollen cock out of his pants and tugs on himself, forcing you to watch as he pleased himself . Of course you wanted it, but this was so wrong, very wrong.

The worst part is he wouldn’t just give it to you, he would make you beg for it. “Talk to me baby, you want it?”

You would shake your head, denying him and trying to pull yourself from under him, but realistically it is all you wanted. You wanted to taste the beads that fell from the slit of his hard cock. He was fucking big and that itself made you go fucking insane, his hands wrapped around his length nicely. You tried to stop your thoughts from going any further, but your imagination was a powerful thing, thinking about how his pretty hands would feel wrapped around your throat instead of his dick.

“Oh, you don’t? Maybe I’ll just leave you like this then.” He would say and it fucked with your head.

That was the last thing you wanted. “But– m’ so empty.”

“Then beg for it slut, you don’t have to be empty and lonely for long.” His tongue was smooth and wet against your skin as he licked down your throat, sucking little marks onto your skin. He had you wrapped around his fucking fingers and there wasn’t a damn thing you could do about it. You wanted to move but at the same time, you wanted him to have his way with you. God can forgive you for this later.

“I c-can’t.”

“What a shame. I’ll just take care of myself and leave you here to watch.” He would start pumping his cock faster, tugging at the crown of his length.

You made an agonizing sound of complaint. “Please.”

“Please what little kitten?”

He was mean. So mean.

And you were fucking stupid.

“Please, f-fuck me.” You begged so sweetly.

The man would smile sinisterly before shoving himself deep inside you, forcing a scream of pleasure. He was not gentle in any way and you fucking liked that. As sick as it was.

He fucked you like his only mission was to make you come and drive you insane, pushing your legs far apart and brutally fucking deep into your walls.

He would watch you fall into your sheets, murmuring noncoherent words, completely submitting to the stranger you fell apart in his complete mercy.

What an honor.

“That's it baby. Squirt all over my dick.” His voice was always deep and you swore you could hear a smirk between his words.

Like magic his words would rip intense orgasms out of you and he would fuck you through them all until you eventually collapsed unconscious.

You wake up in a gasp, the wet feeling between your legs nearly makes you gag.

This can’t be. Not again.

“Baby, wake up.” A voice calls gently, soft hands soothe your back, patting and rubbing gently. “It’s just a nightmare, love. I’m here.”

“Joonie?”

“Yes baby. I’m here, go back to bed. I’ve got you.” His calm voice manages to settle the beating drum of your heart and still, this is the exact problem with these recurring nightmares.

Even as your fiancé rubs circles into your back, all you can think of is the hands of that strange man that would fuck you into a delrious state. You hated it. It felt too close to cheating.

If only Namjoon saw what your nightmares truly consisted of, he would be horrified and disgusted. Every night was worse, the guilt slowly started building in the pit of your stomach as you would daydream about the nightmare over and over and over.

…

“You okay baby?” Namjoon’s voice was gentle, aware that your mind was somewhere else during dinner.

“I- yes.” But you weren’t okay. Not one bit. Flashbacks of the man in your nightmares would haunt your thoughts. These nightmares would play in your head like old memories.

His hooded eyes watching as you fucked yourself open. He would whisper things like, ‘that’s it kitten, so fucking wet all for me’ and ‘good kitten, nice and tight for me’.

“Imagine what your fiancé would do if he saw the way you squirm in my hands. He could never fuck you the way I could, kitten. Isn't that right? Only I fuck you exactly the way you like it. My little submissive kitten.”

“Please.” Begging is all you could muster to do in your dreams. You felt pathetic. You never wanted someone so bad. The guilt only grew stronger when you realized you were fucking addicted to your own dreams. You started chasing these nightmares.

What was wrong with you?

“Baby?” Namjoon called your attention once again, smiling apologetically. “You feeling okay? Your face is quite flushed.”

Your hands fall onto your face feeling the slight burn against your palms. “Sorry. I’m okay, just a little hot in here is all.”

“It’s the end of October baby. It’s been really cold out. I’m surprised you aren't begging me to warm you up by now.” He tries to carry the conversation into a lighter, more casual matter.

A nervous smile breaks out onto your lips, as you brush a piece of hair out of your face. “Must just be experiencing hot flashes. It happens when I’m a bit more stressed than usual.”

“Anything you wanna talk about? You know you can talk to me.” He’s sweet and present for you as usual. You feel your heart drop thkining about how this is what you are missing out on by feeding into those stupid fucking nightmares. Something had to change.

Wake up, Y/N.

“Yeah, I know babe. It’s nothing to worry about. Just work stuff.” You make an excuse for yourself and it seems to work, for now.

“Mm, okay. Don’t be afraid to come to me for anything. I don’t want you suffering alone.” Your fiancé places a hand on top of yours, squeezing it softly.

“Thank you, Joonie.” This time you give him a real smile, but the guilt still stays hidden deep inside you watching as he reciprocates the smile back at you.

“There’s my beautiful bride-to-be. Stop worrying so much baby. Maybe you should take some time off from work. You know sleep usually makes you feel better. It always has. My sleepy girl.”

And there it goes and hits you all at once again.

Guilt. So much guilt. Sleep doesn’t even feel enough these days. The nightmares make you feel as if you never rest. You are clearly aware that dreams aren’t real life, but you even wake up sore from them. It’s scary how realistic it all feels. Maybe that’s why this makes it worse for you. Everything feels too real.

“Yeah… I’ll think about it.” But you won't because time off means resting and resting means more sleep and more time for these nightmares to keep haunting you. It’s like you will never win.

“Eat your dinner baby, it's getting cold.”

—-

The daydreams continue even at work.

“Let me see that perfect ass, kitten. Turn around for me.”

It’s like he completely owns you, hypnotized by his voice. You immediately present for him, face down and ass up sitting so nicely.

“Fuck kitten, look at you. Tell me, does that lame fiancé of yours ever play with this ass?”

You whimper a ‘no’ feeling a glob of spit drip into your unused, virgin hole. His thumb caressing the wet ring of muscle, watching you clench around nothing.

“I’ll change that soon, kitten. Just how you like it.”

Namjoon wasn’t necessarily opposed to butt stuff, the one time you mentioned it he briefly dismissed it. Granted, he was busy at the time with some work, and you were too embarrassed to bring it up again.

It seems you got lucky nonetheless.

The man blows hot air into your wet hole, his lips felt soft against your ass. He would leave a kiss here and there before his tongue peaked out and circled around your rim.

“Yes, yes, yes.” You weren’t the most vocal sexual partner yet somehow, under his touch, you were the loudest.

Moans fell dangerously loud from your lips as he would continue to fuck his tongue deep inside your ass. Stopping every few seconds to stare at your puffy rim, gaping around nothing. Fuck, what a sight for sore eyes you were.

“Please.”

“What baby?” His palm was heavy against your ass, watching it bounce back.

“More.” You would beg.

“Anything.” He would purr back.

A thumb circled around the velvety muscle before pushing right in, fucking his thumb alongside spit that dripped from his mouth.

Yes. Just how you like it.

“Y/N?” Your coworker brushes a hand against your shoulder. “You doing okay?”

“Shit– yeah, my bad Yoona. I’ve just been feeling a bit sick lately, I think I’m coming down with a cold.” Which is a complete lie, but how do you tell your coworker you’re having wet daydreams about another man (who by the way only exists in your imagination) that isn’t your fiancé and that it is taking over every part of your life and that the guilt of it all sits heavy on your chest as days pass by and there is nothing you can do about it, but indulge in these dreams and practically live in them because you’ve become an addict.

Yoona breathes out a light hum. “You don’t seem sick.”

Fuck.

“Yeah… well it’s just starting, my throat feels dry and sore these days.”

“Maybe you should take a day off?” She suggests.

“Yeah, maybe.” You agree just so she gets off your back.

“You’ve been working a lot these days anyways. I’m sure Mr. Gyun wouldn’t mind if you called off. You’re one of his favorites anyways.” She laughs and you fake a smile.

“Yeah, right. I’ll think about it. Let's just focus on work. We need this revised and sent off by Monday.”

“Sure sure. But I’m being serious, take a day off or two, you look like you need it. You seem… tired?” She says, worrying by the sound of her tone.

Because you know she will never let this go, you reassure her. “Yoona, I love you to death, but don’t worry too much, okay? I’ll take some time off if it gets worse. Thank you, really.”

“Alright, just looking after you Y/N. Your soon-to-be husband would kill me if I didn't.”

“I’ll tell him you’re doing a great job, now back to the transcripts…”

—-

You knew the night would eventually come.

There was only so much you could ignore and forget.

A sudden rush of heat wakes you from one of your nightmares, the jolt in your body scaring Namjoon awake beside you. You knew that he meant no trouble, but he gave you the face of ‘this again?’ and you could no longer push it aside.

“Baby?” Namjoon’s voice is tired and filled with sleep, but he asks anyways while patting your back gently, as he always does when this happens like the sweet fiancé he is. “What happens in these dreams anyways?”

How do you tell your husband-to-be and boyfriend of seven years that you get completely ruined by another man in your sleep?

Namjoon was far too sweet and innocent to get mad at you for this and you knew that. Yet the guilt never stopped you from feeling terribly about the situation.

“You won’t be upset with me?” Your voice comes out as a whisper.

Namjoon stands to turn on the nightlight by the bed before he lays back and wraps his strong arms around your waist. “Baby, look at me.”

With heavy eyes, you look back at your fiancé.

His palm cradles your soft cheek, pushing a loose hair behind your ear. “I could never be upset with you, my love. It might help to talk your nightmares through. I’ll be right here with you baby.”

With shaking hands, you take a deep breath. “Well, I don’t know where they come from, but there’s this man in my dreams.”

Namjoon raises a brow, doing his absolute best to understand you even while the clock reads in bold 3:44am.

“This man, he’s dressed in all black. He— he has these dark eyes.”

“Dark eyes?”

“Yeah, he— his eyes are dark, sharp all around, it’s sinister.”

“Okay. What happens?” He whispers, pulling you even closer into him, your hand falls into his chest for comfort.

“He— he…” You struggle finding the right words.

Namjoon’s eyes go wide. “Baby, d-does he hurt you?”

No. Of course not. In fact, he does the opposite. The man pleases you until you can’t give him anymore and he leaves you with sore limbs and the burning stretch between your legs as a reminder of what he’s done to you and what he’s capable of.

You quickly shake your head. “No but he- he touches me and does things to me.”

“Oh honey, why would I be mad at you about that? That’s completely unacceptable. Nobody should be touching you or doing things to you if you don't want it. I see now why this bothers—”

“Joonie, I feel,” you start and swallow the awful feeling in your throat, “ I feel like… if I've been cheating on you.”

“Baby, I know you would never. They’re just nightmares after all. It’s not like you enjoy it baby.” This is what you mean by Namjoon’s too innocent and kind-hearted to see past the lines between your words.

“But- I.”

“Wait… do you? Do you enjoy them?” Namjoon almost looks hurt to ask the question, but he’s quick to reassure you. “It’s okay baby, if you do.”

“I do.” You whisper like it’s some dirty secret.

There’s a pregnant pause before Namjoon pulls you completely flush against his body, rubbing circles behind your back. “It’s okay baby, it's okay. They’re just nightmares. They mean nothing.”

He kisses your hair for comfort and you let out a sob because they are much more than that to you and you know it. They are all you can think about. Shit, you think if you were given the chance, you would actually let that man have his way with you in real life. And it makes you feel disgusting because you know you enjoy this dynamic way too much.

At first, it was terrifying, you didn’t know the man and he, well he just became a weakness and you wanted him so bad, as much as you hated to admit it. Your imagination was a powerful tool. Why you and why with him? Why couldn’t your dreams be with Namjoon, your high school sweetheart?

“I’m so sorry, Joonie. For all these long nights. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. The nightmares don’t stop, in fact they only feel longer and they get worse.” You cry into his chest.

“I know honey, it’s not your fault. Just think of me whenever you feel this way, okay?” He pulls back, wiping your tears off with his sleeves. Your fiancé was so fucking sweet and that’s why you fell in love with him in the first place. He was never angry at you or disappointed. Namjoon was always patient with you and a complete sweetheart. God, you’re so fucking stupid.

“And I’m not mad at you, okay? I never will be. Those nightmares mean nothing to me. I love you Y/N.” Your fiancé whispers into your hair, kissing the side of your face.

Namjoon has always been way better than you because had you been in his shoes, you couldn’t phantom hearing about him enjoying the presence of another woman. He knew only one part of this story. Namjoon doesn’t know that you spend evenings, the time you have the house alone while he’s off at work, fucking yourself to this strange man’s voice in your head. That you open yourself up just how you do in your nightmares and you swear you hear his voice telling you to keep going. You swear you hear him calling your name asking you about how Namjoon would feel about this. Like if his whole purpose is to make you feel worse about the situation. He’s ruining your life and you’re letting him. You think you’ve given up and it’s just started.

“I- I love you too.” You reply.

Namjoon smiles apologetically, hands gentle against your skin. “Let’s sleep?”

You nod and he pulls you against his hard chest, rubbing your back while he attempts to lull you back to sleep. It eventually comes, but not before you wake to those dark eyes again and the nightmare continues. This time you don't even fight it. He fucks you until you feel yourself collapse and you swear nothing has ever felt better.

…

The next morning Namjoon gently shakes you awake. “Good morning my love, you slept through your alarm. I figured you could take a day off so I called your boss to let him know you couldn’t come in today. I hope you don't mind.”

“Joonie?” Your voice is the cutest in the mornings (according to Namjoon), he smiles watching you struggle to wake up.

“Yes, my baby. I’m just getting ready to leave for work, but I wanted to say goodbye before I leave.”

Well, it’s not like you have a choice so you accept your fate. “Oh, okay. Thank you.”

“No problem, honey. You slept quite well. You didn’t even wake up this time! Did it help? Talking through it?” Again, Namjoon could be so clueless.

The only reason you slept this well is because you were fucked into oblivion in your dream. As unbelievable as it may sound, you even felt sore down there. But he doesn’t have to know that, so he’ll just go off to work thinking that cuddles and his sweet words drifting you back to sleep actually worked.

“Yeah… yeah it did. Thank you again. Have a nice day at work.” You say, still warmly tucked in bed.

“I will, baby. ” He drops a peck into your cheek, smelling the fresh scent of his aftershave. “Call me if anything. See you later, my love.”

And like that you are left alone once again. The only thing that remains is the fluffy feeling of his plump lips buzzing against your cheek, a faint reminder that you are loved and have been for years, while you think about another man, one that only exists in your deepest darkest of dreams.

—-

Hoseok doesn’t remember how it happened. All he knew is he was standing in a place unknown, sensing there was another being in the room with him.

It's not his first time around a mortal human. No, in fact he had so much experience with lustful humans with all kinds of desires and wishes, but it has been quite long since he was manifested this strongly into someone’s dreams.

His favorite part was watching them act as if they didn’t ask for it. Call for him. They would lie and say that they could never fuck a dead being. A ghost at that. As if they didn’t manifest him themselves.

It's not like it was Hoseok’s fault for dying young and handsome and that now he tends to people’s guiltiest pleasures. It's not like he has anything better to do in the after-life. In reality, he’s doing people a grand fucking favor. The best thing about fucking a dead ghost is there’s absolutely no consequences, at least that’s what he always tells his victims. Unless you get addicted to one, then that’s really a personal problem. They can’t stay on mortal land forever, but for the time being Hoseok has become attached to his time here. Especially with his new little mortal toy.

When he first heard the calling, he almost missed it. He was fucking another mortal, a man in his mid-twenties to be exact. The man had called for him in his dreams and he attended to his duty with pleasure.

This man had a thing for clowns and Hoseok wasn’t no fucking clown, but he did his best to please him. His outfit was in all black (of course, it was his favorite color) and fit him quite well though it was different from his usual style, even down to the clown hat and all.

The guy would scream under Hoseok as he would pound into him like some fuck-doll and would have him come undone within minutes. He was so fucking easy to please. They always are.

When Hoseok came to you the first night. That’s how you found him. He still had the same outfit on (he was ripped from the last dream) and his hat had nearly fallen off in the process, but he was pleased when he came across his next victim. You were beautiful.

“Who— who are you?” You screeched, covering yourself up, cheeks flushed. You had been doing unspeakable things to yourself in the dream. “What are you doing in my room?!”

Hoseok smiles. God, they always are the same. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to and don’t mind me, keep doing what you were doing before I had rudely interrupted.”

The stranger goes to sit by the vanity in your room, making himself extremely comfortable as if it is a regular Tuesday night for him.

You try to stand and it's like something washes over you. The strange force pushes you back down and you have no choice but to take it.

The man chuckles, throwing his hat aside. “Don’t hurt yourself trying. Just let your instincts guide you. Tell me what it is you want, this will all go much smoother and much faster.”

The stranger in black winks and you feel disgusted (though your pussy doesn’t seem to agree with you).

Still you manage to say, “I want you to get out of my fucking room. I’m about to get married, you know and he’ll fucking kill you.”

“Ohhh.” He purrs, standing as he walks across the room. He stops a couple steps from your bed and leans down to match your height. “But you asked for me to come, baby. So guess what? Now I am your problem.”

He pinches your nose, wrinkling his own in the process and flashes a charming smile.

You swat his hand off you almost immediately. “I— I didn’t ask for anything. I don’t even know you and I don’t want to know you.”

“Mm, but soon we’ll know each other very well. Let’s not fight this.” The man’s voice is silky and you could practically see the sinful desire in his eyes while they take in your naked figure.

You have no idea what he even means by that, but right now you could care less. This is just a nightmare and soon enough, he will disappear and you will get to go back to doing what you were doing before he ever existed.

“Leave me alone please.”

The guy puts his hands up clearly coming and going in peace, while retreating back a few steps. “Whatever you say princess. I’ll be back when you’re ready.”

And just like that the man disappeared into a black distorted shadow.

He shows up only three nights later.

This time he catches you on your knees, riding a dildo on your bed. You don’t even hear him until he’s in front of you. Your hips stop mid roll. Whimpering as you feel the tug on your hair.

“Seems you’re ready.” He rasps, having a strong grip on your hair forcing you to look up at him.

“I— who the fuck are you? Seriously? What do you want with me? I know I’m dreaming and I can wake up any secomd so what the fuck do you want with me.” This time you don’t even entertain him. It’s clear this man has his own vulgar intentions, you wanna skip the small talk. He doesn’t seem like the type to give up until he gets exactly what he wants.

“The better question is what do you want with me. You manifested me after all, darling.”

Your eye twitches at the pet name, but you ignore it, for now. “But— I don't know you. How is that fucking possible?”

Even though he knows you won't understand it completely, he still answers truthfully. “I’m dead baby. Anything is possible.”

Great, so you’re just supposed to believe this man is some ghost haunting you in your dreams. Perfect!

This time you don’t ignore his stupid use of pet names. “S-Stop calling me that.”

“Oh?” The man pouts, and to be honest that does something to you. If the situation was different maybe you would admit he looks fucking sexy, even if he’s a menace.

His brows furrow, his jawline clenching as he speaks. “Is there another pet name you like? We’re already getting farther than last time, princess.”

You don’t even attempt to hold back the scoff, your eyes roll back. “No. I don’t— I didn't ask for you and I don’t want you bothering me anymore. Just please leave me alone. Please.”

The man groans, looking down at you with hooded eyes, the fist in your hair grips harder reminding you that he still had you under his control. “God, but you sound perfect begging. Are you sure of that, kitten?”

The man's voice drops in a sultry tone, nearling purring while he speaks. And somehow, that manages to slip a whine from your throat, nearly drooling at the sight.

Your eyes immediately widen. “I— I didn't mean that.”

“Oh, so that’s what you like.” The man smiles, petting your head affectionately. You were fucked. “Of course you didn't. You were so close weren't you, kitten?”

You shake your head, you’re unable to look away, but at the same time you want to throw his hands off you. You felt completely powerless under his gaze and you were liking it a lot more than you would like to admit.

“Don’t bother lying to me princess, I can smell it. You were so fucking close.” He whines the last part, biting his bottom lip, he seems to breathe in the scent. “So fucking close. I’m sorry. I always join at the worst times, you can continue.”

He offers like a fucking weirdo, pervert and still you disgustingly want it.

“I said, don't call me that!” Your hand flies to his and forces it off you.

“Then talk to me.” He’s rough, but firm with his tone.

“No. I don’t- can't and I won't. Go bother someone else.”

“I can’t. You asked for me and you brought me here. Now you have to deal with this.” He doesn't attempt to put his hands back on you, but he does let his gaze wander seeing as you still haven’t moved from your dildo.

“This is bullshit. It’s just in my head anyways. If I close my eyes it’s like you aren’t even here. Now let me fucking come in peace.” Your eyes closed in the middle of your rant and he seemed to listen. Hoseok backs off, watching you from your wall to be exact, but he lets you take care of yourself. That’s what he’s there for after all.

After a few seconds of calming yourself down and regaining your arousal, you slowly lift yourself up feeling the dildo pull against your walls and you drop yourself back down.

Hoseok was right, you weren’t too far away from coming, but he messed up your pace and now you have to work yourself back up.

It doesn’t take too long before you set a quick pace, fucking yourself onto the silicone length.

Truly it wasn’t that you and Namjoon’s sex life was bad, in fact he was the best fuck of your life (not that you had much experience given he was your high school sweetheart) but after years of being together, things had changed, a lot.

You don’t even remember the last time you guys got creative in bed, besides a few vibrators from time-to-time. It was starting to get boring and you didn't want to admit this to him, but you wanted so much more. It's like your body was begging for it. And you didn’t want to hurt his feelings by saying it, so instead you kept it to yourself and the sexual frustration built up overtime making it impossible not to think about constantly.

You gasp when you finally open your eyes to find the man watching you with heavy lidded eyes from your wall, he’s not even touching himself, but you can see he’s hard in his pants.

He licks his lips as he watches you jump down on the dildo ferociously. Your eyes make contact and that's when everything seems to explode.

Moans start slipping from your lips and you feel the knot in your stomach start to build quickly. The silicone molds around your walls perfectly, feeling the tip brush against your sweet spot repeatedly, fisting the sheets below you.

Hoseok’s nose seems to flare and he can practically taste your arousal in the air. He watches as you bounce on that useless dildo, wishing it was his cock instead. Your mouth falls open, drool nearly spilling while you feel the knot coming undone.

It isn’t long before Hoseok finally decides to speak and it does wonders. “Come, you fucking slut.”

Fuck.

On call, you come and he’s forced to watch you moan and writhe against your sheets, feeling the dildo slowly push out of you.

He pushes himself off the wall and comes towards you and you feel too exhausted to push him away. You are laying in the middle of your bed now, dildo still between your legs but it’s fallen out.

You feel as he pushes the dildo back inside you overstimulating your used hole as he fucks it into you deeply. You really, really shouldn't let this happen. You are going to be a married woman soon for fuck’s sake, but it all feels so fucking good- risky yet new, so you can’t help but to feed into temptation.

Sadly, your body denies it, for now at least. “N-No I can't. Not anymore.”

His action comes to a halt. “I know. Maybe next time, kitty.”

And he disappears once again.

Disappointment and guilt builds all too quickly.

Disappointed that he didn’t stay and fuck you until you passed out. And guilt that you just came in the eyes of another man and on his call.

—-

As expected, you spend your whole day off thinking about the stranger. The way he looks at you, the way he bites his bottom lip while taking you in. The way he grips your hair and clenches his sharp, symmetrical jawline when he has you falling apart in his hands. You could feel his touch, it’s impossible you know, but it all feels too real and it all happens so fast.

He had a name now. He told you in one of your dreams while he was taking you from behind.

“Say my name kitten. Who’s fucking you this good? Fuck, what a sight from behind. You’re just perfect all around, aren’t you?” Hoseok’s hands grip onto your ass cheeks, fucking into your pussy brutally. He hasn’t stopped pounding into you and it’s already been ten minutes. Maybe more? Maybe less? You stopped counting. Good dick leaves you feeling stupid.

“H-Hoseok.” You whimper into your pillow, you think you have officially lost your fucking mind.

“What?” You swear you can hear the smirk on his lips.

“Hoseok.” You’re louder this time, but your voice is muffled, face falling into your pillow.

“Louder slut!” There’s a sting on your ass and he has a fistful of your hair, lifting your face from up the pillow while he continues to ram into you from behind. You realize you are so fucking close and he knows it too, you try to meet his strong thrusts, but it’s no use because it knocks the air from under you. He manages to hold you up with a strong grip. “Fuck, fuck. You’re so tight around me, kitty. You gonna come on my dick now like a good slut? Huh?”

“Yes!” This time your voice is loud and you scream without holding back. “Hoseok! Hoseok! Oh, nghh… fuck, Hoseok!”

His name falls from your lips over and over while you come on his cock, just like he asked of you. That satisfies him enough and he squirts his own orgasm all over your plump ass, watching you come down from your own afterglow.

You had come to the fucked conclusion that the only way to possibly fucking fix something like this (as sick as it may sound) is to fuck it away. You had to tell Namjoon, maybe experiment a bit more just so you can finally get this man out of your head. Regain your peace of mind. Namjoon would do anything you’d ask of him, you could assure that. You just had to find a way to tell him so he wouldn’t feel it was his fault or as if he was lacking. Or you could just not tell him.

Either way you think fucking this away would help for the time being at least.

Sex is a very special and intimate practice and that’s genuinely how it always felt with Namjoon. He always took his time with you and fucked you slow and deep.

Before, you will admit that it was nice and that’s why he attracted you so much but now, you don’t want it to be nice or slow. You want someone to play rough, break your limits, and touch you in places you haven’t been touched before. You want to be tossed around, fucked until you can’t speak any coherent sentences. Was that just too much to ask for?

(Hoseok sure didn't think so.)

Right as you had finished cooking dinner, Namjoon made his way through the front door, setting his work bag down by the coat rack.

“You’re cooking?” Namjoon asks, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you in for a quick kiss. “Smells good.”

“Yeah, I figured you deserved a nice meal to come home to. I didn’t have much else to do.” You swiftly kiss him back.

Namjoon pulls you in closer, arms holding you tightly. He still smells as fresh as he did when he first left. “I told you to rest, my love. You didn’t have to do anything.”

“I know, I know. I really wanted to though. Let’s just eat, we'll talk after.” He nods and kisses your cheek once more.

“Let's eat then.”

…

Namjoon decides a movie night is needed on a night like tonight.

You were more clingy than usual (and of course, he loves it). So he puts on a random movie and allows you to cuddle him up to the fullest of your extent.

“You’re so cuddly today, my love.” Namjoon whispers into your hair, mid-movie.

“I just missed you is all.” And you really did, it's been long since you and Namjoon had an intimate night (maybe since these dreams started), you think it's finally time.

He smiles rubbing his hand down your arm. “I missed you too honey.”

You lift your head from his chest and lean in slowly, he immediately picks up on the drift and leans down to meet your lips.

His lips are soft against yours, kissing you with gentle movements. His palm comes to rest on your cheek while you escalate the kiss.

Your tongue comes up slowly and he lets you in quite easily. You take a hand and rake it down his chest, pulling yourself on his lap carefully.

You start to slowly whine your hips, making it all too obvious about what you need and want. Namjoon follows along without complaints.

“Do you wanna?” Namjoon asks, a bit breathless, bringing his forehead against yours.

“Yes.” You whisper. “Yes, please.”

Namjoon smiles and steals one last kiss before he attempts to stand, thinking it would be best to move this to the bed, but you hold him down with a shove to his abdomen.

“No. I want it, right here.” You say, finding yourself a little breathless yourself, you needed this.

His eyes seem to widen for the moment, but he seems to agree and pulls you back in for a kiss, this time he lets his tongue push into your mouth further exploring. He tastes the sweet tang of red wine on your tongue and he groans into the kiss.

You pull back only for a second as you get rid of your shirt and he starts to unbutton his own. Once the shirts are off, you tug your bra off freeing your breast and bring your lips back together with great force.

Though he doesn’t complain, Namjoon is in shock. He hasn’t seen you this needy and desperate in years, he thinks? Or at least he doesn’t remember it like that. He lets you rut against his already hard member and kisses you with equal passion.

The next time he pulls away, he tugs on your leggings and he helps you out of them. Typically your panties come down with it, but you decide you’ll just push them aside. You return the offer by pushing his jeans down, including his briefs, his dick slaps against his stomach weighing heavy.

Your mouth instantly waters, but right now you want him inside the rest will just have to come another time.

Namjoon looks at you with so much love and admiration and for a minute, the guilt comes crashing down. You want him, you know you do so why is the guilt still there? Is it because even as you have your lover right where you want him all you can think about is how the stranger (Hoseok) from your dreams would have had you flipped onto the couch and had his way with you hours ago. Maybe he would have fucked you against the kitchen counter, defile the damn marble. Maybe he would have taken you right against your front door, like the slut you wanted to be for him. All you know for sure is he wouldn’t have let this much time pass.

You shake your stupid thoughts away and look back up at your fiancé. This is where you want to be. Where you fucking belong. Without letting your imagination run wild, you rub yourself against Namjoon’s hard length, spreading your arousal all over him.

“Fuck, you’re so wet baby.” He bites a moan back, feeling your warm juices, slicken his cock.

You moan against his mouth when you feel the tip latch on to your hole, slowly sinking down on him. You feel his cock stretch your warm walls and he feels he could come already. It's just been so long (can anyone really blame him).

You bring your hips up a bit before crashing back down feeling the burn on your tight heat.

“So warm and tight baby.” His hands land on your hips, toying with the band of your panties. “Come here.”

Namjoon brings you flush against his chest slowing your movement, his lips crash into yours. The kiss feels much different from before. He doesn’t hold back, as soon as your tongue clashes with his, he sucks and bites it playfully. You groan into his mouth, accidentally squeezing harder against his length.

“Fuck baby, just like that.” His dick twitches deeply against your velvety walls, you can tell he’s holding back. “I think I’ll come soon if you continue like this.”

Like hell, you’ll let him come now, you’ve barely had your fill. Without no desire to, you slowly slide off his dick, dropping knees first onto the cold floor below you.

“Baby–” Namjoon starts, but you push his hands away as he tries to pull you back up.

“Let me do this, you’ll last longer.” He hesitates, but eventually surrenders, laying his hands aside. “Don’t be scared to use your hands, use my mouth, Joonie.”

Fuck. How could his own perfect, sweet wife-to-be sound this seductive? He hasn’t heard you talk this way since college. And it’s been years since that. He thought the years of young, hot sex were over but he’s been wrong all along. His fiancée was the sexiest woman in the world, that he was sure of.

Namjoon’s hands find your hair and push you towards his glistening length. It’s already drying, shame, you thought, let’s keep it warm and wet.

Wrapping hands around it, you take his cock into your mouth, sliding your tongue across the slit, hearing a raspy moan come from Namjoon’s throat. “That’s it baby, God your mouth feels incredible.”

The tip of his cock weighs heavy against your tongue. He’s breathing heavy, while he watches you take him in further. You warm his cock with your mouth just as nicely as when you were on top of him.

Hollowing your cheeks, you take him as far as you could go, hearing his desperate grunts. Namjoon takes a grip of your hair (he’s still very gentle with it and you try not to be disappointed) and pushes you just a bit further, feeling your throat stretch around him. “F-Fuck baby. I really won’t last.”

You tap his thigh and he immediately lets go when he sees your eyes water. You pull off with a pop to catch your breath. “I know.”

Your voice is raspy and it’s the sexiest thing Namjoon has ever heard. And you know exactly how to make this whole situation better. Sometimes, a little whiny purr in your voice is all that’s needed to get exactly what you need. “I just want you to come down my throat. Please, fuck my throat daddy.”

Now if Namjoon wasn’t sure he could bust before, he could definitely nut in your fist right in that instant. Yes, he has a daddy kink, sue him.

“Come here.” Namjoon demands, doesn’t hesitate this time to tug you up a little harder and place you in his lap, before he shoves your back against the couch.

“W-What are you doing?” You ask, but the answer is pretty obvious when you see him line his cock up to your hole.

“Fucking you. I’m gonna come inside you. Don’t worry baby, I won’t stop fucking you until you are statisfied.” It’s like music to your ears, his hard member slaps against your clit before he slowly eases back inside you.

Both moaning at the feeling, he lets you adjust for a few seconds, but you waste no time to wrap your legs around his hips and pull him close.

“Please daddy, just fuck me.” You whine into his ear.

This time Namjoon pulls back and right before he slides out, he slams back in, balls smacking into your ass. He fucks you just like that for a while. He’s fast but skilled, finding your sweet spot quite easily. It reminds you both of older times, when things were much easier, when you were both young and easily influenced.

You moan loudly into his neck, toes curling as he fucks his dick deep inside you. “Right there daddy, please don’t stop.”

Sweat starts forming on his forehead and his hair that had once been held back by gel begins sticking to skin. It isn’t a surprise to feel him thrust harder and faster, his tongue poking at his cheek as he concentrates. “Fuck baby, I really missed fucking you just like this. You feel so tight around me, look so fucking sexy, just like this baby.”

You eat up his praise, biting your bottom lip as you feel the tight grip he has on your hips, drilling into you like he used to. Fuck, maybe you were right. This was exactly what you needed. There’s no Hoseok in your head right now. No unwanted thoughts in your mind. It’s just you and Namjoon. How it always should have been.

A whimper falls between your lips and you feel Namjoon leaving hickey’s around your tits, covering them beautifully with his own little marks.

Your legs start to shake around him, and warmth starts spreading through you quickly. “Daddy— I- I think I’m gonna fucking come.”

Namjoon grunts, mouth around your nipple while he pulls off to speak. “Yeah baby? You wanna come?”

Yes.

No.

Not really.

Preferably you would like him to control your fucking orgasm, flip you around, start pounding into you until you can’t hold yourself together but this will have to do.

“Y-Yeah. I wanna come.”

“Come sweetheart.” It’s not long before you moan sweetly through an orgasm, Namjoon fucks you through it as promised and you feel like you are levitating, he maintains sinful eye contact. His thrust starts to become sloppy and you feel the instant he lets go.

“Inside daddy, inside.” With one final strong stroke, Namjoon comes deep inside you, his breathy moans feel hot against your ear.

There’s a few minutes of heavy breathing, settling into the couch below you. Namjoon’s breaths follow close behind yours, arm tucked below your breasts, he lays behind you.

“You were so wonderful my love, I’m sorry we don’t do that enough.” Namjoon breaks the silence, kissing the side of your head.

For the twentieth time that week, guilt falls heavy onto your chest. You didn’t deserve him, he didn’t deserve this.

“No, don’t apologize Joonie. It’s my fault, really. I’ve just been… out of it. But I feel much better. All thanks to you. Thank you, thank you for everything you do for me and our home.” You start getting emotional, but you don't let your tone waver. You didn’t want him to know.

“You know I’d do it all for you, my love” He whispers into your hair, kissing along the soft skin behind your neck. “I can’t wait to marry you baby.”

There it is again, guilt.

“I know, I know. Me either.”

“I love you.” He doesn't hesitate to remind you sweetly.

It hurts to say it with all that is going through your mind, but you force a reply anyway. “I love you too.”

…

Sleep comes over you quickly that night.

Finally, you had fucked your sweet and loving fiancé and for once, your dreams don’t start off with you fucking yourself into an orgasm.

In fact, you don’t dream, at least you don't recall.

Hoseok immediately knows something is different when he arrives. He doesn’t smell arousal in the air, no this time he can tell you’ve been fucked. He can smell the come leftover deep inside your walls. He’s impressed to say the least.

He watches your chest rise and fall, a small pout framing on your lips. You sleep beautifully, he thinks you will look even better after he’s done with you for today.

With careful steps, he makes his way to the end of your bed, you jerk your arm so suddenly in your sleep and he holds back a laugh. He’s quiet when he sits besides your sleeping head, gentle fingers run through your hair.

“Mm.” You hum sweetly in your sleep, molding against his touch, thinking it was your husband-to-be playing with your hair like he normally does.

Before you hear him say, “someone had a good night. Isn’t that right kitten?”

Your eyes widen, nearly jumping out of bed, but Hoseok’s hands stop you from moving. “It’s just me baby.”

“H-How?” Your voice is raspy with sleep. “You were supposed to be gone.”

Hoseok smiles wide, hand still caressing the back of your head. “Did you really think that would happen, kitten?”

“Yes.”

“You let him fuck you.” He says like he knows for sure it's a fact. He doesn’t look too happy about it and your deafening silence answers his unspoken question. He pats your cheek. “Naughty kitty.”

You gulp, his pretty hand wrapping around your throat as he asks the next question. “Did you like it?”

“Yes.” It’s not a lie and he knows it too.

“Yeah? He fuck you better than me?” You gulp again.

“Yes.” No.

“Why do you lie to me, kitten?” His eyes flash red (they don’t), but the look he gives you is enough to warn you. Things are about to get serious so fast. “I know everything.”

You know that saying people say about fucking around and finding out. You were about to fuck around and find out real fucking fast that Hoseok doesn’t play with his toy.

“Then what the fuck are you going to do about it, huh?” The only warning you get is Hoseok’s smile and then he’s fisting your hair tightly. Jawline clenched, watching as his eyes hood and darken.

“Fuck yourself open, you slut.” He drops the grip on your hair and stands, serious look on his face, he’s not fucking around at all tonight. His hands are quick, tugging his belt off. “Make it quick.”

When he sees you still haven’t moved, a warning comes to you by a strong fistful of hair, shoving you so closely against his face. His breath hits yours, but your lips don’t touch, even though they are so fucking close. You’re tempted to steal a kiss from those soft looking lips, but you’ve acted up enough. “I said, fuck yourself open.”

He drops his grip, letting your head fall into the mattress. Hoseok’s voice is strong and demanding so you stop fucking around and pull the sheets off your body. His eyes fall on your breasts, they are covered in hickey’s freshly made by Namjoon and he tries not to let that affect him. But damn him, he wishes it was him instead. He knows you would never sleep unsatisfied. He would always make sure you slept fucked and sated. Even if that meant, falling asleep on his cock.

There’s a slight burn when your finger finds its way to your pussy. Namjoon did a number on you, but it makes it easier to fuck yourself open. His come still settling deep inside you.

Hoseok has his shirt off now and he tugs his briefs and pants down all at once, his cock springs out, looking delicious as ever. You hear a dark chuckle behind you. “Uh-uh, wrong hole kitty, I’m fucking that ass tonight.”

You whimper when his hand comes to stop your movements.

“I’m not fucking that dirty hole. Turn around. I wanna see you from behind.” He’s not putting it up for question. You push yourself up on your knees and fall back against the bed, lifting your ass towards his direction.

He curses behind you and smacks your ass. Leaving a red hand mark behind, it almost is as pretty as your face. “Fuck kitten, you really are pretty all around. Fuck that hole open for me.”

You feel spit hit your hole and your index finger rubs his saliva around your rim. Your chest is heavy, this time for different reasons, you are completely breathless.

You can’t see Hoseok, but you hear as he opens the drawer beside your bed, it’s where you kept all your toys and lube. You are a finger-deep inside your ass when you hear the lube cap open, Hoseok is kind enough to warm the lube a bit between his fingers before he rubs against your rim and finger. He lets a bit of the lube dribble down your ass cheeks. Hoseok likes it a bit messy and wet. He clicks it close and tosses it besides you.

“My perfect submissive slut.” He whispers, hands settling on your ass as you finger yourself open with two fingers now, the burn hurts but it feels so damn good. Namjoon has never fucked your ass, but it has always been one of your sexual desires. Nothing could ever compare to an orgasm through anal and Hoseok has taught you a lot about that.

Another glob of spit hits your rim and you feel him squeeze a finger in. The burn of three fingers tear through you, moaning into the sheets. “Mm, fuck.”

He grins watching you hold back moans, biting your lips hard.

“Maybe I should punish you tonight.” He suggests, still fucking his finger in your ass alongside your own. “If you come like this I’ll let you suck my dick if I’m still feeling nice.”

You complain, turning around to face him, back still arched. “No… please, please Hoseok. F-Fuck me. Fuck my ass.”

“No.” He’s cold like usual and you know he won’t budge so it's no use.

“But I-I’ve been waiting patiently. I thought all day about you.” It almost sounds like a purr and Hoseok loves it, spanking the fat in your hips this time with an unoccupied hand. His finger is still deep inside your ass and doesn’t let down.

“Yeah? Tell me about that.” He starts to jerk himself off in the process, the leftover lube in his fingers makes the slide easier, his tongue wets his lips while he maintains eye contact.

Your cheeks are burning but you continue, “I thought about your huge cock splitting me open. Forcing me to take you e-even when I can’t anymore. I thought about you spitting into my messy hole like you always do. I thought about you fucking me open against the door. Even the kitchen counter. All day, I’ve missed you all day.”

This seems to satisfy him enough so he plays nice. “Turn over. On your back. Show me those tits.”

He pulls his finger out slowly and you miss it immediately but you listen, your own fingers slide out as you turn around for him. His knees hit the bed pulling your thighs apart as he falls between them, his arm falling beside your head. He’s still fisting his hard length, watching your tits rise and fall as you breathe.

His tongue comes out and licks around your breasts purposely avoiding your nipple. “You let him mark you.”

“He’s my husband-to-be.” You answer, holding back a moan when he sucks on your skin, gentle enough not to make any marks. “Of course, I did.”

“Mm.” He hums into your skin, it vibrates and your pussy responds to this, leaking arousal into the sheets. “What else did you let him do, kitten?”

“He fucked me.” You whisper, practically vibrating below him.

“Oh I know that. I smell it.” He looks like he wants to laugh, but instead continues sucking around your other breast, giving both tits the attention they deserve.

“Squeeze them together.” He orders and you listen quickly. His tongue slides and sucks between them, still avoiding your nipples and it drives you insane. You want to feel him.

“Please.” Your voice is weak.

“Please what?” He asks, looking up dumbfounded, but he knows exactly what you want. He’s making you work for it. “Tell me kitten. What do you want?”

“Y-Your mouth.” You struggle.

“Where?” He breathes out, right on top of your nipple, tongue nearly sliding against it.

“R-Right there.” Your eyes never move.

You watch as he sticks his long, pink tongue out and very slowly licks your already hardened nipple.

“Here?” He asks between his own breaths and you moan softly, sounding sweet against his ears.

“Yes.” You whisper-moan.

He drops his cock, letting it hit your cunt while he starts to suck on your nipples like they deserve. There’s nothing sweet and gentle about this. It’s like he wants to replace Namjoon’s love bites and leave you with his own.

He switches off onto the previous breast and his hand comes to play with your other breast while he attends to the new one. He licks and sucks harshly, bruising your tender skin. You writhe against him, pussy brushing along his cock, but his hand comes to halt your actions quickly with a strong grip on your hip.

“Be good, slut.” Is all he says before he continues marking your breasts and you can’t do a single thing, but moan and whine underneath him, feeling empty. The memory of Namjoon is long forgotten.

Once Hoseok is satisfied with his work. He grins and pulls away. He grabs the bottle of lube beside you and lathers his cock in it. “Should I fuck you now?”

You are quick to nod and you feel bubbly.

Finally.

“Yeah? You think you deserve it?” He tempts and teases, his lubed fingers touch your chin and you open with ease, taking all three fingers he offers you inside your mouth. You suck hard and watch him bite his lip.

You moan around his fingers, his other hand gripping his slicken cock and you feel it catch around your rim.

“Beg for it, slut.” He slides his fingers out, saliva drips down your chin, you probably look a mess but you don't even care anymore. The sinful desire and lust is ten times worse than any other feeling.

“Please, Hoseok. Please.” You beg. “I’d do anything. Anything.”

He sees red for two seconds and then he says. “Then keep your legs open for me. Try to stay awake. Don’t disappoint me this time, kitten.”

There’s no warning for when he plunges his hard length inside your slicked rim. You know he won’t be going anywhere near your pussy, keeping his promise. You didn’t deserve it. You let someone else use your hole and now he’s punishing you.

“Oh. My. God.” You moan, it fucking burns, but soon his thrusts turn into pleasure and his cock brushes your sweet spot. It’s like he’s known you all your life, knowing the exact way to tear you apart, piece by piece.

“Ghost actually, not God, but I’ve met him. He’s not the sweet and forgiving man everyone mentions he is.” Hoseok says this all while buried deep between your ass cheeks and you would actually laugh about this if the situation was different, but instead you moan and clench around him feeling his balls slap faster against your ass. “That’s it kitten, lose your fucking mind.”

And that is exactly what you do.

Hoseok continues ramming his hips into yours for a few minutes, you aren’t speaking clearly anymore so he doesn’t understand a word you tell him, all he knows is that you must be feeling fucking ecstasy by the way you roll your eyes and yell moans.

His hands grip your hips and he comes to a stop. “Face down. Ass up. I wanna see that ass while I pound it from behind.”

You don’t reply to him, but you seem to understand. With weak movements, you move and nearly fall face first into the bed, weak limbs. You don’t even have the strength to hold yourself together anymore. Hoseok is kind enough to help though, he places a pillow below your hips, just high enough so he can slide right back inside your tight ass.

He hears your muffled moans against your bedsheets, watching you weakly grip them.

“Such a nice ass. It’s a shame really.” Your ass bounces while he mounts you from behind, it’s fast but precise, hitting your walls just right at every harsh thrust.

“W-What is?” He barely hears you reply.

“That this ass isn’t played with enough and soon I’ll just be a fidget of your imagination. You’ll forget I ever existed and you’ll never, ever receive the sexual satifisation you deserve. But maybe, one day, when it’s your turn to go, you’ll meet me in the after-life and I’ll show you just how much I’ve missed this sweet ass.” The ghost’s voice almost sounds sad and you freeze. You don’t want this to end. No.

“T-Then don’t stop fucking me. Keep me here forever.” You whisper frantically, breath hot and heavy.

“Oh trust me baby, I would if I could. For now, I won’t stop. Stay awake, kitten.” You don’t even notice you are falling unconscious, the stretch and burn of his cock is exhausting and your ass takes him greedily, but his words wake you.

He grips the side of your hips, pressing his thumbs into your back as he sets a faster pace. Slamming and ramming his dick deep within you. The moans and gasps that slip from your mouth sound so pretty, God he really wishes it would never fucking end, but he feels you slipping between his hands already.

What the fuck can he do?

Hoseok is close himself, how could he not be? He’s been practically edging himself for hours and now that he has such a juicy ass at hand, with the most perfect woman he has ever seen, he could practically come inside your velvet walls right now.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” You curse and moan below him, you tremple and shake, the knot inside your stomach is barely holding up. “‘M so close.”

He nods, forgets you can’t see him. He harshly tugs you around, still quite limp and weak between his arms. “Wanna see that face when you come on my cock.”

He plunges back inside, lips close to yours, but he doesn’t kiss you. And then you realize, he hasn’t kissed you. This entire time. He’s fucked you religiuosly for weeks on end and you don’t even know what those heart-shaped lips taste like against yours. Would they be as sweet as they look? Would he kiss you gently or would he be harsh and rough like the way he fucks? You wonder about it all at once and it makes you sad for a moment. You want a kiss. Why wouldn’t he kiss you?

“Kiss me.” You breathe out, he’s grunting above your mouth still fucking you nice and deep. You are beyond positive you won’t be able to move your ass tomorrow but it’s worth it, it’s always worth it.

He looks up and then looks back down, concentrating on his thrust, you moan but hold your ground.

“Please. Kiss me.” You whisper, gasping when you feel the knot start to come undone. He knows you’re about to let go and this only drives him to bottom out faster and quicker. Skin smacking quickly against skin. Your asshole has been shaped and molded just for him. You’re loving every second of it, but he still hasn’t kissed you.

Why?

Your arms weakly wrap around his shoulders, he breathes heavy and hot against your ear now. It’s messy, sweaty and his touch is usually rough, but it feels awfully gentle now. He’s still rough inside your soft walls, but something’s changed.

“Hoseok.” You breathe, you’re so sad.

He hums against your neck, avoiding your eyes.

“Kiss me.” You plead again, he kissed your neck so softly, balls smacking harder and faster against your ass. “No, my lips.”

“Goodnight, kitten.” He whispers sounding sad into your ear before he lifts his face from your neck and those heart-shaped lips touch your softly, it’s almost sweet. You come undone as soon as you feel the touch of his magical lips and you swear you feel him come deep inside you.

It all disappears though.

“Honey?” This time it's Namjoon, hand already around your waist. “You okay? Was it another nightmare?”

A tear falls down your face and Namjoon awes, bringing you into his warm embrace. “Oh honey, I’m so sorry.”

Why are you crying?

And where is Hoseok?

“I am too.” You simply say, crying harshly into his shoulder.

Hoseok watches the scene unfold from afar. He wishes you could feel the ache you’ve left him behind too and there isn’t a damn thing he could do but wait.

“See you in the after-life kitten. There I’ll spoil you with all the kisses you deserve.”

You don’t hear him, but he knows he means well. Hoseok walks away permanently this time, he’s lost the feeling of his heart long ago, but he feels heavy-hearted and continues on his way to his next victim.

Until next time.

#bts fanfic #bts smut #hoseok x reader #hoseok fanfic #hoseok smut #hoseok x y/n #hoseok scenarios #hoseok fic #hoseok angst #namjoon x reader #namjoon fluff #namjoon smut #namjoon angst #bts angst

444 notes · View notes

misshoneyimhome · 2 months ago

Note

Could you do an ex-lover to lovers again with reader and Nico Hischier 🤭 with the vibes “I thought the Swiss could change me” from the song ‘Lucerne’ by Richy Mitch & The coal miners. Kinda angsty and really fluffy.

Absolutely, darling! ❤️‍🔥 I hadn’t heard that song before now, but I’m absolutely obsessed with it 🤗

I really hope I captured your vision with this – it might come off a bit general, but I just wanted to try and make sure I included everything, from the beginning to the ex-lovers part. Hopefully, you enjoy reading it as much as I did working on it 🙏🏼

Tropes & warnings: Nico Hischier x reader, strangers-lovers, break-up, ex-lovers, fluff, angst, light smut at the end

Word count: 3.9K

➼｡ﾟ

I Thought the Swiss Could Change Me

Lucerne, I keep running right back to you 'Cause I thought the Swiss could change me That the finer things would render me finer tuned Lucerne, I keep coming right back I keep running on

You and Nico had been together for almost two years when it all fell apart. It sort of unravelled slowly, cautiously like you might expect with most breakups. Yet, it still hit like a violent storm neither of you saw coming. One day, everything was perfect—the love, the laughs, the easy rhythm of your lives together. The next day, it wasn’t. You had never imagined it would happen to you. Not to you and Nico. Everyone said you were strong, destined for each other.

Soulmates.

From the moment you first met under the crisp autumn skies of New Jersey, there had been something electric between you. You were never much of a sports fan before that day, but Nico was hard to resist. It was during the start of hockey season, and the city was buzzing with excitement. You weren’t paying attention to the Devils or their captain—hockey had never been on your radar—but somehow, the universe had decided you and Nico would collide.

It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, really. You were grabbing coffee, already running late, when someone bumped into you hard enough to spill your drink all over your sweater. Annoyed, you turned, ready to give the person a piece of your mind, but when your eyes locked with his, the words got stuck in your throat. It was Nico Hischier, though you didn’t know it at the time—just a tall, apologetic guy with warm brown eyes that were quick to soften in concern.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, his Swiss accent thick, holding his hands up in surrender.

You had waved it off, though your annoyance was still fresh. “It’s fine. Really.”

“I owe you another one, please,” Nico insisted, his boyish grin forming as he glanced at the mess he’d made of your outfit.

Needless to say, you didn’t argue. And that was just the beginning.

What started with an accidental coffee spill soon turned into hours of conversation. He had bought you a replacement drink that day, and somehow, you ended up talking about everything under the sun—his love for hockey, his home in Switzerland, and how he still wasn’t used to certain things in New Jersey. You didn’t even realise who he was until later, when someone asked for a picture. And even then, it didn’t hit you fully. To you, he was just Nico, the guy who spilled coffee on you.

But that simple encounter turned into something more, something neither of you had expected. Nico had been charmed by you almost immediately, captivated by the way you didn’t care about his status as the Devils’ captain or the attention that followed him. You were easy to be around, someone who made him feel like just a regular guy instead of a superstar athlete, coupled with your random quirks. So, it didn't take long before he asked you out.

You fell fast. And Nico? Nico fell even harder.

He hadn’t planned on it—hadn’t thought he’d be swept off his feet so quickly. Nico had always been calm, steady, and focused on his career. But you changed everything. Your laugh, the sparkle in your eyes when you talked about things you loved, the way you cared deeply and genuinely about people—it was intoxicating. And what surprised him the most was how seamlessly you fit into his world. Though hockey was his life, you never made him feel like he had to choose between you and his passion. You supported him, understood the long road trips, the exhausting schedule, even the missed calls. That understanding was something he hadn’t realised he needed until he found it with you.

And in return, Nico gave you everything he had. He took you to games, let you into the thrilling world of professional hockey, even though you hadn’t been interested before. He showed you behind the scenes, introduced you to his teammates, and made sure you never felt like an outsider in his life. You got swept up in the excitement of the games, learning stats, figuring out the dynamics of hockey you never thought you’d care about. And before you knew it, you were standing in the stands, dressed in his jersey number 13 and cheering with the rest of the crowd, your heart racing not just for the game but for him.

As the months passed, you found yourself more and more entrenched in Nico’s life. He introduced you to his closest friends, the people who had been part of his journey long before he ever became a captain. He took you to his favourite hidden spots in New Jersey—little restaurants only a few knew about, places where he could escape the constant attention. There, the two of you would talk for hours, sharing dreams, worries, and everything in between.

When the off-season arrived, Nico couldn’t wait to take you to Switzerland. It wasn’t just a vacation for him—it was bringing you home, showing you the world that had shaped him. His excitement was palpable as he talked about the mountains, the lakes, and the quaint little villages he grew up in. And when you finally got there, it was everything he’d promised.

Switzerland was breathtaking. The mountains stood tall and proud, the air was clean and crisp, and the lakes sparkled in the sun. Nico took you everywhere—to the best hiking trails, the most beautiful overlooks, and, of course, to meet his family. You were nervous at first, but his family welcomed you with open arms, instantly making you feel like part of them. His mother adored you, his siblings thought you were fun, and Nico? Nico looked at you like he had never been prouder to have you by his side.

It was perfect. Too perfect, maybe. Because paradise doesn’t last forever, and even the strongest love has its tests.

You didn’t realise it at the time, but cracks were beginning to form, even in the midst of those happy moments. The media couldn’t leave well enough alone. Your relationship with Nico had always been under scrutiny—people loved to talk about the captain of the Devils, and they loved to dig for dirt. They started prying, spreading rumours and lies, trying to find any weakness they could exploit. At first, it didn’t seem to matter. You trusted Nico, and he trusted you. You had survived worse together, and you weren’t going to let a few baseless headlines shake the foundation you had built.

But trust, as solid as it seemed, can be fragile when constantly attacked. The rumours took their toll—not on you, but on Nico. At first, it was subtle. You noticed the way he tensed up every time his phone buzzed with a new notification, or how his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes like it used to. The worst part? He didn’t talk about it much—Nico had never been one to share his insecurities easily—but you could see it, the weight of everything piling on his shoulders.

The media was relentless. They posted photos of you out with friends, with men you barely knew—strangers, coworkers, or simply people you happened to bump into at events. It was harmless, but the way they twisted it in headlines made it seem like more. And so-called “fans” didn’t make it easier. Nico would get messages, pictures of you with these men, accompanied by cruel comments suggesting that you weren’t loyal, that you were using him for fame. It was all nonsense, and you both knew it. At least, you thought you both did.

Nico, however, struggled with it more than you realised. He kept it bottled up, acting like it didn’t bother him. But over time, you could see the cracks forming. You could feel the distance growing between you. He became quieter, more withdrawn. The light in his eyes, the playful glint you loved so much, began to dim. He started spending more time at the rink, throwing himself into practices and games, using hockey as an escape from the thoughts that tormented him.

It was jealousy, though Nico would never admit it out loud. He was terrified. The idea of losing you—to someone with a less demanding life, someone who could be there for you every day—haunted him. He wasn’t around as much as he wanted to be; he couldn’t always be there when you needed him. And the thought that someone else could swoop in, could give you what he couldn’t, consumed him. Instead of telling you about his fears, though, he let them fester. He didn’t want to seem weak, didn’t want to burden you with his insecurities, so he kept it all to himself. But that only made it worse.

Slowly, he began to pull away. At first, it was small things—missed calls, shorter texts, moments of silence that stretched just a bit too long. Then, it became more obvious. The intimacy you once shared faded. Your sex life, once passionate and spontaneous, became rare. Nights that used to be filled with whispered conversations and soft touches were replaced with silence. Nico was there, but he wasn’t really there. His mind was always somewhere else—lost in his own doubts and insecurities.

You tried to talk to him, to reach out, to assure him that nothing had changed, that you still loved him, still wanted him. But Nico wasn’t good at talking about his feelings, especially not when it came to things that scared him. He brushed off your concerns, said everything was fine, that he was just tired from the season. You wanted to believe him, but deep down, you knew something was wrong. The man who used to look at you like you were his entire world now barely met your eyes during dinner.

The tension between you grew thicker with every passing day. Every attempt you made to connect with him seemed to push him further away. It was like he had built a wall around himself, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t break through. You were left wondering where it all went wrong, how you had gone from being the couple everyone envied to two people barely holding on.

The final blow came just before the playoffs - Nico ended it.

It happened on a quiet evening at home. You weren’t expecting it, not at all. He had just come back from practice, looking more exhausted than usual. You thought maybe it was just the pressure of the upcoming games, the stress of leading his team through such an intense part of the season. You had no idea what was coming.

He sat down next to you on the couch, but something was off. There was no warmth in his gaze, no tenderness in his touch. You could feel the cold distance between you, and it made your stomach churn with dread. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost emotionless.

“I think we should end this,” Nico said, not meeting your eyes.

You blinked, not understanding at first. “What? What are you talking about?”

He took a deep breath, his hands clenched tightly in his lap. “It’s better this way.”

Those words sent a chill down your spine. Better? How could this possibly be better? You searched his face for any sign of hesitation, for any indication that he didn’t mean what he was saying, but all you found was cold detachment. He wasn’t there—not really. It was like he had already made up his mind, like he had checked out of the relationship long before this conversation even started.

“Better for who?” you asked, your voice breaking. “For you? For me? Nico, this doesn’t make any sense.”

But Nico didn’t explain. He just shook his head, his jaw clenched tightly. “I’m sorry, Y/N. It’s… it’s just better.”

And that was it. No long explanation, no heartfelt goodbye. Just those cold, final words. You were left blindsided, devastated, staring at him in disbelief. How could he do this? How could he just walk away like this? After everything you still felt for him?

But Nico was already gone, emotionally, and now he was physically leaving too. He got up from the couch, muttered something about needing to be alone, and walked out the door. The silence that followed was deafening.

You sat there, numb, unable to process what had just happened. The man you loved, the man who had once been your everything, had just walked out of your life without so much as a proper explanation. And you were left to pick up the pieces of a relationship you thought would last forever.

You couldn’t watch the playoffs - not that it lasted long for the Devils.

When Nico left for Switzerland during the off-season, he hoped the distance would give him clarity. Switzerland had always been his sanctuary—the mountains, the lakes, the quiet. He thought maybe returning to the familiar landscapes of his childhood, surrounded by his family, would help him clear his mind, help him forget the chaos of the past few months. But the Swiss countryside, no matter how beautiful, couldn’t soothe the ache in his chest. The rolling hills and serene views only reminded him of what he was missing. Every time he saw a picture of you online, smiling with friends, looking carefree in photos taken at bars or restaurants, his heart twisted painfully.

He couldn’t forget you. No matter how hard he tried to lose himself in the simplicity of home, in the comfort of his family’s company, you were still everywhere in his thoughts. Your smile, your laugh, the way you fit so seamlessly into his life, even in the chaotic whirlwind of his career. He missed the sound of your voice, missed waking up next to you, missed the comfort of your body pressed against his at night.

Nico was struggling. His bed felt too big, too cold without you beside him. He missed the way you used to curl into him, your head resting on his chest, your hand draped over his stomach. The way you would trace lazy circles on his skin, lulling him to sleep after a long day. The way your body fit so perfectly against his.

He thought about you constantly, replaying the moments you shared—the laughter, the intimacy, the quiet moments in the morning before the world intruded on your little bubble. He missed the way you would look at him, like he was the only person in the world that mattered. He missed your body, the way you moved together, the way you made him feel alive. No matter how hard he tried to bury those feelings, they always came rushing back, overwhelming him with regret.

But you weren’t happy, no matter what the pictures online showed. The smiles in those photos were carefully constructed, masking the pain that had settled deep inside you. The loss of Nico had left a gaping hole in your life, one that you didn’t know how to fill. You spent more time in bars than you cared to admit, trying to drown the loneliness that gnawed at you. Alcohol dulled the edges of the hurt, numbed the constant ache in your chest, but it couldn’t erase it. You were surrounded by friends, but none of them could make up for the emptiness that Nico’s absence left behind.

The nights were the hardest. You had grown so used to sharing a bed with him, to the comfort of his warm body beside yours. The way you used to fit together so perfectly, no matter the mood—whether it was slow, tender nights where you’d make love for hours, or spontaneous, passionate moments where you couldn’t keep your hands off each other. The way he’d kiss you, deep and slow, taking his time, savouring every touch like it was the last. His hands on your skin, the feel of him pressed against you—it had been perfect, effortless. The chemistry between you was undeniable, and now, it was gone.

One night, after too many drinks, you made a mistake. You went home with someone else, hoping that maybe, just maybe, it would help. Maybe being with someone new would make the emptiness go away, even for just a little while. You wanted to forget the way Nico’s touch lingered on your skin, wanted to replace the memories of him with someone else. But it didn’t work. The one-night stand only made things worse. No one could compare to Nico. No one ever would. The moment it was over, you felt even more hollow than before, disgusted with yourself for even trying to replace him.

You missed everything about him.

Those four months apart were torture for both of you. Every day without each other was a reminder of what you had lost, of the love that had slipped through your fingers. You both tried to move on, to find solace in other things, other people, but nothing worked. The connection you had shared was too strong to forget. And no matter how far apart you were, the longing for each other never truly went away.

When Nico returned to New Jersey, neither of you had anticipated seeing each other so soon. You had resigned yourself to the possibility that your paths might never cross again. Yet another crisp autumn evening, fate intervened. You were walking through a park, lost in your thoughts, when you saw him—standing beneath a cluster of trees, hands shoved deep in his pockets, staring off into the distance. He looked lost, as if he was carrying the same weight in his chest that you had been for months.

“Nico?” you called out softly, your voice catching in your throat.

He turned slowly, and when his eyes met yours, the world around you seemed to freeze. Everything you’d held inside—every unsaid word, every missed touch—suddenly bubbled to the surface. The months of separation vanished in that split second, and all that was left was the two of you, standing in the fading daylight.

His gaze softened, and he took a small step toward you, his voice thick with emotion as he said your name. “Y/N…”

You crossed your arms, trying to steady yourself against the whirlwind of feelings that hit you all at once. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” you admitted, the vulnerability in your words feeling raw, exposed.

Nico’s eyes darkened with regret. “Well, I… I couldn’t really stay away. I thought Switzerland would… I thought being home would make things clearer. But it didn’t. All I could think about was you. All I wanted… was you.”

You took a hesitant step forward, heart hammering in your chest. “I… missed you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your pulse. “I tried to move on, but I couldn’t...”

The space between you seemed to evaporate as Nico reached out, his fingers grazing yours. The moment his skin touched yours, a spark shot through you, igniting something deep inside that had lain dormant since he’d walked away. It was like a missing puzzle piece had finally fallen back into place.

“I’m so sorry, schätzi,” he said, his voice trembling. “I was so scared. Scared that I wasn’t enough for you, that you’d grow tired of me being away all the time… and that someone else could give you the life I couldn’t.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, but you shook your head. “Nico, you were always enough. I just needed you to let me in. To talk to me.”

He looked at you, his face filled with regret, guilt written in every line of his expression. “I know that now. I just… I thought letting you go would make it easier—for both of us. But it didn’t. I was wrong. I was so wrong.”

Without thinking, you gently closed the distance between you, placing your hand on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palm. “You were never the problem. I loved you, Nico. And I still love you.”

His breath hitched, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I love you too,” he whispered, pulling you against him as if he was afraid you might slip away. You melted into his embrace, the warmth and familiarity of his arms around you filling the empty spaces inside you. “I never stopped.”

You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, your hand still resting on his chest. “Then don’t let go this time,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, but the intensity of the words hanging in the air between you.

Nico’s lips parted, and before you could say another word, he finally kissed you.

It was soft at first, hesitant, like he wasn’t sure if this was real. But the moment your lips met, every bit of uncertainty vanished. The kiss deepened, filled with all the passion, the longing, the words that had been left unsaid for so long. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer as you tangled your fingers in his hair, needing to feel him, to know that this wasn’t just a dream.

His lips trailed down to your jaw, then your neck, sending shivers down your spine. “I missed you so much,” he murmured against your skin, his voice hoarse with emotion.

“I missed you too,” you whispered, your fingers tightening in his hair as he pressed his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the cool evening air.

Before long, the desire that had simmered between you erupted into something more urgent. Nico’s hands roamed your body, as if he couldn’t get enough of you, and you were more than willing to let him. You tugged at his jacket, your body aching for the familiar touch you’d been without for so long.

“Let’s go,” Nico then whispered, his voice turning rough, the need in his eyes matching your own. You didn’t need to ask where—your apartment was only a few blocks away, and the moment you stepped through the door, it was as if no time had passed. The two of you moved in sync, shedding clothes in a trail that led to your bedroom.

Nico’s lips found yours again, more urgent this time, his hands sliding over your bare skin as he pulled you onto the bed. His touch was familiar, yet it felt brand new, the months apart making every sensation feel heightened, more intense. His hands explored every inch of your body, as if he was memorising you all over again.

“I love you,” Nico murmured between kisses, his voice thick with emotion as he pressed his body against yours, his warmth enveloping you. “I’ll never let you go again. I just want you to be mine.”

You gasped as he eased himself into you - just like he’s always done - his touch both gentle and firm, sending sparks of electricity through your body. Your heart raced as the two of you reconnected in the most intimate way possible, bodies moving together in perfect harmony. Every kiss, every touch, was filled with the love and passion that had always existed between you.

“I love you too, Nico. I’m yours. Only yours.”

The world outside ceased to exist. All that mattered was Nico—his body pressed against yours, his hands in your hair, the feel of his lips on your skin. And in that moment, all the pain of the past few months melted away, leaving only the love that had always been there.

#my asks #nh13 #nico hischier imagine #nico hischier x reader #new jersey devils imagine #nhl hockey imagine #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagine

138 notes · View notes

7ndipity · 1 year ago

Text

Mine

Namjoon x Reader

Summary: Joon gets easily jealous, but do you mind, really?

Warnings: Swearing, Joonie’s kinda possessive, very suggestive

A/N: Thanks to the lovely anon who requested this! Sorry it took a few extra days, this month’s been a lot, but we’re finally starting to feel better! This one started off angsty in my drafts but somehow turned out way more suggestive than I planned (At what point should I start a blog for spicy fics? lmk)

Masterlist

Requests are open

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

It didn’t take a genius to figure out what was going on in Namjoon’s head that evening, mouth pressed into a hard, thin line as he only half followed the conversation he was currently in the middle of, but you could feel the weight of his eyes constantly tracking you from across the room as you talked with one of the other artists that were at the event Joon had invited you to as his plus one.

You fought the slight urge to roll your own eyes as you caught his hard stare through the crowd, trying your best to ignore him for the moment and keep your focus on your own conversation.

This was starting to become a recurring situation between the two of you; if he saw you getting too close (in his opinion anyway) to another guy, or sometimes anyone at all, his stubborn jealousy would rear its ugly head, turning your normally sweet and understanding boyfriend sour and possessive.

He, of course, vehemently denied that that was what it was, that the other person was just giving him bad vibes and he was just looking out for you, although you couldn’t help wondering if/when he would notice that the those ‘vibes’ he kept picking up on was just their interest in you.

Almost as if on cue, you felt a familiar pair of hands land on your waist, thumbs rubbing soothing patterns against your sides through the fabric of your outfit, though it was unclear whether it was meant to calm you or him.

“Having a good time?” He asked, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. You didn’t miss the way his tone went up at the end in annoyance, despite his rather feeble attempt to mask it.

“I am, what about you?” You replied, tilting your head to look back at him.

“I think I’ve had my fill of socializing for one evening. Shall we go?”

“Do we have to?” You asked.

“I would like to.” He said, leaning closer. “I’ve also had my fill of other people stealing your attention from me.” He whispered in your ear, making you shiver.

The car ride home was unusually quiet. You noticed that he was still tense based on the way he was gripping the steering wheel, but you chose to leave it be, leaving him the responsibility to present the topic to you if there was something truly bothering him.

You barely made it through the door though before he was on you, catching you in a bruising kiss as he pressed you back against the wall.

“You drive me fucking crazy, you know that?” He mumbled against your lips. “Couldn’t stand the way they kept looking at you.”

“They weren’t.” You gasped between kisses.

“You don’t see what I do.” He said, trailing kisses over your jaw and down your neck to your pulse point.

“Who cares?” You replied, hands struggling to find purchase on his shoulders.

“I do.” He practically growled.

“You shouldn’t.”

Your response made his head whip back up to look at you. “Why the fuck not?”

“Because they don’t matter.” You said, cupping his face in your hands, feeling the heat of his skin against your palms. “I only want you, no one else. You believe that, right?”

He sighed, instinctively leaning into your touch. “Of course I do, I just don’t like people thinking that they can take what’s mine.”

“Yours?” You raised your brows at him. ”What, like you own me?”

He shook his head. “Absolutely not! You belong to only yourself. But-” He stopped, unsure of how to continue.

“But?” You urged, catching him off guard as you wound your hands into his hair and gave a quick tug.

His eyes darkened. “But you're mine.” He pressed another hot kiss to your mouth, stealing your breath as he spoke. “You’re mine and I’m yours. Only yours.”

You relented for the moment, letting yourself get lost in the feeling of him as his hands ghosted over your body, making you press even closer to him.

"Mine."

810 notes · View notes

aperrywilliams · 2 years ago

Text

Pandora’s Box (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

(Not my gif. Credits to the creator!)

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

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: Spencer gets called for work on his day off while having breakfast with his wife. He doesn’t know this day will end worse than he thought.

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: Mention to prison. Mention of kidnapping. Cat Adams. If I forgot something, let me know.

A/N: Written for this request. Two parts: this is the angsty one (sorry). How should Spencer make it up to Reader?

Part II

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

Reader's POV

I always knew Spencer's job had its quirks. Granted, being an FBI agent is a dangerous job, and with my husband, this statement tends to be yet worse. Spencer has been kidnapped, drugged, shot in the knee, shot in the neck, framed for murder, incarcerated, and so on.

But after everything we've been through, one would expect things to settle down over time. Is it too much to ask?

I knew what was coming when the damn cell phone chimed that morning. It was Spencer's day off, and we had decided to go for breakfast at our favorite coffee shop since I had the day off too. It was rare we could match in our free time, and since we had both been very busy with our jobs, we wanted to enjoy that day.

Spencer gave me an apologetic look before answering the call.

"Reid," he spoke dryly. He wasn't happy about the interruption either.

While Pelenope surely told Spencer he should go to Quantico as soon as possible, I just stared at him—a glint of anticipated disappointment in my eyes.

"I'm so sorry," Spencer said, confirming my suspicions.

"Don't be. I know how it works." My answer was not reproachful, nor did I want to make him feel bad; instead, it was to clarify that I comprehended and accepted how our life's dynamic goes. "Don't worry, baby. I'm going to my dad's today and staying there. He's been asking me when I would have a sleepover with him," I commented. I knew Spencer would feel less guilty if I didn't spend too much time alone.

"Okay. That's good. And I promise I'll make it up to you," Spencer stated, getting up from his chair before planting an affectionate kiss on my forehead.

Don't make promises you can't keep, I thought.

Here is the thing. Spencer has good intentions, but time isn't on our side lately, so I only hoped we could have a chance to get at least a day to spend together with no interruptions upon his return.

After leaving the coffee shop, I stopped by the apartment to grab some clothes and headed to my dad's.

My dad greeted me in a tight embrace at the front door.

"I thought you would spend your day off with Spencer?" He asked once we parted from our hug.

I knew he was picturing a bad scenario. I'm not keen on sharing my marriage issues with my father, but he could tell there was something.

"Uh. Well. Spencer got called from work," I explained. My dad hummed, not saying anything. I regretted how I worded it because I hate portraying Spencer as the bad guy.

"What?" I asked.

"Everything is okay? I mean, between you and Spencer?" My dad questioned, concerned.

"Yeah. We are fine. Don't worry about us. Come on inside; you promised me movies and hot cocoa," I smiled at him, lacing my arm with his and heading inside the house.

Spencer's POV

Cat Adams. That name only means disaster. I should have known that. This time I hoped she only had ruined my day off with my wife- something a little more bearable than being framed for murder and incarcerated.

Arriving at Quantico, Prentiss and Rossi explained to me what had happened. Cat's associate kidnaped a family and demanded the release of Cat Adams.

Really she thought that could be possible?

Emily told me they were bringing her in a few hours and that I should talk to her.

I didn’t know if I was ready to do that, but a family was in danger. I had to.

She looked so pleased to see me that I felt nauseous, and my mind flew to Milburn. She knew what she was doing, but I needed to control myself and have the upper hand somehow.

My entire demeanor changed when she voiced her demand: a date with me.

The mention of a 'date' with Cat Adams sounded twisted and insufferable. But not going could have been a mistake. Cat knew I wouldn't refuse, not after she said my wife's safety was in danger too.

Frantically I left the room to dial (Y/N)’s number, and it went straight to voicemail. She never turns off her phone. I called her dad, and he said she left the house for a job emergency without explaining too much.

I looked at Emily, who had already told Garcia to track my wife's location. Minutes later, Penelope told us she wasn't at her workplace and was nowhere to find. Her phone's signal went dead after she left her dad's house.

Shit. Shit. Shit. I didn’t know how, but Cat had her.

Rushing inside the room where Cat was, I slammed the table, demanding my wife's location. Cat, of course, laughed in my face.

"I guess now no one could interrupt our date," she dared with a smug grin.

Against all my judgment, I agreed to a plan I wasn't even sure about.

Reader's POV

After Milburn, we talked with Spencer about the real danger we can be exposed to as a couple realizing the kind of job he had. Not that we didn't discuss it before, but the threat became real after that. We had a plan: if something happened, he would contact me directly - or through someone from the team - and if the communication could be compromised, I should get rid of my phone and not tell anybody my location.

When my phone rang that afternoon, we were watching a movie with my dad on the couch. I stood and answered in the hall. A sternly Spencer spoke: "This is an emergency. Met me at my old apartment. There is a key under the mat. Get rid of the phone and not tell anyone. Don't open the door to anyone, and wait for me there."

When I was about to ask what had happened, the call ended. I doubted for a moment. Spencer sounded so out of himself, but after what he had been through, I knew his job could stress him like that. So I just did what I was told.

I lied to my dad, telling him I had a job emergency, and left.

In my mind, I ran through all the possibilities, and none helped me stay calm. Everything could go wrong, like when Spencer went to Mexico without telling me.

Arriving at the apartment, I noticed the key was under the mat, as Spencer told me.

We always talked about what to do with his old place. Since we married, we got a new home, and Spencer rented his apartment. It happened that the last couple who rented it left a month ago, and we were still looking for a new tenant.

The place was almost empty. But still, some of Spencer's old books remained on the shelves. I took one to pass the time until Spencer could arrive. I didn't have my phone, so the only thing I could do was wait.

Spencer's POV

The last thing I thought I would do was ice skating with the woman who framed me for murder and kidnapped my mom and now my wife. Cat enjoyed every minute of my torture, and I just wanted to end it. My mind ran fast to catch any lead that could help me, but Cat knew me better. I don’t like to say it, but she, indeed, knew me better.

"So, I wasn't shocked when I discovered you married to that girl. I was shocked, though, knowing how neglected you have had her," she said casually, doing spins on the ice.

"You don't know what you are saying," I scoffed, trying to sound calm, but I hated how she dared to talk about (Y/N) and me.

"Don't I? So you will tell me you haven't canceled dates or left her for cases very often? That isn't good, Spencie, nothing good," Cat mocked.

I didn't want to give in that much, but how the hell this woman always managed to get under my skin? It's not that I wasn't aware of my messy schedule, but we always agreed with (Y/N) that it was my job, and she understood. Lately, though, things have been getting worse in that matter, and on that, Cat had a point.

When we married, I promised (Y/N) to slow down my job rhythm. After Milburn, I thought I had had enough, and it was time to focus on my life. It worked initially, but as the honeymoon phase ended, I did not slow down and even started overworking myself.

Everything I have been doing in the past months seemed like a stupid decision that had (Y/N) in danger because of my job now. If something terrible happened to her, I would never forgive myself.

“I know you’re waiting for me to slip a clue. But you will not get anything if you don’t show me your old apartment,” Cat demanded.

Now I was utterly confused. Why Cat wanted that?

The thing with Cat is always this way. She has a secret agenda you can’t decipher until it’s too late. I was afraid of that, but not giving up on her demands would put people in danger. I hadn’t an option.

“Why did you marry, anyway? You know you can be with anyone,” Cat spoke as we were being driven in the van. I snapped my head up. Cat shrugged. “What? I am right. Your job is everything to you, Spencie. Don’t lie to yourself; you can’t have a normal life. Not when we know we are so alike.”

“You don’t know anything. I love my wife,” I stated. Cat scoffed.

“I know enough. Tell me, does your wife know where you are now? Does she knows you are with me?” She asked, looking at me intensely. I averted my gaze. Cat was right, but her reasoning was wrong. I don’t like to tell (Y/N) much about my job because it’s not fair to put that burden on her. Not after we have been through. It’s not a matter of trust.

We got to the building and got out of the van. Cat took my arm as armed FBI agents escorted us—a show worth seeing, and I just wanted to forget.

Arriving at the apartment door, I took out my keys to open the lock, but before doing so, Cat stopped me.

“Did you mean it?”

“What?”

“That you love your wife?”

“Of course I do!” I replied, exasperated.

“Show me,” she demanded. But I didn’t understand what she was asking. My confusion was evident. “Show me how you love her. Kiss me the way you would kiss her,” Cat requested. My eyes widened.

“What? No! I will not do that.”

“You will. If you want to see your wife and that family alive again, you will,” she retorted.

I was about to lose my patience. In the last three hours, Cat had just made me go in circles. But I knew what she could do, and I was terrified that her threats would come true.

I took a deep breath before leaning to kiss her. I knew it was wrong, but I just wanted to end this night and find my wife and the missing family. Before my lips reached hers, Cat stopped me.

“I told you, Spencie. Do it like I’m her. Make it good. I will know if you are pretending,” she warned.

Fuck. What a twisted mind.

I gathered my composure, and I tried to imagine that it was (Y/N) in front of me and not Cat. I cupped her cheeks, the way I like to do with (Y/N), and leaned again. This time with no hesitation. It had to look real.

Reader's POV

I heard a commotion outside; I couldn't determine who was talking in the hallway. I froze in the spot, my eyes fixed on the entrance door. Then I noticed the handle turning and the door opening wide.

What I saw made my brain stop working.

Spencer was on the threshold kissing a woman.

Did I say kissing? Scratch that. He was devouring her mouth. And they were enjoying it, I could tell. She was the one who ended the kiss, and I swore I saw Spencer follow her lips for more. The woman turned to see me. Then Spencer noticed I was inside, witnessing how he- my husband - kissed a woman that wasn't me. His eyes widened, leaving his grasp on the woman's cheeks to walk to me.

“(Y/N)? What- what are you doing here? I thought you- that she has-" he stuttered.

I can't tell if it was for nerves, shock, or the fact he had been caught. It didn't matter, though. I was not in a condition to say anything. I just stood there, looking like a kicked puppy. I hated it.

“Fuck!” He cursed as if he had realized what was going on. The problem was I didn’t know anything, and my mind ran with the worst scenery possible.

"Ups," the girl teased. That's when I truly focused on her. I knew this woman. I'm sure I did. Then it hit me. Cat Adams? Seriously?

"What is this?" I barely articulated, shifting my gaze between Spencer and Cat.

"I - I thought she had kidnapped you! She did it with a family. I was so worried," Spencer explained, reaching to grab my hands, which I snatched away. I didn't feel like being touched by him, not after what I saw.

"I can tell you were worried," I spat. Cat started laughing.

"She has quite a sense of humor. I like her," Cat commented, looking between Spencer and me.

Oh, she was enjoying this. And my rational self told me it was better to shut up until I could understand what all about was, but my emotional side got to win this time.

"And you wanted me here for this? Your urgent case was about her? Jeez, Spencer, I thought you were done with this psycho," I pointed, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Oh, darling. You should know by now that Spencer is obsessed with me. How do you explain what you saw? He was kissing the same woman who got him in jail for three months. Maybe it's a kind of Stockholm, who knows," Cat taunted, shrugging like she was clueless. My eyes shot daggers at her. It was infuriating how her words echoed in my brain.

"(Y/N), don't listen to her. She is playing games right now. She wants you mad," Spencer tried to explain. And maybe he was right. But the smug look on her only fueled my anger. I didn't want to snap, though.

"Yeah, you can tell yourself that if it makes you happy," I deadpanned. Cat chuckled.

“Uh-oh. That sounds like jealousy to me.”

"Stop it! Cat, where is the family?" Spencer grabbed her arm suddenly. Her smug smile never faded.

"Easy, Spencie. What are you going to do? Throw me against a wall again?"

What? When did that happen?

Spencer's face went pale as his eyes met mine.

"Ouch. Someone didn't know that," Cat teased. I didn't know what face I had, but Spencer left the grip of Cat's arm and turned to me. "You should tell her, Spencie. She won't believe me if I do."

"You did what?" I asked in disbelief.

When Spencer was about to say something, Luke rushed inside.

"We got them!"

Them? What the fuck was happening?

"Now that's when we were having fun! Not fair!"

Cat pouted with dissatisfaction.

Spencer's eyes never left mine, pleading for me not to jump and hit him - or her.

"Take her out," he sternly told Luke, who rushed to do so.

"It was nice to meet you, (Y/N). Hope Spencer can tell you more of our story,” she taunted before crossing the threshold. Luke took the precaution of closing the door behind them, leaving with Cat and the other FBI field agents.

And just like that, we were alone with Spencer. Cat wasn't in the apartment anymore, but her words and presence remained heavy in the air.

Spencer’s hands were shaking, and they tried to reach mine again. I didn’t let him, though, as I stepped back.

It was all so confusing. And even if there were a logical explanation for this, the nerves and the anger were too much to try to understand.

“(Y/N), baby. I can explain. It was a trap. Cat orchestrated the whole thing, and I didn’t notice her real intentions until now. You have to believe me,” Spencer sputtered, faster than I had seen him speak in a long time. I shook my head.

“You called me. You told me we were in danger and asked me to come here, Spencer,” I tried to reason with him. He did this; why?

Spencer’s eyes widened.

“No, no, no. No! I did not. I don’t know how it happened, but I didn’t call you. It wasn’t me. I thought you were kidnapped! Cat told me if I didn’t do what she wanted, she would hurt you!”

I scoffed.

“How convenient that sounds, uh?”

Spencer sighed. He didn’t know what to say, and honestly, I didn’t have the energy to help him.

“(Y/N), please. You can ask the team. Penelope tried to track your location. I called your dad! It’s all a misunderstanding.”

I felt bad for Spencer. He looked exhausted, and he was likely telling the truth. But that wasn't enough to erase the image of my husband kissing Cat Adams. That qualifies as cheating, right?

I wanted to slap him across the face. Fucking Spencer Reid!

“A misunderstanding? Not a biggie, right?”

I hated feeling like this, but I couldn't help it. The more Spencer tried to explain, the more my blood boiled. Was I being unfair to him? Maybe. But after months of his work interfering in our lives, I was already fed up. This was the last straw.

"I didn't mean it like it wasn't important. Can we please talk about this more calmly at home?"

No, we can not, I wanted to say.

"Before your phone rings again and you must leave on another case?"

Shit, that just came out of my mouth.

“(Y/N)…” Spencer started to speak, but I cut him off. It wasn’t a conversation I wanted to have right now.

“You know what? I think it’s better we take a break for this night. I’m going to my dad’s. He must have been worried after I left,” I said, trying to contain my shaky voice. I grabbed my purse and walked to the door.

Spencer stared after me, pleading with his eyes for me not to leave. I decided to ignore it. I needed to think and cool my head. I believe this is the wake-up call I feared might happen. Maybe Cat Adams had opened another Pandora's box tonight.

Part II

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

Spencer Reid’s Taglist: @dreatine @nomajdetective @jayyeahthatsme @rosalinasam2 @averyhotchner @tvandfanfic @lovelyxtom @princessmiaelicia @pastelbabygirl19 @reidsbookclub @alexxavicry @gspenc @spencerreidisbae123 @calmspencer @thebloomingeagle @pauline5525mgg @maltamurdock @disaster-in-waiting @pebble-has-a-mirgraine @anamiad00msday @chlochlosworld @milivanili99 @laylasbunbunny @miaxx03 @leahblackk

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x fem!reader #dr. spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfictions #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fanfics #pandora’s box

1K notes · View notes

harrywavycurly · 9 months ago

Note

omg if your killer!Eddie requests are open, could you write one similar to 'how long?' where r stays up late when he goes out for you know what and when he comes back, he's kinda shocked to see her up and she asks what's going on?? he'll probably find some sneaky way out of it but I'm wondering what you think ab the situation :)

Hiii lovey!! Oh I love this because we know Eddie loves being able to look down at his watch and know what his wife is doing so I can imagine the look of pure shock when he comes home late and she’s awake! I hope you enjoy this!!💖

-find all things a Killer’s Love here✨

CW: Eddie is a serial killer, mentions of blood

A/N: I didn’t have it in me to make this angsty so it’s kinda fluffy but still gets the point across that even Eddie with his killer instincts can be taken off guard🙈

Eddie lets out a loud sigh as he takes his keys out of the ignition after he pulls into the garage, he rests his forehead on the steering wheel as he closes his eyes allowing the events of the evening to replay in his mind. James was supposed to be an easy task, it was supposed to be an in and out job but somehow it ended up with Eddie not only digging multiple holes in Hawkins’s oldest cemetery just to dispose of the man’s body but he also had to get rid of his new pair of boots thanks to the fact James was a bleeder, another thing Eddie wasn’t really prepared for. When he opens his eyes he smiles as he looks down at his watch and sees the time, it’s well past midnight so Eddie knows you’re snuggled up in bed asleep waiting for him. He quickly grabs his duffle bag and tries to be as quiet as possible when he goes into the house, taking his old beat up boots off by the door.

“Eddie?” He freezes when he hears your sweet soft voice coming from the kitchen. “Honey is that you?” You ask as you poke your head out of the kitchen and into the living room just in time to see him putting his truck keys into the little bowl on the table by the door.

“Did I wake you sweetheart?” He tries to hide the panic in his voice as he slowly uses his foot to slide his duffle bag behind the couch so you can’t see it in the dark living room. “I tried to be quiet.” He adds as he takes a few steps closer to where you’re standing in the doorway of the kitchen.

“I haven’t been to bed yet.” Eddie feels his eyebrow raise at your statement because he can count on one hand the amount of times you’ve stayed up this late and most of them involve him and you in your king sized bed. “Why are you all disheveled?” You ask as he finally is just a few steps away from you allowing the kitchen light to let you get a better look at him.

“You know how poker night goes baby.” You just smile as Eddie’s hands land on your hips before he leans in and places a quick kiss to your lips.

“Steve get a bit rowdy again?” You ask when he pulls away, Eddie just nods before placing a sweet kiss to your forehead.

“Someone needed to teach him some manners.” You laugh as Eddie gives your hips a little squeeze. “Now what’s keeping you up hmm? Something bothering you Princess?” He asks making you just shrug as his hands fall from your hips so you can turn and he can follow you into the kitchen. He looks around and can tell by the bottle of honey and some lemon slices on the counter that you were in the middle of making yourself some tea so he quickly grabs the electric kettle and begins filling it with water as you go sit on one of the barstools.

“I think I just missed my husband.” Eddie smiles as he looks over at you as he turns the kettle on. You return his smile and shoot him a playful wink making him chuckle.

“I’m sorry baby I didn’t mean to be out so late.” It’s not a lie so Eddie doesn’t feel that bad for saying it, he had every intention of being home and in bed with you well before midnight but then again tonight hasn’t gone the way Eddie had planned.

“It’s okay you deserve to have a guys night every now and then.” Eddie ignores the guilt that tries to take over as you give him a reassuring smile. He just busies himself with adding some honey to the bottom of one of your favorite mugs before placing the sleepy time tea bag inside.

“I missed you too.” He states as the kettle turns off letting him know the water is ready for him to pour into your mug. You smile as he walks around the island and places the mug in front of you.

“Did you really?” You ask in your sweet shy tone that makes Eddie’s knees go a little bit weak. Eddie just stands behind you and gently places his hands on top of your shoulders as he leans down so his lips are right next to your ear.

“From the moment I left the driveway.” You smile at his words and then feel a chill go down your spine as his lips place a kiss under your ear.

“I love you.” Eddie just smiles as he stands up after kissing your cheek and drops his hands from your shoulders.

“I love you too baby.” He watches you reach for your mug but he’s quick to grab it from over your shoulder making you playfully frown at him. “You’ll burn yourself sweetheart…come on let’s get you into bed and by then it’ll be the perfect for drinking.” You just let out a tired sigh as you get off the barstool and take his free hand so he can lead you into the bedroom.

“Where are you going?” Your voice is sleepy and slow as you watch Eddie head for the bedroom door after he got you comfortable on your side of the bed with your tea in your hands.

“Just checking the locks and cleaning the kitchen baby don’t worry I’ll be back before you fall asleep.” Eddie watches you just nod your head and he’s well aware that you know he’s lying because both of you know you’re about two sips of your tea away from passing out but you don’t argue with him and for that he’s grateful.

When he’s in the living room he quietly grabs his duffle bag and takes it into the kitchen so he can shove it back under the sink where he normally keeps it hidden under trash bags and cleaning supplies. He grips the sink as he closes his eyes and lets out a few deep breathes trying to get his nerves to settle because from the moment he left the house early this evening till just now he’s been on edge because nothing has gone as planned. But he also can’t help but chuckle to himself as he opens his eyes and shakes his head at the fact that even after years of marriage you still somehow manage to surprise him.

#a killers love series #eddie munson fanfiction #Eddie Munson au #killer!eddie munson #eddie munson x fem!reader fluff #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x wife!reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson series #eddie munson x female reader #husband!eddie #Eddie Munson #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things au #my little dungeon master baby #tw blood

185 notes · View notes

orshii · 8 months ago

Text

The Night We Met (forget me not)

Author: orshii

Pairing: Kim Hongjoong x female reader

Warnings: cursing, violence, blood, lots of angst

Word count: 8,7 k

Trope: strangers to lovers

Summary: Kim Hongjoong lived anything but a normal life, his enigmatic presence shrouded in mystery. You were drawn to him when you met him on a strange, rainy night, soaked and with nowhere to go. Despite his guarded nature, a connection formed between you, fueled by curiosity and the allure of the unknown. What will happen when one night he comes home bleeding? Will you unravel the truth behind Hongjoong's enigmatic existence, or will the dangers lurking in the shadows consume you both?

A/N: Since I am very obsessed with red-haired Hongjoong because, he killed me at Coachella bfr, I just felt the urge to write something with him, so this happened. It ended up a little angsty, sorry not sorry, I love writing angst tbh lol. So enjoy the ride, I guess. xoxo, orshii. (also, sorry if there are mistakes :'( ) (divider) horanghae tho

The swaying bodies around me tortured me, I felt like I couldn't breathe as all I could see was him, speaking, and shouting over the loud music, that made my heart break with every strong beat. I couldn't hear the music, all I could hear was the words that came out of his mouth. 'You are sick', 'I'm tired of your shit', 'You'll never be good enough' and it went on and on, these words were the only thing I could hear, I breathed them in and it went straight into my heart, breaking it into thousands of pieces, as nothing remained there only little powerless specks of dust.

He kept on going, glaring at me like I was a wet stray dog on the street. His eyes were full of hatred, the man with whom I fell in love, made me feel special and made me feel good enough, now did the whole opposite of these things, and made me believe I was a fucking nobody. After a little time, as he still spat the most hurtful words out of his mouth, I could see everything in slow motion, the way he spoke and he was angrily shouting at me, his spit landing on my face as he spoke, the dancing bodies around us pushing closer to him, even tho I wanted the opposite. No one really noticed that I was on the verge of breaking down right there, as I barely could breathe. My brain closed him out, I was just staring at him and wondered, where that sweet guy that I fell in love with had gone. Suddenly I felt empty, nothing was on my mind, all I knew was that I wanted to disappear from the world, especially I wanted to get away from him as far as possible. So, whilst he was speaking, suddenly I turned my back without a word and started to somehow push myself out from the bodies that surrounded me.

I felt weak as I bumped into random people, they pushed me from left to right as I barely had any strength. It felt like ages until somehow I could fight myself through the strange bodies. I stepped out of the club into the cold night. I was just standing in front of the exit and closed my eyes shut, I just needed some fresh air, but it couldn't reach my lungs for some reason.

Suddenly I felt something wet and cold landing on my face, followed by a lot of cold drops. I opened my eyes and looked up at the sky, as it started to rain very strongly, immediately wetting my face, and my hair as I suddenly could breathe. It felt like the rain was caressing my face, that felt like invisible hands, cupping my cheeks, wetting my lips, the wet drops dropping down to my chest that melted right into my heart, giving some reassuring feeling. I closed my eyes again holding my head up against the sky, letting the raindrops wet my brain as it kind of brought me back to life and made me realize what just happened, I breathed in as I felt the cold air getting into my lungs slowly, making my body tremble.

That was the exact moment when I broke down. I couldn't hold it any longer, as all the emotions that I cut off when I was in front of him, not letting him see me break, now shuttered into pieces, my breathing got heavy, as I hunched over my knees, and tears suddenly blinding me as I was staring at the wet ground. I was sobbing, tears fell into the wet ground disappearing like it wasn't even there, now I looked like a wet stray dog, that had nowhere to go.

"Everything's alright?" Suddenly I heard a strange voice behind me. After a few deep breaths I tried to calm down, I straightened up and turned around. Just to see a man leaning against the club's brick wall, one of his legs propped on the wall. His clothes were soaked just like mine, as he was holding a cigarette between his thin pierced lips, which were long burned out from the rain, his wet hair that strangely looked like the shade of a deep red that looked like fresh blood, his wet hair would've fallen into his forehead if it wasn't for the black sunglasses that were pushed up to the top of his head, making his forehead free from his hair. He looked at me curiously, eyeing me up and down with a look I couldn't entirely read. Maybe he seemed a little concerned. But that thought immediately made me forget that, when I saw the confident smirk on his face. Just another asshole in this world, that looked at me like I was a nobody.

"Yeah," I said after what felt like an eternity, somehow I almost forgot why I was standing in the rain and cried myself almost to death. I locked my eyes with him, he really didn't seem bothered by the rain pouring at us unstoppably. I wasn't in the mood to chit-chat with a stranger so I turned to get the hell out of there. I did not know where I could go, but I knew that I needed to go somewhere, far away from here.

"It didn't seem like it, sweetheart." He shouted after me, his voice melting with the rain that was falling on us.

"It's none of your business." I turned around to look at him as I shrugged.

Then he pushed himself off the wall and walked towards me, throwing the wet cigarette to the wet floor. I barely saw him because of the rain, but as he closed the distance suddenly all I could see was his face being close to mine. I could see as raindrops dropped from his hair, the water on his veiny neck flew down in red strings, as I assume he died his hair red recently, the wet drops fell from his thin lips as he looked down at me.

"My heart can't take as little girls like you cry in the rain." He slowly reached his hand towards my head and tugged my hair behind my ear. My eyes unconsciously fell on his pierced lips that were so close to mine, that if I had leaned in a little, it could meet his.

I snapped his hands away from my face, and my sanity came back, I couldn't believe there weren't any normal people on earth that couldn't deal with their fucking problems.

He chuckled at my movement. "Why are you so mean, sweetheart?" His smirk still did not disappear.

"Do I look like someone who would let a stranger touch me? And don't call me sweetheart!” I said to him getting angrier. “Oh my God, what did I do to the world." I cried out in disbelief looking up to the sky. I was so soaked, but at that point, I didn’t really feel that I was all wet.

Then suddenly I was sitting in the stranger's car, -whose name was Hongjoong apparently- all soaked, wetting the luxurious car's seating, which was a beautiful raven-black Maserati. I looked at my left side, Hongjoong's side profile on the sight, his undercut showing with the sunglass still being pushed back, which highlighted his sharp jawline. The dye on his neck now dried leaving red marks there. He was a very handsome and apparently a rich stranger. I have no idea why was I even in his car, as we were heading toward his apartment. Because I had nowhere to go.

Long story short, I kind of told him everything about what happened on this tragic night with my life. My ex dumped me because he thought I was cheating on him, the reality was that he was cheating on me and he just blamed it all on me, saying I was the problem as I couldn't keep him excited so he needed to try if someone else could. What kind of bullshit is that?

I was living with him, my parents were far away on another continent, I moved here because of my, well, now ex, and started to work at a random café, just so that I could start a painting course, as my biggest dream to achieve was to be a known painter. I wanted to organize exhibitions where I could put my paintings out, to show them to the world, to show my emotions through the paintings, so other people might feel the same, and share common feelings.

Painting was the only thing that understood me. When I was painting I felt like it was my therapy, the way I traced the brush on the canvas, with different kinds of colors. I always painted my emotions on the white canvas, which in the end, always ended dark, full of black and red colors. As those were the representations of my emotions. I felt pain, just as the word painting symbolized my whole being. But there were times, very rarely, when I painted a whole rainbow on the canvas, as something good happened that day. It was always personal, I wasn't the kind of person, who painted lands and random vases with fruits next to them. I just painted what I felt, it always came out like a mess, like chaos, but there was something beautiful in it, something special.

I always felt vulnerable when I showed it to people, but in the end, it's only me who knows what it is about. People only see random colors and shapes, that are a little grotesque, some of them are amazed by, how artistic it is, but some of them are just looking at it frowning, as they only see a splash of colors, saying 'I could do that easily, it's only a bunch of colors poured right there'. It is hurtful hearing things like that when it's my emotions that are painted there in a physical form. But I think it is only you, yourself, who can understand the struggles you are going through.

So as I was dumped by my ex, I remained alone. I was kind of new in the town and I didn't know anyone besides him and a bunch of his ass friends. I had nowhere to go, as I didn’t want to see his face anymore.

Hongjoong…kind of made me tell him these things, and he offered I can stay at his place, while I figure out what can I do in the future. The rain stopped after a while as we sat in his car and I told him all these things like I had known him for ages, he was listening to me and I could see on his face he cared for some questionable reasons. I had no idea why he offered this in the first place, and I had no idea why the hell did I agree. Even tho he seemed like an asshole for the first seeing, when he genuinely asked me what was the problem, I kind of felt like I can tell him anything I want and I kind of blame it on my fucked up day and on the fact that I was tired, I was tired of people, whom I always wanted to be good enough, but I just failed all the time. And now, it seemed I could trust in a stranger more than everybody.

As soon as we arrived at his apartment, which was a penthouse, my jaw was on the floor when I looked around. Everything was luxurious, most of the furniture was surprisingly black, with a hint of dark red, just like his car and his hair. It really did suit him. I had no idea who this man was, but I am sure he was rich as hell.

After Hongjoong showed me the guest room and gave me clothes that I could change into, he left me alone so I could shower. In the bathroom, I still couldn’t comprehend where I was and what exactly happened. It only came in a big flow when I managed to lay down into the big king-sized bed, that was so soft I felt like I was going to disappear into it.

I was laying on my right side and hugged my knees to my chest, just so I could hug something, something that gave me enough comfort, whispering to myself everything is going to be alright, as I finally managed to fall asleep with tears flowing down my face.

The next few weeks went by just like seconds, my only escape was work and painting as it mostly occupied my mind. Hoshi, my ex, tried to talk to me a few times after work when I was closing up, but Hongjoong always came to pick me up, after the first time he heard my ex was there.

It was really odd, the way he was acting, acting like he wanted to protect me from the world, even tho he didn't know me. And I didn't know him either, but as we spent these few days together, we kind of grew closer to each other, I felt like he became a person whom I could rely on.

I needed to figure out what to do next, because I did not want to bother Hongjoong with my poor ass, living in his penthouse like a princess, as he did not accept any money for the rent. Even tho I barely had money, I still wanted to make it up to him, so instead of money, I decided to clean the flat when I had the time and to cook for him some delicious meals, like a freaking maid, but quid pro quo.

I'm not going to say that Hongjoong didn’t act suspiciously from time to time. Because that would be a lie. The times when he suddenly came into the apartment with blood on his face and slight stabs on his body, painting his body red here and there, made me realize he was into some dangerous games. Luckily I learned how to stitch wounds when I was in high school, as back then I wanted to be a doctor, not until I found painting.

It was again a rainy dark night when the front door closed with a loud thump. I ran out to the living room, where the storm outside lightened it up in slow-motion, just to see a collapsed Hongjoong on the floor. The white carpet under him was now full of blood, that looked like the color of his hair. My heart started to race, as I hurried next to him.

"Hongjoong!" I kneeled next to him, just to cup his face and check his heartbeat. It was still beating but very weekly. I was so scared he might die in my arms.

"Sweetheart" He mumbled faintly, reaching his hands to my wrists that held his face. He was looking up at me with desperate eyes, almost begging me to save him.

He did come back with some stitches here and there, but this was much deeper. As I slowly reached my hands towards his wet white T-shirt that was mixed with rain and blood, I lifted it very slowly, he winced at that painfully.

I let out a quiet gasp when I saw the wound, it was a bullet lodging into his abdomen. Tears started to flow down my face, as I tried to think, about what to do now.

"I'm going to call an ambulance!" I wanted to stand up, to get my phone, but Hongjoong suddenly grabbed my wrist.

"You can't, you have to do it yourself, sweetheart." His voice still came out weak, like he was breathing his last breaths.

"But the bullet is too deep, I can't-" I started to breathe heavily, as I ran my fingers through my hair, squeezing it, as I started to panic. His life depended on me. "I can't do this Hongjoong." I sobbed.

"Come here." As I leaned closer to him, he caressed my cheeks, wiped my tears away with his weak thumb, and looked at me like he had given his life into my hands, and that was literally the case. "You can do it, I trust you, sweetheart." He whispered, weekly, as his hand suddenly dropped to the floor weekly and his eyes closed.

He was unconscious. I needed to put myself together and save the life of the man who saved mine.

The next hours were full of me trying to get the bullet out somehow, I needed every kind of knowledge I learned in the past. Everything was full of blood, the carpet, my hands, my clothes, but all I could concentrate on was to clean the wound, get the bullet out, stitch it carefully, and hope that he did not die. After I finished and his heart was still beating somehow I felt relief going through my body. His body just needed some rest, so it could function again.

When I cleaned up and somehow with all my strength, I managed to lift him to the grey couch and put a warm blanket on him, as he was sweating like crazy because he had a fever. I kneeled next to the couch pressing a wet cloth to his forehead hoping his fever was going to drop. He was fighting for his life and I was praying he could make it alive, as I finally gave in to the dark that swallowed me completely.

I was dreaming of some dark figures that were chasing after me, and then I suddenly found myself on a field, where I saw a red-haired man's back facing me, he was standing between the colorful flowers. Then he suddenly turned and I saw Hongjoong's beautiful smile as he was calling me to follow him.

I felt as if someone pushed me weakly, a voice calling me. Sweetheart. Only one person calls me like that. I quickly came to my senses and lifted my head from the couch I was still kneeling beside it, my limbs numb I barely could move, but the only person that mattered was Hongjoong.

"Hey," I smiled at the survivor, as he was looking at me weekly, his mouth dry.

"Hi", his lips cornered up with a weak attempt.

"How are you feeling?" I scooted upper, so I could caress his face with my thumb.

"Better." He whispered, with a dry throat. As I noticed, I quickly went to pour water into a glass and took some painkillers to give it to him.

"Here, drink some." I slowly helped him up as he was wincing from the pain. I reached the pills to his mouth waiting for him to open it and then the glass so he could drink. After a few gulps from the water, he closed his eyes.

"Thank you, Y/N! You saved my life, I knew you could do it." He slowly opened his eyes and looked at me gratefully.

"Even tho, it was a very bad call from you…You could've died Hongjoong…" Tears started to appear in my eyes as I looked down at my hands.

"But I'm alive…thanks to you, sweetheart. Come here." He took my hands and slowly pulled me closer to him, as he laid down, leaving space for me beside him.

"I don’t want to hurt you." I hesitated a little.

"You won’t hurt me." His thumb traced my cheek and looked at me with affectionate eyes. At that I slowly laid next to him on my side, trying not to be too close to his wound. I was looking at him, and as he did the same, I saw his eyelids were closing, but he forced them open, so he could pull me closer to him by my waist. His face was inches apart from mine. I felt his hot breath on my lips, as he slowly ghosted over mine.

"Kiss me so I won't feel the pain." He whispered the words into my lips, his lips almost touching mine, I could feel his cold piercing on his lips. My heart was racing like crazy. Suddenly all my thoughts were gone, gone into the cold rainy night, as he pressed his lips against mine weekly, giving me control, so I could lead him out of the pain and he wouldn't feel anything. All I wanted to do was to take his pain away, to swallow it, so I could feel it instead of him. My lips moved against his slowly, very patiently, making him forget that he was in pain. He grabbed my waist and pulled me even closer to him, with his remaining strength. But he moaned into my lips from the pain that the movement caused. I wanted to separate from him to make sure he was okay. But he did not let me, he reached his hands to my nape and pulled me closer, suddenly getting some strength from who knows where, as I let him control the kiss again. It started to get more heated, as I separated from him, because of the lack of oxygen.

I looked at him like I couldn't believe he was right there, in pain but still kissing me.

"Sleep now, honey." I whispered at his lips, pecking them again, then moving to his sharp cheekbone, to his nose, then lastly I left feather-like kisses on his eyelids that were already closed, falling into a deep healing sleep.

After a few days of nursing Hongjoong, I was heading back from the grocery store to Hongjoong's apartment. His wound was healing perfectly, it just needed a little more time. He was only able to walk from his room to the balcony to smoke a pack of cigarettes. I asked a lot of times, what had happened, and who did that to him, but he always ignored me or changed the topic. After all, I was just a stranger to him, and he took me in because I was all soaked and I had nowhere to go. Even tho we kissed, that seemed like a fever dream.

But still, he was so protective of me, he did not let me go anywhere alone, and his friends lifted me to work and back, I didn’t even have the opportunity to paint as the painting courses were late at night, and he did not let me outside for some weird reason. He even insisted he was coming with me to the store that was just a few blocks away from his apartment, but I convinced him that it wasn't that far and I was going to be quick.

I was only one block away from the penthouse when suddenly all I could feel was cold hands around my throat and something cold being pressed against my temple. My back was pushed against a wall with an impact, I saw black points as I closed my eyes.

"Where is Captain?" The man who pressed me against the wall forcefully hissed through his yellow teeth.

His hand squeezed my throat with more force. Even if I wanted to talk, words just couldn't leave my mouth as the air was knocked out of my lungs, and my sight started to blur.

"I asked, where is Captain? I am sure you know it, little slut." He shouted at my face, spit landing on my face, as I closed my eyes, trying to scrape his hand off my throat. He pressed the cold thing harder against my temple, it was a gun. I didn't know who Captain was, but I had a very little clue, of who it could be.

The man was on the verge of hitting me with the handle of the gun when suddenly I felt the air getting into my lungs as the man was pushed off me. I hunched over trying to get some air into my lungs as I desperately needed it. My throat felt soar, my heart was pumping like it wanted to jump out from my chest, and I felt the urge to take my hands to my chest just to prevent it from jumping out. I couldn't catch up with the noises that were around me, some shouting and groaning noises that screamed pain. Then suddenly silence came. I slowly straightened up as I finally came to my senses, and tried to get what was happening. I didn't even realize the fact that a gun was pressed against my head, I didn't even realize I could've died. Our mind is a tricky thing, sometimes it is helpful, and sometimes it's our biggest enemy. But for my luck, as I straightened, I saw Yunho in front of me, one of Hongjoong's friends, who picked me up from work a few times. He was a tall, black-haired man, with a well-defined body, who looked intimidating at first, but after a few times as we always chatted the way home, it turned out, he was the sweetest guy ever, full of golden retriever energy.

"Are you okay?" Yunho came closer to me and carefully put his hands on my shoulders, looking at me with concerned eyes. That was the time when I looked down at his hands, that was all bloody, his knuckles full with stitches, then I averted my gaze to his face, which was all beaten up, his lips also bleeding, a cut on his cheekbone. Then I looked down next to us, where four men were laying unconscious, it was a slow process until I somehow put the puzzle together. He knocked out four men with his bare hands only.

"Yeah, I'm okay." I said quietly, my mind full of questions. "Who were they? They asked about someone called… Captain? Is that Hongjoong?"

Yunho's eyes were full of pity. "I'm sorry, Y/N, it isn’t me who should tell you these things." He turned around and went to his black Jeep, which was hurriedly parked on the sidewalk. "Let's get you back to Hongjoong." He said tilting his head a little.

I went to the car and sat in the passenger seat. "How did you know I was in trouble?" My voice felt sour a little, as I still felt the hand around my throat.

"Hongjoong told me to follow you, in case something would happen." He said, not even daring to look at me.

I scoffed at that and remained silent. I didn't know what the hell was happening. Is it normal to send someone so he can watch over you? Is it normal in Kim Hongjoong's life to be attacked? It was, based on the bullet that almost sent him to the other world and me, almost. Kim Hongjoong lived anything but a normal life.

Immediately as I closed the front door, Hongjoong hurried in front of me, pain running through his features that disappeared immediately when he saw me. He quickly came closer to me, worry taking over his painful features. He was eyeing me up and down searching for any injuries. Hongjoong cupped my cheeks and lifted my head.

"Fuck, Y/N, did you get injured?" He traced his right hand through my throat which was red from the choking. I just shook my head as a no, I was glaring at him, analyzing his features that changed between so many emotions, as his gaze remained at my throat, just to finally meet my glare.

"I told you not to go alone, for fuck's sake, Y/N!" He stepped away from me ran his finger through his red hair and squeezed it.

"Did you know someone would attack me? Hongjoong tell me something 'cause I have no idea what is happening." I looked at him with desperate eyes, trying to convince him, that he could tell me anything.

"No, I didn't know, but I felt it was going to happen." He turned his back to me and started to walk up and down in the living room. Then he stopped in front of the big window, where you could see the whole town, being busy, everyone living their normal life. He buried his hands into his face. I could see that his thoughts were screaming at him. A few minutes of silence fell between us. I was just waiting for him to collect his thoughts.

"You have to move out." His voice came out low, I barely could understand it. He didn’t even look at me, he was staring down at the city buried in mist.

My heart started to race, I knew, I knew I needed to move out at some point as I couldn't live here forever. But…it felt weird, months of being here, getting used to each other in ups and downs. And this coming from his mouth, I don't know why…but it hurt.

"Joong…" I stepped closer to him, slowly approaching him. "At least tell me what is going on. They asked about some Captain…is that you?" He was still standing in front of the window, his side profile was sharp, and his red hair seemed brighter as the sun was shining at him, giving it a little shade of orange, he was frowning as he was still thinking. But when he turned, all the emotions were gone from his features, I couldn't see any signs of the prior emotions that were running through his face.

He was glaring at me sharply very determined. "They are going to hurt you if you stay with me, just pack your things and I'll take you somewhere." He said with a commanding voice, that shouted he did not accept no as an answer. I was just looking at him, making sure he really meant it, but he held my gaze without blinking. Tears started to appear in my eyes from all the sudden emotions and from the thoughts of being alone again. I couldn't do anything other than to obey him.

After I quietly packed my things into a bag, this was all I had, I could pack my whole life into a black dirty bag. This bag was by my side all the time, not like the people, who always left me.

The ride to the place Hongjoong was driving us, was quiet. The sun hid behind the big, angry clouds and slowly raindrops started to drop at the windshield. I just leaned my head against the window and stared at the raindrops that were racing against each other on the glass. My mind was empty, I couldn't think. I felt Hongjoong's eyes on me at times, but I just couldn't look at him, because I felt like I might break then.

When we arrived and went up to the apartment that was also Hongjoong's, I stood in the living room and dropped the beg from my hand as I looked around. It was smaller than the penthouse, it was just an ordinary flat, with white furniture, as you stepped in, the living room was an open area with a kitchen. I saw two doors that I assumed were the bedroom and the bathroom. It was small and cozy, but I'm not sure if it will stay like that when I'm going to be left alone with my thoughts. I felt his gaze on my back and I turned around, finally looking into his eyes. Tears immediately started to appear in my eyes, I knew it was a goodbye, and I hated goodbyes. He slowly approached me, his eyes never leaving mine. His hands traced over my cheekbones, wiping the tear away that escaped along the way, then he traced his thumb over my lips, carefully as he was afraid he might break me. But it was too late cause I was already broken.

He slowly replaced his thumb with his thin lips, the piercing on his lips cutting my lips, the stinging racing down to my heart, he cupped my face and pulled me into a passionate kiss, that screamed, it was good 'til it lasted. Tears fell onto my face, falling on our lips as I felt the salty taste. He moved his lips against mine as he wanted to endure this moment for the rest of his life. My heart was aching, I felt like a knife was stabbed directly into my heart.

"You have to forget me, sweetheart." He whispered painfully onto my lips, as he leaned his forehead against mine, his words twisting the knife in my heart.

"But I don't want to." I shook my head, grabbing his wrists that still held my face. The tears never stopped rolling down my face.

"You have to, you are capable of anything, my heart." His eyes were full of adoration, that I never saw in his eyes, caressing my cheeks for the last time as he stepped away from me.

I shook my head as I cried out, I felt like my heart was going to stop at any time. "No, don't leave me Hongjoong…" My voice came out weak, it was barely audible as my crying got worse.

But all he did was turn around, without any emotion. "Goodbye, sweetheart!" and I was left alone again.

My legs gave up and I fell on the ground as I pressed my hands to my mouth just to somehow calm myself down. After all, he was just someone, who helped me out when needed. In these few months, I felt like finally I was heading in the right direction, I felt like I was finally stepping on the right road toward my dreams. Being with Hongjoong made me realize, that everyone deserves someone, who can support them, who can be by their side and give them some bits of advice, to keep them going. But destiny said, no, and I needed to move forward. My life was a never-ending circle, I always found someone who I trusted but eventually, they just treated me like I was some garbage. In the end, I was always alone, being left alone with my bag, to go somewhere else.

The next few weeks were all about painting. When I felt down, I always escaped into painting. At first, I was just staring into the white canvas in the building where the painting courses were held, I wanted to paint, but I didn't feel anything at all. I thought I was going to paint all the existing canvases in the world based on the emotions that I felt. But, when I found myself sitting in front of a big white canvas, I felt empty. I felt like I was there but at the same time, my mind was elsewhere.

As I closed my eyes, the dream that I dreamed the night when Hongjoong collapsed on the floor with a bullet in him, jumped in front of me. I saw his face, his smile that was rare to see. The warm breeze blew on his hair, lifting his red hair from his forehead. I saw him again in slow-motion as he turned around just to look into his eyes, he lifted his hand, inviting me to go with him. As I slowly approached him and reached my hands to take it, he disappeared.

I opened my eyes as I found myself in reality, facing with the white canvas and I saw an image on it, a face. I lifted my brush to the colors that were laid out in front of me and pushed it into the red color, just to lift it in front of the canvas. I drew one line with the red color and it was the most beautiful thing I saw in my life. The way it excelled on the white canvas fascinated me, it was a deep shade of red, that reminded me of Hongjoong's red hair, but then the blood that was all over the place that night. I kept drawing on the canvas, tracing the brush in shapes, switching between colors as my mind finally felt at ease. I never felt more calmer than now, as I didn't even realize what I was painting. I closed the world out and continued to paint the picture I was imagining in my head.

Who knows how much time went by, I didn't want to stop for even a moment, as I was desperate to finish this work, the work that brought me peace, that calmed my racing thoughts, that made me feel like I wasn't alone. I painted the last remaining white spot on the canvas with black and then I put my brush down, just to see the outcome. I inhaled through my mouth deeply, as I felt this was the first time I breathed through the whole painting.

The outcome was nothing compared to my recent paintings. It wasn't some random colors mixed, that had no shape at all.

It showed a scene, a scene that I saw with my own eyes. And it was the night I met with him. The background was all black, with different shades and a figure was leaning against the black wall, his right leg propped up to the wall, the cigarette lazily hanging from his pierced thin lips. His red hair was all wet from the rain that fell on him, it was pushed back with a black sunglass. The red dye was leaving red strings on his face, on his veiny neck. His black clothes were all soaked, and still, he was staring at me with eyes that screamed understanding, that was full of worry.

I never painted things like these, things that made sense, well not for others. It made me believe that Hongjoong started something in me, that I had never imagined I had.

The doorbell suddenly rang just after I arrived home after a tiring day at work. I changed into comfortable clothes, wearing a black hoodie and grey sweatpants. I wanted to make some dinner for myself when I heard the sound of the doorbell. I frowned, I really didn't know anyone here, maybe the neighbor came to welcome me.

I went to the door a little hesitantly, then unlocked it and when I opened it, I froze. It was Hoshi, my ex, glaring at me with his typical sharp eyes, that always reminded me of a tiger. His platinum blonde hair was always shaped perfectly, it was similar to a buzz cut, two straight strings falling close to his eyes, which made his gaze and features even sharper. He was always wearing punk clothes, with a lot of silver accessories.

"What are you doing here?" I asked when I finally found my voice. I needed all my confidence.

"Hi, baby." He smirked at me and just pushed me away to get into the apartment, letting himself inside.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Hoshi?" I was amazed by his behavior, he acted casually, went to my kitchen, poured some water for himself, making himself at home.

"Can't I just see my girl?" He turned and leaned against the counter with the glass of water, eyeing me up and down like a predator.

"Fuck you Hoshi! Don't tell me bullshit. Just tell me why are you here!" I lifted my voice up, it sounded angrier as I couldn't believe this man.

"Woah, easy, girl." He put the glass on the counter, just to come closer to where I was standing. "I just came to apologize." He reached his hands towards my waist, but I immediately stepped away from him. I saw that he needed to hold back himself from doing something wrong at that moment. "Okay." He lifted his hands to the air. "I just wanted to say that I feel bad about how I behaved at the club, you disappeared, Y/N. I didn't know where have you gone." His voice came out a little trembled, and his eyes were full of worry, but I knew it was just an act, an act so I will go back to him. I didn't say anything, but he didn't even let me when he continued.

"But I found out you were with that fucking red-haired shorty." His features suddenly changed from worried to angry. I had never seen him like this, it scared me.

He slowly came closer to me, just like a tiger that approached its prey. "Had fun fucking around with the Captain?" He looked like a psycho as he asked.

My heart rate picked up as I stepped back, just until my back hit the wall behind me. "How do you know him?"

As he was inches apart from me, he slowly reached his right hand towards my chest and traced his fingers on my skin, up to my neck, his gaze on his fingers. My chest was rising as shivers ran through my body, but these weren't the good types of shivers, it was because I felt terrified.

"Oh, you don't know a lot, babe." His fingers slowly traced up to my jaw and cheekbones. All I wanted to do was to run away from him. I felt disgusted, but he caged me against the wall, I had no chance.

"Then tell me." My voice came out rough, as I wanted to convince him I wasn't afraid of him.

"Well, that little redhead, is a fucking mafia leader. I didn't know you were into mafia gangs." He stepped away from me, as I finally could let out a sigh. "Stupid, Hoshi." He hit his forehead, with a psychotic smile. "If I would've known, I would've told you that I'm a mafia leader as well. Then you wouldn’t have run away." He approached me again, pushing me up against the wall. His face was inches apart from mine. I couldn't believe what he said. There was no fucking way I managed to catch both the town's mafia leaders. What happened with my life?

I scoffed at that, it was a joke. "You? As a mafia leader, you are funny Hoshi." I laughed into his face, as he got more annoyed.

"Did you have fun, when I sent my gang to threaten you so you will tell them where that fucker is?" He whispered it close to my face, his fingers crawling around my throat and squeezing it. My eyes rounded immediately, as my hands automatically tried to tear his hands off. "You had to fuck my only enemy that existed? I hate him, he destroyed my life, he took everything away." He hissed through his teeth.

"I'm asking again, nicely, Y/N. Where - is - he?" He squeezed his fingers more around my throat, as tears fell on my face, blurring my vision.

"Wh-where is that H-Hoshi I loved…" My voice came out weak, as I slowly saw black dots in my vision that were already blurred.

"He never existed." And with that, he squeezed my throat harder, as I was in desperate need of air, but it never came.

I was on the verge of fainting when sudden noises came from the staircase. The door was suddenly slammed open with a loud thump, all I could hear was footsteps, and my vision went black.

Hoshi's hands were gone from my throat, and I fell to the ground, barely conscious. I heard loud noises that my brain couldn't comprehend, glass breaking, shouting and when I opened my eyes weakly, I saw red. My vision was blurry, but when it cleared out I saw him and I knew I was safe.

He was holding me in his warm arms on the floor, my body was shaking from the lack of oxygen and the overwhelming emotions. He hugged me, as I buried my face into his chest, inhaling his peaceful scent, which always calmed me down. He traced my back up and down and pecked the top of my head, my forehead.

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart for leaving you alone." His voice seemed like he was on the verge of breaking.

I slowly lifted my head up to look into his eyes, and I met with two eyes full of regretful tears. My tears started to flow down my face at that, as I started sobbing.

"Please, forgive me." He cupped my cheeks and wiped my tears away with his thumb. "Shh, don't cry please because my heart breaks. You are my heart, Y/N." He leaned his forehead against mine. I closed my eyes and breathed in and out, just to get myself together. This man in front of me, who was only a stranger to me, in a short time became the most important person in my life.

"Don't you ever dare, leaving me." I whispered after a few seconds that felt like ages.

He smiled in relief, his smile looked exactly like in my dream, his lips curved up, and his nose scrunched. "I am never going to leave you, sweetheart."

He slowly reached his hands under my knees, just to lift me from the ground, my hand immediately curled around his neck, as he brought me to the bedroom and carefully took me down to the bed. He crawled next to me as we were both on our sides, facing each other. He reached his hand towards my face and caressed it as if we were just looking at each other.

"This time that I spent without you was hell." he tugged my hair behind my ear as he said. "I realized I can't live without you, Y/N. I never felt like this before. I got scared when those bastards attacked you, and I never felt this scared before in my life. I thought if I keep you away from me they won't hurt you. Please, forgive me." Tears started to appear in his eyes, that screamed regret.

I took his hand from my face and lifted it to my mouth, to carefully peck his warm palm. "It's okay, Hongjoong, I get why you did it. But you could've at least told me who you were." I looked at him weakly, as I felt more and more tired.

"I know." He scooted closer to me, holding my waist as he pulled me closer to him. "I was just terrified if you find out, you will run away from me." He said with a low voice, leaning his forehead against mine.

"I never would've run away, don't you remember how many times I stitched you up?" I smiled at him.

He chuckled at that sweetly. "Yeah, that would've been enough reason for you to run. But for some reason, you didn't." He frowned at that.

"I just couldn't leave you, even tho you acted weird all the time, I felt like I needed to be by your side." I wanted to tell him that I was going to be by his side forever.

"I want you to be by my side, sweetheart. I never felt more at ease than I was when you were with me." His lisp was inches apart from mine, as he whispered. "Being with me is going to be dangerous, but I'm going to do everything to protect you." He said as he pressed his lips against mine, capturing it as I could slip through his holding. His fingers reached to my neck, to the back of my nape just to run his fingers through my hair, pulling me impossibly close to him. I kissed him back desperate, with passion I never felt in my life. I never wanted to break the kiss, that tasted like happiness, that whispered good promises for the future.

2 months later

"I want to show you something." Hongjoong hugged me from behind on the balcony where I was standing with a coffee mug in my hands. His hands crawled around my waist pulling me close to his chest, his head on my shoulder as we both were looking down to the busy town from his penthouse.

"What?" I asked with a genuine smile.

He pecked my neck sweetly before turning me around and taking my hands. "Come I'll show it to you." He was smiling at me like he seemed the happiest and most excited man on earth.

When we were in his black Maserati and I looked at him while driving, I could see that his smile never disappeared he was so excited for some reason and I started to get nervous as hell. After a fifteen-minute drive, we arrived somewhere. I didn't know about this side of the city. The streets were very artistic, with a lot of graffiti on some random walls, and artists were standing on the streets singing or painting. I looked around curious as I stepped out of the car. Hongjoong rounded the car and took my hand.

"Where are we Hongjoong?" I looked at him with a frown.

He just smiled at me, his perfect-white teeth showing. "I have to blindfold you, sweetheart. I don't want to expose the surprise." He took a silk blindfold from his pocket and chuckled as he saw my confused face.

"Just trust me, love." His voice came out low as he pecked my lips sweetly and blindfolded me.

He was leading me around, as I couldn't see anything. We went through a door, and the street's noise faded away. Our footsteps were echoing on the strange floor as we walked inside. Suddenly Hongjoong stopped me, as he turned me to face him. He reached his hands to unfold the silk material, as it slowly fell on the floor. My eyes followed how it fell on the floor, which was made out of brown marble. Then my gaze lifted, just look around where we were. My mouth fell open, it was a big and empty hall with big windows, where the light came inside, lighting the emptiness inside. The walls were all white, the ceiling was meters away from us, and it was huge.

"Why are we here?" I asked after my gaze fell on Hongjoong, who was looking at me the whole time.

He stepped closer to me, to hold my waist and pull me closer to him. His face was inches away. "This is your gallery where you can exhibit your paintings." He said with an excited smile, waiting for my reaction.

I pressed my hands to my mouth, my eyes rounded unbelievably "No way." Tears appeared in my eyes.

"Yes way, sweetheart." Hongjoong giggled seeing my reaction. "I want you to show the world how talented you are." He caressed my cheeks as he said with a sweet and proud look on his face.

I couldn't believe this. "Hongjoong…" tears started to fall to my cheeks, as I started to jump in excitement just to jump on Hongjoong who was taken aback by my sudden movement, but he caught me in time. He lifted me to spin us around as we both chuckled like two teenagers.

"Thank you so much Hongjoong." I whispered to his ear when he took me down and I buried my face to his chest. "I couldn't be grateful enough for making my dreams come true." I lifted my head to face him.

He was looking down at me with the proudest smile. "I'm happy I can be by your side while you achieve your dreams." He cupped my face and pecked my lips as I giggled.

"I love you, Hongjoong." I said looking up at him with teary eyes, as I never felt happier in my life.

"I love you more, sweetheart." And with that, he kissed me passionately like never before, his lips moved against mine slowly, as we were standing in the gallery that was going to hold all the emotions I felt in the past years, so I could finally let them go. And that one portrayal of Kim Hongjoong, that promised me a good future by his side.

The portrayal that showed the first time I saw him, the first time I fell in love with him, on the night we met.

157 notes · View notes